CH419 · Rewrite
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Chapter 419: Faith

The forest fell quiet.

The witch’s long braids had come undone in the fall. Her hair spread white across the ground—white against dark soil, white in the cold light filtering through the trees—like petals scattered from something that had bloomed and finished. Blood moved from beneath her back and found the lowest contours of the earth, pooling slowly, seeping warmth into the cold ground. The smell of iron came last, after everything else.

Nightingale crouched beside her and untied the blindfold.

The face beneath was young. Close to Nightingale’s own age, she thought. What might have been a clean-lined face was interrupted by the scars beside each eye—not ordinary scars, but the ruin of repeated burning: skin made red and rigid and textureless, the shape of the eye sockets erased into wrinkled tissue. Someone had done this deliberately. More than once.

Before she entered the church’s service, or after. There was no way to know. No one left to ask.

Nightingale touched the scarred skin lightly with one finger. Whatever this woman had surrendered in exchange for what the church gave her—whether she’d understood the terms or not—she couldn’t hurt anyone now. She couldn’t be hurt anymore either. It wasn’t peace exactly. It was the end of the alternative.

She searched the body and found three things in the inner pocket of the robe: a letter, a seal, and an emblem. The emblem was a circle divided by a cross, with a clenched fist at its center. No gold, no jewelry, no personal effects of any kind.

Maybe she never had anything of her own.

“Hey—look what I caught.” Lightning’s voice dropped from above. Nightingale looked up and watched the girl descend, carrying a struggling man held at arm’s length, and drop him onto the ground. He hit hard, groaned, and rolled, unable to do more than writhe in his hog-ties.

His vestments placed him as a priest. The second coach.

“Where’s Maggie?”

“Guiding Ashes to chase the ones who ran.” Lightning walked over and looked at the Saint’s face. “This is the witch the church trained?”

“Yes.”

“From her face, it’s hard to believe she wanted us dead.” The little girl’s voice had gone quiet.

“Without the church, none of it would have happened.” Nightingale turned to the captive. When the man saw the body, his eyes went wide; sounds pushed against the cloth gag in his mouth—outrage, horror, or some combination. She crossed to him and pulled the cloth free.

“—you killed the Pure Witch of Bishop Tayfun!” He coughed. “Reckless devils! The church will hang you at the gate and leave you for the crows—”

“If we hadn’t killed her,” Nightingale said, “being taken by the church wouldn’t have been any better. You should worry about your own situation.”

“Even if I die, God receives me! You’ll burn in Hell for eternity—”

“That’s why I gagged him,” Lightning said.

Nightingale replaced the cloth. “Iron Axe will handle him. His Highness says he has a gift for this kind of conversation.”


By afternoon, Maggie appeared over the treeline with Ashes and Andrea on her back.

Ashes dropped to the ground and straightened. “You’re unhurt?”

“Everything went as planned,” Nightingale said. “You?”

“Not one escaped.” Said with the quiet satisfaction of a craftsperson checking completed work.

Andrea landed more carefully and looked at the Saint. “I thought you’d keep her alive.”

“The enemy was a witch,” Ashes said. “Hesitating would have been too dangerous. I’d have done the same.” A short pause. “She wasn’t our kind anyway. A puppet is what she was. Sometimes our own kind can be crueler than anyone else—I’ve never seen a demon imprison and torture someone for years at a time.”

She stripped her blood-stiff gloves off and offered her hand to Nightingale. “What you did was right. Don’t forget that.”

Nightingale looked at the hand for a moment, then took it. “Thank you.”

She knew I might feel guilty. That’s why she said it. The thought arrived simply, without embarrassment.

“I think this calls for a celebration,” Lightning said.

“Coo!” Maggie agreed.

Andrea rolled her eyes, then reached out and placed her hands on top of the others’ anyway. “To be clear: this is for Nightingale. Not for you.” The last directed at Ashes.

“Understood,” Ashes said, unbothered.

Five hands went up. In the cold wind, in the quiet of a forest that had stopped making noise, it was not a grand gesture. It was something smaller and more permanent than that.


Two days to clear the site and intercept every pigeon the church sent north. Three more to travel. Then Border Town’s skyline emerged from the grey and Maggie came down into the castle’s rear courtyard.

Nightingale’s sisters reached her before she had finished climbing off.

Nana first, already scanning: “You were hurt—where—let me see—”

Lily: “She’s been watching for you since yesterday. Why are you always late?”

Lucia, not quite finishing her sentences: “Does it still—is the wound—”

Leaf, holding out a tied bundle of herbs with the calm of someone who prepared for this days ago: “New preparation. Better efficacy for sustained healing. I’ve tested it.”

Wendy, not loudly: “You went into the church alone. You might not be lucky twice.”

Scroll: “Safe. That’s what counts.”

The warmth that moved through Nightingale at these voices was not complicated. She knew exactly what it was.

She looked past her sisters and found Roland.

Lightning had already adhered herself to his side, the way she always did after a separation, with the focused dedication of someone who has been planning this moment since the ridge. Maggie had found his shoulder and was pressing her face against his cheek. He bore both of them with the patient expression of someone who has long since made peace with being furniture.

Nightingale was not a child. She was aware of this, and it was relevant to the impulse she felt, and relevant to the choice she made. She walked to him, and when she was close enough, she stopped.

“I’m back.”

“I know.” The familiar smile. “You kept me waiting. There’s honey-grilled dried fish in my desk drawer.”

“Then I’ll help myself.”

She smiled, and went.

The rest could wait. She had done the right thing; she was certain of it. And the fish, as it always did, meant he’d been thinking about her the whole time she was gone.

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