Vattier de Rideaux was unquestionably an executioner, a despicable schemer who operated in the shadows, but there was nothing wrong with his taste.
Dressed in a formal suit with a black base and white stripes, the dashing witcher followed Chamberlain Mererid through the spacious and opulent stone halls until they reached the study where the emperor conducted his affairs.
Victor remembered that two years ago, Foltest had received him in this very room and commissioned him to save Princess Adda.
Two years had passed, yet the furnishings inside were just as familiar. The bookshelves still stood in the southern corner, and the desk remained piled high with documents awaiting review. Apart from the ruler sitting behind that desk having changed, almost nothing else seemed different.
...
"Bow before His Majesty, the White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of His Enemies, Emperor Emhyr var Emreis!"
Chanting the emperor's title loudly, Chamberlain Mererid, who was walking ahead, was the first to bow in greeting.
By law, violating court etiquette in the emperor's presence was punishable by a full two hundred lashes.
After Mererid demonstrated, Victor bowed as well, following the Nilfgaardian form the chamberlain had taught him: leg extended, hand flat, head down, chin to chest.
As a witcher of the new age, Victor's manners had always been renowned among high society for being elegant, proper, and impeccable.
The bearing he displayed now was not merely correct and fluid, it even possessed a certain natural grace. Everyone in the study who had been hoping to laugh at the "country bumpkin" was left with nothing to say.
Accepting Victor's salute, Emhyr var Emreis responded with the faintest upward curve of his lips.
Once the bow was complete, the witcher straightened.
The emperor was a handsome middle-aged man with black hair, black eyes, and sharply defined features. Only the silver at his temples betrayed his age. It was easy to imagine how charming he must have been in his youth. No wonder he'd managed to seduce Ciri's mother before they were even married.
Having spent plenty of time around Ciri, Victor could also see the resemblance between father and daughter.
Ciri had inherited her mother's lake-green eyes, but their shape was exactly the same as her father's, especially when she narrowed them at someone.
Just like Emhyr was doing now.
His piercing gaze swept slowly from left to right. The authority of a man who had wielded supreme power for years filled the room with an almost tangible pressure, and the other nobles awaiting audience lowered their heads rather than meet his eyes.
Finally, the emperor's gaze returned to Victor Corion.
Among the crowd, he stood out immediately.
He alone had remained calm and self-possessed from the moment he entered, neither servile nor arrogant, even while bowing.
That look, the composure of someone with nothing to ask for and nothing to fear, reminded Emhyr of another witcher he had once met.
The difference was that this young man lacked that fellow's cynical, world-weary mockery, the sort that made people want to gouge his eyes out.
Emhyr waved a hand.
"All of you, leave. I wish to speak with the witcher alone."
The emperor's absolute control over the empire was fully demonstrated by that single command.
Victor could faintly sense unease and agitation among the others, but no one spoke. They simply bowed in orderly fashion and withdrew from the room. Not a single person stepped forward to express concern for His Majesty's safety.
Several minutes later, only a traveler from another world and the ruler of half the civilized world remained in the study.
"Your Majesty," Victor said loudly and clearly, his voice filled with respect. "Thanks to the kingslayers, witchers have acquired quite the unpleasant reputation lately. Perhaps you shouldn't be alone with an assassin."
Emhyr gave a soft, derisive chuckle, rose from his seat, and walked over to him.
"Seeing you in person was merely the final confirmation.
"A man may deceive everyone for a time, or deceive one person forever, but he cannot deceive everyone forever.
"The empire has observed you for a long time. We understand you quite thoroughly. De Rideaux thinks highly of you, Yennefer's assessment was also favorable, and you handled the matter in Toussaint well."
Victor blinked.
"I thought I infuriated her pretty badly last winter. Isn't she here?"
"Yennefer... has gone to do what she must. And you have something you must do as well."
With that, Emhyr pointed toward a painting hanging on the wall.
Victor followed his gesture and looked at Portrait of Princess Cirilla of Cintra.
The instant he saw the scowling little girl in the red formal dress, he nearly burst out laughing on the spot.
It was mostly because of that face.
Those deadpan eyes, that bulbous little nose, the corners of her tightly pressed lips drooping downward, she looked as though the person standing in front of her owed her a fortune.
Damn, that was brutal!
Even if the artist had been going for realism, this was taking things way too far. It was so spectacularly unflattering that it deserved to be preserved forever as one of the darkest stains on Ciri's personal history.
Victor immediately began considering how he could use it to mock her someday.
Just how foul a mood did someone have to be in to make an expression that ugly?
Victor irresponsibly suspected that Radovid's father, the assassinated Vizimir II the Just, might have taken one look at this portrait and immediately abandoned any attempt to arrange a marriage between his little bald son and her.
It was rather amusing when he thought about it. Before that, there had apparently been a prince of Cidaris who had nearly become betrothed to her as well.
Ciri's destiny as the protagonist of this world was apparently reflected in the astonishing number of engagements she had almost entered only for them to fall apart.
Emperor Emhyr var Emreis clearly had no idea Victor was mentally ridiculing his daughter. Otherwise, there was no chance his attitude would still be this mild.
"Victor Corion. Princess Cirilla of Cintra... the heir to the Elder Blood has returned, just as your prophecy in The Burning Omen foretold."
The emperor gazed at the portrait of the little girl, his hands clasped behind his back.
"But she is in danger. The Wild Hunt is pursuing her relentlessly.
"I want to know whether you have any further prophecies that might help me find her. Only at my side will she truly be safe. If you are genuinely close to her, then you should know why."
Hearing him finally get to the point, Victor pulled himself away from his disrespectful thoughts.
Wasn't this exactly the commission Geralt had received in his memories of his previous life?
So while the heavy snow had delayed Victor's own movements, Ciri had already quietly returned!?
It seemed simply waiting around for her to show up might not work after all...
And with Victor now existing in this world, Emhyr apparently saw no reason not to hire another pair of hands.
Victor, however, had no intention of giving the emperor any prophecies.
They might both want Ciri to remain safe, but that did not mean their positions were the same.
"Your Majesty, I trust a daughter's father, and I am willing to do everything within my power to help Ciri. Unfortunately, when it comes to her exact whereabouts, I know no more than you do."
That was Victor's answer to the emperor.
Upon hearing it, Emhyr stepped forward until he stood face-to-face with the witcher. His black eyes stared deeply into the tomoe of Victor's Blue Rinnegan, as though trying to see through him and uncover his true thoughts.
"So you do know. My relationship with her is supposed to be a secret... In that case, find Cirilla for me. I know what witchers are capable of, and she clearly trusts you."
Victor rubbed his nose.
"She does trust me, but that doesn't mean she'll be willing to come see you, even with the so-called Wild Hunt threatening her."
"Convincing her is also within the scope of your assignment. I am prepared to reward you generously for it. I am told Foltest originally paid you three thousand orens to save Adda. Anna Henrietta gave you one thousand florins for bringing Syanna back from the vampires.
"I will pay you three thousand florins, provided you accomplish what I ask."
Victor shook his head.
"I'll look for Ciri because I want her safe, not because I want your gold."
"I do not care why you do it. I care only about the result."
The way Emhyr narrowed his eyes really did make him look remarkably similar to Ciri.
Having said his piece, the emperor turned and returned to his seat behind the desk.
"De Rideaux will explain the details to you."
Then he raised his voice.
"Mererid! The audience is concluded."
The door immediately opened, and the chamberlain entered, bowing humbly at a perfect ninety-degree angle.
"Take the witcher to see de Rideaux," Emhyr ordered.
That was all.
Clearly, even before Victor had been granted this audience, the outcome of their conversation had already been anticipated.
In a certain sense, men like them were prophets as well, prophets whose visions were built upon human nature and intelligence reports.
Before leaving, Victor gave Emhyr one final, searching look, then followed Mererid out of the study.
...
Note: Before the fall of Temeria, one florin was worth approximately three crowns, or nine orens.
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