Geralt looked across the table at Keira, carefully considering her face. “Must’ve cost you a small fortune. Sure, you don’t need me to pitch in?”
“Please, I manage. You know, a dozen eggs here, a cock or gander there…Besides, my finances are about to improve.” Keira replied, her voice light and unhurried. Geralt cocked an eyebrow. “How? if you don’t mind me asking? I mean, you’d think the only work to be had in Velen would be in farming…”
She laughed lightly “Very true. So, I’ve two options. I can either start cultivating. some turnips or…leave. But that’s not what I wished to discuss. Thank you once again, Geralt, for your help with the tower. You were fabulous.”
Geralt kept his eyes locked onto the sorceress’ his face stern as he regarded her the light blush in her cheeks, the strong wine clearly getting to her. Or perhaps it was his refusal to let his eyes wander down, where her dress, with its scandalously wide neckline, revealed her pale and unblemished neck. Attire that was entirely inappropriate for a petty village’s alchemist located so deep in war-ravaged Velen. But not maybe inappropriate for a former royal mage, and member of the Lodge of Sorceresses.