Chapter 85: The Negotiation
POV: Adam
The clearing felt different at dusk.
Four people stood where armies had clashed hours before—Adam, Ciri, Geralt, and Cahir. The battlefield had been cleared: prisoners secured, dead buried or prepared for transport, evidence of the fake death carefully arranged for discovery.
Tomorrow, Cahir would lead his surviving soldiers back to Nilfgaard with tragic news and a corpse that would fool Emperor Emhyr long enough to matter. Tonight, final terms needed establishing.
"Thank you." Cahir spoke first, formality masking the emotion beneath. "You risked much to save my family."
"We're not friends." I kept my voice level despite the strange kinship I felt toward this former enemy. "We're people who found a better solution than killing each other. Don't confuse pragmatism with affection."
"Understood." But something flickered in his expression—respect, maybe. Recognition that circumstances had bound them in ways neither had chosen.
Ciri stepped forward. "Tell me about Ana. Your sister."
"Why?"
"Because I'm dying so she can live. I'd like to know who I'm dying for."
Cahir's composure cracked slightly. "She's... seven. Brilliant for her age—reads already, writes stories about princesses who rescue themselves instead of waiting for knights. Loves flowers, especially the blue ones that grow near our family estate." His voice softened. "She asks about me every day, according to the letters I'm allowed to receive. Wants to know when her brother's coming home."
"She sounds wonderful."
"She is." Cahir met Ciri's eyes. "Too wonderful for the games emperors play. Thank you for giving her a chance."
—Scene Break—
POV: Geralt
The witcher watched the exchange with practiced neutrality, cataloging every word and gesture for signs of deception that his enhanced senses couldn't detect.
He found none.
Cahir was exactly what he claimed to be—a man trapped between duty and family, choosing family with every hunting mission because the alternative was unthinkable. Not a monster. Not even a true enemy, in the traditional sense.
"War makes strange alliances. Peace makes stranger ones."
"Terms." Geralt's voice cut through the emotional undercurrent. "We need to establish them clearly."
Both younger men turned toward him—Adam with respect, Cahir with wariness that hadn't fully dissolved.
"You return to Nilfgaard," Geralt continued. "Report Ciri's death. Provide the body for cremation. After that, you never pursue her again. If Emperor sends other hunters, you provide no assistance."
"Agreed."
"In exchange, if your family faces renewed threat—if Emperor decides to punish you despite your 'success'—we'll help if we can. Not promises, but best efforts."
"I understand the limitations."
"Do you?" Geralt stepped closer, letting his full height and presence communicate what words couldn't. "We're not allies. We're not even friends. But we've reached an understanding that serves both sides. Break that understanding, and there won't be another chance for negotiation."
"I swear on my family's lives." Cahir's hand went to his heart. "I will never hunt Ciri again. I will never betray this agreement. And if fate ever puts us on the same side, I will fight beside you with everything I have."
—Scene Break—
POV: Adam
The intelligence sharing came last.
Cahir had information we needed—details about Nilfgaardian operations, Imperial politics, and most importantly, other threats pursuing Ciri.
"Emperor Emhyr is obsessed with prophecy." Cahir's voice dropped to a murmur, as if even here he feared being overheard. "Something about Elder Blood's true purpose. Whispers in court say he believes possessing Ciri secures Nilfgaard's future—not just politically, but cosmically."
"Cosmic how?" I pressed.
"I don't know the details. Above my rank. But his mages research dimensional magic constantly, trying to understand something they call 'the Conjunction' and Ciri's relationship to it."
Geralt and I exchanged glances. The Conjunction of Spheres—the cataclysm that had brought monsters to this world centuries ago. If Emhyr thought Ciri could somehow... what? Repeat it? Control it?
"There's more." Cahir hesitated. "The ice riders. Frost portals. Your people aren't the only ones hunting her."
"The Wild Hunt." I kept my voice steady. "We know."
"Do you know that Empire's been tracking their manifestations for years? That Emhyr has dedicated resources to understanding what they are and what they want?" Cahir's expression darkened. "They want her too. Something about her blood opening doors between worlds. Emperor's orders included keeping her away from them if possible—he wants her alive and useful, they'd use her up and discard the remains."
"The enemy of my enemy."
"Isn't your friend." Cahir's laugh held bitter wisdom. "Just your enemy's enemy. But it's information worth having."
[ Intelligence Acquired: Wild Hunt Details ]
[ Intelligence Acquired: Emperor Emhyr's Interests ]
[ XP: +300 ]
[ LEVEL UP! 36 → 37 ]
"One last thing." Cahir's gaze found Ciri. "Emperor will send others regardless of what I report. He won't believe in her death easily—too convenient, too clean. This deception buys you time. Months, maybe. Not forever."
"Months is enough." I extended my hand. "For now."
Cahir took it. No warmth in the grip—just acknowledgment between people who'd tried to kill each other and found something else instead.
"For now."
—Scene Break—
POV: Ciri
Dawn painted the mountains gold as Cahir mounted his horse.
Behind him, his surviving soldiers formed a subdued column—men who'd expected victory and found mercy instead. Among them, a wagon carried a shapeshifted corpse that would convince an emperor his prize was forever beyond reach.
"Strange feeling." She stood beside Adam, watching her own death ride away. "Being dead while living."
"Freedom always costs something." His hand found hers. "This price isn't so bad."
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one being cremated."
He laughed—genuine, warm, the sound cutting through the morning's weight. "Fair point."
Geralt approached from checking the prisoners. "Cahir's scouts report no additional Nilfgaardian forces within two days' travel. We have time."
"Time for what?"
"Planning." The witcher's expression held something approaching optimism—rare enough to be noteworthy. "The Hunt's still coming. But we've removed one threat. Bought ourselves space to prepare." His gaze swept the battlefield, the mountains, the future opening before them. "Wars end faster when enemies talk instead of fight."
"Does that mean you approve of what we did?"
"I approve of anything that keeps Ciri alive." Geralt clapped Adam's shoulder. "Today, that was negotiation instead of slaughter. Tomorrow might require different choices."
Adam nodded, and Ciri felt through their bond the weight of what he was processing—the transition from hunted to hunter, from reactive to proactive, from boy to something harder.
"We're changing. Both of us. Becoming people who can survive this world."
Cahir's column disappeared around the mountain's bend. The Hunt still rode toward them through dimensions they couldn't see. Nilfgaard would send other hunters eventually. Nothing was truly resolved.
But they'd found a third option when only two seemed possible. And that, more than any power or prophecy, gave her hope.
"What now?" she asked.
"Now we go back to Mahakam. Rest. Train. Get stronger." Adam's grip tightened on her hand. "And prepare for whatever comes next."
The mountains stretched before them, ancient and patient, hiding dwarven halls and deeper secrets.
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