Chapter 31: THE QUESTION
"Outside. Now."
Geralt's voice left no room for argument. He was already walking, moving through the chaos of servants cleaning debris and nobles whispering behind their hands. I followed, legs still unsteady from the magical storm and the weight of what I'd done.
The palace gardens were quiet, moonlight turning sculpted hedges into silver shadows. Geralt stopped at a stone bench, turned, and fixed me with those golden eyes.
"You knew."
It wasn't a question.
"I—"
"You knew exactly when I would speak. The same words, the same moment. That wasn't coincidence." His hand hovered near his sword—not threatening, not yet, but ready. "What are you, Jackier? Really?"
My heart hammered against my ribs. Four years of careful lies, of partial truths, of deflection and misdirection. And now, in a moonlit garden with my closest friend's trust hanging by a thread, I had to navigate the most dangerous conversation of my life.
I couldn't tell him the truth. Couldn't explain transmigration, another world, a story I'd watched on a screen. The concept itself would sound insane, and even if he believed it, the implications would destroy everything.
But lies would damage the power that sustained me. The truth rule I'd discovered all those years ago in Oxenfurt still applied—deliberate deception caused backlash, weakened my abilities. I needed half-truths. Careful omissions. Facts arranged to tell a different story than the whole.
"I have a sense for important moments." The words came slowly, each one chosen with precision. "Destiny pulls at me sometimes, like it pulls at you. I knew something significant was about to happen tonight, and I knew—I felt—that I needed to be part of it."
Geralt's expression didn't change. "A sense."
"My abilities aren't just music and healing. There's something else. Something I don't fully understand." All true. "When I touched the Law of Surprise—when I spoke those words with you—it felt right. Like a door opening that had always been meant to open."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the best one I have." I met his eyes. "I don't know why I'm drawn to moments like this. I don't know why my songs do what they do, or why I survived things that should have killed me, or why I knew—knew in my bones—that I needed to be standing beside you when you spoke those words. But I'm not lying to you, Geralt. Whatever I am, I'm your friend. Your partner. That hasn't changed."
He studied me for a long moment. I could see him processing, weighing my words against everything he knew about me. Seven months of travel. The Striga fight where I'd disobeyed him and nearly died to help. The songs I'd written that had changed how the world saw him.
"Destiny is a lie people tell themselves," he said finally. "A way to justify choices they don't want to take responsibility for."
"Maybe. But you spoke the Law of Surprise anyway. Why?"
His jaw tightened. He didn't have an answer—or didn't want to admit the one he had.
"You helped save everyone tonight," he said, changing direction. "Your song calmed the princess when nothing else could. Whatever else you are, you're useful." He turned away, looking toward the distant lights of the palace. "If you're bound to that child too, then we're in this together. Both of us claiming something we didn't ask for."
Relief washed through me so strongly I nearly stumbled. "Does that mean—"
"It means we keep moving. Dawn comes soon, and I don't want to be here when Calanthe decides how she feels about two strangers claiming her grandchild." He started walking toward the servants' gate. "Get your things. We leave within the hour."
I found an abandoned tray near the garden fountain—some servant's escape from the chaos—and poured myself wine with shaking hands. Drank it too fast, felt the warmth spread through my chest.
The partnership holds. Damaged, but intact.
Hairline fractures in trust that would need healing. But we had time. Years, probably, before the child we'd claimed became relevant to our lives.
Ciri. Growing in Pavetta's belly right now. Destined to find us both.
I set down the empty cup and followed Geralt toward whatever came next.
We slipped out of Cintra before dawn, two shadows on horseback disappearing into the countryside. The Lioness's court fell away behind us, and neither of us looked back.
The road stretched ahead, familiar and uncertain.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Away from here." Geralt's voice was still flat, but some of the tension had eased from his shoulders. "There's supposed to be a griffin problem in Kaedwen. Pays well."
"Kaedwen it is."
I adjusted my lute case and started composing in my head. The story of Cintra would make an incredible song—if I could figure out how to tell it without revealing too much.
Some secrets need to stay secret. Even from friends.
We rode north as the sun rose, leaving destiny to sort itself out.
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