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“Good to know we have that in common?” she asks, voice shifting down a little, like it hasn’t since she was thirteen and Yennefer started teaching her how to pitch it higher, and she hopes that Cerys understands her meaning – that she means a bit more than just picking out surgi-magical modifications to their chests.
She expects that Cerys will laugh, probably – that she’ll poke fun at Ciri, almost certainly. What she doesn’t expect, in any way, is for Cerys to step into her space, reaching out and cupping one roughened palm around the nape of her neck to yank her even closer.
“I’m pretty sure it’s more than that,” she murmurs, and then her mouth is ghosting over Ciri’s, the distant suggestion of a kiss.
Like hell is she going to turn that down.”
Ciri goes to visit the Isles.