The next morning she was pleased to see Geralt come to watch her teach again. After the class, as she renewed the regenerative spell on his arm, she noticed his gaze lingering on her. She was dressed in blue silk, modestly cut out of respect for the temple, but flattering nonetheless to her figure. A quick psychic peek into his mind found Geralt indeed appreciated the view, though he also felt embarrassment and a touch of guilt, as if afraid she would read his thoughts.
Quite right to worry there, witcher. Triss thought to herself with amusement. She knew she was beautiful- it was practically a professional requirement for sorceresses, but it was still nice to be appreciated. Hmm.. a curious opportunity here if I want it. But how would I explain it to Yenna if she found out? Then again, they are split up...
Triss had wondered for a long time just what it was about Geralt that had such an effect on Yennefer. Since Yenna had introduced them, Triss and the witcher had been friends, but there was still a great deal about him that remained hidden beneath a shell. Mind-reading only revealed the surface layers of his psyche. Triss had even tried reading Yenna's mind when her friend was thinking about Geralt, but that had earned her some rather uncivil admonitions to mind her own business.
Now, though, she had time to spend with Geralt one on one, without Yenna or other friends around. Her conversations with the witcher had revealed several insights. Despite his affirmed disdain for politics and the squabbles of ordinary humans, he was quite well read in history, philosophy, and even a few natural sciences. Given a different fate early in life, he might have done well at Ban Ard or Oxenfurt.
Then there was his sense of humor. For a supposedly emotionless killing machine, Geralt managed to crack quite a few jokes in all situations. Triss guessed that the dry humor, often delivered in monotone deadpan, was how Geralt kept his spirits up in the face of the ugliness, tragedy, and horror he witnessed constantly in his profession. It reminded her of the graveyard humor she observed amongst doctors and healers, especially those attached to armies.
Certainly an interesting case, Triss thought to herself. If I could get him to open up, I wonder what else I would find hidden inside?
...
The morning finally arrived when Triss and Nenneke declared that the cast could come off. Geralt gratefully cut away the plaster and flexed his wrist, then proceeded to scratch vigorously at a spot on his forearm that had been itching for a week.
"Now take it easy for a while longer," Nenneke instructed. "You don't need any sudden shocks, so don't hit anything hard with a sword.
"Of course Nenneke," sighed the witcher, who very much wanted to hit something with a sword.
"How are the tendons in the wrist?" asked Triss. "Probably stiff from immobility?"
"Yes," he confirmed, rotating his hand about.
"I can help with that." She took his hand and murmured a spell, stroking her fingers along his wrist. Geralt felt a pleasant tingling as the stiffness vanished.
Triss held onto his hand a bit longer than strictly necessary to work the spell. She found herself enjoying being close to him, and a determination was slowly growing in her to do something about it. It would just be some harmless fun. She thought to herself. And maybe I'd figure out what it is that makes Yenna get all misty-eyed. Nenneke raised an eyebrow at Triss, as if she knew exactly what the sorceress was thinking. Triss knew the priestess was not a mind-reader, but she had a keen eye and the wisdom of long experience. Feeling the beginnings of a blush in her cheeks, Triss released Geralt's hand quickly.
"There, that should give you full range of motion. You still need to stretch and take it slow, but now you ought to be able to hold a sword."
"Thank you Triss. I think I'll go out in the gardens and do some training."
"I think I'll join you- to make sure you don't over-do it of course. There's nothing as frustrating as a patient who won't follow a healer's directions." Triss said, earning an exasperated look from Geralt.
"Well, some of us have work to do," said Nenneke. "Triss, I'll be in the laboratory an hour before supper."
Triss followed Geralt out amongst the fruit trees, where she watched him go through the sword forms. She recognized many of the movements, having observed witchers in practice at Kaer Morhen when Vesemir invited her there. Geralt grimaced at the weakness in his right arm after its weeks of immobility, but persisted with the exercises. Triss admired the precision and grace of his footwork, and the hard focus in his eyes.
This is what he was made to be, she thought, the hand holding a sword. All the mutations, training, and hardships turned him into a weapon. But that's not all he wants to be. Through all the reading, the friendships with poets and misfits-and magicians for that matter- he seeks to be something more than what destiny made him.
Triss continued watching him in silence, sensing that he did not want interruptions. At the end of his routines, Geralt looked at the sword in his hand and smiled before putting it away. He rejoined Triss in the shade, still with the smile on his face.
"You look like you've just seen sunlight after a week trapped underground," the enchantress observed.
"I can't tell you what a relief it is to be able to hold a blade again." He took hold of her hand and kissed it. "Thank you for your help, Triss."
"No need- it was the least I could do for a friend." Triss left her hand in his, enjoying the slight tingling sensation produced by his witcher mutations. Their eyes met, and for a moment Triss was sure Geralt would kiss her. She felt a twinge of irritation when he dropped his eyes with an embarrassed expression on his face.
Hmm... embarassed, or feeling guilty because of Yenna? He still thinks of me mostly as her friend. Triss thought to herself. Deep down, she was also feeling a bit guilty because of Yenna. But it's not as if I would be stealing him away. Yenna hates him right now, and Geralt said he wants to forget...
Triss heard footsteps, and spotted a group of priestesses arriving for work in the orchard. "Well, I suppose we should get back," she said, hooking her arm onto Geralt's elbow. As they walked she held herself close against him, letting him feel the warmth of her body and smell the scent of her perfume. Reading his mind, she found him in a state of confusion, torn between desire, doubt, and guilt. Very well, Geralt, she thought to herself, if you can't make up your mind, then I'm going to make it for you.
...
That night Triss sat by the fireplace in her room, holding a polished quartz inclusion in her hand. She had hidden an identical stone in Geralt's chamber. It was an old, reliable method for spying and communicating, often used by students at Aretuza to play pranks on one another. It was also rumored some famous and influential magicians used similar techniques to send prophetic dreams to kings and princes.
Triss extended her psychic senses out through the linked stones, finding Geralt's sleeping mind. He was still in the early stages of sleep and had not yet begun to dream.
It had been years since she had done this. In her younger days, she and her friend Keira had made a competition out of it, leaving behind a trail of furious wives and embarrassed husbands. We can't go back to that town for at least another decade. Triss laughed at the memory.
Returning to the present, Triss reached through the stones into Geralt's mind and sent him a dream, a rather naughty dream, giving her imagination free reign. To accompany the dream she left a subtle psychic suggestion: "She is waiting for you." Afterwards she observed for a time as the dream took root in Geralt's subconscious. What a wicked creature I am! She thought to herself as she climbed into bed. Now to wait and see. And he'd better hurry, because after thinking up a dream like that I don't want to have to wait long!
...
Half an hour later he knocked on her door. Got you! Triss thought, freeing her arms from under the blankets. With a gesture and a spell she unlocked the door and opened the window shutter, bathing the room in silver moonlight. Geralt entered slowly and stood looking at her, a slightly embarrassed expression on his face.
“Hello Geralt,” Triss purred at him. “Did you want something?”
“Hi Triss. I um... I was hoping...”
Her eyes sparkled sapphire in the moonlight as she sat up in bed. The thin silk nightdress clung tightly to her. “Good, because I was hoping too!”
She gestured, and the door closed behind him, the bolt clicking shut. “But we can't make it too easy can we?" She winked at him. "You've entered my lair, now you must catch me, monster hunter!” With a giggle Triss vanished under an invisibility spell, the duvet collapsing into the space she left behind.
Geralt laughed and advanced slowly, listening for the sound of movement. A whispered rustle of silk moved to his right and he lunged toward the sound, but his arms only found empty air. A burst of laughter circled behind him. “Too slow witcher!”
With a grin on his face, Geralt stalked toward the sound, his ears straining. Ghostly footsteps crossed the stones near the doorway, and the witcher darted to intercept. Invisible locks of hair brushed his forearm as the sorceress ducked under his reach and escaped again. She let out a short giggle, then went silent again.
As Geralt crept toward where her voice had vanished, the whisper of silk betrayed her movements again. He leapt to the right and swept his arm low, catching soft fabric in his hand. An empty nightdress appeared draped over his wrist, still holding the warmth of the body it had escaped.
Slender invisible arms enveloped him from behind, and he felt the heat of firm breasts pressing into his back. “Well well, looks like the monster caught you, witcher!” Triss crooned in his ear, gently scraping her fingernails over his chest. “Now what will she do with her prey?”