Chapter Text
She doesn’t start out wanting a child. Rather the idea comes from watching others be absolute shite at it. Because Yennefer knows that she could do better, would do better if she’d just be given the chance.
True enough, she’s made noise all across the Continent. There has been little that she has not tried and absolutely nothing that has worked to restore the womb that was yanked from her body and thrown to sizzle in flames.
Improbably, she sometimes thinks she can feel the phantom sensation of it. Of it withering to black as it dies. And not one thing has done an iota to bring it back.
Tissaia had chastised her over it in Rinde. Made her feel ridiculous for chasing something that could not be done. But that was before she’d met a golden dragon. Before the golden dragon had told her that her womb was beyond saving. Before that golden dragon beckoned her forth again claiming to have something she might need.
She stands in the cave from many moons ago, looks at Borch’s sad eyes. Wonders why he cannot find happiness either, just like has eluded Yennefer most of her life.
“When last we spoke, our lesson was in loss,” the golden dragon begins. “And I fear this time, the theme is much the same.”
Yennefer spots the unhatched egg, only it no longer glows. Her heart squeezes in her chest and she feels her throat go dry. “What happened?” It comes out strangled, distorted by grief for the kind creature who she knew once upon a time.
“It seems that life is precarious at best and downright fragile at worst. The things we hope come to pass are sometimes just beautiful and lovely dreams. Like mine.” He’s in his dragon form, but Yennefer can see the melancholy in him just like she hears it with his words.
“Why call upon me then?” she wonders. Suddenly, she wants to be very far away. She should have never come at all.
“Because you understand the need for a life to have a mother. It seems these things cannot be done without someone guiding us into existence. For my dear offspring, that could never happen.”
Yennefer sniffs, anxious, upset. “I’ve lived the bulk of my life without one.” Her mind goes to Tissaia. It immediately dismisses her as such. There’s too much there to wade through. “I turned out alright.”
“You had one to lead you into the world. Maybe not since then but surely in the beginning. With my child never fluttering its eyes open, I feel my life has ceased to have meaning. Which is why I’ve called you here today once more.”
Something dark inside Yennefer prickles, a sense of foreboding. She does not like where this is headed. “Borch…”
“We breathe, our hearts beat because of what we love. Of who loves us. I have neither of those things. Dragons are even rarer since last we saw one another. I know my pairing with one is slim to none. Nor does my heart feel the want to do so. This is why I am giving it to you.” He tilts his head, watching.
“I cannot do this. No potential treatment is worth a life. This is not a give-one-get-one scenario.” Yennefer shakes her head.
“At one point, it was for you. Have you lost the part of you that wanted such? Is she not inside of you somewhere still?”
Tears form in her eyes. She becomes angry. “You act as if I’m some heathen with no regard for life. The bold, brash part of me wanted to find you for some grandiose idea. The one who I truly am would have arrived at the same result: empty arms for all eternity. You said it yourself anyway. That my womb will never recover.”
“Life is not linear, Yennefer of Vengeberg. It has loops and winding pathways. It takes us where we sometimes never intend to go. This is one such loop.” He moves slowly toward her. The cave shakes with his progress, dust billows as he settles on his belly and lays down his head. “You are a warrior woman. Take my heart as such. Draw the sword at your hip. You have my blessing.”
“This is wrong,” Yennefer cannot help the sob that escapes. She is not this woman he thinks. She absolutely cannot be. Her weapon remains untouched at her side.
Borch inches closer, nuzzles her hand with his long snout. She looks into his yellow eyes. “You saved me once. Tried to give me greater purpose and meaning. Let me do that for you now.”
Moments drag. Maybe hours. When she plunges the sword into his chest, the cry that escapes her does not resemble a human. It rattles the rock walls like the once majestic dragon who called the place home.
//
She is sitting across the chair from her but in her mind, she’s a million miles away. Her vision is blurry, unfocused. A snap shatters her reverie.
“Have I bored you to tears or are you shrinking into your proclivity to ignore whatever comes out of my mouth?” Tissaia’s look is vexing. She looks so much better with the dimeritium out of her system.
“I was thinking on something,” Yennefer answers vaguely.
“The war is all but over. I figured you, of all people, would rejoice in that,” Tissaia says tersely.
Because of what we went through. That goes unspoken. Yennefer knows though that if lungs can be cleared and eyes can be restored, perhaps it is the time for realizing the potential of what she’s gained but never used.
“I’m going to try a fertility cure,” Yennefer says airily, her look going far off again.
“Gods, not this again. Have we not been down this path before, Yennefer?” Tissaia looks exasperated. Her face is hard, annoyed.
Yennefer leans forward and whispers. “Yes, but before, I did not have the heart of a golden dragon at my disposal.”
This stills Tissaia completely. Her eyes grow worried though and Yennefer tries to ignore them altogether. Still, it feels gratifying to have Tissaia stop her berating for once. Sodden has changed things, but there is still too much not being said.
“And what is it you plan to do?” She watches the Rectoress lean back in her chair, the worry flitting from her face and passivity overtaking.
“Why, hold the ritual, of course.”
Tissaia lunges forward, both palms gripping at her desk. “This is a foolish endeavor. I don’t see why you’re so bent on it. I mean, after all this time…”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Yennefer motions her fingers open and closed like a mouth. “All dangers aside, the reward is rather worth it.”
“I’ll not let you go through with this. I cannot allow it.”
“As if you have a say at all,” Yennefer rises, indignation taking over. She steeples her fingers atop Tissaia’s desk too. “This is my life. You’ve no right to dictate it at all anymore.”
Yennefer thinks she’s pinned the woman. That she will never be able to move. That words will not form. Taking this as her cue, she spins around to leave. Before she reaches the door, Tissaia speaks in a whisper.
“At least let me be there when you do.”
Yennefer, improbably again, agrees.
//
“I do not like this,” Tissaia shakes her head and wiggles a little upon her knees that are tucked under her.
She looks perturbed, but Yennefer dismisses it. She could think of many other things that would wipe it away from her visage but she refrains, instead working to set up the candles on the floor and etch the inscriptions on the stones.
When the scrutiny of Tissaia’s eyes becomes too much, Yennefer finds herself losing patience. She slides the jar with the embalmed dragon heart over to touch Tissaia’s bent knees, adding the mortar and pestle.
“Instead of dithering about, make yourself useful,” Yennefer points. “I need that ground for the paste. Which I know you know how to make.” It’s a challenge. One Yennefer expects Tissaia to bite at.
“I said I wanted to be here when you conducted this little charade, not partake in it. And the reason this has never amounted to more than an old wives' tale is that sorceresses simply do not come into possession of such things.” Tissaia grabs the jar roughly. “And not from lack of trying.”
“Then consider me the luckiest broad to walk the land since the Convergence of Spheres,” Yennefer throws her shoulders back in mock pride.
Well, not exactly. This cure has come from great strife and heartache. It’s not lightly that Yennefer has prepared the ceremony today. The life left behind looms in the past. She feels her mood grow darker.
When Tissaia has effectively turned the muscles and sinews of the heart into a bumpy paste, she looks up warily. Yennefer already knows she knows what comes next. She shifts the gauzelike fabric of her gown upward, exposing her hips and stomach. She motions to Tissaia.
“Inscribe the ruins,” she points.
Tissaia has seemed to have zoned out. She’s holding the pestle in her hand still but had looked away as soon as Yennefer began working at her garment. This fact makes Yennefer smile a bit.
“Come on, Tissaia. We’ve got the same parts. Let’s to it,” she encourages again.
Blue eyes fix on her. “I’m quite sure my parts don’t look exactly like yours.” She huffs during the delivery but drags her fingers across the red goop and scoots closer to begin the etchings on Yennefer’s belly.
It’s odd to be touched like this and by Tissaia on top of it. Before she had even touched Yennefer though, she had moved the woman’s hands over herself. Concerned with practicing the utmost degree of modesty.
When she’s done, Yennefer watches her wipe her fingers with a rag. “Now you get on with it. I’ve not got all day.”
So Yennefer begins.
She lights the candles, speaks the words of the chant. A breeze brushes against her neck and Tissaia jerks at its arrival. Her jaw is set, but she remains silent as she observes.
It is the time of harvest,
My womb fills
The ears of grain are swollen
My womb fills
The ears of grain are splitting
It is time.
Bring forth
Bring forth
Bring forth
In the power and the love
Yennefer says the words, manifests a womb in her mind. Imagines it overflowing, full up. Can imagine the fluttering of life within it, like a tickling that can know no reprieve.
She’s so far inside of the idea that she fails to notice the breeze has turned into a wind. That from the smoke of the expended candles rises a dragon-like monstrosity that hovers over the two of them, maw opening and dripping with ether.
“Cut the link,” she hears Tissaia say in the distance. And no , this cannot be like the djinn all over again. “Dammit, Yennefer, listen for once in your life!”
Yennefer’s eyes snap open to see the dragon creature of smoke and mist hovering over her, only to have it dive at her gut a split second later. It feels as if her insides are clenching, twisting up into tangles of themselves. The scream she lets out is ear-splitting.
Not again.
~No, not again.
It comes to Yennefer telepathically. She works through the pain and tears to look upon Tissaia. She lurches over in agony. “Stop whatever it is you plan on doing!” Yennefer tries to stop her with an upheld hand.
“It’s not working!” Tissaia cries and flails wildly, miming to Yennefer doubled over.
“It could be restoring my womb, mending it!”
Her head is jerked up roughly, fingers pressing angrily into her jaw. She stares into Tissaia’s eyes. They are so blue…
“It’s not and you will die if you do not let go of this right now!”
Before she can scream out for Tissaia to stop, she hears the woman speaking words in Elder and sees her fingertips begin to dance. Yennefer lunges, feels the substance on her belly smear onto Tissaia’s dress as she tackles the Rectoress sloppily.
The candles roll over and a growling burst of air sends a shock wave out into the room. Yennefer is left writhing on the ground in recovery. Tissaia looks equally affected.
Her eyes are wide and mouth agape. Yennefer cuts her off through tears. “What the fuck did you do?”
Tissaia sits up quickly, pawing at her dress. At her abdomen. Repeating ‘no’ over and over again. Yennefer wipes her eyes and fixes her dress that has slipped off her body some. Apprehension begins to spread.
“Tissaia…”
“I knew I should have never let you go through with this!” Tissaia yells and rises from the ground shakily.
“What just happened?” She’s wary now. She almost knows the answer. “Please tell me you aren’t in possession of your womb.””
Tissaia looks stricken. Her hand goes to her forehead. Her words come out pained. “It was not required of women when I was enchanted.”
Oh no.
Yennefer’s eyes flit to the woman’s belly. She gets up now and walks to where Tissaia stands, clearly distraught. Heedless, she reaches out and touches the woman’s gut.
“Did I just get you pregnant?” It’s the stupidest fucking question she’s ever asked. That’s if the answer were anything different.
“It would appear that way.”
Yennefer falls to her knees, presses her face into the woman’s stomach. Maybe she weeps for a myriad of reasons.
//
The first thing either of them speaks isn’t pleasant. Yennefer looks up with tear-stained cheeks. Her heart aches with what she’s about to offer.
“I know...remedies. I brewed many with Queen Kalis when she was with a female child.” It hurts to even suggest this. “We can take care of this quickly and efficiently.
“Yennefer,” Tissaia says in anguish. “I cannot.”
She falls to her knees then. They both cry and hold onto one another for dear life.
//
“I mean, is this even biologically possible? Aren’t you older than the Mahakam hills?” Yennefer tries to reason through what’s happened. She’s bargaining to make it make sense.
“Just because I’m older than you doesn’t mean I have withered beyond usefulness,” Tissaia retorts.
Yennefer stops pacing and puts her hands on her hips. “I know actually telling me your age in mage years will prove useless. But what would the equivalent be in human ones?”
The woman looks introspective then turns to Yennefer with a resigned face. “Forty-one.”
“Oh, fuck.” Yennefer slumps a little.
“Yes, precisely that.” The room goes quiet again.
//
It grows. For a woman who never even had a scare of it, never even knew her body could be a vessel for life, it grows.
Yennefer hangs around. Makes Aretuza her home again. Or maybe for the first time. The past is a bit of a gray cloud, so Yennefer doesn’t dwell too much on the semantics of it. Or of the fact that she cannot bear to think of leaving Tissaia in her current state: very with child and very much Yennefer’s doing.
She’d call it fault, but she’s had weeks to get used to the idea of not carrying a child. Of never feeling a womb holding life. Even though she’s likely to never encounter another dragon heart as long as she lives (nor a golden one at that) she’s had time to rearrange the anger. To have it become something else.
A rare thing starts to form, even rarer than the child that grows in Tissaia’s belly or the dragon heart that created it. Yennefer could be incredibly bitter, uncompromisingly jaded. The old her certainly would have been. Seeming to vanish with the tears though, so too did the idea of hating Tissaia for once again rearranging Yennefer’s life.
Maybe Yennefer rearranges it herself as Tissaia’s body bears the markers of the life within, as it swells. Yennefer watches silently as the woman still holds to her Rectoress duties, still holds classes. Only she places a glamour over her, hiding the secret that belongs to her and Yennefer alone.
Either way, Yennefer stays. Aretuzan life becomes like a second skin. If anyone wonders about her presence, they never utter it. Perhaps she dreams of other skin she would like to know. She stops herself from wallowing in it.
She’s happy. That feeling is most precious.
//
“We need to make arrangements,” Yennefer scrutinizes Tissaia’s very round stomach. A grape rolls to the edge of a platter. Yennefer flicks it into the nearby fire with impeccable aim.
Tissaia makes a sound through her nose at the act but then places her hands atop herself again, gently rubbing. Yennefer watches the path of her hands. Feels the tugging urge, so she reaches out to slowly push aside where the small palms rest.
This is something not new, but it feels like it every time. Tissaia lets Yennefer touch her like this now, lets Yennefer press her fingers along the indentations created with a foot and an elbow rippling flesh.
Less than a handful of times, she’s even let Yennefer brush against the bare skin of her after a bath or between dressing. To touch the undulating movement as the life below twists around.
“What does it feel like?” Yennefer leans even more forward and presses her lips to Tissaia’s belly. It’s an act she knows she can get away with because of the fabric in between her mouth and Tissaia’s flesh. Something she would never accomplish if Tissaia were only draped in a dressing gown across her breasts and private area.
Tissaia addresses Yennefer’s question and not her first comment. “Like my life force is being drained from the inside,” she says wearily but then smiles. “But also unlike anything I have reference to explain. The way it moves, the effect it has on my body. Not unlike chaos swirling but both rougher and more gentle at the same time.” She shakes her head. “It’s bizarre, really, the quickening.”
Not for the first time, Yennefer feels like apologizing. Again. Because she can never release the guilt she feels over pushing for something that ended up like this.
“I’m sure,” Yennefer agrees, no frame of reference from within herself either.
“I haven’t forgotten your word choice from a moment ago either,” Tissaia reminds.
Yennefer waits, ready with a glowering look. She pushes away from Tissaia’s body and sits back in her chair. “Do you have an aversion to me including myself in your upcoming event?” She’s sure the chastisement is forthcoming.
The clouds part and there is only sun. Tissaia leans in now, works to hold Yennefer’s hand. “Anything but.” It’s the most sincere thing she’s ever heard Tissaia speak.
//
They agree to let Yennefer go ahead to make preparations for the upcoming birth. While being far from a nurse, Yennefer knows she’s quite skilled at potions and other remedies to ease pain.
The actual baby part, well, might prove a harder experience. She’s made sure to acquire the supplies potentially needed—something to sever the umbilical, warm blankets in abundance, towels, and other thickly bolted cloth to staunch any bleeding. Wood sits in the hearth and the windows have been covered to darken the room.
The dwelling is hidden as well as can be expected, not many making their way into the Temerian swamps other than a small village of brick makers nearby, some druids, a visiting dryad upon occasion, and a ragtag group of Scoia'tael.
Tissaia had frowned at the location, but Yennefer had to ensure that very few would even want to venture in search of them, much less through a forest of bogs. If Yennefer is any indicator, the place of one's birth has little bearing on who they become though. No doubt, the child will have a life not tied to what Yennefer sees out of the door.
Her thoughts go to the hard-headed woman still walking the Aretuzan halls instead of laying in. Yennefer kicks at the birthing stool a little, rearranging it with her feet. She hopes that the Rectoress sticks to their agreement. Dragging her through a portal by her high collar isn’t something Yennefer wants to do.
She ends up falling asleep, a deep and dreamless slumber. A faint nudge at her cheek pulls her out after a while and she brings a hand to her chest, eyes still bleary but knowing who stands before her.
It seems there will be no theatrics, thankfully. Tissaia is finally here. Yennefer falls back onto the bed again, reaches out a hand to caress Tissaia’s belly.
//
The Rectoress goes into labor the fourth day and Yennefer, despite being prepared, is a ball of nerves. She keeps cool cloths pressed to the woman’s head, she brings water to her lips for small sips.
The room is dark and warm, what some might even call cozy. But Yennefer feels on edge every time Tissaia tries to suppress a groan but fails.
“Try breathing in and out slowly. Push yourself to the other side of your pain with measured breaths,” Yennefer tries.
“Oh, how lovely a suggestion, Yennefer. Whatever would I do without your astute observations and wisdom?” Tissaia spits out venomously during a pained contraction. When she falls over onto the bed, spent, her eyes go glassy and remorseful. “I’m sorry. It feels like I’m being ripped apart from the inside.”
Yennefer glances at the birthing stool, thinks of suggesting it but goes against the idea. Instead, she walks to Tissaia’s feet, taps on a knee lightly. “I need to check,” she mutters. She’s done it by feel alone so far but as quickly as Tissaia’s abdomen splitting pain arrives, it is past that point.
While Tissaia looks mortified, she also knows that if this is to work, she’s got to forgo some of her modesty. She nods and closes her eyes tightly, tensing a little as Yennefer pools her gown at her knees.
“It doesn’t look like normal,” Yennefer offers for zero reason at all and with a grimace. “If you’re worried about me finding this alluring in any way.”
“I’d never dream of suggesting,” the woman sarcastically replies and then actually lets out a wail.
It splits Yennefer into. Without thinking, she moves the stool to the side and makes her way behind Tissaia, encouraging her to mirror her position. She sends her a questioning look as Yennefer places a hand on her stomach and another below.
“Use me to work through your pain. I will hold you through it,” Yennefer soothes quietly.
The technique is called cradling and often performed by midwives. Yennefer isn’t sure she’s doing it right, but Tissaia seems to be calming some as the contractions come and go.
It’s peculiar to hold Tissaia like this, closer than they’ve ever been. Yennefer alternates between brushing at Tissaia’s disheveled braid, pressing her forehead to the back of her head as she whimpers.
There had been Sodden, a brief flash of affection on Tissaia’s part when she had cupped Yennefer’s cheek. A reciprocation of something similar when Yennefer had brought their foreheads together.
This is that times a thousand more, Tissaia in every sense. She is absolutely everywhere.
“It’s time to push.” Yennefer leads her through it, listens to every cry ripping from Tissaia’s throat and burrowing in her heart.
Yennefer loses sight of time, feels the press of life against her fingers. Her pulse speeds up the further along things go.
With a cry, Tissaia lurches forward and another faint, then ear-splitting cry fills the room. Yennefer grabs the blankets and gently lays Tissaia down as she moves to clean off the babe.
Simply put, she’s perfect. All flushed skin and gnawing on a fist, Yennefer marvels at the shock of dark hair and the blue-gray of the child’s eyes. With a snipping motion, she moves to clean off the little girl and cradles her in her arms while also putting towels under Tissaia.
“Give me a moment,” Yennefer tells her and deposits the baby in a waiting crib while speaking a minor healing enchantment to mend Tissaia’s body. Lowering her gown, she covers her in blankets again and retrieves the child.
Does she think of her as a daughter? Yennefer has to wonder. Ever since the botched fertility ceremony on herself, on asking if Tissaia wanted to terminate what had been done, she’s of no nevermind to know how anything will play out.
The future is as open as the vast sky, as endless as the expansive sea. She finds herself crying as she wraps the girl in Tissaia’s embrace.
//
The moments after handing Tissaia the child are filled with uncertainty. Yennefer has felt wholly present throughout everything but now, it’s as if she’s an outsider looking in.
She stands awkwardly to the side, watching Tissaia nurse the youngling. Even though part of her heart feels full, the other feels out of place. Both dueling emotions swell her up.
Tissaia raises her head from watching the girl suckle and a smile spreads across her lips. She holds out a hand and motions Yennefer forward. As if tugged by an invisible string, Yennefer edges near them both and sits gingerly on the side of the bed.
She doesn’t know how to fill the silence, the peace seeming to come from the lack of anything being said. But Yennefer’s thoughts are chaotic in her own mind and she must let down the barrier without meaning to.
“Yennefer…” Tissaia‘s eyes go soft and she sighs.
The thing about being full up is that when it overflows, it must go somewhere. It has to be this that propels her forward, has her softly touching Tissaia’s elbow with her right hand, and kissing her softly for the very first time.
A kiss that pushes its way forth because of the way Tissaia looks holding the baby, for the neverending remorse Yennefer feels for putting Tissaia through this in the first place, for the absolute magic the woman radiates at having brought forth a life in the world.
I want to be a part of it, of this , Yennefer thinks as she backs away. In some version of reality, still a mother to a child she helped create.
“Should I apologize?” she has the wherewithal to ask, lips still connected to Tissaia’s as she speaks.
“No,” is the serene answer.
//
Days pass and the cycle stays such. Sleep, feed, change. Tissaia is uncharacteristically good-natured to let Yennefer take over the baby while she rests, drawing Yennefer in to feel included when she’s awake to take care of the child.
Which is ridiculous, that Yennefer was ever feeling omitted. Again, she is a split of knowing this isn’t her life and wanting it to be anyway. It feels wrong to have the yearning, of wanting Tissaia to envelop her into the fold.
“Will you give her a name?” Yennefer ponders aloud.
She watches the clouds form on Tissaia’s face. There’s a wistful quality to it too, an almost palpable sadness passing as well.
“We both know that I’m not the mothering type.” With this, she brings her eyes to lock on Yennefer’s. She wants her to understand.
And at one point in time, Yennefer would have agreed. At one point, she had faced a golden dragon and had the thought flit through her mind, only to dismiss it immediately. Because even though she was on the brink of adulthood, Yennefer still needed some kind of guidance, which Tissaia provided.
“There are more roles to the world, more dynamics that exist, than that of mother and child. Titles matter little. It’s actions that end up speaking the loudest.”
“But I failed to nurture you in the way you required,” Tissaia sounds regretful.
“Yes,” Yennefer concedes slowly but not with malice. “But you made me into the woman I needed to be to survive. Somehow, that is greater than love.”
Tissaia motions with her hand and brings their heads together gently. “But I do love you, Yennefer. In ways that I cannot even begin to fathom. In a way that cannot be explained with words.”
And then Tissaia kisses her, deep and full of the things they’ve never said. Yennefer grips her shoulder and opens her lips, allowing for more in-depth exploration. It becomes heated, on the brink of being contained. They’re in no shape to find out right now. These things must wait for another day.
“You finished raising me, Tissaia.”
“You raised yourself. You pushed past every boundary I set for you and became the most powerful woman I know,” Tissaia leans forward and kisses her again.
Because this is a thing, kissing between the two of them. Yennefer wonders about this, of the world to come with them in it.
“Which is why I must ask the world of you now because I think of you as the center of mine. And the girl too,” Tissaia’s face looks afflicted, as if she’s afraid of how Yennefer will respond. “I cannot keep her, Yennefer.”
Everything slams to a halt.
“Which is why…” Tissaia grips Yennefer’s cheek, makes her lift her head. “I need you to be her mother.” She sighs. “The depth of my heart will forever contain her, having carried her, but I know I will not truly lose her if you bring her up right. I trust you with this. You will teach her to be a strong woman.”
“She is to be mine then,” Yennefer tries to work through what’s happening, the way she has not been able to predict a singular thing in her life so far.
“As long as Aretuza stands, as long as I do, I am its face. It is where I must be. But nearby, I want you to raise our daughter, Yennefer.”
The choice of words Tissaia has used sticks inside of her like thick honey, sweet, and beautifully shining. Our daughter, Tissaia has said. For the first time in all of her life, she understands the meaning of home. Of it being in people, not places. Home is wherever love exists and Yennefer has never felt the likes of such in all of her life.
“Okay then.” Yennefer takes the girl from Tissaia’s arms, tries to arrive at the fact that she is responsible now for the life in her arms. “Truda,” she expels out, “our little warrior woman.”
Tissaia closes her eyes in reverence at the name. Yennefer has done well, it seems. Finally.
“You’re sure about this?” Yennefer can’t help but ask.
“Oh, my dearest of hearts. I am adamant about it.” A smile tugs at the corner of her lips, an eyebrow raised. “Besides, I will get her again someday.”
Yennefer can’t help that grin that breaks across her face too. You have magic, little one, Yennefer leans against Truda’s small head and places a kiss there.
It seems that for all of her searching, all of the agony and strife, Yennefer has finally found her peace—in a child that was never supposed to be and in the only constant her life has ever had, Tissaia de Vries.