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The boat quietly swayed with the lapping waves beneath them as they crept through the fog. Tissaia’s sharp gaze remained on a swivel despite the low visibility, every sense on high alert for the first hint of something amiss. The likelihood of ambush was negligible, and yet she could not shake the hypervigilance from her body.
If the task made it all the easier to ignore the increasingly vexing absurdity among the mages seated behind her? So much the better.
Tissaia’s nostrils subtly flared, jaw ticking as she listened to the ongoing game of – of all the ridiculous things – truth or dare being played behind her. Though she had missed its inception, Tissaia was certain that it was Coral, seated some four rows back, who had started it. Only the Skelligan – or Yennefer, Tissaia added with silent exasperation – would be so blithe as they sailed toward a battlefield.
Given Yennefer’s incredibly distracting presence immediately behind her? Coral was the obvious culprit.
Were it not for the thread of ease the foolish game threaded among the hypervigilant mages, Tissaia would have shut it down as soon as it started. As it stood, well. Loathe though she was to admit it, there was something to be said for levity in dire circumstances.
Begrudgingly, Tissaia would allow it. As long as the dares were contained to the boat and left their voyage unhindered? She supposed they could have their fun.
Nevertheless, Tissaia could feel a twitch setting at her brow. Thus far, she had been forced to learn that Lawdbor had swindled a lurid sum of 200 crowns off a fool noble in Redania some five years prior. The lawlessness of which hadn’t turned her stomach half as much as when Artaud then admitted to having drunkenly gone to bed with a bruxa. A revelation that had Yennefer and several others bawdily cackling at the sorcerer’s expense.
The dares were certainly no better than the truths.
Coral, when dared, had gamely performed a horrendously off-key rendition of Skellige’s most popular tavern song – a lively diddy about sailing and drinking. Fitting, Tissaia thought wryly as she rolled her eyes, given their current circumstances.
Naturally, because the flaming spheres appeared to be testing Tissaia’s control once again, Coral had then dared a laughing Vanielle to defend her title of “longest belch-er” against any who dared challenge her.
Tissaia wasn’t sure what was worse. That Vanielle laughingly complied and faced off against the half dozen others who took that challenge, or that the Bruggian still won. And, Tissaia resisted the urge to groan, of course, Yennefer gave Vanielle the closest run for her money.
Of course it was Yennefer, Tissaia silently despaired. The vein at her temple pulsed. Melitele forbid that Yennefer might forgo any opportunity to stubbornly compete over even the most ludicrous challenges. Coral wasn’t helping either. The redhead laughingly clapped as she gleefully egged them on.
Had she any less willpower, Tissaia would have put her head in her hands in dismay. For Melitele, these were some of the most established, powerful mages across the Continent. Respected, at times revered even, in their fields. And now? Now – as they sailed to war, no less – they were behaving as novices on their first eve free of assignment!
Valiantly resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in vexation, Tissaia supposed that she ought to be grateful she had insisted Rita remain at Aretuza in her stead. Melitele knew what the vivacious blonde might have made of these circumstances.
Eyes widening, Tissaia was scandalized in her own right when Vanielle proceeded to force – of all people – Gorazd to confess to having charmed, of all absurd things, a bard to his bed some dozen years prior. The preposterousness of the revelation grew only greater still when Yennefer – and of course, it would be her – barked a delighted laugh and revealed herself to be acquainted with the bard in question.
Something rankled in Tissaia’s chest at the notion. Her jaw ticked. That was not interesting in the slightest. What – or who, she added with a muted grimace – Yennefer did with her time was no concern of hers, so long as it did not interfere with the Continent’s stability. Truthfully, Tissaia knew she ought to encourage Yennefer to dispense more time on the innocuous companionship of bards rather than the lurid tryst she had engaged in with a witcher.
The knowledge did nothing to loosen the tightness in her chest.
“No, not— Jaskier?!” Triss blurted out, incredulous. Tissaia blinked, her brow furrowing. Exactly how many mages was this bard acquainted with?
The thought derailed as she felt Sabrina stiffen at her side. Tissaia suppressed a smile. She might have known. Poised and immovable as the blonde usually was, when something managed to actually touch Sabrina’s heart? Subtle she was not. Even if the blonde was often too logic-driven to realize it herself.
Tissaia spared a thought that, if the opportunity arose, she ought to give the blonde a push. Rare though it was, there was the occasion that Sabrina needed it.
Yennefer snickered, “The very same.” Shrugging blithely, she lightly tossed her raven locks over her shoulder and directed at Gorazd, “He’s pretty enough, I suppose, but for Melitele I don’t know how you tolerated his company long enough to dine bed him.”
A smirk pulled across the old mage’s lips as he chuckled and replied, “His mouth was a bit occupied for chatter, Mistress Vengerberg.”
Delighted, Yennefer laughed brightly. She’d not met Gorazd before – had expected him to be as insufferably stiff as most of the oldest Brotherhood mages tended to be, in truth. Finding otherwise was quite a pleasant surprise.
And, if his crassness caused Tissaia’s already rigid shoulders to grow impossibly stiffer? So much the better. Riling the Rectoress up truly was too much fun.
Her violet eyes gleaming with amusement, Yennefer teased, “Did you even let him pick his jaw up off the floor after he saw you catching thunderbolts first? Or did you just have over with him before he could ruin the moment by speaking?”
“Yennefer!” Triss hissed, clearly scandalized. Tissaia silently sent thanks to the flaming spheres for the redhead’s intervention. Though she was hardly the prude a majority of the Continent thought her to be, the sexual exploits of her fellow mages were not something Tissaia had any interest in hearing.
“Relax Triss,” Yennefer waved off the remand breezily. “Master Gorazd is plenty capable of refusing my inquiry if it scandalizes him.” Yennefer pointedly ignored the incredulous glances she received. She knew why. Her reputation was one of deriding all formality. No one - including Gorazd, based on his lifted brow - expected her to give him his title.
Yennefer abstained from rolling her eyes. He had granted her the respect of her own, a rarity for her among mages. As such, Yennefer saw no reason not to return the favour.
Setting the thought aside, Yennefer’s violet eyes twinkled with amethyst amusement as she added, “Besides, you know Jaskier loves speaking of his own exploits – exhibitionist that he is. If anything, he’d want this one getting around.” Her lips twitched. “I’m fairly certain he did it to make Geralt realize age was no concern of his.”
Softening, Triss giggled softly. “He might need a more obvious sign.” The redhead lamented.
Yennefer snorted indelicately. “For Geralt to realize his sing-songy twit is lusting after him like a dog in heat? The bard would have better luck stripping off and presenting himself on Geralt’s bed with ‘Fuck me’ painted on his arse than anything he’s tried so far.”
“Yennefer!” Triss shrieked, slapping the raven-haired woman’s arm in scandalized shock. Yennefer cackled. Gods, Triss could be too easy. Her laughter swelled higher still when, despite the crudeness, Triss didn’t deny the statement.
Tissaia blinked.
Geralt. The witcher. One who, apparently, Triss was also acquainted with, and who rather infamously travelled with… a bard. Oh. Oh. Though clearly a rather prurient individual, this Jaskier appeared to have eyes not for either sorceress, but rather the mutant they – for reasons Tissaia could not understand – dined spend their time with.
That was not interesting. Or relieving. At all.
If she felt a small amount of tension ease in her shoulders at the same time as Sabrina veritably slumped beside her? Tissaia pointedly ignored it.
Unfortunately for the blonde, the relief of her envy was miniscule as Yennefer, having ceased her laughter glibly ribbed Triss, “And what about you, sweet Triss? I hear you’ve been spending a considerable amount of time in Redania of late. Owl-watching, was it?”
Sabrina’s spine went rigid.
Oh sweet Melitele, no., Tissaia thought in dismay, ignoring the guffaw from Coral and Vanielle’s soft snort from further back in the boat. It was bad enough that Sabrina was hopelessly in love with the redhead, but for Triss to get tangled up with Philippa? Absolutely not.
Though she had no doubts about Triss’s fortitude and ability to look after herself, Tissaia knew her friend well. Philippa would not hurt the redhead as such, but she would absolutely eat sweet Triss alive.
Tissaia scowled. If they survived this? She would have words with Philippa. Preferably before Sabrina did something foolish like try to pick a fight with the Redanian mage.
Ignoring Triss’s red-faced sputtering, Yennefer chuckled, waving her off. “Oh, I’m not judging, dearest,” she reassured, lips curling into an amused smile. “Philippa is quite the legend of course – and quite the lover if half the rumours are true.”
Tissaia silently bristled. They were. That did not mean she wanted any indication that Yennefer was paying attention to them.
After all, Tissaia mused despairingly, if Philippa involving herself with Triss would be disastrous? A partnership between Philippa and Yennefer would be apocalyptic. The very thought made Tissaia shudder.
No, that? That the Continent might not survive.
Heedless of Tissaia’s thoughts, Yennefer continued teasing Triss. “She’s not to my personal taste,” Yennefer admitted. Tissaia was pointedly not relieved. “But if talons are what does it for you? More power to you.”
Triss was saved from the mortification of replying by Gorazd who, chuckling lowly, cut in, “Oh? And what are your tastes, Mistress Vengerberg? Care to show us?”
Show? Tissaia thought incredulously, barely refraining from whipping around to stare at the sorcerer in disbelief. What in the Continent was happening? And from Gorazd?
Yennefer arched a dark brow as she turned to the man. “Oh? What do you have in mind, Master Gorazd?”
His eyes crinkled at the edges as he responded, “Well, by my count, it’s my turn in the game. So, Mistress Vengerberg, truth or dare?”
Her other brow raising to join the first in her surprise, Yennefer huffed a soft laugh before grinning wickedly. Far be it for her to back down from such a goading remark. “Go on then – give me a dare.”
Amused at the increasingly incredulous looks he was garnering from most of the boat’s occupants, Gorazd smirked.
“I dare you to kiss the prettiest person on the boat.” He replied, endlessly curious of how the tumultuous mage would respond. Given her lascivious reputation, he doubted a mere kiss would prove a challenge for Yennefer of Vengerberg. Yet, given the unsubtle looks he had noticed her giving the Rectoress thus far, he couldn’t help but wonder if she would be truthful in her desires.
Tissaia froze. Surely she had heard that wrong? The tight feeling in her chest bristled. Its surface rippling with acuminate edges.
Expectedly, Yennefer balked at the demand. “Is that all?” she laughed softly, clearly amused by the ‘propriety’ of the dare.
Yet, beneath her bravado, Yennefer paused. Fuck.
A kiss was child’s play. She had kissed throngs of men and women alike in all manner of ways over the decades. A kiss was nothing.
Except if she was honest about who it was with.
Yennefer’s throat bobbed as she swallowed around the sudden lump in it. It would be so easy to laughingly share a peck with Triss. The redhead would blush but wouldn’t mind, and - as a bonus - Sabrina would absolutely seethe over it.
It would be so easy, and yet.
And yet.
A mere glance at Gorazd confirmed Yennefer’s suspicion. He knew exactly what he was doing, damn him. For Melitele, she hoped he was the only one.
Setting aside a rather unflattering thought about interfering old men, Yennefer took a breath.
Though she hadn’t stopped it, Tissaia wasn’t even playing the game. There was every possibility that she might smite Yennefer where she sat for daring to try.
In the end, Yennefer knew this was likely her first and last chance at it. They were going to war. And while Tissaia would assuredly carry on existing, there was every chance Yennefer, herself, might perish.
She might never forgive herself if she went to her grave without even trying.
Resolved, and never one to back down from a challenge, Yennefer turned forward and said sweetly, “Sabrina, dear?”
Tissaia’s eyes widened, spine jolting ramrod straight as she nearly choked. Surely not? She had thought perhaps Triss, or even Vilgefortz - though the very thought turned Tissaia’s stomach, Yennefer had returned to Aretuza with the man - but Sabrina?
If there had been a flirtatious edge to the barbarous relationship the pair shared over their student years? The Rectoress had missed it entirely.
At Yennefer’s side, Triss, too, had gone rigid. The raven-haired mage fought the urge to roll her eyes, Honestly, Triss and Sabrina were insufferably obvious.
Sabrina, herself, had turned sharply in her seat and was staring at Yennefer incredulously. “Y-yes?” she uncharacteristically stuttered, disbelieving.
Without missing a beat, Yennefer smiled sweetly and, batting her eyelashes in faux flirtation, said clearly, “Be a dear and move, would you? I need to get to Tissaia.”
Tissaia’s heart skipped a beat as, shock overruling her, she whipped around and stared at Yennefer in stunned disbelief. What?
The boat’s occupants momentarily froze. Their stunned positions abruptly twisted to flurried movements as, with a loud splash and sputtered yelp, Vilgefortz toppled from his perch at the back of the boat in his shock.
Distantly, Tissaia was aware she ought to be aiding the others in the hurried rescue of their would-be battle expert. Despite the usual surety of her control, she could not bring herself to look away from Yennefer’s piercing gaze.
Seeing Tissaia’s shocked expression – her thin lips lightly parted, brows stretching toward her hairline and eyes so wide that Yennefer could count every peridot pebble hidden beneath the cerulean surface of their pool – Yennefer wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. Of course, she thought wryly. Of course Tissaia never realized.
The ridiculous old bag.
When the beginnings of a storm began brewing in that familiar feline gaze, Yennefer interceded before Tissaia could – invariably – twist the situation into thinking she was being mocked. Given their history, Yennefer could hardly blame her for the impulse.
Rolling her eyes in fond exasperation, Yennefer declared, “You’re insufferable, Tissaia. That doesn’t change the fact that you’re one of the most stunning women on the Continent.”
Tissaia’s disbelieving expression returned with a vengeance. Were they not otherwise preoccupied, Yennefer was sure the incredulity would be matched on many other faces around them. Unconcerned by their potential witness, Yennefer found her attention instead latched onto the enticing pale pink flush that was colouring Tissaia’s pale cheeks.
Well then, she mused, heart fluttering with fragile hope. Perhaps she was off in her estimate that Tissaia would be unaffected by any flattery.
Resisting the urge to open and close her mouth in bewilderment, Tissaia scrambled for a response to the utter insanity she was now embroiled in. Under other circumstances, she would assume this was yet another elaborate prank of Yennefer’s. A cruel mockery and jab at the prudishness the Rectoress was best known for. And yet.
And yet.
There was something in Yennefer’s violet gaze. A hope – a warmth – that Tissaia hadn’t seen since… before that dreadful meeting when Stregobor’s bigotry aimed to damn all Yennefer had worked for.
The realization struck her like a blow to the chest. Cracking the too-weak wall of ice she’d erected there all those years ago when Yennefer ran from her.
Their interaction in the foyer at Aretuza replayed itself again in Tissaia’s mind. “If you will not do it for the Brotherhood,” She’d pled. Her gaze had been shamefully beseeching as she stared into those guarded violet pools. “Then do it for me. Please.”
A last, desperate gamble. One Tissaia had forlornly assumed largely futile at the time.
And then, shockingly, Yennefer hadn’t said no. For all her haughty causticity, against all odds, Yennefer agreed.
For her, Tissaia was forced to realize abruptly. She had known, then. Had even phrased it as such, yet. It only now hit her, the truth of it.
Her long-buried emotions did not exist in solitude. Yennefer’s pain had long been hers, yes. However, somewhere along the line - Tissaia dared not speculate when or where - her pain had become Yennefer’s too.
And, like Tissaia had never been able to say no to her when it truly counted – no matter what the younger mage might say – Yennefer would never have refused her. Not this.
Oh, Tissaia thought with quiet wonder, heart rate accelerating. As she looked into the cautiously hopeful violet pools that stared beseechingly at her, Tissaia’s cheeks warmed further as realization set in. It was serious.
Yennefer wanted to kiss her.
In fact, Yennefer had, even under the pretense of circumstance, been brave enough to make the first step in closing the uncrossable chasm between them. No small feat given that neither of them was much versed in softness. Least of all with an audience, distracted as the majority of them were.
Tissaia swallowed around the sudden anxious knot in her throat. Now it was her turn to be brave.
Heart thundering against the cage of her ribs, Tissaia looked into Yennefer’s anxious gaze and said quietly, “Funny, I could say the same.”
Yennefer’s breath hitched, eyes widening.
Throat bobbing, Yennefer cautiously brushed a strand of forested hair behind Tissaia’s ear. “Then,” Yennefer began, clearing her too-dry throat and absently poking her tongue against her upper lip. “May I kiss you?” she asked, voice atypically fragile with her nerves. “Even if only for the game?”
Tissaia’s heart ached for the old pain she knew still lay in Yennefer’s heart. One she knew she had helped foster there. Well, no more. Yennefer had gotten them this far – she could get them the rest.
Tissaia’s expression softened further and she replied gently, “Darling girl, your looks never had anything to do with that.” Eager to avoid the conflict which lay down that path, Tissaia continued with all the courage she had in her heart. “As long as it is not only for this foolish game? You may.”
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Yennefer’s hands were cupping her face. In a hurried whisper, Yennefer reassured, “Tissaia, you have never been a game.” A smile warmer than any Tissaia had previously received from the raven-haired woman crossed Yennefer’s lips as she took in Tissaia’s bewildered expression.
Her thumbs brushing over the curves of Tissaia’s sharp cheekbones, Yennefer huffed a soft laugh, “You silly old bag,” She teased lightly. “You’re everything.”
Tissaia could do nothing but crash their lips together at that.
Her eyes falling shut, Tissaia brought her hands up. One cupped Yennefer’s face, the other lightly grasping one of the ropes that covered her outrageous dress. Endlessly eager, Yennefer’s lips were warm and soft as they slid against her own, coaxing and challenging in the dance they had long done.
Distantly, Tissaia was aware of the insufferably saccharine thought that she could spend hours kissing these lips.
It was as a tentative tongue probed at Tissaia’s bottom lip, requesting entrance Tissaia was entirely too tempted to grant, that they were interrupted by a delighted whoop – Coral’s work if Tissaia had to guess.
Yennefer spat a curse as they sprung apart and, for once, Tissaia couldn’t help but silently agree. Even if, logically, she knew that they did have other priorities to pursue at the moment.
As she righted herself, Tissaia blushed furiously as she realized their audience had reformed. A smattering of stunned, smug and downright scandalized faces stared back at them.
“Atta girl, Vengerberg!” Coral crowed, grinning hugely. At her side, Vanielle’s skeptical eyebrow smoothed by the small smile on her lips.
Tissaia wanted to rebuke her friends for their antics, but the elated grin on Yennefer’s face stayed her. Resisting the urge to groan, Tissaia looked back at the pair and quietly sighed. Yes, she would be hearing about this again from her friends very soon.
As her sharp gaze turned elsewhere, Tissaia stifled a snort.
If the looks Sabrina and Triss were shooting Yennefer were any indication? The raven-haired mage would be inundated with an inquest of her own. Perhaps they could console themselves in the knowledge they would be suffering together.
And oh, wasn’t that a dangerous thought? Tissaia mused. Already, she was entirely too enamoured with Yennefer. Knowing those feelings were returned? Well. In all the centuries of her life, Tissaia had never been quite so certain of her own doom.
Mores the pity that she found she had no desire to stop it.
“Well, Tissaia de Vries,” Yennefer drawled, drawing Tissaia’s attention anew, her violet eyes aglow with a mischievous light. “Truth or dare?”
Scoffing, Tissaia rolled her eyes. Still, knowing from the many looks she was getting – not least from the impetuous imp before her – that she would not be getting out of it, Tissaia drawled, “Oh, very well. Dare.”
A bold choice to offer Yennefer of Vengerberg.
Tissaia couldn’t bring herself to fear it anyway.
Smile growing impossibly wider, Yennefer said, “When we survive this? I dare you to let me take you to a Brotherhood gala – as your date.”
Tissaia blinked.
Well, she mused. That was rather a waste of a dare. She would happily have done so ages ago had they repaired their relationship before now. Although it would undoubtedly add some flair to the event, Tissaia thought wryly. Her lips threatened to twitch as she imagined Stregobor’s outrage.
Likely picturing the same, Coral cackled anew, Vanielle smirking beside her as Sabrina snorted and Triss hid a grin behind her hand. Far from sharing their amusement, Vilgefortz, still sopping wet from his unexpected swim, scowled hatefully at them. Tissaia mentally shrugged his rancour away. What men thought of her choices had never been of great concern.
Still, weary of inviting more drama, Tissaia gamely nodded and murmured her agreement to Yennefer’s dare. Eager to remove the attention from herself, the Rectoress hurriedly turned the attention elsewhere by sacrificing Sabrina to the vultures with a well-placed truth about any amorous intentions she may have toward the occupants of their group.
Sabrina, dumbfounded, had uncharacteristically sputtered as Yennefer howled with laughter and Triss’s features reddened. If the question forced the younger redhead’s attentions away from Philippa too? So much the better.
As the game resumed and their voyage carried on, Yennefer none-to-subtly leaned against her. Discretely, Tissaia leaned back, revelling in the unexpected closeness. Listening to the tentative frivolity continue behind her, Tissaia allowed herself to relent, if only privately.
Fine, she conceded, as Yennefer’s arm snuck around her waist. Maybe there is some value to this insufferable game.