CH1096 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 1096: His Expertise

Kajen Fels arrived like a portrait that had stepped off the wall — half-gray hair, a tuxedo pressed to knife-edge creases, a beard dense enough to hide a man’s whole expression in. His eyes, though, had not agreed to age with the rest of him. They settled on Roland the moment Barov finished the introduction, weighing and measuring with the quiet patience of a craftsman who had spent a lifetime studying faces.

Barov was still wringing his hands, nearly vibrating.

You’re the Hand of the King. Roland smoothed his lips into a neutral line. Compose yourself.

“Your Majesty.” Kajen’s bow was precise, unhurried. “Now I understand why you don’t attend new plays.”

“Do you?” Roland said.

“You’re too young.” A pause, deliberate as a stage mark. “Much younger than I’d imagined.”

A decade ago, in Border Town, Roland would have bristled. Now he simply let the silence hold the weight, let Kajen decide what to do with it. Barov’s warning glance shot sideways like a crossbow bolt.

“I don’t mean your years,” Kajen added, unhurried. “I mean your spirit. I’ve met nobles your age who already lived like old men — counting the hours left rather than the hours spent. Youth has nothing to do with time. A man crawling toward his grave doesn’t become old until he stops looking forward.” The self-mockery arrived in his smile like weather. “I believed I was young until quite recently. It seems life imposes no upper limit on the lesson.”

“Should I take that as a compliment?”

“Neither is obviously better,” Kajen said. “A young spirit drives a man forward — curious, audacious, willing to destroy what he built to build it better. It can also drive him off a cliff.”

“Ahem — Mr. Kajen —” Barov tried.

Kajen caught himself. “Forgive an old man his rambling, Your Majesty.”

Roland waved it off. He was, he realized, beginning to like this man. There was no flattery in him, only observation — a craftsman’s habit. “Let’s come to the matter directly. You want to work with the Magic Movie.”

“I want to understand it.”

So the refusal sent him around the long way. Roland studied him. “You’d accept working on plays you consider beneath your standard?”

“I said nothing about standards.” Kajen’s chin lifted fractionally. “I said each production deserves preparation. Actors who receive no foundation waste their own ability and insult their audience.”

“The Star Flower Troupe plays to workers and soldiers, not lords. I have no time for extensive rehearsals. If you join us, you may find yourself standing in a play you wouldn’t attach your name to under ordinary circumstances.” Roland held his gaze. “Still willing?”

“Your Majesty, I —”

“I don’t think it’s the right placement for you,” Roland said. He watched Barov’s expression shift from relief to alarm and back. “The company I have in mind for the Magic Movie draws mostly from Star Flower. May’s people. A man of your stature joining them now would reshape the troupe’s internal gravity — and not in a direction I want.” He paused, letting Kajen absorb the shape of the argument. “However.”

Kajen leaned slightly forward. Barely a centimeter. Enough.

“I’m planning a piece about love in a dark season — set during the Church’s rebellion, based on two people currently stranded in the Kingdom of Wolfheart.” Roland sketched the outline: the concealment, the faith turned weapon, the redemption threading between. “You have a reputation for exactly this territory. If the play succeeds, I’ll reconsider your request regarding the filming process. A pilot. One work, then we evaluate.”

“Is this based on a true account?” Kajen asked. The calculation in his eyes had given way to something more alive.

“True enough to matter, shaped enough to stage. The two subjects are awaiting rescue. You won’t be able to meet them immediately.” Roland shrugged. “Though you understand the distinction between ‘based on’ and ‘transcribed verbatim.’”

“Of course.” A pause. “Your Majesty. Would you permit me to accompany the rescue operation?”

Barov made a sound.

“To the Kingdom of Wolfheart?” Roland said.

“I’ve written love stories from the outside my entire career.” Kajen’s hands were steady on his knees — the stillness of a man who had decided before he walked in the door. “I can picture a great many things. The particular texture of this one, I cannot. I won’t be a burden. My health remains adequate, and I have a student.”

Roland looked at him for a moment longer than was strictly necessary. An actor-playwright who had reached the absolute summit of his field — and was willing to travel into a contested kingdom, in his declining years, to feel the grain of a story he might otherwise only imagine.

That’s what mastery looks like when it still has hunger in it.

“I’ll consider it,” Roland said finally.

He already knew his answer.


Discussion

Suggest a change