CH1014 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1014: The Day of Adulthood

Neverwinter was preparing for a coronation.

Having released the news to the kingdom, Roland handed the entire ceremony to Barov and stepped back. The City Hall Director threw himself into the work with the devotion of a man who believed that perfection was not a goal but a minimum standard—he even summoned Blanche, the ceremonial officer, up from the old king’s city to assist him.

Roland, meanwhile, returned to the internal combustion engine.

He had been living between the castle office and the north slope backyard, checking progress on the magic movie, then returning to the design problems that kept surfacing. The fractional distillation process produced oil of variable quality, which forced him into redundancy design. Without computer simulation there was no shortcut—only the cycle: build a prototype, run the stability tests, improve it or scrap it. He had been doing this for weeks, and he found he didn’t mind. The forgotten knowledge was returning—the actual texture of it, not the surface memory of having once learned it.

Anna was at his side through most of it.

She attacked precision components with an absorption that seemed to use her entire body. Even when she paused to wipe sweat from the tip of her nose, her eyes never left the work. He found himself watching her more than the prototype—the specific angle of her concentration, the way she moved with an assurance that was purely her own.

Her thirst for creation ran as deep as the Blackfire itself.

Whenever they made progress she smiled with a brightness that had nothing to do with being queen or wife or anything with a title. She had said as much: as long as they could stay together, the title didn’t matter to her.

Roland still wanted to give her the title. Not because it changed anything between them, but because certain things needed to be said aloud in front of witnesses. A commitment expressed was different from one merely felt.

He put down the quill and rolled his neck, feeling the soreness spread.

If the dimensions held this time, the design was finished. The last batch of prototypes had run stably long enough to satisfy the city’s current needs.

Internal combustion engines were not structurally foreign to the steam engine—the real difference was what they contained. A steam engine needed external equipment: boiler, pipe, the inevitable energy lost to transportation. An internal combustion engine put the fuel inside the cylinder directly. All the heat generated drove the piston. Nothing was wasted to distance.

The process sounded simple. The execution was not. The air-and-fuel mixture burned violently inside the cylinder; as the air expanded with heat it drove the piston down; as pressure fell, the cylinder drew in fresh fuel. The catch was sealing. In an early steam engine you could practically push a finger through the gap between piston and cylinder wall, and felt or linen could plug it adequately. That gap would destroy an internal combustion engine—one leak and the thing stopped.

It was the sealing requirement that had pushed internal combustion engines to come decades after electric motors in his previous world.

He had two designs working in parallel: a cylinder-in-line configuration, heavy cast iron, slow and stable, suited to factories; and a radial arrangement—the star engine—with shorter crankshafts, compact, built from aluminum alloy. Only Anna could process those components at the tolerances required. The star engine was for aircraft.

He was also, privately, hurrying. The Senior Demon’s words from the last expedition had not left him. Ground-based firearms alone were not enough. Whatever came from the sky could not be answered from the ground. If the design held, mankind in this world would, for the first time, have an air force capable of fighting back.

“Your Majesty—don’t move.”

Nightingale’s voice. He froze.

A moment passed. He felt a brief sharp sting at his scalp as she plucked something free.

“A white hair?” He turned carefully, caught between wanting to laugh and not wanting to find out she was serious.

The hair in her fingers was dry, without any luster from root to tip. His hair was light grey by nature, but she had found it anyway.

“There’s more.” She was already searching. “Have you been sleeping poorly?”

“Have I?”

“You used to sleep late in winter. Lately you’re up before me. And the Dream World isn’t real sleep, is it? You’ve been yawning.” She spoke without drama, just observation. “White hairs in your twenties. That’s not a good sign.”

He looked at her. The weariness he’d been managing quietly fell back a little simply from being seen—not because anything had changed, but because someone was paying attention. She cared about him as steadily as she always had. His coming marriage had not altered anything between them. He suspected the agreement she and Anna had reached was responsible for that, though he had never asked.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I haven’t reached my limit.”

”…” She studied him. Whatever she found there, she accepted it. “How do you know when you have?”

“I get a palpitation. A sensation of emptiness in the chest. After that I feel weak, start coughing—sometimes blood—”

He coughed. Violently. Mid-sentence.

Nightingale was on her feet immediately, hand at his back. “Are you all right? Should I get Nana?”

He breathed. “No—I choked on my own saliva.”

“Really.”

“I’m fine, I—”

He turned and stopped. She was much closer than he had registered. They looked at each other. Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.

The office door opened.

“Your Majesty.” Wendy walked in with a record book, took in whatever was happening, and paused. “What are you doing?”

Roland blinked and found that Nightingale had already crossed the room to the couch, where she was lying with a piece of dried fish, expression entirely innocent.

He was bent backward at an improbable angle with both hands behind his head.

“His Majesty is practicing gymnastics,” Nightingale said. “He’s been in his chair too long. So he decided to try the new exercises first.”

“I see.” Wendy looked at his posture with genuine uncertainty. “Is this the gymnastics you wanted to promote in the schools? Do you think… this particular pose works?”

“It does.” He straightened slowly. “Trust me.” He could see Nightingale’s shoulders shaking with the effort of not laughing. “Well—what did you want to tell me?”

Wendy opened the record book. “Your Majesty,” she said, “according to our records from last year—today is Lightning’s Day of Adulthood.”

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