CH411 · Rewrite
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Chapter 411: The Vow

No candlelight. No crackling fire. Just the heater’s steady warmth seeping through the room, and the Stone of Light on the bedstand casting its yellow glow across the sheets and carpet—a light so unhurried it belonged to some other century.

Sitting at the bedside, listening to the faint ticking of the caliducts, Roland felt caught between worlds. Not the backward monarchy he’d landed in, not the modern city he’d left behind—somewhere earlier than either. Childhood, maybe. His memories of it carried exactly this shade of yellow: the tungsten glow of an old bulb, overexposed film, a photograph still wet from the developer.

The only thing missing from that memory was Anna.

He turned to look at her. She sat at the edge of the bed with a storybook open in her hands, blonde hair catching the light at the tips, long lashes occasionally trembling when she turned a page. Her eyes were what stopped him—sapphire, steady, the same blue as still water even under the Magic Stone’s reflection. A year ago those eyes had been a calm lake. Now they held something beneath the surface.

Her presence alone made the picture vivid. Not just a different color in this setting—the thing that separates memory from real.

“What are you looking at?” Anna had already set the Book of Magic aside. “Me?”

“Ahem—” He shifted his gaze on instinct, then shifted it back. “Yes. That’s right.”

A year together had changed things. He wasn’t as passive as he’d been, and alone in this warm room he no longer wanted to hide it. They looked at each other and both laughed at the same moment.

“Do you think my request was too stubborn?” Anna shook her head, still smiling. “Everyone cares about me, and I pushed them all away.”

“They were only surprised,” Roland said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“If Miss Agatha hadn’t suggested the old methods, I wouldn’t have asked for this at all.” She stuck out her tongue—a rare gesture, and it suited her in a way she didn’t seem to know. “Though I suspect the other sisters would make the same request. You’ll be kept busy.”

“I imagine they’d mostly ask for more ice cream bread.”

After learning about Anna’s Day of Awakening, Agatha had drawn on everything the Union learned in the Holy City of Taquila: on the Day of Awakening—the anniversary of a witch’s first awakening, a kind of second coming-of-age—she needed to drain her magic power to diminish the influence of the bite. Emotions mattered equally. Happiness, contentment, a sense of being held and wanted: these raised her resistance. For witches of particular promise, the Union had sometimes dispatched someone to fulfill a small wish on that day.

Anna had asked for Roland.

“Thanks to Miss Agatha, I’m having a wonderful time.” She paused. “I couldn’t spend my Day of Adulthood with you. This makes up for it.”

He almost blushed. He cleared his throat and reached behind him, producing a thin book tied with a bright ribbon, and held it out to her.

The reason he’d rushed to set down his calculus knowledge—everything he could still recover from memory—was to finish it before tonight. Choosing gifts had never come easily. After a week of turning the problem over, the answer had become obvious: give her new knowledge. Anna’s appetite for learning bordered on hunger; nothing suited her better.

She took the orange-covered book and did not open it immediately as she usually would. She set it beside the Book of Magic. “Thank you.”

“Did you finish the storybook?”

“Not yet.” A small shake of her head. “But I want something different tonight.”

“Different?”

“Your story.” She smiled. “Last time I fell asleep too early. I want to hear the rest.”

She means that night. The night we lay here and I talked until she drifted off. Roland pressed his lips together. A strange impulse rose in him—to tell her everything, to stop hiding it.

“Do you remember I once told you I came from a large city? I didn’t mean King’s City.”

“I know.”

The two words struck him sideways. “What?”

“I thought about the things you described,” she said. “They couldn’t have happened in the palace. And I’ve read Chronicles of Graycastle more than once.” The smile stayed. “Don’t forget.”

“Is that so.” He hesitated. “Actually, I—”

“You don’t have to say it.” She stopped him gently. “You’re hesitating, which means it isn’t easy. So don’t. And it isn’t so hard to guess—the closer someone gets to you, the more clearly they feel it. You’re different from everyone else.”

A pause. “What if we made a wager?”

“On what?”

“How much of your life story I can guess correctly.”

The words surfaced unbidden: time capsule. A game he’d played as a child—write something true on a slip of paper, seal it in a can, bury it, dig it up years later and read what you’d been. Half the cans were never found. The ones that were gave you a feeling with no name.

He didn’t ask about the stakes. She hadn’t proposed the bet to uncover his identity; she’d proposed it to give him an easier way in. Among all the witches, Anna understood him most clearly.

“Deal.” He nodded. “Where did we leave off?”

“You had just finished studying under your mentor…”

Roland laughed. “Let’s start from there.”


When the first grey light of dawn crept across the skyline, Anna passed peacefully through her first Day of Awakening since adulthood.

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