Rewrite That Witch
CH373 · Rewrite
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Chapter 373: A Clue at the Market

Ferlin stood behind his wife and watched her study the meat.

There was always a moment when Irene’s eyes went perfectly serious—when the matter in front of her had earned that attention entirely. He had learned not to interrupt it.

“Actually, all the meat is priced by weight,” he offered gently. “You don’t have to spend so much time choosing.”

“That won’t do.” She said it without turning. “You like lean meat, I know. But lean meat alone has no flavor—you need the fat to carry it. One layer of fatty for every layer of lean makes the best ribs. Good for slicing, good for frying. I have to choose carefully.”

He laughed before he could stop it. “Fine. I’ll go for wheat. The queue’s long—come find me when you’re done.”

“Okay,” she said, already absorbed again.

He shook his head and walked toward the wheat stall at the Convenience Market.

Since the first snow, Lord Roland had put up wooden sheds around the market as windbreaks, and posted a notice: the market would not suspend during the winter. Sales would continue through the Months of Demons. The announcement was a small thing, perhaps, but to the townspeople it functioned as a promise—that the shelves would not empty, that food would come. Border Town would not leave them to manage the cold alone.

The wheat stall drew the longest queue. Two figures in black uniforms stood on either side of it, keeping order. “Policemen,” they were called here—a name Lord Roland had chosen to replace “patrol members,” which the town had always associated with roughness and shakedowns. A change in name carried more weight than people expected.

Ferlin Eltek—Morning Light, as he was still sometimes called—had grown accustomed to Border Town’s endless stream of small innovations. He joined the end of the queue.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Eltek.” Someone behind him recognized him. “You’ve come for wheat too?”

“Come stand with me.”

“Please, take my place.”

“No, that’s unnecessary.” He waved both offers off and stayed where he was. “Thank you.”

“You’re popular,” said a middle-aged man ahead of him with a grin. “The former First Knight of the Western Region.”

Ferlin felt a small jolt. “You know about my past?”

“This is no secret in Border Town.” The man rubbed his chin, still grinning. “My sons and daughters are fond of you. My eldest, Nat, has talked of nothing but becoming a knight since he heard your story.”

“That’s all behind me now.” Ferlin shook his head. “And His Highness has no more use for knights.”

“Because now we have the First Army.” The man said it easily, as a plain fact. “I wouldn’t have dared speak to you like this before.”

True enough. When Ferlin had ridden for the Duke, common folk did not meet his eye. The stories told about him mingled admiration with fear, and fear had always been louder. Only Irene had ever looked at him squarely, had ever spoken to him without accounting for the distance between their stations. He had fallen for her that very evening in the theatre, though he wouldn’t have said so then.

After his defeat and his arrival in Border Town as a captive, he had expected to simply change masters. He had not expected to become a teacher, and he had not expected the form respect could take when it wasn’t held at arm’s length. People here came toward him. That was the difference. It sat with him in ways he was still sorting through.

Perhaps I was never suited to be a knight.

A quarter hour later, he reached the counter.

“Identity card, please.” The clerk looked up and startled. “Teacher Ferlin?”

It took him a moment. “Betty.” She had been in his first graduating class. “You’re working in City Hall now?”

“I’m a trainee in the Governing Hall. Agriculture Department.” She straightened, and bowed the way she had in the classroom, by reflex. The joy on her face was unguarded. “I’m so glad to see you.”

He presented his identity card and six silver royals. “A medium sack of wheat.”

She recorded his name and called to the back room. A porter brought out the sack and set it on the counter—no selecting, no inspecting; the sacks were packed beforehand and sorted as small, medium, or large by weight, priced flat. The identity card requirement and the purchase limit were both things Ferlin understood: they kept one person from clearing the stall and leaving twenty families short.

“Come visit when you have time, Teacher.” Betty returned his card.

“I will.” He lifted the sack and stepped aside to give the next person room.

Irene had not appeared yet—she had probably found something else worth deliberating over. He looked for a dry, visible spot to rest the sack while he waited.

Then a flash of blue crossed his field of vision.

Ferlin flinched and turned.

A woman passed along the far edge of the market. Her features were fine and striking; her hair was a color he had seen only once before in his life, a deep vivid blue that belonged to no shade found naturally in the Western Region. He stood motionless, something cold moving through him that had nothing to do with the winter air.

He had seen that face. Not on any person living—on a portrait.

He had asked about that portrait many times as a boy. It hung in the most prominent position on the wall of the family hall, above the portraits of every ancestor he could name. His father never explained it. Only once, late in the evening and well into his wine, had his father let anything slip.

The founder of the Eltek family.

How? How?

“Sorry for making you wait.” Irene’s voice came from beside him. She held a paper packet and looked pleased with herself. “I found eggs, and a small sachet of butter. Did you get the wheat?”

“Yes,” he said, from somewhere distant.

Back home, the woman’s face continued to move across his thoughts. He could not shake it.

Why would I see an ancestor of the Eltek family in Border Town?

He turned it over for a long time, and finally told Irene he needed to make a trip to Longsong Stronghold.

She frowned. “Haven’t you severed ties with your family? Why go back?”

“Because—” he hesitated. “Because of a matter.”

“Succession rights?” She tilted her head, reading him. “No. That’s not it. Or is it because of a woman?”

“Irene—”

“Your eyes tell me you’re lying.” She pressed him gently back into his chair and looked down at him with an expression that was patient and entirely undeceived. “You promised to be my knight. I believed you, and I still do. That’s why I’m curious now—what could you possibly not want to tell me? We promised, in that farmhouse on the outskirts of Longsong, not to hide anything from each other.”

He looked up at her. Whatever hardship they had moved through together, she had never closed off any part of herself from him. That constancy had never stopped being something he depended on.

Ferlin took a breath, drew her close, and told her everything.

“So that’s what happened.” When he finished, she nodded slowly. “Go.”

“You believe me?” Even he, who had seen it, found the explanation almost too strange to hold. An ancestor, alive and walking through the market.

“Of course I do.” She blinked. “This time you didn’t look away when you spoke.”

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