CH277 · Rewrite
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Chapter 277: Theater Conflict

The curtain fell in Longsong Stronghold to a noise that could only be described as the audience releasing something it had been holding for a long time — whistles, clapping, shouts, a kind of undirected joy.

May wiped the sweat from her face and found Irene watching her, luminous with excitement, practically trembling with the need to be told that yes, it had gone well.

May gave two short nods.

That was enough. Irene cried out and lunged forward and wrapped both arms around May’s shoulders with a force that was genuinely surprising for her size.

“I really can play it! I really can do it!”

May disentangled herself. “You’ve made some progress. Enough to take the stage on your own.”

Rosia, still in costume from her witch role, approached cautiously. “Miss May… how was I?”

“You have a long way to go.” May did not soften it. “Your expression is stiff. Your movement is sluggish. Your delivery has no feeling behind it. You made two errors in the second act. In the fourth act you drifted from your mark — that’s a script-memorization problem.” She looked at the others gathering around her. “The audience’s enthusiasm does not change my assessment. Most of them have never seen a live performance. Show them a monkey turning circles and they’ll applaud. These commoners came in on free tickets.”

She paused. Softened nothing. “The road of an actor does not permit satisfaction with temporary success. Only continuous improvement earns you a real foothold on any stage.”

Everyone lowered their heads. “Yes. Thank you for your guidance.”

May exhaled. I am not this company’s drama tutor. Yet she was too tired to repeat that fact again, and what she would say instead would be worse. “All right. Work hard. The Witch Diary runs at minimum until September — you have many more performances to develop in. Don’t waste them.”

“Yes!”


In the backstage lounge, trouble was already assembled and waiting.

May recognized the woman leading them before she reached the door. Bella Dean. Famous, as certain people are famous — by proximity to those who had achieved something, by remaining visible in a city where visibility was currency. Some nobles compared her to May, said she was the true competition for the Star of the West title. May had never found this convincing.

More than a dozen actors ranged behind Bella in a loose formation. They stepped forward as May appeared, positioning with the practiced ease of people who had rehearsed conflict.

Bella walked past May entirely and moved toward Irene, slow and deliberate. “Well. Look who’s come back from the countryside.”

Irene blinked. “What did you say?”

“She doesn’t even know her own station.” Bella covered her smile with one hand, and the group behind her laughed. “Let me be direct. A city like Longsong Stronghold is not the place for people of your quality. This theater does not want a third-rate performance. What is the Witch Diary — a pack of stray dogs howling about their suffering? Who wants to watch drama that spoils one’s appetite? Go back to Border Town. The sooner the better.”

Irene went red. “Third-rate? Did you hear that applause—”

Applause.” Bella’s voice climbed a register. “From people who work with hoes and sit next to furnaces all day? Catch some monkeys and teach them tricks and they’ll applaud too. Half these people only came because the tickets were free. Would they spend real money to watch you perform? The theater’s revenue has fallen consistently since your company occupied the stage every Wednesday. The nobility won’t come when they have to share the space with commoners and sit in chairs smeared with workshop grime.” Her voice rose further. “As long as you and your play continue here, this theater loses its audience.”

“I—” Irene opened her mouth and found nothing in it.

She came to pick a fight. May assessed the situation with the detachment of someone who had been in difficult performances in difficult rooms before. Bella hasn’t been hurt by our presence — the theater kept her schedule intact. She’s here because our arrival cost her the Star of the West title she was building toward. If my company backs down, she wins without having to earn it. And I become a stepping stone.

“The theater’s revenue,” May said, cutting in. “Are you sure you’ve thought that through?” She kept her voice pleasant. “The manager and His Royal Highness and Petrov reached a contract agreement. Border Town’s City Hall covers the revenue shortfall. This is a business arrangement, not a charity. You may want to use your brain before your imagination.”

“You’re—that’s—”

“The nobility not attending,” May continued. “I once performed at the King’s City Grand Theater. Open-air. It rained on the day of the show. The nobles came anyway, and filled every seat. You’re telling me they won’t attend Longsong Stronghold’s theater because of commoners? No. They won’t attend because your company does not give them a reason to come.”

Silence. Not the uncomfortable silence of transition — the silence of a room that has just heard something accurate and does not know how to dispute it.

May smiled. Small, precise. “Finally — you described the Witch Diary as vulgar and third-rate. Stray dogs, I believe you said.” She watched Bella’s face. “His Highness wrote the story for the script. You’ve just called the Prince’s ideas low-grade. Insulting the royal family is punishable by removal of the tongue.” She turned her gaze to the people standing behind Bella. “Does anyone want to clarify their position on this point?”

One by one they stepped back.

Enough.” Bella’s teeth were clenched. “You left Longsong Stronghold, May. You should have stayed away. Don’t pretend I don’t know the real reason you went to that broken place in the first place — it wasn’t for that idiot Irene. It was for Morning Light.”

The slap came before May had entirely decided to deliver it. A clean flat sound, and a red handprint appeared on Bella’s left cheek.

The room held its breath.

“You— you actually struck me—

May exhaled. That was impulsive. She had always known that impulse was her weakness — not cruelty, not malice, just the speed at which she moved before she had finished thinking. She breathed and kept her face still.

Two of Bella’s company stepped forward. “Miss May. You’ve gone too far.”

“An actress’s appearance is part of her instrument. The minimum required is an apology.”

Apologize. Which would mean accepting blame. Which would make her position wrong. May looked at the two men — oily hair, powdered faces, the practiced concern of people who had discovered that moral posturing was useful — and remembered what Carter Lannis had told her once, almost offhandedly, about fighting opponents larger than yourself.

Don’t assess their strength. Look for the vulnerability. Eyes, throat — or lower. Act fast and decisively. You can bring down a man much bigger than yourself.

She wasn’t sure this situation called for that, exactly. But she had already shifted her weight, settled into something she could move from quickly, and was watching their hands —

The lounge door slammed open.

An armored knight entered, soldiers with pikes behind him, and the pikemen immediately spread and leveled their weapons at the crowd.

“I’m informed,” the knight said, looking the room over steadily, “that someone slandered His Royal Highness in this lounge. That a group conspired against him.”

May stared.

She blinked. Kept staring.

Carter Lannis — in full armor, with soldiers, in the backstage lounge of a Longsong Stronghold theater — caught her eye and offered the smallest possible secret smile.

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