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Chapter 1023: Divergent

The lobby fell silent.

Even the patrons at the bar counter set down their drinks.

May absorbed the words carefully. From Kajen, right? That’s exactly why he won’t see you. Lord Kajen is very disappointed in you, Miss May. The manager’s voice had been low, but everyone beside her had heard it clearly — Irene’s hand found hers and squeezed hard.

Those words would have destroyed her, three years ago. Coming from a man of Kajen’s standing, disappointed struck harder than any open accusation. She might have sobbed. She might have gone rigid and hollow in the way she sometimes did when something truly landed.

But she didn’t think of herself first anymore.

She was the backbone of this troupe. Irene was beside her. Tina and Rosia and Swallow — and Swallow especially, that girl of vast talent and fragile confidence — were all listening. Whatever hit May next, it would hit them too.

She found she was calm.

She exhaled, let it settle, and met the manager’s eyes.

“I believe there must be a misunderstanding,” she said. “I’d prefer to explain it to him directly — but if that’s not possible, please give him my apologies.” She paused. “In any case, I wish Mr. Kajen great success in the ceremony. Much more progress in his work.” She turned toward the door. “We’ll take our leave.”

Then, over her shoulder: “By the way — please don’t call me Miss May. I’m Mrs. Lannis now.”

The manager hadn’t recovered his composure by the time the door closed behind her.

The walk back was quiet. The joy of the morning had evaporated. No one said anything.

Finally, as they neared the point where they’d go their separate ways home, Gait spoke up. “Lady May — did you really have a falling-out with Master Kajen?”

“Idiot!” Rosia fixed him with a withering look. “If there’d been a grudge, why would she have gone to visit him? She’d only be asking to be insulted — which is exactly what happened. You call that a falling-out? He’s the one who’s jealous.”

A silence that contained several sharp intakes of breath.

“You’re talking about the greatest dramatist in Graycastle.”

“Exactly!” Rosia’s voice rose. “Now that Neverwinter is the capital and Star Flower is more popular than any troupe in the Western Region, his people aren’t getting the attention they used to. Of course they’d be unfriendly. And May hasn’t been in contact with the Kajen Troupe since she came back from the old king’s city — so claiming she’s disappointed him makes no sense. What they mean is: you’re new, your history is short, you haven’t earned our respect through the right channels.”

“Oh,” said Irene slowly, as though something had just made sense.

Rosia’s boldness had done something to the group. Spines had straightened.

“That would explain why the manager couldn’t quite look May in the eyes —”

“So it was jealousy that made Master Kajen refuse to see her?”

“No,” May said. She rolled her eyes. “How could he, of all people, be jealous of me? Outside the Western Region, hardly anyone has heard my name. His name is known across all of Graycastle and parts of the Kingdom of Dawn. That’s not jealousy. Don’t flatter me.”

Everyone shrank slightly.

“That’s enough.” May clapped her hands together once. “It’s over. Understood? Go home — we have a full shooting schedule tomorrow.”

Carter asked over dinner that evening. She told him the summary: one visit, one refusal, no drama. She kept her tone light.

She didn’t want him involved. It was a quarrel within the theater world — the kind of thing that resolved itself or didn’t, but either way didn’t require a knight’s intervention. That would only make things worse.

The following days of shooting were unexpectedly good. May had been quietly watching for damage in the troupe’s performance — a flattening of energy, a brittleness that sometimes followed humiliation. It didn’t come. In the final act, shot inside the castle with the full weight of the story behind it, everyone played beyond themselves. Gait, who usually needed several takes, refused to rest until every movement was right. Even the newer members of the troupe, who hadn’t been at the Whistle Inn and didn’t know exactly what had happened, felt the current running through their seniors and rose to meet it.

They think Master Kajen gave us a lesson, May noticed, half amused, half moved.

The incident had become something else entirely in the retelling.

She was beginning to think it was settled — and then, at the close of a long shooting day, as the last of the crew was still sweeping the set, a man appeared at the edge of the Castle District. He’d been waiting in the snow long enough for a thin layer to accumulate on his hat. She recognized him: the manager from the Whistle Inn.

“My lord wishes to see you, Mrs. Lannis.”

May stared at him.

“Can my companions come with me?”

“Lord Kajen made no such provision.”

“May —” Irene stepped forward, concern sharpening her voice.

May gave her a look: I’m all right. She took a breath. She’d been telling herself all week that she didn’t particularly want an explanation. She found, now that one was being offered, that she did.

“Lead the way.”


The Whistling Hotel again.

Up the stairs, across a landing, into a large study where the familiar smell of old paper and lamp oil settled around her. And there they were: Roentgen, the Princess of the Stage, standing against the bookcase; Egrepo, the Minstrel, beside her; Bernis, the Flying Cloud. She’d performed alongside all three of them in Memoir of a Prince’s Search for Love — that long, careful production that felt like it belonged to another life. She’d expected awkwardness. She hadn’t expected the cold hostility that greeted her from every face in the room, naked and unashamed.

They never do this, she thought. Famous actors never let their real feelings show to colleagues — not even to rivals they despise. It’s unprofessional. It’s a kind of theater, the performance of indifference. Even the worst troublemakers in the Longsong Theatre were more careful than this.

Which meant whatever these people believed she’d done, they believed it completely. The resentment was genuine enough to override every professional instinct.

She turned her attention to the gray-haired man behind the desk. Kajen had aged. But no one in the room forgot he was there; when he was present, everything oriented toward him, silently.

He closed his script and rose.

What he said next stopped her completely.

“Mrs. Lannis — could you please stop your troupe’s next show?”

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