Chapter Text
Lambert
Lambert always kept his back to the wall.
No matter the establishment, the witcher always found a corner chair and sat facing the door. He did it unconsciously ever since the sacking of Kaer Morhen. It was instinct. A protective measure.
But lately, it had become something more. It allowed him to be fully present for his favorite moment.
To the other people in the tavern, Lambert looked pleasantly distracted. Casual. He sipped his ale slowly, nose hovering over the familiar scent. But his eyes never left the door.
He heard the peal of laughter before the door even opened. He hadn’t heard that sound in months, and it had a profound effect on him. However, to the untrained eye, nothing changed about his expression. He lowered his cup onto the table and sat back, crossing his arms under his chest.
The door banged open and a hurricane blew into the tavern. The hurricane was tall and lean and had eyes so black that they looked like pitch. Even clad in a full set of armor, he moved gracefully.
Lambert’s steadfast attention would pay off now. He watched carefully, barely breathing, as the man swept his eyes around the tavern.
There was something unavoidably honest about a person who is unaware that he is being watched. Lambert liked that. He could trust it. He could trust the eagerness in the man’s eyes. The hope. The need. The anticipation of him.
Truthfully, Lambert loved the next moment too. It was the moment the man’s eyes fell on him and his face ignited in joy. It was just a spark, pushing back the dark for a moment. It was real too. You couldn’t fake that. You just couldn’t.
Lambert didn’t hate the charming, rakish grin that spread across the man’s face in its wake. The barking laughter. He didn’t hate the “There he is!” nor the way the man loped across the tavern, now swaggering for his audience of one.
But he loved everything else.
Lambert lifted his chin casually. “Hey.”
“Aaaah, come on.” Aiden held his arms wide, motioning Lambert to stand and embrace him.
Lambert smothered a smile and stood. He slotted himself between his arms and embraced him, slapping his back with gusto.
“It’s good to see you, Lamb.”
“I know it is. I’m magnificent.”
Aiden squeezed him so tight that he wheezed. Lambert inhaled his scent as he gulped in his breath and basked in the warmth of his body for a short moment. Then he grunted and pulled back, nodding at the second ale on the table.
“Thanks,” grinned Aiden. He pulled at the fingers of his gloves taking one off with his glinting teeth, and then the other. By the time he folded himself into the chair across from Lambert, he had shed half his armor. His arms were bare and his hands lay relaxed on his knees. As always, he had rings on half his fingers.
Lambert tried not to let his eyes slide up his forearms and biceps. That cat armor was going to be the death of him. Aiden had no such compunction. His eyes searched Lambert with enthusiasm. Lambert could feel his cheeks heating.
“How goes it, my friend?” Aiden’s eyes brimmed with fondness. They were also lined with ink black kohl, which always made Lambert feel a little funny. The way the black set off his golden feline eyes, the way his thick black eyebrows framed them, it always drew Lambert in. The familiar sight of his scar, running from his forehead through his eyebrow, was comforting. It was on the opposite side of Lambert’s scar. When they faced each other, their scars were mirrors.
Lambert shrugged.
There was a lot he could tell Aiden. He didn’t even need to reveal how Aiden made him feel. He could just share something about his life. He could tell him what he was struggling with at the moment. Lambert was on the cusp of his annual return to Kaer Morhen, and it always made him anxious. He’d been stewing about it all week. It was just infuriating that the only people he loved and the only place he loathed could not be separated. He felt so conflicted that it made him hard to live with all winter. He didn’t know what to do about it.
He could have opened up. Lambert didn’t generally hold back anything he had to say, and Aiden was so easy to talk to.
But he didn’t say anything.
Silence was one of many ways that Lambert held Aiden at bay. Lambert knew. He was old enough to understand a few things about himself. The problem was trust.
It wasn’t that he doubted Aiden specifically, and it wasn’t because Aiden was a cat witcher. Lambert had heard what people said about Cat witchers, that they were mercurial, unpredictable, and unreliable. That the trials screwed them up. But fuck that. That kind of talk about witchers always stoked Lambert’s ever present flame of rage until it licked its way up his belly.
Lambert wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like he was so proud of being a witcher. It wasn’t like he had school spirit or some shit. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t take a ribbing. But that was different. It was bad enough they’d been herded into the laboratories before they were old enough to understand what they were agreeing to, but...ah, nevermind that.
Lambert averted his eyes and shifted in his chair. He took a swig of ale and willed his pulse to slow before he spoke. “Fine. Same shit, different day, man.”
Aiden took a drink of his ale to distract Lambert from the fact that the sparkle in his eyes dimmed momentarily.
No, it wasn’t Aiden. It was just Lambert, holding open the last bit of space between them in countless small ways. It was better that way. Lambert already had friends. He had Geralt, Eskel, and Cöen. What kind of person needed more than three friends?
But Aiden was something different than a friend. Yes, he was a friend. He listened to Lambert. He had his back. He looked out for him. But there was something else blossoming between them, behind every glance, silence, and ‘accidental’ meeting. Lambert could feel himself lean towards it. Yearn for it. Want it. He always managed to resist the impulse.
Aiden wouldn’t be just a fuck, and Lambert wasn’t the kind of man for half measures. When he gave, he gave everything that he had and more. Lambert wasn’t willing to cross that boundary. To lose himself.
But these days, whenever Lambert warded Aiden off in some way, he felt hollow. Like shit. Like right now.
Fuck. Well. Maybe tonight would be different. Tonight, if he could get the guts, he would invite Aiden to winter with him at Kaer Morhen. It was a little like proposing marriage to someone you hadn’t even kissed yet. But he knew that it would help Aiden, so it was the step he was most able to take.
As much as Lambert dreaded going to Kaer Morhen, he knew he was lucky to have it when the snow blanketed the continent. Not every witcher had a sturdy stronghold with food storage, livestock, and plenty of firewood to get through the winter. Aiden was like most other witchers. Unless he wanted to brave the elements, he had to struggle to make enough coin to pay for lodging all winter.
Lambert also knew that he was lucky to belong to a school that operated like a family, cooperating and pooling resources to survive. Aiden definitely didn’t. Not that he talked much about his school, but Lambert knew how to read between the lines. There was something dark there, lurking behind his silences.
Aiden deserved better. Lambert had known him to give a hungry person his last piece of bread. It wasn’t right that the world didn’t return his magnanimity. Last winter, it had nearly ripped his heart out to walk away from Aiden and leave him in that barn. He had felt like warmed over shit all winter. Never again. It was time to go home, and to bring Aiden with him.
Lambert hadn’t discussed it with the others yet, but Geralt, Cöen, and Eskel would be fine with it. His family was a ragtag crew of misfits themselves, and they had a tendency to take in strays. Hell, Geralt had just shown up one day with a Source, a lit bomb that half the continent wanted to get their hands on. Lambert and Eskel had offered a few half hearted objections...Really? A princess? In this place? You sure? But Geralt said that he was sure, and that had been that. And now look at them. Uncles.
Aiden wasn’t Ciri. That was true. Unlike cat witchers, princesses weren’t infamous for taking human contracts. But the others understood that guilt by association was bullshit. Geralt was in love with a vampire. Eskel took up with succubi. Neither vampires nor succubi had stellar reputations for leaving human beings intact.
There was also the matter of historical animosity between their schools, and for good reason. Lambert expected some weird tension at first. But it wasn’t a deal breaker. Cats hadn’t been the only ones to sell them out. Mages had too. A siege on Kaer Morhen wouldn’t have been possible without magic, and a lot of it. Yet Geralt had fucked every mage from here to the North Sea before he’d settled down with Regis. Lambert would be happy to bring that up if the topic arose.
And whether Vesemir would care, well, he didn’t give a rat’s ass about that. He dared the old man to say a word.
He wouldn’t, though. He knew he wouldn’t.
“You’ve been staring at your beer for a full minute, Lamb.”
Lambert blinked and looked up.
Aiden’s face was pinched in concern. “What’s on your mind?”
Well. It was now or never. Lambert cleared his throat and leaned forward. Aiden leaned in too. He did that. He never wanted to miss anything Lambert had to say.
But just then, the door to the tavern opened and Geralt of Rivia walked in, white hair gleaming and silver studs sparkling. He was early. Normally, Lambert would have relaxed at the sight of him. It was always good to see him after a long season apart. But when he raised his arm to hail him, he caught sight of his face.
Geralt’s eyes were glassy with grief. A twisted grimace hardened his features. His movements were jerky and stiff, as though he had ridden all night and day. He was breathing hard, and even from across the tavern, Lambert could smell the sweat.
Shit. Lambert had gotten enough bad news in his life to know what it looked like. Geralt had an even temper, until he didn’t. It took a great deal to push him to this kind of state. Lambert could poke and prod at him. He could tease and provoke him relentlessly. Geralt would just roll his eyes and grunt. No, it took something stupendously awful to put this kind of look on his face. Bad news was incoming, alright. Lambert just hoped nobody was dead.
“Geralt!” he called out, waving his arms. Geralt stomped over, not seeming to see anyone else in the tavern, bumping an annoyed server as he walked.
He came to a wobbly stop directly in front of Lambert. Lambert put a hand on his shoulder to steady him. “Geralt, brother, what’s--”
Geralt turned a furious gaze towards Aiden. Lambert hadn’t expected that.
“I was hoping you’d be here with your cat.”
Geralt said it with a little too much disdain.
Lambert felt something harden inside of him. He let his hand drop from Geralt’s shoulder, the prospect of horrible news temporarily forgotten. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Geralt balled up his hands into fists and now that he was close, Lambert could see that his eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with a sickly pink. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Lambert pulled one of Geralt’s shoulders, spinning him back around. He forced Geralt to meet his eyes. “Geralt! What the fuck is going on?”
Hearing his name snapped Geralt’s eyes into focus on Lambert. He exhaled, making a strained attempt to calm himself. He scrubbed a hand across his face. “I got a piece of intelligence. A kill contract was put out on someone very dear to me--”
“Shit,” Lambert breathed.
Geralt turned back towards Aiden. “--and a cat has accepted it.”
Lambert looked helplessly at Aiden, whose face had grown carefully, defensively, blank. He knew Aiden would never take a human contract. This was all a big misunderstanding. Lambert defaulted to his usual method of dispelling tension.
“You sure? Where’d you get this intelligence, huh? From the poet? Well, I’d never put intelligence and Dandelion in the same sentence.” He snorted a laugh but neither Geralt nor Aiden were laughing.
Fuck.
“It’s Nenneke.” Geralt’s voice trembled.
Lambert went cold. Not Nenneke. Not the priestess they had known since they were children. Not the woman who defended Geralt against bigoted clerics and arrogant knights looking to cleanse their land of mutants. He scoffed. “Who the hell would want to harm Nenneke?”
“Plenty of people. She’s involved in the war effort now, sending her girls as healers. But they heal anyone, from any side, despite being ordered to leave Nilfgaardians and Scoia'tael to die. Nenneke doesn’t let go of her morals so easily, and she doesn’t take orders well. My guess is, some Northern king put out the contract.”
“But, Geralt. Still. The cats wouldn’t take a contract on a priestess. An innocent woman. A healer.”
“Oh, wouldn’t they?”
Lambert was growing ill just thinking about it. He looked to Aiden for support, but when he saw Aiden’s face, his heart sank like a stone. Aiden did not look confused. There was recognition in his eyes. A hint of panic.
He knew.
“Aiden...” Lambert began.
“I told you,” said Geralt. “It’s reliable. Look at him, he knows.”
Anger spiked in Lambert. He whirled on Geralt. “So what, you just come find the only cat you know? Why? It isn’t him, Aiden would never...”
“I didn’t. Of course not, I would never--” Aiden began.
“But you didn’t tell Lambert, did you?” Geralt cut him off. He finally looked at Aiden, piercingly. “You know how much she means to us. To me. Everyone does. And you didn’t tell him. And now I’m a step behind whoever this is, and the difference could be her life.”
Aiden met Geralt’s eyes, but kept his expression carefully blank. Lambert wanted him to deny it, even though it would have been a lie. Aiden hadn’t told him. But for some reason, he couldn’t stand the idea of Geralt thinking poorly of Aiden. Aiden admired Geralt. He had never said it in so many words, but whenever he spoke of him, he sounded practically reverent. Lambert often took great pains to assure him that the great hero of the continent did indeed shit and fart and talk with food stuck in his teeth, and sing as off-key as a drunken donkey.
Just deny it, he thought. I won’t rat you out.
“It’s not enough not to be a murderer,” continued Geralt, voice growing tight with anger. “You don’t get a godsdamn prize for that. If you just stand by---if you don’t talk to your own fucking family---” Geralt’s voice crested with emotion and then it cut off as he fought for control of himself. Then he whispered, “How is that different?”
Aiden fiddled with the handle of his mug, and his eyes glazed over.
“Aiden,” Lambert said softly, like he was soothing a startled feral animal.
“He may not be a murderer--”
“He isn’t.”
“But he protects them.”
Aiden looked at Lambert pleadingly, eyes darting from him to Geralt, and his lips dropped open. Lambert waited, looking at him intently, praying for a perfectly good explanation. But Aiden only seemed at a loss. He closed his lips again.
Lambert wanted to scream. He wanted to punch Geralt. He wanted to fucking turn over the table. He wanted to slit the throat of whoever took that contract. He wanted to...he didn’t know what he wanted. But he thought of Nenneke still and dead on the end of a sword. He thought of Geralt’s anguished face. It was too much. The ache he felt almost doubled him over.
Aiden stood so fast his chair fell over backwards. Geralt flinched, but didn’t move towards him. Lambert knew that he wanted to. He could feel Geralt’s body tight as a bowstring next to him. He wanted to scruff Aiden and interrogate him. The people in the tavern were watching them now. Three witchers arguing was a threat to their peace, as well as the structural integrity of their tavern.
“I have to go,” Aiden whispered.
Lambert didn’t say a word. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t felt this helpless and stuck between two people in a very long time. It made him feel like a child. He hated it. But Nenneke was in danger, and nothing turned Geralt into a feral creature faster than someone he loved being threatened. This was an extremely delicate moment that could go very, very wrong.
“See you around, Lamb.” Aiden looked down and began to gather his belongings.
Geralt did step forward then, but Lambert threw out an arm to stop him. Geralt could have pushed past his arm. But he looked at Lambert instead. Lambert mouthed the word, “Please.”
Geralt fists clenched and his muscles strained, but he didn’t move.
In a few rapid, messy motions, Aiden grabbed all of his belongings and swept out like a gale, shattering Lambert’s heart to bits.
Lambert and Geralt stood by the table, now empty except for two half-full cups of ale. They stared at the door, as though watching the ghost of Aiden recede into memory.
“I’m going to the temple,” said Geralt, his voice catching. He swallowed hard. “And I have to leave right now. Are you gonna help me or not?”
Lambert had to root himself to the floor not to chase Aiden. He turned to face Geralt.
“Fuck you, course I am.”
Aiden
Dark clouds curled up from the horizon, spreading across the night sky. Aiden stole rapidly through the streets, propelled by rage that curled off him like steam. He was so angry he felt dull and disconnected, like someone else’s body carried him through the shadows in silence.
When he arrived at the old stable in the dark alley, he was up a wall, through a window, and had the sleeping man by his collar in the blink of an eye.
The smaller man jerked awake and his narrow set eyes widened in shock. When he realized it was Aiden, he relaxed back onto his rolled up jacket and let out a relieved trembling sigh.
“Aiden, t’fuck,” he snorted, his breath visible in the cold night air, “you scared the shit out of me.”
Aiden’s eyes blazed and his hands tightened on the man’s shirt. “You fucking lied to me,” he hissed. “You told me you wouldn’t take the contract. You told me that nobody would. You said it was over.”
The man groaned and gripped Aiden’s forearms, trying to detach him. “Aid. What the fuck. You’ve lost it, get off me.” He tried to push Aiden off, but was still clumsy with sleep. Aiden only tightened his grip.
“You lied to me,” Aiden repeated.
Gaetan jerked up and shoved hard this time. Aiden tipped backwards and sat down hard. The mattress was little more than straw, so it crunched as he landed.
The tiny loft above the stables was the cheapest lodgings a person could rent within a ten town radius. It smelled like musty straw and horse shit, but it didn’t leak when it rained. Aiden had stayed here more than once, waiting out the winter.
Gaetan straightened his crinkled collar with a huff. “I didn’t lie, Aiden,” he hissed. “I’m not killing a priestess. Not of Melitele. Every woman in my family up to my great-great-gran would disown me. Thrash me too.”
Gaetan was one of the few witchers who still knew his biological family.
Aiden was cooling down but not ready to relent. He peered at him through the shadows, eyes glowing. It would’ve unnerved anyone who wasn’t a witcher. “I just got word that a cat took the contract.”
The first drops of rain began to plink onto the metal roof and slide onto the cobblestones below.
Gaetan groaned. “Is that what this is about? Is that all? This can wait til I’ve fucking slept, asshole. I drank half the tavern at lunchtime.” He tried to lay back down, grabbing a handful of a faded patchwork quilt and attempting to pull it over his face.
Aiden yanked it away. “This can’t wait.”
Gaetan sighed, very put upon. “Fine.” He nudged Aiden to the side. “Move. Now that you woke me up I need to take a piss.”
He stood over the open trapdoor to the stables below and started to piss. The smell of urine cut into the stale scents of the stable. He spoke to Aiden as he relieved himself. “Why the hell do you care anyway? You didn’t take the contract. I didn’t take the contract. So, it’s none of your business. What’s she, your mother? Or has your bleeding heart finally busted a stitch?” He finished, let his nightshirt back down, and turned to walk back towards the mattress.
Aiden stood and crowded him again. “Who. Took. The contract?”
Gaetan shoved Aiden again. It wasn’t aggressive. But it was firm and Aiden decided not to fight it. He let the backs of his legs hit the mattress and he sat again.
“Calm the fuck down, alright? Don’t make me beat your narrow ass. I told you. It’s too late for this shit. And I dunno. I didn’t think anyone took the contract.”
A goat bleated below them somewhere in the gloom.
“Did you mention it to anyone?” Aiden was up now and pacing, the floorboards creaking in a soft complaint. “Maybe somebody heard you running your mouth and decided to take the contract instead. What have you done the last few days? Where have you been this week?”
Gaetan plopped back down on the bed. “I hate you for making me think this late.”
“Think.”
Gaetan tilted his head and narrowed his eyes in thought. “Um, I went to the cobbler yesterday.”
“Before that. Where were you before? Last week.”
“I was in Tretogor. I didn’t do anything. Just the usual. The tavern and the brothel.”
Aiden crossed his arms and leaned in. “Which. Brothel.”
“The Black Lily.”
“The Black Lily? The one run by Selyse? Selyse, who spies on her clients and feeds intel to fucking Jad?”
“She does?”
“She does.” Aiden rubbed his temples. “Godsdamnit..”
Gaetan pulled the threadbare quilt over him. He yawned. “That flaming cunt Karadin isn’t even one of us anymore. So, a cat didn’t take the contract.”
“Try telling anyone else that. He’s still gonna drag our name through slop all over the continent.”
“He’s a real piece of shit. We can agree on that.” Gaetan burrowed into his jacket.
Aiden smacked him gently on the leg. “Alright. Come on. We know where to find him.”
Gaetan lifted his head again, and his eyes widened. “You’re going back there? You?” He was incredulous.
Aiden was already preoccupied, his mind far away. He was calculating how fast he could get to Jad, so he wasn’t listening anymore. “You coming or what?”
Gaetan snorted, then shook his head. “Fuck you, Aiden. What do I look like, some kind of knight errant? You’re not pulling me in on some harebrained scheme again. Like when you had me stealing milk from the kitchens so you could nurse that litter of filthy sick kittens. I got my hide tanned for that.”
Aiden narrowed his eyes. “Are you ever gonna stop bringing that shit up?”
Gaetan stretched luxuriously. “Nope.”
“Come on. Get your ass up.”
“Fuck off, Aiden. Fuck. Off.”
Gaetan’s witcher vision allowed him to see Aiden’s final response with perfect clarity. Aiden held up one middle finger as he jumped out the window, swung off the ledge with one hand, and dropped light as a feather into a puddle below.
-----
Aiden rode hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound of hooves clattered in his ear and rough mane lashed his hands. His hood was pulled as far down as it would go, shielding him from the worst of the rain.
The witcher was still in a frenzy. He had a plan, but it was vague and despite his productive conversation with Gaetan, he was still hopped up on rage. He thought about how he would sneak into the hideout, and decided to just check the broken back window. With any luck, they hadn’t fixed it. Plan B was to break down the door.
Once he decided on a strategy, Aiden’s mind wandered back to the tavern. He remembered the wounded look on Lambert’s face and guilt flooded him.
Fuck. Fuck, fucking fuck.
Aiden had managed to convince himself that Lambert was beginning to relax around him. To trust him. He had even begun to allow himself fantasies about how Lambert’s compact, wiry body would feel pressed against his. How his plush lips would taste. He felt like they were on the verge of something. Like a deepening of their relationship was only a breath away.
Then, Aiden was caught with his trousers around his ankles, and by the White Wolf of all people. There was no way he could have hidden his knowledge. No way he could have denied it. It was like a waking nightmare.
The thing was, Aiden hadn’t intended to hide that knowledge at all. He had planned to tell Lambert, he had. But he thought the danger had passed, so he had taken his sweet time.
But what if a part of him had hesitated because he didn’t want to remind Lambert that cats took human contracts? Was he so desperate for Lambert to open up to him? Was that why he hadn’t told him right away? Was all of this really his fault? Had he been selfish?
He should have sent a message as soon as he’d found out. But no. There hadn’t been time, and it wouldn’t have been safe.
Fuck.
His chest squeezed painfully at the memory of the wounded, betrayed look on Lambert’s face. It felt like a punch to the windpipe. No, it was worse than that. He could take a punch. But he couldn’t take that. Anything but that.
It seemed like a small thing in the course of a shit life of a witcher, but somehow the hurt was more malicious than anything he could remember. It was broken shards of glass buried in an infected wound. He replayed the moment in his head, experiencing echo after echo of phantom pain.
He urged his horse to quicken its pace, diving into the fog. He would fix this. He was on a course, he just had to finish the job. The hideout was just over this swell in the road, past the pond, and through the olive grove.
Just as Aiden felt his horse rise over the swell, he smelled stagnant water and moss. He was out of breath, so the scent was shallow. However, it was unmistakable. His body remembered. The pond. The haze of rage fell away. It was replaced by the clarity of cold fear.
“You’re going back there? You?”
He finally heard Gaetan’s question. He finally heard the incredulity in his voice.
He was going back.
What the fuck was he doing?
He couldn’t go back.
He couldn’t.
He hadn’t been back since...well...in a long time. In fact, he never thought he’d go back there, except to burn the place to the ground and salt the earth.
Dread and fear gripped him as he clattered past the pond, past the sounds of crickets and frogs, and towards the grove. When he inhaled the first scent of olive blossoms, the very blood in his veins screamed at him to stop. To turn back.
He panicked and pulled his mount to a halt just before the road disappeared into the dark copse of trees. As the wind fell from his ears, his own panting and heaving sounded loud and jarring. Even with rainfall all around him, his own heartbeat was like a drum in his ears. The trees loomed above him, branches clawing the night sky as though poised to attack.
Aiden felt a frantic urge to turn his horse around. To slink off. He could. He should. Geralt and Lambert would be on their way to the temple to stand with the priestess. Aiden knew they were up for the challenge. Even if Jad had ten men, smart money would be on the wolves. What difference was Aiden really making out here, having a breakdown in front of an olive grove?
His heaving was still so deep and frantic that it whistled from his throat. He let his head fall back and he laughed bitterly between gasps, drops of rain falling into his mouth. He was like a man unhinged. He realized he was gripping his reins so hard there were marks on his palms.
He closed his eyes and squared his shoulders, drawing in a deep, cleansing breath. He coughed. He tried again. And again. He relaxed his hands.
If a holy woman, a healer, someone who served humankind was killed because of him...because he hesitated in helping her...because he wasn’t able to do what he should have done years ago, he couldn’t live with that.
He also knew that if anything happened to Nenneke, he would never see Lambert again. He knew that in his bones.
Aiden’s chest was settled now. He steadily drew in breath. His hands were relaxed. He lifted his chin.
“I’m not afraid,” he whispered.
He dug in his ankles and flicked the reins.
Once in the grove, the trees blotted out what was left of the moon. He brought his horse to a gallop, keeping his eyes trained feverishly on the road ahead. His hood blew back from his face, and the wind whipped around him. Soon, he could see moonlight and sheets of rain falling in the clearing on the other side of the grove.
He stopped before he emerged from the treeline. He had to creep the rest of the way on foot. There could be a lookout, and he wasn’t taking any chances.
Aiden dismounted. Then, he performed his ritual. He touched each and every one of his weapons in a specific order. His sword in its sheath. The daggers in his waist and boots. The throwing stars in his pockets. The brass knuckles on his belt. Then he knelt, placing one knee on the gritty red mud. He bowed his head.
“Goddess Melitele,” he murmured in prayer, “a devoted servant of yours is in danger. If you want to help her, you’re going to need to help me. What I’ve come to do isn’t holy, but you’re going to have to decide between holiness and loyalty. So make your decision, and make it fast.”
Then he stood, keeping to the cover of the trees. Just moments ago they had seemed menacing. Now they acted as his guardians, protecting him and keeping him hidden. He looked across the clearing. The cottage hadn’t changed one bit. It still had a thatched roof that had seen better days. One stone to the right of the door was still cracked.
There was no light, no sound, and no one moving inside. There was no scent of fire or food. All was still.
The plan was simple. He would climb in the window. Once he was inside, he would slice Jad in his sleep. He would open his carotid right there on his pillow. Aiden didn’t give a shit about honor tonight. He had none left, and Jad didn’t warrant any anyway.
Aiden might not be devout, but he would show people what happened when you took a contract out on a holy woman.
He might not be a wolf, but he would show people what happened when you threatened someone dear to Kaer Morhen.
He secured the horse and emerged from the grove. He crept quietly towards the house and stayed alert. He was relieved to find that they still hadn’t fixed the window in the back. The witcher pried it open silently, and gracefully clambered up without making a sound. He swung one leg down and then the other.
His medallion buzzed too late.
The instant his second foot touched the floor, he was racked with blazing, excruciating pain. His muscles locked up, frozen and rigid as a corpse. He fell straight onto his back with a heavy thud. His teeth clattered as his skull hit the floor and bounced once before thudding back, leaving only a dark ceiling in his field of vision.
A torch crackled to life, illuminating the rafters. Aiden struggled to move, but was truly paralyzed. He felt like prey, and his body responded in kind. His heart fluttered and his senses sharpened on his surroundings.
A face appeared above him. Half of it lurked in the dark black of the cottage, and the other half glimmered in the light of the smoky flame. It cast shadows across his face and caught the metal of a golden pendant hanging from his neck.
The sight of the familiar face opened up a pit of disgust in Aiden. An old hatred welled from it and surged violently to the surface, heating his cheeks with anger.
The man smiled, showing his teeth. “Well, hello, Aiden. Welcome back. I’ve been expecting you.”
“Jad.”
It emerged as a grunt from his slack lips.
------