Rewrite That Witch
CH1025 · Rewrite
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Chapter 1025: The Dispute over Ideas (II)

He was right about that much.

Whatever May might say about Kajen Fels’s assumptions, whatever his mistakes about her motives or his blindness about Neverwinter — this, at least, was unchanged. He still held the pure faith that had made him great. It was the same faith that let him be frank with a junior he was asking for a favor, instead of hiding the frankness in politeness. He still believed that someone who truly loved drama would rearrange their life to make room for a perfect play.

She should have been able to say yes.

Something stopped her.

May closed her eyes. A voice reached her from somewhere behind recent memory.

Mrs. Lannis, please wait —

This is a small token of my gratitude. Please do accept it —

The smell of salt. A salted fish pressed into her hands.

She understood, then, what was stopping her.

She opened her eyes and held Kajen’s gaze. This time she didn’t look away.

There was a certain kind of answer she could give — graceful, respectful, tactically sound. Praise him first, let the but arrive gently, explain that the magic movie was categorically unlike ordinary drama, that it was made under imperial mandate, that he simply didn’t understand Neverwinter’s particular situation yet. All of it would be technically true. She’d use his evident affection for craft and redirect it into something he could accept without losing face.

But that was just a more sophisticated form of evasion, and she knew it.

“Mr. Kajen — is this play made only for His Majesty?”

“And the nobles, ministers, and lords attending the ceremony,” he said. “A play without the right audience loses its meaning, however fine the work.”

Gold with jewels; fine wine with exquisite cups. Only a careful and attentive audience could receive the full precision of what the actors intended. She understood this argument. She had once lived entirely inside it.

“Then I’m sorry,” May said. “I can’t make that promise. Because your drama won’t be perfect.”

Kajen’s eyes sharpened. “You haven’t seen it. What gives you that judgment?”

“Because the audience will enjoy it however it goes,” May said, and she felt something rise in her — not anger, not bravado, but a kind of grounded certainty. “They’ll applaud and speak of it over afternoon tea. But that’s where it ends. The play is one entertainment among many, and their lives will be exactly the same whether they saw it or not. How do you call something perfect if it can be removed from a life without leaving a mark?”

The old man scowled. His drama was his child; he would not accept this easily. “I thought fame had blinded you — I didn’t expect arrogance. Are you telling me you’ve seen a perfect drama?”

“No,” May said. “But I know what one should look like.”

He waited. His authority was vast and settled, the kind that had made junior actors stumble over themselves for decades. May felt it. She stood in it.

And she did not back away.

Whatever she was about to say would cost her. This was the point where she stepped off the road that people like Roentgen recognized, the road that led to the stage at the right ceremony with the right audience, the road she’d been on since she was sixteen and first understood what she wanted. She’d lose people. She’d earn the kind of criticism that doesn’t fade. She’d become incomprehensible to almost everyone in the drama world who had trained for the same thing she’d trained for.

But it’s worth fighting for.

“A great drama shouldn’t be an entertainment that nobles seek when they’re bored,” she said. “It deserves more. Sometimes it changes people’s fates.”

She let that settle, then continued.

“The Witches’ Story helped people understand what a witch is — so witches could begin to be free of a stigma they’d carried for nothing. Dawn showed people what working meant, and what getting out of hunger looked like — and people started to. New City taught new migrants the rules of Neverwinter in a way that felt like living inside them, and it rooted out Rats who’d been hiding in plain sight.” She paused. “The Hero’s Life —”

She let the pause hold.

“Helped a sad girl get back on her feet,” she finished. “I know there are many people who lost everything in the war. Even one person helped — that matters to me. Even one.”

“What exactly are you saying?” Kajen’s voice had lost some of its edge. Something in it was genuinely waiting now, rather than bracing.

“You told me the finest drama lets the audience identify with what a character experiences,” May said. “I want more than that. I want the audience to see their own future inside it. Nobles can find other jewels and other cups when theirs are empty. My drama is the food that feeds people who have nothing else.”

For the first time, Kajen had nothing immediate to say.

“I don’t doubt your new play will be extraordinary,” May said. “Two years of preparation, from a man of your gifts — I believe it. And I also believe that The Wolf Princess will be equally extraordinary, for different reasons, from a company that’s been working less than two months, some of us having never acted before.” She curtsied. “If you still hold your original view after you see it, I’ll personally recommend your new play to His Majesty.”

The cold hit her when she stepped out of the Whistling Hotel, sharp and clarifying. Her steps were lighter.

At the mouth of the alley, Carter was leaning against the wall.

“Why are you here?” she said, genuinely startled.

“Irene told me you’d left with one of Kajen’s people.” He shrugged. “I was worried. Also, I need to stop at the Convenience Market for dinner.”

“Right.” She glanced at him sidelong. “Did you know what happened at the hotel the first time?”

“You ate less than usual that night,” he said, with the serene self-satisfaction of a man who considers himself observant.

She stopped walking. “Carter — did you speak to City Hall about Kajen Troupe’s performance application? Did you have it rejected?”

He blinked. “What? Whose application did I reject?”

She studied his face for a long moment, then exhaled. “Nothing. Never mind.”

“Are you keeping something from me again?”

“It isn’t important.” She laughed. “You haven’t bought the ingredients yet, have you?”

“No. What do you want?”

“Salted fish.”

He stared. “Salted fish? You’ve always disliked pickled things. It took you days to finish the fish that girl gave you last time.”

“I like it now,” May said. “Do you have a problem with that?” She extended her right hand to him. “Are you coming or not?”

Carter Lannis took her hand without a moment’s hesitation. “Whatever you want.”

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