CH254 · Rewrite
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Chapter 254: Alliance

The Fjord’s weather had no patience for gradual transitions. Yesterday the sky had been a clear, undivided blue from horizon to horizon; today it sat low and grey with a wind that smelled of ocean, and the thunder arrived before the rain. Ashes held her hair down against the gusts and stepped through Tilly’s door.

A fat pigeon was perched on Tilly’s shoulder.

“Maggie?”

“Goo!” The pigeon’s head came up — bright eyes, instant recognition — and she launched herself toward the doorway, wings opening wide. Ashes caught her with one palm, a gentle interception. “Turn into your human form. We need to talk properly.”

“Woo — goo.” With an aggrieved ruffle of feathers, Maggie dropped to the floor and shed her bird-shape. She crossed her arms. “Do you have something against pigeons?”

“A bird that talks is just wrong,” Ashes said, and pulled her upright by the arm. “When did you get back?”

“Just a moment ago. I almost got caught by the storm — my wing nearly gave out.” She patted her chest. “Thank the sky I reached Sleeping Island before the rain started.”

“You flew back as a pigeon?” Ashes tapped her on the forehead. “Why not a swallow? It’s three times faster.”

Maggie’s eyes went wide with the particular expression of someone who has just remembered something obvious they had no excuse to forget. “Oh. I forgot. Goo.”

Tilly set down her letter and smiled. “You’ve done well, and I already know the news from that side. Go find Lotus or Molly for now — I need to think through my reply, and I’ll call for you when it’s ready.”

“Good, goo!” Maggie saluted with both hands and hopped out of the room.


When the door had closed behind her, Ashes crossed the room and sat beside Tilly on the woven mat. Between them on the floor, a map of the terrain surrounding Border Town lay unrolled.

“What does Roland Wimbledon want?” Ashes asked.

“Here.” Tilly passed her the letter.

It was not long. Ashes read it straight through, then read it again. Her frown deepened. “He chose Sylvie? He knows what she can do — does he simply not care if we identify him?”

“I don’t know.” Tilly’s tone was measured, speculative. “My description of their abilities may not have been detailed enough for him to understand what Sylvie specifically could discover. Or perhaps he doesn’t care whether we confirm his identity — this could be a gesture of sincerity, a signal that he’s willing to operate without pretense.” She paused. “There is also the third possibility.”

“That he actually is your older brother,” Ashes finished, “and therefore has nothing to hide.”

“The least likely of the three.” Tilly gave a short, self-deprecating laugh. “Who knows better than I what kind of person my brother was? He would never have chosen to stand against the Church for the sake of witches. From childhood to the day he left for Border Town, his greatest talent was retreat — every difficulty, every conflict, met with the same response. When Father sent him away, he didn’t even come to say goodbye. No protest, not even a symbolic one.”

Ashes raised an eyebrow. “So. Regardless of which possibility is true — Sylvie being chosen is useful for us. We don’t need an excuse to send her; he’s asked for her himself. But the others—” She set the letter down carefully. “You genuinely want to send Lotus?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because Lotus is one of Sleeping Island’s most capable witches. Without her, new construction stalls. Terrain modification, structural repair, the expansion of the undeveloped regions — we’re using less than thirty percent of the island’s area. There’s an enormous amount left to build.” Ashes counted on her fingers. “Honey, too — the fish soups we eat every day exist because of her. And yes, Candle and Evelyn are less critical, but—” She hesitated. “If you have to send anyone, couldn’t it be just those two? The ones who aren’t essential?”

Tilly’s expression changed. It was the palace look — not anger exactly, but the particular gravity that came when she had been patient long enough and felt it necessary to draw a line.

“What is useful and what isn’t are not categories I want applied to our sisters,” Tilly said. “Each one of those witches came to Sleeping Island seeking a home. If we sort them by utility and send the ones we can spare, we’ve become exactly the kind of organization that treats people as instruments. That is not what Sleeping Island is.”

Ashes opened her mouth, then closed it.

“I’m sorry,” she said, shifting her address. “Your Majesty. I was only thinking of practical—”

“I know what you were thinking.” Tilly sighed, and the sternness passed. “And some of it is reasonable. But consider: Roland, with more than a hundred witches on Sleeping Island to choose from, selected those five. Including two you’ve called useless. Either he chose carelessly — which I doubt — or he saw something in Evelyn and Candle that we haven’t recognized. This exchange could tell us which.” She paused. “Every witch on this island deserves to be treated as a person, not evaluated as a resource. Never speak that way again.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Quietly.

Lightning split the sky outside. The thunder that followed it was immediate and enormous, rolling across the water and up into the room. With it came the rain — sparse at first, then all at once, a sudden wall of sound that softened the view through the windows to a grey smear. Ashes stood, crossed to close the shutters against the spray.

When she turned back, Tilly had swayed slightly. Her complexion was wan.

“Were you up all night?”

“Mm.” A yawn, nearly suppressed. “The books from the ruins all use the same script. I’ve found consistent patterns in the grammar — given enough time, I can translate the full set.”

“Given enough time,” Ashes repeated. “Which you’ll certainly have, once the Church stops breathing down your neck. There is no reason to wreck your health over it.”

“I know. But I have a feeling.” Tilly’s gaze moved to the window, to the rain. “When I look at what we found in those ruins, I feel uneasy in a way I can’t properly name. I want to understand it before whatever caused that feeling catches up with us.” She shook herself slightly. “The witches who travel to Border Town will carry one of the books with them when they go.”

“If you can’t read it, the Witch Cooperation Association is even less likely to.”

“We take our chances.” Tilly laced her fingers. “The association’s origins are in the Sea Wind Region, practically adjacent to the eastern forest where ruins have also been found. If anyone on the mainland has encountered this script, it’s them. And if we establish that both ruins used the same writing system, it confirms they were built by the same people — which itself tells us something.”

“Understood.”

“Also — I’m not ignoring what you said about Lotus.” Tilly met her eyes. “It’s true that the island’s construction will suffer if she’s gone too long. I’ve already negotiated with the Crescent Moon Bay Caravan — they’ll begin bringing settlers over from the mainland next spring. Lotus needs to be back before that work begins. So before winter, she returns.”

The tightness in Ashes’s chest eased. “That’s manageable.”

“There’s one more thing.” Tilly’s expression shifted into something that walked the edge of mischief. “I intend to lead a group of combat witches to Border Town myself during the Months of Demons — to help defend against the demonic beast attacks. It would be a good opportunity to see for myself what kind of lord this man is.” The smile sharpened. “Would you like to come?”

Ashes looked at her for a long moment.

“Of course,” she said at last, and did not bother hiding the resignation. “Your Majesty.”

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