CH493 · Rewrite
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Chapter 493: The Gem Mine

Roland rolled out of bed under a wash of daylight.

He pulled on his coat and went to the window. The snow that had blanketed the rooftops had begun to recede, giving back patches of red tile and gray stone—two colors returning to a landscape that had been white for months. It was still cold in the room, but if you turned your face toward the light, you could just find the warmth beneath it.

The snow was melting.

He crossed to his office and found breakfast already laid out with its usual precision: a fried egg, two pancakes, and a cup of warm water. Nightingale had set it out, as always.

“Thanks,” he said to the empty couch.

“How did you know I was here?” Her voice came from it as she let herself be seen, rising from the cushions.

“You never sit when you can lie down.” He smiled, tucking the egg between the two pancakes and raising the improvised sandwich to his mouth. “Also, the couch was depressed where you were.”

“That’s not true—I like sitting.” She was at the desk in a single fluid movement, perching on its edge. “Like this.”

Roland would not have tired of watching her move—the easy, liquid precision of it, the way she stepped between the Mist and the visible world as though crossing a threshold that cost her nothing.

“You look well. Good dreams?”

“Mm. A very good dream.” Her eyebrow lifted slightly.

“Good.” He finished the makeshift sandwich quickly. “Today you should stay close to me.”

“Because of the assassin?”

“Yes. If Timothy has given orders to everyone on the gem list, there may still be others in the Western Region. But we can’t examine every person—it’s not possible.” He chewed the last of it and set down the cup. It was a shame, he thought—men as capable as Shio, as disciplined and intelligent, employed as instruments of assassination. People like that belonged somewhere more promising. The thought only strengthened his resolve to remove Timothy’s influence from these territories as quickly as possible.

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Nightingale smiled. “Where are we going?”

“The mine and the salt well. That’s part of why I came to Stronghold.”


He summoned Petrov and the relevant personnel, and the inspection party set out from the castle toward the city’s outskirts.

Roland’s real interest lay in the iron mines belonging to the Maple Leaf and Wild Rose families, but he made the gem mine his first stop. Gem trade was the primary industry of Longsong Stronghold, and the mine was nearest. There were also other reasons to look carefully at what lay in that mountain.

The road had gone soft with snowmelt, the ground turned to sponge and mud—impassable for carriages. They went on horseback, picking their way slowly, and by the time they reached the edge of the Impassable Mountain Range it had cost them almost the whole morning. The experience sharpened something Roland had long believed: a paved, hard-surfaced road wasn’t a luxury—it was a prerequisite. Without it, expanding mine output was pointless, since a single stretch of bad weather could sever the whole supply chain.

They passed through a narrow passage into the mine cave, where the mineral vein opened before them. A hundred torches lined the walls and barely lit the space. Roland looked around. “Is this a natural formation?”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Petrov nodded. “It was a solid rock face once. About three hundred years ago, an earthquake caused a section to collapse and exposed the cave. The entrance was used by local hunters for shelter at first, but they eventually went deeper, and that’s where they found the colored stones.”

“You know the history well.”

“Everyone in the Western Region does.” Petrov beckoned to a man nearby. “This is Denver Crain, the mine manager. He’ll know the details far better than I do.”

“You were Duke Ryan’s man?”

“No, Your Highness. The Crains don’t belong to any lord.” The man called Denver looked perhaps early thirties but spoke with the measured authority of someone twice that age. “We’ve lived beside this mine for generations. My ancestor was among the hunters who found it. We’ve served three Dukes, and the mine maps my family has drawn could be stacked to the height of a man. No one knows this place better than we do.”

There was nothing boastful in the way he said it—only the flat confidence of plain fact. His composed manner and dark uniform reminded Roland of the stewards he’d seen in certain kinds of films: men who derived their dignity not from birth but from irreplaceable knowledge.

Since Nightingale had already checked everyone in the party, Roland knew this man was no lurker. “Why is no one working here now?”

“The Months of Demons have only just ended, Your Highness,” Denver answered. “The snow in the mountains is melting. The drainage ditches and holding pools we built can carry a great deal away, but not as fast as it comes in. The lower tunnels are still flooded—we can’t enter them. By established practice, mining doesn’t resume until summer.”

“What about the iron mines in the Maple Leaf and Wild Rose territories? Same situation?”

“I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard their shafts run upward into the mountain rather than down. They’d fare better with runoff, I’d think—but they’ll still need another month before the pits are workable.”

“It sounds like you need several steam engines to draw the water out,” Roland said.

Denver looked at him. “Steam… engine?”

“A machine that lets you mine in any season.” Roland smiled. “You have much to learn about what mining can be.”

Denver pressed his lips together. He didn’t argue. His expression said he was restraining himself, but he restrained himself well.

Roland wasn’t paying attention to the expression. He was already thinking ahead: tram roads through this passage, water-drawing engines, a traction system like the one running at the North Slope Mine in Border Town. They’d already sold a set to a mining operation in Silver City. His own interest lay more in the iron mines than in gems—but he’d see what was here before deciding how to prioritize.

“We’re done. Let’s move to the next site.” He turned.

“Your Highness—wait.” Denver moved quickly to keep pace. “The Crains have a gift for you.” He produced a small wooden box and held it out.

Roland took it with mild curiosity and opened it.

Two gems caught the torchlight—one red, one green—refracting it into blazing points across the cave wall. His breath caught.

“These are… multicolored stones?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Among the finest quality we have ever found. A family treasure kept for hundreds of years.” Denver placed a hand on his chest. “The Crains are honored to serve the new lord of the Western Region.”

Roland had already stopped hearing the latter half of the sentence. He was staring at the stones.

He knew what they were. Not from this world’s accumulated knowledge—from his own. Even a layman in geology knew these by their other name.

They were diaspores.

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