Chapter Text
His scar hurt – that was the first thing he noticed upon waking. Like a paper cut a few inches long on the side of his finger - but deeper somehow. As though it went right down to the bone.
Outside the window, the sun was just starting to rise and the birds were singing a their shrill morning song as Aleksander just felt sick, memories of yesterday overwhelming him. Konrad, Master Gustav, the peasant girls with scars going down their cheeks, the Witcher in the torture chamber and the girls pressed to his side. How he had tried writing to Milena only for his own hand to refuse to obey him.
The despair that had followed.
The unfinished letter ruined by ink spots and tears was still lying on the table in front of him, mocking him for his uselessness. He stared at it silently, even though the mere sight of it made him want to throw up. Because this piece of parchment meant that the painful experiments on the girls would continue, that Master Gustavus would drag more children into the cellar to die there, and that Aleksander would have to stand by and do nothing.
He swallowed. Was this really the man he was destined to become?
A quiet knock on the door disturbed his sorrowful thoughts and Aleksander hastily swiped over his eyes to remove any traces of worry from his face, before Patryk entered with the breakfast the same way he had every morning for the last ten years. The only constant in this madness he found himself in right now.
“Good Morning, your grace,” Patryk said, gently setting a cup of tea on the nearest table. “Have you rested well?” he asked, as though he hadn’t noticed that Aleksander had spent the night in the stiff armchair instead of the giant bed or at least the well padded couch.
“As well as can be expected,” said Aleksander with a sigh and took a sip of the tea. Because what else could he say? The truth was impossible and a lie unnecessary. So a platitude would have to do.
He closed his hands around the teacup and let the warmth of it sooth the pain in his finger - it had ached ever since he had attempted to write to Milena yesterday - as though it was punishing him for his temerity. The heat didn’t make it disappear, but it helped a little.
One after the other the remaining breakfast dishes appeared on the table. Sweet roles, blueberry tarts, butter, jam, honey, candid fruits, biscuits, sugared pastries and more sweet tea. It was a magnificent spread Patryk had brought him, truly worthy of a duke, but when he looked at it he couldn’t help thinking of the Witcher girls and Aren. How thin and pale they had looked. How they were starving in the darkness of his dungeon this very minute, while he sat in the warm sunlight enjoying a majestic breakfast.
He had no appetite today.
“Shall I put this into the fire, your grace?” Patryk asked, frowning at the stained parchment on the table. “I know Maser Konrad is responsible for your correspondence now and I’m sure he would take care of this as soon as he goes through your personal papers but I would hate to trouble him with tedious tidying like this. He has many important duties after all.” At this point he looked at Aleksander meaningfully. “If I understood correctly, he occasionally assists Master Gustavus in addition to his duties with you.”
I’m going to destroy this now, because Master Konrad is going to read every scrap of paper in your possession and this will look really suspicious. In case you haven’t realised he is spying on you and reporting everything to Master Gustavus.
“Yes, thank you, Patryk. That is most thoughtful of you.” said Aleksander, massaging his temple. The warning was unnecessary of course but appreciated nonetheless. “I intend to go through the papers in grandfather’s study with him today, so he will be very busy anyway. I’m sure he’ll appreciate this at least being off his mind.”
Thanks for looking out for me. By the way, he’ll be busy with me later so if you want to do anything Konrad shouldn’t see, today would be a good day.
“Of course, usually I wouldn’t like a man who is still a stranger to me to handle such important work,” he went on, “But he used to be grandfather’s secretary for years and King Vizimir himself has vouched for his trustworthiness. So I’m sure all will be well.”
And I know I can’t trust him. He spent years working for the monster I call my grandfather, and on top of that he’s not only spying for that mage but also for the king. I am well aware of the dangers he poses .
“If King Vizimir himself vouched for him there ought to be no doubt about his loyalties, your grace.” said Patryk. His face wore the same carefully neutral expression that good servants always wore but Aleksander knew him well enough to see the slight frown.
I didn’t know that he’s also spying for the king. That’s worrying.
Oh yes it was worrying. And Aleksander truly didn’t look forward to spending a whole day with the man. But there was nothing to be done, was there? He sighed again and upon Patryk’s meaningful look towards the generous breakfast on the table helped himself to one of the blueberry tarts. It was a rather good blueberry tart and he asked Patryk to give his compliments to the cook only to then suddenly realise that a compliment from the duke in this household might carry worrying implications. He remembered the cook having the same scars every woman in the duchy seemed to wear.
But Patryk seemed unperturbed. “I will pass it on, your grace. I’m sure she will be glad you enjoyed her baking so much. Apparently the late duke always demanded the same dishes every time - it makes a servant’s life quite dreary, if I may say so. I’m sure lots of the folks downstairs will be glad about a bit of change - or most of them at least. The steward seems quite set in his ways.”
Don’t worry, that woman lived under your grandfather for years. She won’t be scared by a compliment! If anything she’ll be quite happy about it, once she realises it won’t be followed by anything unpleasant. Besides, every servant here will simply adore you once they realise you’re nothing like the late duke. The steward might cause some trouble though – consider getting a new one.
Aleksander mentally added the steward to the growing list of minor-worries-to-solve-before-they-turn-into-big-problems and helped himself to one of the pastries.
Meanwhile Patryk continued chatting while tidying the clothes from yesterday back into their proper place and laying out the day suit. “The cook, and everyone else downstairs, has been very welcoming. I get the impression they don’t receive visitors from the capital often - everyone was most curious and I was made to answer a great many questions.”
They wanted to know all about you.
Well that was to be expected. Aleksander was about to respond with some platitude about meeting new people when he saw Patryk still fussing with the clothes even though they were quite correctly placed already. So he remained silent and gave Patryk time to gather his courage until he finally took a deep breath and spoke again. “There was something strange about a few of them though.” He paused again to lay the sleeves of the day suit just so. “Three of them never spoke a word, not even when I asked them a question. They just stared at nothing as though… I don’t know how to describe it, your grace, but it was truly eerie. And when I looked into their eyes,” Patryk shuddered and continued in an even quieter, somewhat haunted voice “they were completely empty. As though they were just empty shells following their master's command.”
Some of the servants are cursed and it is utterly terrifying, I just thought you should know.
Aleksander felt his throat going dry. “I see. But perhaps they are just very reserved? You are a newcomer after all and I expect they have been here for a long time already.”
Please tell me you are mistaken, Patryk, please.
“Perhaps, your grace.” said Patryk, sounding entirely unconvinced. “I will try to be patient and respect their position. As Master Gustavus’ personal servant they are a trusted part of this household after all and have served him for many years already while I am yet to prove myself to them.”
I’m definitely not mistaken though. And just so it’s clear, this is something else Master Gustavus is behind. So be careful around him.
Aleksander felt the blood draining from his face and couldn’t stop his eyes going to the scar on his finger. This was bad, really bad. If Master Gustavus was capable of controlling a person like this there was every possibility he would do the same to Aleksander if he proved to be too much trouble. The only saving grace seemed to be that the curse he had on his servants was more notable than the one he had placed on Aleksander. It made perfect sense he hadn’t subjected him to such drastic measures.
Yet.
Because it wouldn’t be an implausible story that he would start being a little reclusive upon inheriting the duchy, would it? Even in Tretegor he always liked to keep to himself whenever it was acceptable, drawing birds in his room instead of duelling other nobleman in the courtyard, taking a lonely walk instead of seducing the ladies of the court. And now he was a duke in his own right who had the power to do whatever he pleased (at least it would seem that way to everyone) - and if that meant hardly ever leaving the estate, only rarely receiving any visitors (and never any visitors who didn’t know), who would think that strange about the quiet Lord Aleksander who liked to draw birds and be by himself?
The room seemed to swim before his eyes, as he desperately tried to slow his racing heart. He needed to be careful or this time he would actually throw up and that was just out of the question. Especially with Patryk still in the room.
“Your grace?” his servant regarded him with worried eyes.
Aleksander drew a shuddering breath and forced his muscles to relax. After another breath the room seemed to still again and he carefully placed the half-eaten pastry back on the plate, hoping Patryk wouldn't notice the way his hands were suddenly trembling. “I am quite well, Patryk,” he forced out.
Let it go, I don’t want to talk about it.
“Very good, your grace.” Patryk said, still looking rather doubtful. In fact Aleksander was sure he was quite determined to find out what was troubling his master so.
Which could be catastrophic. While Master Gustavus was rightly hesitant about obviously enchanting a high ranking nobleman, Patryk had no such protection. Aleksander mentally shuddered at the thought of losing the only person he could trust in this place and having him replaced by an empty shell that looked like him, but was only a lifeless puppet with Master Gustavus pulling the strings.
He couldn’t let that happen. He would need to put up a better pretence of being alright from now on. Because that wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all!
“That will be all, Patryk.” Aleksander said curtly, just barely managing to keep his panic at bay. “I will dress myself today.”
For a moment Patryk seemed to consider arguing with that. A rude sudden dismissal like that undoubtedly only increased his concern but Aleksander couldn’t bear putting up a facade any longer. Not in front of faithful Patryk who might soon pay for his loyalty with his very soul.
His brown eyes lingered on Aleksander for a long moment but in the end when Aleksander remained steadfastly silent he only repeated his “Very good, your grace,” took the splotchy letter from yesterday to burn as promised and slipped quietly out of the door.
As soon as it fell shut Aleksander drew a shuddering breath and buried his face in his hands.
Oh Patryk, Aleksander thought, I wish could tell you. But I can’t - and even if I could, I probably shouldn’t. Because I cannot keep you safe. Not you, not the girls in the duchy, perhaps not even myself.
Aleksander had always been very good at keeping a polite dinner conversation going. It was, like most conversations in court, simply a matter of learning the right observations by heart and voicing them upon the right cue. Once you were used to it, it was as effortless as breathing and you could let your mind wander just a little while you repeated the same worn phrases you already said a hundred times before.
Which was fortunate, since Aleksander went through most of the dinner with Master Gustavus and Konrad in a daze.
He asked about the journey, he agreed about the quality of the roads, he mentioned vague plans for the duchy and he complimented the salad. Meanwhile he used the correct knife for every course, he smiled and frowned in the right places and he took a second serving of desert. And he did all of this without a single thought. His etiquette teacher would have been proud of him, seeing him do all the right things at the right time even though his mind kept wandering to the Witcher and the girls.
When Master Gustavus took from the salad, Aleksander wondered if he had already went down to their cage before arriving at the dinner table. When he added sauce to his duck he wondered if the Witchers had been scared. When he ate the blueberry tart he wondered if the girl with the particoloured eyes had hurled insults at him.
When he drank the wine he wondered if she had been tortured for it.
Aleksander throat grew tight upon the thought.
He didn’t want to know the answer.
By the time Master Gustavus had finally finished and it was polite to get up Aleksander felt quite unsteady on his feet. He managed to give his dinner companions a polite incline of the head, his trembling hands safely out of sight behind his back, before he could excuse himself at last. Now he just needed to take a few more steps and he would be away from Konrad’s oily smile, Master Gustavus’ horrid politeness and the servants’ ever watchful gaze. Only a few more steps.
But the way from the dining room to his bedroom seemed to stretch on into eternity, every hallway lined with portraits of long forgotten ancestors who seemed to gaze into his very soul and find something rather horrid there. ‘A duke of Velen is always the same,’ they seemed to say, ‘Girls die in the duchy – in his bedroom by his hand, or in his cellar by the mage’s. It is always the same. Girls die here.’
The next thing he remembered was throwing up into the chamberpot, his breath coming only in shuddering gasps with tears pricking behind his eyes. His bedroom – the room his grandfather tormented and killed who knows how many girls in - was blurring before him.
Those young ladies probably hadn’t been much older than the girls in the cellar.
And now - just like his grandfather before him - he had doomed the girls forever. Zia and Elena from Tretogor, Ada and… he didn’t even remember the name of the other girl from Velen. The tallest of the girls who had stood there quiet and composed in spite of the horrors that surrounded her. Gods! But he remembered all of their faces, thin and defiant in the dark cellar, daring him to answer for his crimes.
He buried his head in his hands. One hundred and eight dead.
One hundred and eight dead so far.
And he was about to let Master Gustavus continue!
Aleksander swallowed hard and drew a shuddering breath. No. He straightened his shoulders and returned the portraits’ accusing gaze. No! He would find a way to stop this or he would die.
But no more.
Nights like these were the worst.
Of course it was always bad in the cellar, and whenever one of them had been the subject of that day's experiments (and that was most days) it was worse. And nights when they had experimented on Aren were the worst.
Elena and the others helped him, of course - as best as they could at least even though there was usually nothing to help him with! Just a little water to flush his wounds and even that was usually so murky it was always a gamble if it wouldn’t do more harm than good.
"As soon as we get outta here, that whoreson cur will regret the day he was born!" Zia's face was flushed with anger as she kept pacing back and forth in the small cage always turning abruptly every few steps.
Back and forth, left and right, on and on.
Oh Elena wished she would stop. But it was never any good arguing with Zia when Aren was this injured. And today the mages had been cruel! Elena shuddered just thinking about the things she had seen and heard today. And Aren had lived through that torture.
So far at least.
Because Aren was still just laying there, unconscious but clearly in pain, and he hadn't woken up yet. His chest was rising and falling slowly and they could all hear his heart beating in that Witcher slow rhythm but he just. wasn't. Waking. Up! Elena didn't need to look at Zia who was still pacing and muttering curses or Ada who was hugging Maja with all her might to know that they were wondering the same thing. What if the mages went to far this time? What if Aren wouldn't wake up? What if they were all alone at the mages' mercy from now on? The questions were always the same but they never got any easier. Not even Maja could hide the concern behind her gentle eyes - and she had been there the longest.
Elena carefully patted Aren's forehead with a wet rag. Her mother had used to do that for her when she’d been sick. But that was a long time ago now and the remedy seemed grossly out of proportion to the terrible injuries the mages had inflicted on Aren.
But he was still breathing and his heart was still beating. So Elena kept patting his forehead.
Then, all of a sudden Zia’s quiet footsteps seized. She stood at the door of the cage completely and utterly still, not moving a single muscle. Her eyes, that always seemed golden and blue at the same time, were entirely focused on the door.
Elena hardly dared to breathe. Oh no, please no. The mages couldn't come again so soon. Not after today. Just not tonight. She prayed to every good that might listen to a young girl's prayers that whatever Zia had heard would pass on and not come down the stairs. Just let us be lucky this once. Only once!
But Zia's lips tightened into a thin line and she did not start pacing again. Whatever she heard was coming closer.
Elena carefully laid the wet reg on Aren's forehead and with a last prayer in her mind went to stand beside Zia, between Aren and the door. Now she could hear the footsteps too, coming down the stairs slowly but steadily, growing louder and louder the closer they came. And then she could hear the heartbeat too, human fast in the way Elena and the others had learned a long time ago, promised pain.
In the corner of her eyes she could see Maja and Ada coming forward too, placing themselves on Zia’s other side.
The footsteps were close now. Five more steps and they’d reach the door, Elena thought, maybe less. She swallowed and raised her chin high, even though she really wanted to curl up in a corner and cry.
But she couldn't, because the mage mustn't get to Aren. Not tonight.
Aleksander didn't quite know what had made him come down again. It was dangerous, it was useless and it was horrible.
But staying upstairs was cowardly. And that was worse.
He had barely opened the door to the laboratory when the lamp slipped out of his shaking hand and clattered to the ground as four catlike pairs of eyes glowed in the unrelenting darkness of the cage, watching him intently.
"What are y’ doing here again?" a girl’s voice hissed. Aleksander thought it was the fierce one, who had been the first of the girls to speak to him yesterday too, but in the darkness of the room he couldn't be sure - there were no windows to let even the dim moonlight in, so all he could see were the four slitted pairs of eyes glowing (and glowering) at him. Three of them in Witcher gold, one with an unsettling blue tint to it.
(Shouldn’t it be five pairs of eyes?)
He swallowed. "I came to speak to you. And... to ask your advice." Meanwhile his hands were groping for the dropped lamp but all he could reach was the stone floor, slightly sticky and unmercifully cold. He hated the darkness - it made the whole affair even more unbearable.
The eyes narrowed in unison. "To ask our advice, your grace?" Another of the girls spoke this time. Her words were politer - but her tone was just as wary.
They had no reason to trust his word, Aleksander reminded himself, so he would have to choose his words carefully. And even then there was no way they would believe him at first. Of course they wouldn't! But they had no choice but to listen. And maybe, if he came again and again and proved the truth of his words they might trust him in time. And perhaps that would be enough to find a way to get them free. Perhaps.
He took a deep breath, abandoned his attempt to find the lamp and stood up quite straight instead. And then with all the sincerity he felt is his heart he said, "You have suffered so much at the hands of Master Gustavus and my grandfather. And I cannot undo that and I doubt I’ll ever be able to make amends for it. But you must know, that I will do everything within my power so that the experiments cease forever, never to start again."
It was the first time he had even dared to think it this plainly, but he said the words like a solemn oath nonetheless - and he meant them wholeheartedly.
The silence that followed was deafening.
"You're lyin'." the first voice growled and the pair of eyes that seemed gold and blue at the same time narrowed until the pupils were nearly invisible. "Y're lyin'! You fuckin’ bastard. You’re lyin!”
Aleksander swallowed with a heavy heart. There was a cruel irony to the curse.
He opened his mouth to respond not quite knowing how to convince the girls of his sincerity when suddenly another voice spoke before him. "He's not though, is he? He's telling the truth, Zia." She sounded even younger than the others. Strangely childlike and innocent in spite of the circumstances.
Aleksander blinked. He had not expected any of them would believe him tonight. He had planned to come again as often as he dared bringing food and other necessities, keeping Master Gustavus and Konrad busy upstairs as often as he could until the Witcher girls and Aren could maybe allow themselves to hope he was on their side. He had expected he would have to earn their trust - and he was ready to work for it. So how could the girl take his side just like that? He refused to believe any of them were naive.
The eyes looked at each other and Aleksander could hear them talking to each other, too quietly to make out words but loud enough to hear the conflict between them. The hissing of Zia and the responses of the others seemed to blur together, as Aleksander stood there quite still, waiting for them to pass judgement.
Finally the tallest pair of eyes turned to him again and spoke in a soft voice, "The lamp's t'your left, m'lord, couple inches behind you."
"Thank you." Aleksander said and felt as though he had passed some kind of test.
And by some miracle the lamp was indeed in the place the girl had described. That had to be a good sign, didn’t it? And even better, the light didn’t seem to have suffered much from the fall. The oil was still inside and Aleksander could feel no cracks or holes in the sides. He breathed a sigh of relief. It might not improve the situation much but the mere hope of bringing some light into the darkness made his heart feel just a tiny bit lighter.
Relighting the fire in the dark, however, turned out to be more difficult than expected.
"You're shit at this, y'know?", Zia scowled at him after he nearly knocked the lamp over for a second time.
"Yes, I'm afraid that's true." Aleksander said rather ruefully. "I fear I don't have a great deal of practice at lighting things in the dark."
(Patryk usually did that.)
Zia shook her head - at least Aleksander was pretty sure by now, that she was the owner of the blueish pair of eyes. "Nobles. Useless th'lot of 'em!" She muttered. "Give it here. Or you'll be at it 'till morning!"
Aleksander wondered if it was such a good idea to come this close to the cage. The girls were weakened and imprisoned of course - but they were Witchers. The bars were far enough apart that the skinny girls could undoubtedly grab him if they wanted to, and unlike him they could actually see right now and if the mutations Master Gustavus had forced on them had actually given them Witcher strength, they could overpower him easily.
He took a determined step closer to the cage willing his thoughts to still. Because he was asking these girls to trust him and miraculously they were giving him a chance. So he would trust them too.
Careful to make no sudden movements he walked forwards, one hand stretched out in front of him to feel the bars before he slammed right into them.
And, how he felt them. He hadn’t quite reached the cage - he was still several inches away from it, he was sure - but he could already feel the cold of the metal chilling him down to the bone. He shuddered. There was vile magic woven into the cage, no doubt about it.
He carefully placed the lamp on the floor, in a place he supposed was right in front of the bars, and took a few slow steps backwards, his footsteps echoing loudly in the silence of the laboratory.
Aleksander could hear no footsteps when Zia neared the bars in turn, her blueish eyes flickering from him to the lamp back and fro. He heard her grab the lamp and for a moment he feared she would throw it at him. He wouldn't blame her for taking revenge on the duke of Velen – but a few seconds later there was light in the cellar once more. Zia’s now illuminated, gaunt little face glaring at him fiercly.
Oh gods. Aleksander thought as his gaze strayed from Zia and he saw the cellar in the soft yellow light of his lamp once more. Ye gods!
The table to the left of the cage was covered in red, as were the floor and parts of the wall. Gods. The floor that had felt so sticky earlier. His heart was beating too fast when he looked at his trembling hands – they too had smears of dried blood on them. He felt bile rise in his throat but he swallowed it back with conviction. He would not show weakness in front of the girls! They faced the horrors with dignity and so must he.
“So what d’you need advice for?”, Zia scowled at him, “Unlock the cage and we’re off! Simple ’s that.”
“He hasn’t got no key,” the tallest of the girls said softly. “Besides, the mage always needs magic to open th’door, don’t he? And he ain’t got no magic.”. Aleksander hated the hopelessness he could hear in her voice and wished desperately he were able to prove her wrong.
“I have neither key nor magic,” he admitted, ”but there has got to be something I can do.” He winced at the desperateness that had crept into his voice without permission. “I am yet to be a real help to you, it’s true, and for that I am sorry. But please believe me when I tell you, that I really wish to help you, but I cannot.” Zia huffed at that but Aleksander just went on, the desperate need for them to understand overwhelming him. “I cannot tell anyone of your plight, Master Gustavus has made sure of that.” He held up his trembling hand to show them the scar that bound his lips so cruelly. “When I try to speak of it to anyone, who doesn’t know of this already, no word will pass my lips. When I try to write a letter the muscles in my hand refuse to obey me.”
He shuddered at the memories, his throat seizing up, choking him, his hand trembling and hurting, creating ink spots instead of words on the letter, and the despair and hopelessness that had followed the attempts.
But he forced himself to continue. “I refuse to give up. The injustice taking place must not go on. - But I do not know what else to try. I had hoped perhaps a Witcher could advise me on the curse or perhaps you know of another way to escape from Master Gustavus’ clutches, I could facilitate.” He looked at the girls, so much younger than himself, and felt foolish for asking them to solve this mess.
But they were Witchers and therefore his best bet at this point.
“Truth,” the littlest girl nodded solemnly. Ada, if Aleksander’s memory could be trusted, who was from his duchy just like the tallest of the girls, whose name Aleksander still could not remember.
“Alright,” Zia said leaning on the wall. “So you wanna help us. So what? Doesn’t do us any good if the fucking mage ‘s got you too.”
“He’s caged too,” the tallest girl nodded. “I mean ‘course it’s more golden than ours. But a cage ’s a cage, don’t it?”
Aleksander would have never dared to compare his predicament to that of the girls, but part of him couldn’t help but agree that his prison was just as unbreakable as the cold magic bars standing between him and the girls.
“Perhaps,” Aleksander began - he could already guess how his next request would be welcomed but it was why he had come in the first place – “Perhaps Master Aren would be able to offer some advice.”
The reaction was instantaneous: Zia pushed away from the wall her muscles tensing like a cat’s ready to pounce, the tallest girl stood up straighter clearly making a point of her greater height, Elena glanced back to the darkest corner - too dark for Aleksander to see - and even little Ada clenched her fists.
Aleksander held his hands up apologetically, deliberately keeping every movement slow as to not spook the girls any further. The blood, their protectiveness - it was to be expected but he had needed to at least ask.
“Perhaps you should leave now, your grace.” Elena said coolly. “We thank you for your kind words of course.” Zia snorted at that but a sharp look from the other girl made her keep any further comments to herself. “We will meditate on what you told us.”
Aleksander slowly nodded at the curt dismissal. “I will come back. You have my word.” He hesitated for a moment whether to continue talking or just grab the lamp and leave as to not damage the tentative trust the girls were offering him. He regarded their skinny little faces with sorrow. “I ought to bring you some things next time I visit - some food and water at least – or maybe, maybe you would rather have something else?”
He couldn't even imagine all the things they lacked. They seemed to be in need of everything.
“Our freedom, y’ clotpole?” In the flickering lamplight Aleksander could see the muscles in Zia’s face tighten into an ugly sneer. Aleksander had definitely overstayed his welcome by now.
“I will return soon.” he promised with a last bow of his head and fled the cellar.