TEMERIA – ROYAL PALACE OF VIZIMA
The throne room in the royal palace of Vizima had heard the whispers of a thousand schemes. But today, the business of the kingdom was being conducted in a smaller chamber, a room of maps and strategy.
King Foltest sat at the head of a long oak table, his fingers steepled before him, his sharp eyes fixed on the men and women who surrounded him. He was a man who had seen much war, betrayal, the machinations of kings and mages. His face bore the marks of his years, but his gaze was still sharp, still hungry for the truth that so often eluded him. His doublet was simple but well-cut, the blue and gold of Temeria woven into its fabric.
General Natalis stood to his right, his posture rigid, his hands clasped behind his back. He was a soldier through and through, a man who had bled for Temeria and would bleed for it again. His face was weathered, his eyes hard, he had fought alongside Foltest in a dozen campaigns, and he knew the cost of war better than most.
"Your Majesty, we have examined the assassin's body from every conceivable angle," Natalis said, his voice low and grim. "There is nothing to identify him. No marks, no tattoos, no documents of any kind. His clothes were plain, his weapons unremarkable.. common steel, common leather, that could be purchased in any market from here to the Pontar. He could have come from anywhere. He could have been anyone."
The advisors around the table murmured among themselves, their voices rising and falling one of them, a thin, nervous man with a receding hairline and a habit of tugging at his collar, cleared his throat and spoke up.
"Redania, perhaps?" he offered, "King Radovid has been growing bolder since the war's end. He sees Temeria as a threat to his ambitions, a rival that must be crushed before it can rise. An assassination would be a logical step for a man of his... temperament."
Another advisor, a portly man with a red face shook his head vigorously. "Radovid is a fool, Your Majesty, but he is not a fool enough to attempt assassination. Even he would understand that such an act would unite the Northern Kingdoms against him. No, I think Kaedwen is the more likely culprit. King Henselt has always been jealous of Temeria's prosperity, and he has never forgiven us for the land disputes along the Pontar. A dead king would weaken us, leave us vulnerable to his ambitions."
A third advisor, a slender woman with sharp features and sharper eyes, raised an elegant hand. "With respect, Kaedwen is too far from our borders to mount such an operation. Their spies would have to travel through Redanian territory, which would leave them exposed. The risk of discovery would be far too great for a cautious ruler like Henselt. He prefers to play the long game, to wait for his enemies to weaken themselves before striking. An assassination would be too direct, too reckless for his nature."
Natalis's expression was skeptical, his jaw tight. "Then who? If not Radovid, if not Henselt, then who? We cannot simply let this go unanswered. The people will demand justice, and our enemies will see our inaction as weakness."
The room fell into a murmur of competing theories, each advisor convinced of their own correctness. Foltest listened, his expression unreadable, his fingers tapping against the polished wood of the table. He had seen this before, the endless debates, the shifting alliances, the certainty of men who believed they knew the truth but had never stepped foot on a battlefield.
Then Triss Merigold spoke.
Her voice was calm, calmer than anyone present, she had been standing near the window, her back to the room, her eyes fixed on the pale sky beyond the glass. But now she turned, her hair catching the pale light, her eyes steady and unyielding.
"Gentlemen, if I may," Triss said. "I believe we are looking in the wrong direction. This is not the work of Redania, nor Kaedwen, nor any of the Northern Kingdoms. This is Nilfgaard, don't mistake their inactivity for weakness."
The room fell silent. All eyes turned to her.
Triss stepped forward, "Consider the facts," She continued. "A killer with no past, no connections, no loyalties. An assassination attempt that cannot be traced back to its true architect. This is exactly the kind of operation that Emhyr var Emreis specializes in. He does not fight fair, Your Majesty. He fights to win, and if he cannot defeat his enemies on the battlefield, he will defeat them in the shadows."
The thin advisor opened his mouth to protest, but Triss raised a hand, silencing him.
"I know what you are about to say," she said. "That we have no proof, that suspicion is not evidence. And you are correct. But consider this: Nilfgaard has been quiet for months. Too quiet, and they have just lost the second northern war.. The Emperor does not go silent unless he is planning something big. And what better way to destabilize the North than to remove its most powerful king?"
Foltest leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "You are certain of this, Merigold? You are willing to stake your reputation on the claim that Emhyr is behind this?"
Triss met his gaze without flinching. "I am certain that it fits the pattern, Your Majesty. The Emperor has used similar tactics before, and every attempt in various kingdoms were attributed to internal conflicts, but both bore the hallmarks of Nilfgaardian interference. This is how he operates. He does not seek glory on the battlefield; he seeks victory through any means necessary."
Foltest was silent for a long moment. His fingers ceased their tapping, and his eyes fixed on Triss with an intensity that made even the hardened advisors shift uncomfortably.
"Aye," Foltest said slowly. "That does sound like Emhyr."
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping the room. "But we still have no proof. And without proof, we cannot act. We cannot declare war on Nilfgaard based on suspicion alone, no matter how strongly we feel about it. The Northern Kingdoms would not stand with us, and we would be left isolated and vulnerable against a giant."
Triss inclined her head, her expression thoughtful. "I may be able to help with that, Your Majesty. I have contacts in Nilfgaard, individuals who are not in service to the Emperor, who owe me favors and who have their own reasons for wanting to see Emhyr's plans disrupted. If I reach out to them, they may be able to uncover details that our own agents have missed. Information about the assassin, about the plot, about who truly orchestrated it."
Foltest's eyebrows rose. "You have spies in Nilfgaard? I was not aware of such a network, Merigold."
A smile crossed Triss's lips. "I have friends, Your Majesty. There is a difference. Spies are bought; friends are earned. And I have earned the trust of individuals who would not betray me, no matter what the Emperor offers them."
Foltest considered this, his fingers drumming once more against the table. Then he nodded slowly. "Do it. But I will not trust their words blindly, no matter how much faith you place in them. The Empire has a way of turning even the most loyal to its cause. Tread carefully, Merigold."
Triss's expression did not waver. "You would be wise to be cautious, Your Majesty. But the one I will ask is trustworthy. She is a good friend of mine, someone who has proven that to me time and time again. If there is anyone who can uncover the truth, it is her."
Foltest nodded, turning his attention to the maps spread across the table. The discussion shifted to troop movements, border defenses, the endless logistics of ruling a kingdom on the edge of war. The advisors leaned in, their voices rising and falling, their arguments growing more heated.
But Triss's mind was elsewhere.
She was thinking of Geralt, of the desperate conversation they had shared in the shadows of a tavern. She was thinking of Ciri, of the girl who had been taken, who was out there somewhere, lost and alone with an Elven Sage.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost missed Foltest's next words.
"Oh, Merigold," Foltest said, his voice casual, almost offhand. "Right. About your request."
Triss's attention snapped back to the present. She turned to face him, her expression carefully neutral, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest.
"One of my men returned with news," Foltest continued, his eyes fixed on her "The Emperor is indeed sending hunters of all sorts to find his heir.. Trackers, assassins, mages, soldiers, all of them are being dispatched to the North.. It really is true that he married a fake one, that was not the real princess of Cintra.. She is still out there."
He paused, letting the words sink in. A cold smile spread across his face.
"If we find his heir before he does, we will have the greatest weapon in our hands! A weapon that could secure Temeria's future for generations to come and crush Nilfgaard, Emhyr's subjects would turn against him."
Triss's face went pale. Her heart hammered in her chest, a frantic rhythm that she fought to keep hidden. Her mind raced, searching for the right words, the right expression, the right response that would not betray her knowledge.
'Ciri,' she thought. 'So, she is really being hunted..'
'And they want to use her..'
She forced a smile onto her face, a mask of composure that she had perfected over years of courtly intrigue.
"That is true," Triss said, her voice steady, "A powerful weapon indeed."
Foltest nodded, seemingly satisfied, and turned back to his advisors. The discussion resumed, the voices rising and falling, the arguments growing more heated.
But Triss was no longer listening, she looked away, her eyes fixed on the window, her mind racing with plans and contingencies.
'Geralt,' she thought. 'Sebastian as well. I need to warn them, I need to find her before anyone else does...'
'I need to protect her... but I can't locate her at all...'
/-\
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