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The Empire

Summary:

Ves and Iorveth have come a long way from that first meeting in that godsforsaken inn near Flotsam. In that time wars had been ignited, and others had been snuffed out. Kingdoms had fallen, and others had risen from the rubble. All with their help. And, for a while at least, things in the Pontar Valley seemed to have calmed.

More impressive still is the equilibrium the two of them seemed to have reached as a... Well, Ves still wasn't quite sure what they were.

Can it last though? Especially now that they are about to embark on the most dangerous leg of their journey yet? It was time to face the shadow that had been lurking in the background since the very beginning.

It was time to face - The Empire.

Notes:

Soooooo Part 4 got a little out of hand. I felt I had to do some restructuring.

I'm sorry for any confusion but holy hell, The Empire grew into one unwieldy beast. I've now split it into Part 4: The Kingdom and Part 5: The Empire. I hope that breaking this up helps things make more sense!

Chapter 1: The Tailor

Chapter Text

Everyone, Ves included, had assumed that they would hear no more about Anais’ coronation until spring. There was no real rush to see it done after all. Even without the Princess, Temeria was firmly under Imperial control. From the sounds of it, the few rebellions that had sparked up had been quickly and effectively crushed. Constable Natalis was back in the kingdom, but his forces were allied with the Imperials on Anais’ behalf. Baron Kimbolt had been killed in battle early on, choosing death over Imperial rule, but Count Maravel was in the capital licking Nilfgaardian boots.

 

So it was a real surprise when the news arrived a few weeks later, right before the feast Saskia had planned to celebrate the winter solstice.

 

The Emperor had arrived in Vizima. Anais was to return to the capital at once.

 

“They do realize we’ll be balls-deep in snow before then, don’t they?” Ves grunted, struggling to reach the carafe of wine across the giant round council table. As she had been standing in the council chamber with Iorveth when Cynthia had gathered all interested parties to relay this news, she had been allowed to stay for the meeting. It was an honest question though. The Nilfgaardians wanted to hold the coronation on Imbaelk. Did the southerners not realize how harsh winters could be in the North?

 

“They obviously want the matter settled before they resume their campaign in the spring,” Iorveth said, leaning forward to swipe it up himself with his much longer arms. “Solidify their base. I don’t blame them. Really, they shouldn’t have left it this long.”

 

“It’s not like they had much choice,” Ves pointed out reasonably, raising her glass to him slightly to thank him for the top up. “Not with Roche refusing to bring Foltest’s only heir anywhere near a warzone.”

 

“Natalis agreed with me,” Roche, who had also been invited to this meeting, pointed out. “Fitz-Oesterlen didn’t argue either.”

 

“Of course he didn’t,” Ves said. “Without Anais, there goes Natalis’ support, not to mention Aryan’s.”

 

Aryan tilted his head, acknowledging that.

 

“If the city has been deemed safe enough for the Empress, it is safe enough for the Princess,” Cynthia put in, almost dryly. “I can assure you of that. The Emperor does not take his consort’s safety lightly.”

 

“They say he loves her,” Iorveth said idly. Idly enough that Ves knew he was anything but.

 

“I am not privy to His Imperial Majesty’s private thoughts or feelings,” Cynthia said diplomatically. Then she ruined it by smirking. “But I can tell you he has taken no mistress since he wed – though believe me, there are many who have tried. Quite aggressively too."

 

Ves found herself snorting. “Yeah. I imagine that’s a well-cushy position.”

 

Beside her Roche mumbled something that sounded like, “If you could stomach it…”

 

Cynthia pretended not to hear. “Onto more important matters though.” She turned to Saskia. “Your Majesty, you are invited to attend the coronation of course. Ambassador Fitz-Oesterlen believes it will be an ideal time to sign your treaty. An opportunity to publicly show your support for both the Empire, and the Princess – and for the Empire to show its support for The Pontar Valley.”

 

“Of course,” Saskia said, giving Anais a reassuring smile which the nervous princess returned gratefully. “I wouldn’t miss it. The council can stay behind and govern the kingdom in my stead.”

 

“Not all of your council, I’m afraid.”

 

Saskia raised a brow.

 

“There’s something else,” Cynthia said. Her smile was still in place but her words were coming out more carefully now. “Yours was not the only name on the invitation, Your Grace. The General’s presence was requested as well.”

 

“Was it, now?” Iorveth drawled, sounding exactly as surprised as he looked. In other words, not at all.

 

Saskia’s dark blue eyes flittered to Ves’ but her expression was as polite as ever. “If I am to absent myself from the kingdom for any length of time, Iorveth will be needed here. I’m afraid I cannot spare him.”

 

“This request came from His Imperial Majesty himself,” Cynthia explained delicately. Which of course made it no request at all.

 

“The Emperor asked for him in person?” Roche asked, looking, if she didn’t know better, perturbed.  

 

“Why does Emhyr want Iorveth there?” Ves asked, before she could help herself. Beside her she could almost feel Iorveth’s disapproval, but she didn’t care. Cynthia was clever, there was no doubt about it but even she could be startled into letting things slip.

 

“I didn’t think it my place to question His Imperial Majesty’s motives,” Cynthia pointed out dryly, slipping with nothing. “Though given the ongoing campaign, I assume it has something to do with troop divisions, supply lines, and all that other boring stuff one hears about when there is a war on.”

 

If only.

 

“It can be done,” Iorveth said simply after giving the matter far less thought than Ves was comfortable with.

 

“How?” she demanded. “Saskia has a point, Iorveth, you are the bloody General. You’re needed with your army.”

 

“Midinvaerve can handle the Scoia’tael for a month or two.”

 

“You want to put Mida in charge?” Saskia asked curiously. “Not Ciaran?””

 

Iorveth shook his head. “Ciaran will be of more use to us in Vizima. Valeska as well. Don’t worry, Mida will be fine, especially with Silfa advising him.”

 

In other words, Silfa would make the decisions, but Mida would be the one to give the orders. Smart.

 

“Very well,” Saskia agreed easily, not giving away a thing. “If you’re sure. Was there anything else, Cynthia?” Saskia asked, her polite way of dismissing the girl so they could discuss these matters without any Imperial ears.

 

“No, that was all for now. Shall I pass along your acceptance, Your Grace?”

 

“Do. Thank you.”

 

“Wonderful. In that case, I had best get ready for the feast.” Cynthia smiled playfully. “I plan on getting drunk tonight.”

 

“Me too,” Saskia said. Yet the very moment the girl was out the door, she turned to Iorveth, looking dead serious. “Well?”

 

“Well, what?”

 

“You want to come to Vizima now? Last I checked we were avoiding that scenario.”

 

Iorveth shrugged. “Emhyr’s presence in the city changes things.”

 

Saskia looked like she wanted to ask how, but she didn’t question him. Not about that at any rate. “What do you make of the Emperor coming all the way north in person?”

 

“He is about to gain Temeria, Dol Blathanna, Aedirn, and the Pontar Valley in one fell swoop. Well worth enduring an uncomfortable boat ride and a boring party, don’t you think?”

 

“I suppose,” Saskia said, but she was still frowning. Clearly something had struck her as off, she just couldn’t put her fingers on what. Or at least, she didn’t want to say in present company. Saskia made a great show of being open and honest with all her councillors, but the truth was, all the major decisions came down to just her and Iorveth. “Tell us about Emhyr. You’re the only one here who has actually met him.”

 

“You’ve met the Emperor of Nilfgaard?” Ves asked. Just when she thought nothing about him could surprise her anymore.

 

“Briefly and only once,” Iorveth said before she could get too excited. “Before the last war. Generally speaking, our people don’t like to fight for someone we haven’t looked in the eye. Faoiltiarna wanted to get the measure of him.”

 

“Obviously he missed something,” Roche said sarcastically. 

 

Iorveth took no offence. He even smirked. “Oh no, he knew full well who we were getting into bed with. Don’t get me wrong, we were disgusted by the way things turned out after Brenna, but none of us were really all that surprised that we ended up getting fucked.”

 

“Well?” Saskia prodded. “What is he like?”  

 

“Ruthless,” Iorveth said without needing to think about it. “Resolute. He knows what he wants, and he’ll do what he must to get it. I can’t say you will like him, but he will impress you.”

 

“Wow.” Ves smirked. “From you that’s some high praise.”

 

Iorveth tilted his head, acknowledging that. “Oh, he’s still a cunt, make no mistake, but you don’t hold together an empire that size by being meek or by being stupid. He makes the rulers in the North look like gaggle of squabbling children. Drunk ones. Do not underestimate him. There will be no tricking him, no pulling one over on him – though I can just about promise we won’t be extended the same courtesy. But he’s not the only one we need to watch for. Morvran Voorhis, Commander of the Alba Division. He’s still in the capital as well. Another viper in the making.”

 

“Morvran Voorhis is young,” Roche, who had files on all the Empire’s military leaders, pointed out. “Green.”

 

“But not stupid,” Iorveth said. “And not nearly as green as you’d think. Aside from that, he comes from a seriously old, seriously wealthy Nilfgaardian family. Related to the Emperor directly on both sides, if I'm not mistaken. After Emhyr himself, I’d say he’s probably the most powerful man in the Empire.”

 

“Well, from the sounds of it my mother has already wormed her way in there,” Aryan said, not bothering to hide his feelings about it.

 

“Then she has good instincts,” Iorveth told him, almost scolding him for his censure. “If it weren’t for her condition, I might have even set Valeska to cozy up to him.”

 

“Would you really?” Ves, who knew of Valeska’s feelings on bedding humans, asked with a bit of a smirk.

 

“For the cause, Ves,” Iorveth, who knew it as well, drawled unapologetically. “For the cause. Morvran Voorhis is someone I’d like on my side. If I had to wager, he’ll be the next Emperor of Nilfgaard.”

 

Saskia frowned. “Is that even possible?”

 

“Probable, I’d say. Primogeniture is not as strictly adhered to in the Empire as it is in the North,” Iorveth explained. “Even if the Empress were to bear a son tomorrow, I suspect Emhyr would still name Voorhis his heir. It’s what I’d do.”

 

By expressions of those around the table it was clear not everyone agreed, in some cases they probably did not want to agree, but Ves rather saw his point. Emhyr var Emreis was not old, but he was not a young man either. If she were looking for a peaceful transition of power – and with an empire that size, you would need there to be a peaceful transition of power – she wouldn’t risk putting a child in charge after her death. Part of Anais’ appeal to the Empire was her malleability. A malleable emperor? No. Iorveth was right. It wouldn’t work. If it were her, she would choose someone strong, someone established. Someone like the Commander of the Alba Division.

 

“So what do you recommend?” Saskia asked him.

 

“Marry him?”

 

“Funny,” she said, not rising to the bait. Though Aryan’s face got a little pinched.

 

It might’ve been that that brought a hint of amusement to Iorveth’s eye. “For now, our approach remains the same. We need to show them that The Pontar Valley being an independent kingdom solves more problems for the Empire than it causes – that it makes their lives easier. Convenience is an attractive quality. We’re taking care of the nonhuman problem – that will make us popular with the other kingdoms. We’re splitting up Aedirn – one less force that could challenge the might of the Empire. And we have some of the richest mineral deposits in the North with some of the best miners – making us a lucrative investment. I’d take a hit on taxes if it meant more autonomy.”

 

“As would I,” she agreed. “Well. This should prove to be an interesting trip if nothing else.” She turned to Roche. “Commander, I trust we can count on your support?”

 

“You can,” Roche said. “But I do feel it’s only fair to warn you, with the Imperials in the city, my support doesn’t count for as much as it once did.”

 

“You know the lay of the land better than anyone,” Saskia pointed out. “And the Temerian players at hand. That counts for plenty.”

 

“I don’t suppose anyone has heard from Merigold?” Roche wanted to know.

 

“I’m afraid not.”

 

“Last I heard, she and Geralt parted ways after Loc Muinne,” Iorveth tossed in. “Not that I’m surprised. Not if Geralt really has got his memory back.”

 

“Gods.” Ves shook her head. She had been there when Dandelion had told them the story. Supposedly Merigold hadn’t necessarily lied to Geralt about his relationship with another sorceress, this Yennefer of Vengerberg, but she had most definitely kept a few key facts to herself. “How long did she really think she could keep all that from him?”

 

“An enchantment here, some magically enhanced sex there...” Iorveth’s lips twitched. “Probably quite a while.”

 

“Sorceresses for you,” said Roche, but the way he said it, it sounded like he thought it was funny. He’d always had a soft spot for Merigold. Besides, Ves very much doubted he or any other man was going to feel sorry for Geralt, being taken advantage of by the likes of Triss Merigold. “Still, it’s a pity. We could have used her help.”

 

“Roche, you know she couldn’t return to the city, even if she wanted to,” Ves pointed out.

 

“I know.” He just didn’t sound all that happy about it. It wasn’t just because of his personal fondness for the chestnut-haired sorceress. It was also about what she represented. Another bit of the old regime gone. Hell, he’d probably have welcomed the sight of Kiera Metz these days, and unlike Merigold, Roche and Metz had never gotten on. But Metz seemed to have disappeared too. Wisely.

 

Unfortunately, there was no hope of either sorceress returning to their old positions and Roche knew it as well as she did. Half the country had believed that Merigold had been involved in Foltest’s murder from the start. Now that this so-called Lodge of Sorceresses had been outed, the other half believed it too. Radovid's witch hunts had spread. On top of that, the whole Continent now knew that two of this Lodge’s members were Nilfgaardian, a serious embarrassment to the Empire. And it wasn’t as if the Emperor had been all that fond of mages to begin with.

 

The members of the Lodge of Sorceresses were about fucked.

 

“I do not envy this Fringilla Vigo right now,” Iorveth said, thinking along the same lines as her.

 

“After what happened to the other one, you’d think she would have gone into hiding,” Ves said. Cynthia had already told them that Assire var Anahid, the other Nilfgaardian sorceress, had been murdered by her own people. Brutally. Shilard Fitz Oesterlen had been sure to show her the body. 'To remind her what loyalty meant in the Empire.' In case she’d picked up any bad habits from her former mistress, who no one had seen hide nor feather from either.  

 

“I somehow doubt she was given the chance,” Iorveth drawled.

 

“And yet Emhyr has Yennefer of Vengerberg at his side,” Roche put in. “I can’t be the only one who finds that interesting.”

 

“Yennefer of Vengerberg was supposedly never a member of the Lodge,” Iorveth pointed out. “She was only invited. Managed to get on their bad side by declining too, but apparently they were under the impression that she was dead, just like Geralt. Or at least, that’s what Cynthia was told. She might have been deliberately misled though. Who can say?”

 

“Do you think that’s how the Nilfgaardians found out about The Lodge in the first place?” Roche asked him, because here was the amusing thing, something Ves had picked up on, but she wasn’t sure the pair of them had: Roche and Iorveth actually valued each other’s thoughts on things. Or at least, they didn’t dismiss each other’s ideas out of hand. And between them they had access to a veritable dragon’s hoard of information. Together they made a rather formidable team. But Ves wasn’t about to tell them that, she just topped off their wine to keep them talking. “The sorceress ratted out her old friends?”

 

“I don’t know,” Iorveth said, taking a sip. “I’m not saying she didn’t, but I think Emhyr has known for longer than we think. My best guess is he learned about it from Findabair. It’s the only way she can still be holding her position in Dol Blathanna after all this. It’s not like the dried up old cunt has any qualms about turning on her allies.”

 

Ves smirked. “Tell us how you really feel, Iorveth.”

 

“Don’t get me started,” he told her darkly.

 

“I heard the witch hunters got Margarita Laux Antilles,” Roche tossed in.

 

“Did they?” That was obviously news to Iorveth. Not welcome news either. “That’s a shame.”

 

If Ves’ look was a bit sharp it was because she had seen Margarita Laux Antilles with her own two eyes. Foltest used to invite her to court. Often. “I didn’t realize you knew the rectoress of Aretuza.”

 

“I don’t,” Iorveth admitted before she could get herself too worked up. “But I do know she fought bitterly to keep her elven pupils at the school when Foltest tried to bar them from attending. For that I’ve always thought well of her.”

 

Thankfully, Roche didn’t comment on that, because Ves knew damn well that had been a decision he had fully supported. Worse still? She had too. At the time anyway. Elven magic was just too much of a mystery. “Who is this Ida Emean?” he asked instead. “Radovid seems keen on getting his hands on her, but I’ve never even heard of her before.”

 

“No, you wouldn’t have,” Iorveth said. “Ida hasn’t left the Blue Mountains in decades. Centuries maybe. She has very little interest in the Continent as a whole. It’s beneath her notice.”

 

One of Ves’ brows went up. “Oh?”

 

“Aen Saverne,” he explained simply.

 

Up went the other one. “A Knowing One?”

 

Fucking hell. She hadn’t thought there were any of them left. A real Elven sage...

 

Iorveth nodded. “She makes Enid look the way Enid makes your dh’oine mages look. Trust me, all the king’s horses and all the king’s men don’t stand a chance of catching Ida.”

 

“Well, witch hunts are a matter for the witch hunters,” Saskia announced with finality. “As a mere mortal the fate of the Continent is very much in my interest. However, I do believe it will hold off another day. We can start preparations tomorrow. Tonight, we have a party to attend.”

 

No one argued with that.

 

Saskia led their way out in the hall where people were already gathering for the festivities, nobles and peasants alike. As it was snowing the feast would take place indoors for a change, in the great hall, but there were still massive fires outside for anyone feeling a bit more courageous. The noise, a mere buzz in the background up until then, exploded into a cacophony of excited chatter the moment she pushed open the doors. It was still early but that didn’t matter. The air itself was making people tipsy. Midinvaerne. The Winter Solstice.

 

“Oh, and Iorveth?” Saskia said, as if the thought had only just occurred to her. “If you plan on coming to Vizima with me, I’ll need you to look the part.”

 

She nodded playfully towards a group of courtiers, a quirk to those full lips of hers.

 

Iorveth’s eye followed but he had only had one thing to say. “No.”

 

“I wasn’t asking,” she smirked, before striding away.

 

Ves couldn’t help it. She snorted. Then she giggled. Then she snorted on a giggle.

 

“I’m sorry,” she swore. (She wasn’t.) “I just can’t stop picturing you in something like that.” She nodded at her old friends, Silgrat and Belby. Belby saw her do it too, if the narrowing of his rat-like eyes was any indication, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. It was too funny.

 

She didn’t know what was worse: the ruff, the bouffant sleeves, or the codpiece.

 

Her humour was short-lived.

 

“You realize of course that order includes you as well, don’t you, Ves?” 

 

That wiped the smirk off her face. “What?”

 

It landed on his instead and it was his turn to nod pointedly towards Lady Powell, who was wearing what could only be described as a wedding cake the size of a small barge. That ruff probably could catch the wind.

 

“But I’m not from here!” she whined. “Why do I have to tart myself up?”

 

“Can you think of a better way to flaunt the alliance between the Pontar Valley and Temeria? If I am going to be paraded around like a prize pig, you’re going to be stuck up there right next to me, my love, believe you me.”

 

“Oh, hell.”

 

“Joke’s on you,” he had no problem telling her.

 

Wonderful, she thought grumpily as her belly twisted. One more thing for her to worry about…

 

***

 

Hungover or not, Saskia and her councillors started preparing for their departure the very next day. There was a surprising amount to do, not least of which was finally announce Saskia’s deal with the Empire.

 

It wasn’t popular. But neither was death.

 

Truthfully though, with the Empire’s jaws closing in on all sides, most people had already started wondering to themselves if a deal with Nilfgaard was possible. Saskia was able to tell them yes, yes there was. A generous one at that. Ves had seen the preliminary drafts. You could say what you liked about dwarves, but they knew how to negotiate, and Cecil Burdon had been doing his ancestors proud.

 

And, maybe, Saskia had chosen her moment well. After the feast, public opinion of her was at an all-time high. Ves had to wonder if she had planned that out or it had just been a lucky coincidence because she knew damn well that letting the city sweat for a few months had been deliberate. Iorveth’s idea.

 

Really, the person who was the most put out by it all was Anais. The Princess had been quite enjoying her time in Vergen, short though it was. She liked that her lessons were finally about something interesting, not just embroidery and flower arrangement. She liked that she was finally allowed to learn how to handle a sword, something which up until then had been reserved for her brother, who used to cry about it. And she liked that she got to spend most of her time with Saskia, who included her in things as if she truly was the future Queen of Temeria, not just a child-ruler the Empire intended on using like a puppet. The young Princess followed around at Saskia’s heel like a pup soaking up everything the woman said, but Saskia didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed rather fond of the girl. It was surprising, or at least, Iorveth thought so. According to him Saskia had never shown all that much interest in children before.

 

“Maybe she’s warming to the idea,” Iorveth said, as they turned down a shortcut home about a week after the announcement. They were running late.

 

“Who knows?” She was trying to keep her answers short as she had to hurry to keep up with him and his stupidly long legs. “Roche is pleased about it though. He seems to think of her as another bodyguard.”

 

“Saskia wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She is very protective over her people. Quite possessive over them too.” His lips twitched. “Honestly, it’s probably best she doesn’t take a lover. All hell could break loose.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure there are those who would risk it.” Aryan had been following Saskia around like a puppy too. “In any case, Roche will talk Anais around.”

 

Because no matter how much Anais idolized Saskia, there was one person she trusted above all others, including her brother, and that was Roche. Nothing that happened with the Princess didn’t go through him first, and yet, like Saskia, he seemed to have developed infinite patience to educate her on why he made the decisions he did. Not that the rest of them couldn’t question his decisions. It was just that the answer usually came with a kick up the arse.

 

“It’s bizarre how fond she is of him."

 

“Ah, Roche is gruff, but deep down he’s a sweetheart.”

 

“How deep?”

 

“Pretty deep,” she was forced to admit. “Still, I think Gwen was right. Roche should have had children of his own. Maybe he does, and we just don’t know about them.”

 

“Are they still…?” Iorveth didn’t really want to know about Roche’s personal life, or rather, he didn’t want to be seen wanting to know, but he was too nosy to resist. It was impressive he’d made it as long as he did.

 

“Not talking? Oh, yeah.” She winced on her commander’s behalf. “I was standing with him in the main hall when she walked by a few days ago. It was awkward as all hell.”

 

Iorveth tried to smirk, but he winced a little too. There were some things even sworn enemies couldn’t help but commiserate over.  

 

Enough that he didn’t wish to dwell on it. “Probably for the best.”

 

And he left it at that. He held open the door to the hidden staircase, the same one Silfa had once held open for her, and they carried on in silence.

 

At least, until they were within sight of the house.

 

“I don’t suppose anyone’s told you about Elihal yet, have they?” he asked, cutting into her distracted thoughts.  

 

“Sorry?” Ves hadn’t quite caught that.

 

“Elihal. Did Valla warn you?”

 

“Warn me? About what?” Oh hell, had they just invited a raging racist into their house?

 

“Nothing alarming,” he assured her, smirking slightly. “It’s just, you never know quite what you’re going to get with Elihal.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“He likes to dress up.”

 

Ves blinked. Even if her mind wasn’t bogged down by dread, she would have requested some clarification. “Dress up?”

 

“Dress up."

 

“But I thought he was a tailor?”

 

“He is. Which makes his outfits all the more convincing.” Something about that made him smirk a little but he didn’t elaborate, not about that anyway. “He’s an old friend of Valla’s, back from her stage days. He made all the costumes for their troupe, has a real flair for it too. Apparently he’s always enjoyed playing different characters, but he was always too shy to do it up on stage, so he just dresses up in costume in his day to day life.”

 

“That’s a bit…” It took a moment to decide on the right word. “Odd.”

 

Iorveth shrugged. “Perhaps, but as far as quirks go it’s a relatively harmless one. I’ve always quite enjoyed him for it. Don’t worry, you’ll like him, no matter who he is pretending to be. Just, if he shows up in a ballgown, try not to gawk.”

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“I’m really not.” Then he outright snickered. “Ask Mida.”

 

After that warning, she wasn’t sure what she was expecting but it certainly wasn’t the elf that knocked on their door not five minutes after they walked through it. A perfectly ordinary, perfectly handsome elf with dark hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, wearing an outfit that was perfectly normal – if unusually stylish. The doublet, breeches and leather shoes were not what you would call the height of fashion because you could actually say they were an improvement upon it. Less ostentatious. More subtle. Tasteful. With some persuasion, Ves thought they could probably wrestle Iorveth into something like that.

 

In fact, the only unusual thing about him was the coal around his already bright eyes, and the gold powder dusted across the lid, but then, elves had been known to dress up their eyes, even the males. Ves could still remember Mida giving Lena shit for leaving the cap off his jar of eyeliner and letting it dry out.

 

Compared to her imaginings, he was almost a let-down.

 

Almost.

 

The moment those warm golden eyes landed on her, they crinkled. “Ah, yes,” he smiled, bringing her proffered hand to his lips politely. “She of the ruffled knickers. You can’t imagine how delighted I am to finally meet the bottom that filled them.”

 

“I’ll bet you thought he was pulling your leg,” Ves smiled, even though she was blushing a little. Not over the knickers comment, she had just expected him to shake her hand, not kiss it.  

 

“It’s Iorveth, my dear. I’ve learned it’s best not to ask questions. I do hope I haven’t kept you waiting,” he called after Iorveth himself, who was already in the kitchen. “Our darling Valla didn’t mention her news before I got there. I must admit, it took longer than I expected to get my head around it. There’s so much more of her to admire now.”

 

Iorveth flicked his hand, dismissing that rather than telling him that if he’d been on time, they would have kept him waiting. “How was the journey from Novigrad?”

 

“Oh, I just dressed up like a sailor and tried not to cry,” the tailor said dryly, with no hint of shame. “I hate boats,” he confided to Ves with a delicate grimace.

 

Iorveth chuckled, but at least he had a fix. “Wine or tea?”

 

“Wine if it’s anything half-way decent. Tea, otherwise,” Elihal said, straightening his already straight sleeve, every inch the sophisticated nobleman. That was when Ves realized he was playing a character after all. It was just a subtle one. “I wouldn’t say no to a nibble either. Valla’s cooking has not improved.”

 

Iorveth let out a bark of laughter, but he had a fix for that too. He was already setting out a tray of bread, cheese, and sliced apples along with the bottle of chilled Est Est.

 

“You can’t imagine how vexed I am,” Elihal continued. “I spent weeks designing the perfect wardrobe for her, it was my only solace on that wretched floating coffin, and now she won’t fit in any of it! So it’s back to the drawing board.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out a large sketch pad, dropping it on the coffee table with a loud thunk.

 

“Look on the bright side,” Ves told him, helping herself to an apple slice. “It’s Valeska. You could stick her in a potato sack, and she’d still pull it off.”

 

The tailor chuckled. “You know, it’s funny you should say that. I actually have. Do you know the story of Elespeth and Finrod? No? Well, the long and short of it is an elven princess falls in love with a mere stableboy and decides to leave her life of luxury behind for the sake of true love, silly chit. I don’t mean to ruin the last act, but it ends very poorly for her. Valla was cast as the princess of course. She always was. Such astonishing talent, such range, but always held back by that beautiful face of hers. Poor thing,” he added mockingly, making Ves positively snort. “We tried in that one, we really did. The potato sack was the least of it. We rolled her in dirt, mussed up her hair, but if anything, the line of eager young swain outside her dressing room doubled. Though, that might have been on account of it having been a rather short sack.”

 

And Ves snorted again.

 

“Do you think she took the story to heart?” Iorveth asked.

 

“Don’t be an ass,” Elihal scolded, even if he was snickering himself. “Besides, who could blame her? That stableboy of hers is breathtaking. Is it horrible if I admit I’m almost pleased it’s taken her so long to land herself in her condition? I mean, Isengrim wasn’t a bad looking bloke – before the scar anyway – but Ciaran? Imagine what that child is going to look like…”

 

“Boy or girl?” Ves asked, just assuming he was already in on the betting.

 

She assumed right. “Boy,” Elihal said, with no hesitation. “I’m down for twenty-five crowns. Though in truth I’d stake my life on it. I hear we’re fighting over naming rights,” he added to Iorveth, who was still pouring wine.

 

Taking a seat beside her, Iorveth told him, politely, to go fuck himself. If anyone got to name Ciaran and Valeska’s son, it was going to be him.

 

It was only good manners to spend at least one glass catching up, though Ves probably could have had one or two more. Not just because of that pit of dread whirling away in her belly either. Elihal proved himself to be a brilliant distraction from it all on his own. It was immediately apparent why he and Valeska were such good friends. The dryness might be put on. The sassiness was not. Even Iorveth got walloped with it, and no matter what else was going on around her, Ves always admired someone who didn’t back down from Iorveth. And Sanau liked him. She considered the little fox to be an excellent judge of character. Mostly.

 

Unfortunately, the elven tailor was a professional. The very second the last sip was gone from his glass he set it aside, ready to get down to business.

 

“Now then, to work! Ves, up on your feet and down to your knickers. Let’s see what we’re working with.”

 

Her belly sank.

 

Feeling as awkward as she ever had, Ves got to her feet and shot Iorveth a dirty look. He was smirking. Worse still, he made himself right comfortable, refilling his glass and settling back in his chair, making it plain he intended to watch this. Sanau, the little traitor, crawled right up onto his lap to watch too. 

 

Oh, she took her jacket and trousers off, but she whipped them at him. Got him right in the chest. The rest she left on, but the tailor didn’t object.

 

“Uncross your arms, dear. Come now, I’m sure you’ve survived worse than this. Now spin.”

 

The things she did for her bloody…

 

Ves spun, however reluctantly, and the tailor spun with her in the opposite direction, taking her in from every conceivable angle.

 

“Oh yes. Yes, I can do plenty with this. Lovely figure. Ideal breasts. We certainly won’t need to rely on a corset. You have no idea how many doors that leaves open. I can see why Iorveth wanted to dress it up so prettily, that’s a perfect peach bottom. Impeccable collar bones too.”

 

It was quite the experience to have a man drool over her so blatantly in such a blatantly non-sexual way. She didn’t know quite how to describe it. It still made her blush though.

 

“But, gods, these tattoos!” The elf grimaced, as if someone had just poured frigid water down his neck. “You weren’t kidding, Iorveth, they really are terrible.”

 

Ves glared at Iorveth, and Iorveth glared at the tailor. For all of a moment. Then he dug his heels in. “Well, they are!”

 

“One more word about them and I swear, I will get Roche’s scowling face on my back, and you can look at that the next time you’re feeling filthy!"

 

Elihal snorted a little, but he still looked a bit too offended to indulge fully. “With such pretty skin why would you…? Well, there’s no use crying about it now. Hmph.”

 

Out came the tape measure and she wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but the tailor was far less gentle now. He certainly muttered under his breath more.

 

Ves blushed harder.

 

“I commend you on your measurements, Iorveth,” Elihal said, jotting some down in his notebook. “You weren’t far off.”

 

“I’ve studied them meticulously,” Iorveth drawled, generously filling up her glass and handing it to her so that she could drink while the tailor worked. It was the only reason she forgave him. And the only reason she allowed him to press his lips to her cheek, not her lips, which was what he was aiming for.

 

That little move seemed to win back Elihal’s favour, though he refused another drink himself. “Not while I’m working. Otherwise who knows what you’ll end up wearing. I get quite daring after a few glasses.”

 

Oh well. More for Ves.

 

“You can put your arms down, dear. That should do for now,” Elihal finally said, setting aside the measuring tape and notebook. “Now for colour.” The next book he pulled out of his satchel didn’t have pages, it had swatches of material. He held it up to her face and started flicking through them while Ves stood there like a twit, not sure of what to do with her hands or where to stare.

 

“With such vivid eyes, blue is an obvious choice, but oh, Iorveth looks so handsome in green.” Elihal was nearly pouting. “We’re also going to run into problems with your skin tones. Iorveth has such warm undertones. Yours are so cool.”

 

“Wait, we need to match?”

 

“Not match, exactly,” Elihal conceded. “But the entire point of all this is to flaunt the alliance between the Pontar Valley and Temeria. And I suppose in your case, between the Aen Seidhe and humans. When people look at you both we want them to make no mistake that you are together. But we don’t want it to look forced either. There’s nothing more pathetic than trying too hard. No, this gown still needs to showcase, well, you. We need it to say, ‘Ves. Yes, I’m lovely. Yes, I’ve got an arse that won’t quit. But I’ll stab you in the eye if you look at me wrong.'”

 

From his chair, Iorveth let out a bark of laughter which startled the fox. “It didn’t take him long to figure you out.”

 

“I’ll have my way with you later, Iorveth,” Elihal warned before Ves could. No matter the character he was playing, the tailor couldn’t quite disguise his own sharp tongue. “Ruthless but charismatic leader of the Scoia’tael. Oh, I’ve got an entire book of ideas.”

 

Iorveth looked delighted to hear them.

 

“You’re in charge of this entire spectacle, then?” Ves realized.

 

“You know it, dear. You two, Valla and Ciaran, the little Princess. Just wait until you see what I’m sticking Saskia in.” The tailor chortled. “We’re going to make Emhyr’s eyes pop out of his head, to say nothing of the La Valette lad."

 

That restored Iorveth’s mood at least. “She’s going to love that.”

 

It was only a bit more prodding and fussing, but for someone who didn’t like to be prodded and fussed over it felt like an eternity before Elihal finally told her she could sit back down. It honest to gods felt like being sent home from the front lines. He then took a couple of minutes to make a few sketches in his book, ignoring both of them, before tossing that aside too.

 

Then it was Ves’ turn to sit back and watch while Iorveth was bossed around in his skivvies.

 

“Why do I need to take my shirt off, Elihal?” Iorveth asked, sounding exasperated.

 

“Because I want my measurements to be exact. Or do you want to look like you are the one wearing a potato sack?”

 

Obviously he didn’t because with a sigh, off came his shirt.

 

Perhaps she had been a bit harsh on him. This was fun.

 

And it wasn’t just her skin the tailor lamented over. “How does one person have this many scars, Iorveth?”

 

“Dress up like one of my warriors one day, Elihal. You’ll see for yourself.”

 

“That’s one costume I’m happy to leave in the closet.”

 

Ves helped herself to more wine, which she felt she deserved after her ordeal, but as she set the bottle back down, she couldn’t quite resist a peek at the tailor’s sketchbook.

 

Only to find herself swatted with the tape.

 

“Eyes and grubby fingers off! I cannot abide people seeing my work before it’s finished.”

 

“But how am I supposed–”

 

“You’re just going to have to trust me, my dear.”

 

“Just a quick–”

 

“No.”

 

“But–”

 

“No buts!”

 

This time it was Ves’ turn to Hmph. Elihal, however, did not blush. He just returned to harassing Iorveth with the measuring tape.

 

“Watch where you stick that thing.”

 

“Oh, did that pinch? I am sorry, Princess.”

 

“Funny.”

 

It was somewhat gratifying that Iorveth enjoyed the process about as much as she had, but at least he knew what the process was. With his cooperation, Elihal finished up much more quickly, so it wasn’t long before the tailor snapped shut all his books and booklets and tucked them back in his satchel.

 

“That ought to do it. I’ll let you know when I’m ready for your first fitting.”

 

Ves frowned. “Fitting? First?”

 

Elihal looked at her with near pity, but it was Iorveth he addressed. “Really, Iorveth, have you never treated this girl to a quality gown before?”

 

“To go where? The inn? You’ll need to try it on before you actually wear it,” he explained to Ves herself. “To make sure it fits. In case he’s botched it.”

 

“Ha ha..."

 

“Will you stay for supper?” Ves asked. Now that it was all over, Ves felt generous enough to extend the invitation herself. Besides, he was a wonderful distraction. And she still very much needed a distraction.

 

“As much as I would love to – and I mean that, dear, I’ve had Iorveth’s cooking before – I haven’t the time, I’m afraid. Not if you’re serious about this deadline. Six of you to dress. Six!”

 

“Serra is in town,” Iorveth put in helpfully.

 

“Is she?” The tailor looked relieved, deeply, deeply relieved. To the point that he might cry. “Thank the gods for that.”

 

Promising to join them another time and with another polite kiss of the hand - and one last scratch of Sanau's ears - off he went.

 

“We’ll have to invite Silas for that,” Ves said, peeking out the window after him. “Those two will get on famously.”

 

“Trying to stir up trouble?”

 

“Of course not.” Mushrooms and leaf aside, Silas was on a good streak, the longest he’d had in, well, ever. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. Ves couldn’t be more pleased. Even the lads had gone uncharacteristically silent about the matter.

 

Actually, no. That wasn’t true. That wasn’t true at all. Usually the subject of who Silas was sleeping with was carefully avoided, much like the plague or Ryck’s dirty socks. Lately though the lads had been ragging on him. Not in a nasty way. It was just that somehow, being in Vergen, where that sort of thing was so much more common, Silas’ love life had become… fair game.

 

Honestly? It was kind of nice.

 

“Good, because he doesn’t go to bed with men.”

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“No. I lost that wager once already. And if I had any doubts, Mida dispelled them. He tried it on with him one night."

 

“You’re joking.”

 

“I assure you I’m not. He had no idea. Elihal’s costumes are quite convincing.” Here he chuckled, and Ves did too.

 

It just didn’t quite last as long as it usually would.

 

Of course it was too much to hope that he wouldn’t pick up on that. “Really, Ves, you don’t need to worry,” he told her, almost gently. “He won’t stuff you in anything offensive to you, I promise.”

 

Ves grunted a little. “I still remember the pink panties, Iorveth.”

 

“So I do.” He slipped his hands around her waist and smirked.  

 

She tried a weak smile but all she managed was a smack.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

“Nothing!”

 

“No? Because you’ve been distracted all week, and I’m not entirely convinced it’s because you had to let a grown man play dolly with you. As much as I’m sure that is what you’re telling yourself.”

 

Ves positively glared at him. But she said nothing.

 

So Iorveth, proving once more that he knew her to an annoying degree, let her go. He refilled her glass, pressed it into her hands, and leaned his hips back against the table. And he waited for her to take a sip.

 

Which, of course, she did.

 

“Ves,” he said once more. Seriously now. “What’s the matter?”

 

There was no help for it. Not unless she fancied stomping out the door, which she didn’t. As much as she might want to down the rest of the glass, she set it aside instead too.

 

“Iorveth… Are you… Are you sure this is a good idea? Going to Vizima? It seems…” Like he was asking for it? “Reckless.”

 

Iorveth studied her face carefully before answering. “I don’t know. There are risks involved. I won’t pretend there aren’t, but I don’t see a way around them either, not if Emhyr himself is insisting on it. I have to go.”

 

“No, you don’t. You really don’t. What’s he going to do, send the secret police after you?”

 

“He might,” Iorveth drawled, nearly sounding amused.

 

“Is this a fucking joke to you?” 

 

“No, of course not,” he said, trying to placate her. “But Saskia’s mind is set. Do you really think I’d send her into that nest of vipers alone?”

 

“Saskia strikes me as capable of wrangling a few vipers’ necks if she had to!” 

 

“Yes, but even she can only wrangle so many at a time,” Iorveth said, calm as ever. “In Nilfgaard they come out of the walls. I can’t refuse this,” he said once more before she could cut in. “I need the emperor on our side. Whether I like it or not, our fate rests on the whims of the rulers of this continent. The kings of the North hate us. Emhyr doesn’t. In fact, I’m sure some small part of us feels he owes us one.”

 

“I wouldn’t bet on it!” she said incredulously. “And you better bloody well not be!”

 

“I’m not,” he assured her quickly. “But I think I can reason with Emhyr better than anyone else.”

 

Ves did not share his confidence.

 

“I don’t have a choice,” he reiterated, making it as plain as he could. “But even if I did, I’d still choose to go. Emhyr is reforging the world as we know it. I want to be there to add my own notes."

 

It seemed Saskia wasn’t the only one whose mind was set. With nothing else to say, Ves just grunted.

 

“You don’t have to come,” he pointed out.

 

That actually made her laugh. Well, it made her snort anyway.

 

Iorveth’s lips twitched a little too, but they never made it into a full smile. He was searching her face again, looking for a way to make her understand.

 

“Ves… We’re so close now. If we can seal this deal with the Empire… We need to seal this deal with the Empire. And this time, we need to make sure it’s ironclad. Whatever it takes.”

 

Ves let out a horrible rasp of laughter. It practically sounded like a sob.

 

“Ves.” Under any other circumstances she would have smacked away the arms that wrapped back around her, but this time she didn’t, if only because it gave her a moment to compose herself. “It’s going to be all right. We’re playing a stronger hand than you think. And I still have a few hero cards up my sleeve.”

 

“Keep telling yourself that,” she mumbled into his shirt grumpily.

 

Above her Iorveth chuckled softly. She felt his lips press into the top of her head before he leaned back a little, using his finger to tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze, composed or not.

 

“When we get to Temeria I may not be able to tell you everything. I wasn’t joking about the vipers in the walls. If I say or do something that you think is off, if I start acting strangely, I’m going to need you to just go along with it.” Then the bastard smirked. “I can’t have you following me through the night again.”

 

Ves smacked him. And she felt better for it.

 

Iorveth smiled, but he was still entirely serious. “I mean it, amore. This is the nekkers all over again. If I ask you to do something, no matter how odd it might sound, I need you to promise me you will just do it. I need you to trust me.”

 

“Iorveth, I trust you. I do. But–”

 

“No buts,” he drawled, quoting Elihal.

 

Ves swatted him again. She even chuckled a little and let him pull her back in close. “All right,” she agreed, nuzzling her face into his chest. “I promise.”

 

“Thank you,” he told her sincerely, giving her a tight squeeze.

 

Ves took a deep breath, letting the scent of pine and sandalwood and rose oil and smoke calm her. It always did. For the first time since Cynthia’s announcement Ves started to feel a bit more optimistic. After all, it was Iorveth. The Woodland Fox. If anyone could pull this off, it was him. As much as she trusted him, because she did trust him, she also trusted he could surprise them all yet. Even her.

 

It was a long moment before he finally released her, although he didn’t entirely let go. With one hand still clasped around her waist, the other came up to tilt her chin back up. She thought he might kiss her but all he did was tuck her hair behind her ear.

 

“There is one more thing I need you to promise me.”

 

“Oh?”

 

He hesitated, only for a fraction of a second, but standing so close together that barest hint of a moment stood out like an eternity.

 

“If I tell you to get out of the city, I need you to promise me you’ll go."

 

“What?”

 

He didn’t repeat himself. He knew she had heard.

 

Now it was Ves searching his face – desperately.

 

“Is that likely?”

 

“No idea. But you know me. I like to have a back-up plan.” His attempt at levity failed dismally. Probably because he was being entirely serious. “Promise me that if I tell you to run, you’ll run.”

 

“I… All right.”

 

“Ves. Promise me.”

 

“All right! I promise.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Iorveth’s lips pressed against hers, but she barely felt them. And even though she was still wrapped in his arms she somehow felt about ten times worse than she had all week.

 

Her belly churned.