He'd snatched up four of the damned things as he fled from the study--pennants and tags with that ugly nautilus emblazoned on them, each tucked in alcoves or dangling from vases as large as his torso. He surely missed half a dozen more--that he hadn't seen or his fumbling fingers hadn't managed to snatch as he ran. The Gods' damned things were everywhere.
How many magic wards did it take to snare a Witcher?
Could that have possibly been her main goal? Jaskier didn't know much about magic but he knew quite a bit about Witchers and this seemed like a risky gambit. What if Geralt had refused to attend with him? What if he had been immune to the wards? What if--what if--
Jaskier slipped into the ballroom and darted to the side. He hadn't made it ten feet before that question--what if--had been thoroughly answered. He plowed into something large and heavy, stable enough that he nearly knocked himself over. The room was brighter than the hall but it still took him a long moment to realize what had stopped him.
A body.
He stared and his heart siezed--no, it was a person. They were standing upright, eyes open, face slack, breathing but only just. Next to them there was another and another--his eyes tracked the perimeter of the room, ahead of him. The whole party was here, stood frozen in the dark, lifeless and waiting.
Behind him, he heard Geralt's shoulder as it connected with the doors. He jumped and dove behind the man he had collided with. The crowd of insensate statue people gave him some cover and he stepped lightly and quickly as he moved away from the doors.
She had a fucking crowd? Let it never be said that Vanessa did things by halves.
Had she planned to maul him at the party? Have the partygoers attack him and then decided Geralt would be worse? That sounded like her brand of vindictive bitchery, and also was entirely correct. Then why weren't these people helping the Witcher? Why hadn't they reacted as he moved through them?
Geralt had destroyed one ward and come out of it, if only for a moment.
The doors rebounded off the walls with an almighty crash and none of the bodies around him so much as flinched. They were so far under that they were nearly comatose. Geralt had gasped and doubled over--
She could only barely keep him enthralled.
Geralt strode in, through the shadows and slats of moonlight and Jaskier felt terror creep into him. The paltry handful of pennants he'd snatched up weren't going to solve this. (He clutched them greedily in defense, but they weren't enough.) He needed--fuck, he had no idea--the curtains stirred in Geralt's wake, cast more light over the floor and let in the sound of waves. Something above sparkled and Jaskier glanced up.
That awful tacky chandelier had dangling gold shells.
He would bet all the gold in Cintra that damned chandelier was the cornerstone of her spell.
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How many magic wards did it take to snare a Witcher?
Could that have possibly been her main goal? Jaskier didn't know much about magic but he knew quite a bit about Witchers and this seemed like a risky gambit. What if Geralt had refused to attend with him? What if he had been immune to the wards? What if--what if--
Jaskier slipped into the ballroom and darted to the side. He hadn't made it ten feet before that question--what if--had been thoroughly answered. He plowed into something large and heavy, stable enough that he nearly knocked himself over. The room was brighter than the hall but it still took him a long moment to realize what had stopped him.
A body.
He stared and his heart siezed--no, it was a person. They were standing upright, eyes open, face slack, breathing but only just. Next to them there was another and another--his eyes tracked the perimeter of the room, ahead of him. The whole party was here, stood frozen in the dark, lifeless and waiting.
Behind him, he heard Geralt's shoulder as it connected with the doors. He jumped and dove behind the man he had collided with. The crowd of insensate statue people gave him some cover and he stepped lightly and quickly as he moved away from the doors.
She had a fucking crowd? Let it never be said that Vanessa did things by halves.
Had she planned to maul him at the party? Have the partygoers attack him and then decided Geralt would be worse? That sounded like her brand of vindictive bitchery, and also was entirely correct. Then why weren't these people helping the Witcher? Why hadn't they reacted as he moved through them?
Geralt had destroyed one ward and come out of it, if only for a moment.
The doors rebounded off the walls with an almighty crash and none of the bodies around him so much as flinched. They were so far under that they were nearly comatose. Geralt had gasped and doubled over--
She could only barely keep him enthralled.
Geralt strode in, through the shadows and slats of moonlight and Jaskier felt terror creep into him. The paltry handful of pennants he'd snatched up weren't going to solve this. (He clutched them greedily in defense, but they weren't enough.) He needed--fuck, he had no idea--the curtains stirred in Geralt's wake, cast more light over the floor and let in the sound of waves. Something above sparkled and Jaskier glanced up.
That awful tacky chandelier had dangling gold shells.
He would bet all the gold in Cintra that damned chandelier was the cornerstone of her spell.
He had to find a way to smash it.