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Chapter 529: The Returned Witch

Two days later, Kyle Sichi came to say goodbye.

“You could stay a few more days,” Roland offered. “King’s City is the center of the kingdom — best entertainment in Graycastle. Once it changes, you may not recognize it.”

“I am not you,” Kyle said, rolling his eyes. “I have no unfinished romance here. The laboratory and the plant need attention. If you want the gunpowder production line running properly, I should be back in Neverwinter.”

Roland watched him go and felt the mild depression of a man whose decent joke had been dismissed. The city’s atmosphere since the conquest had taken on a particular strangeness. First, a number of women had emerged to claim they were former lovers of Prince Roland. Then came the illegitimate children. He knew they were all fabrications — the prince they described was the original Roland, not him — but he could not say so, and the stories had a stubborn persistence that honest denials could not dislodge. The worse a story sounds, the more convincingly it explains away the denial.

Theo and the Rats were working on it. In the meantime, something louder was needed — news that would push the rumors off the public’s tongue and give people something more interesting to discuss.

“You seem very pleased,” said a cold voice behind him, “surrounded by so many women.”

Roland nearly choked on nothing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You know those claims are all false.”

“How would I know?” Nightingale said, with what sounded like genuine alarm.

“I thought you’d investigated every person who’d come near me.”

”…” A pause. “All right.” She materialized, sitting on the edge of the table, looking down at him with the expression of someone composing a careful answer. “I did investigate. But only because I was concerned for your safety — dangerous people sometimes try to reach the palace through false pretenses. Do you understand?”

“I understand completely,” Roland said, and worked to keep his face neutral.

“Good.” Then: “Most of them were lying. But Miss Kingfisher and Mrs. Rother — they were not.”

Damn Yorko. Roland cursed his old friend internally at considerable length before responding. He met Nightingale’s eyes and said, carefully and honestly: “The Prince Roland those two women knew was not me. You can tell that I’m not lying.”

She held his gaze for a moment, then looked away. “So it was a case of mistaken identity. They genuinely believed it was you, but it wasn’t.”

“I have never met them in my life.”

She seemed to settle. “Then why haven’t you ordered Theo to silence them? He said you gave no such instruction.”

“Because that’s exactly what they want — money to stop talking. Paying them only confirms the rumors.” He shook his head. “Violence would make it worse. The better solution is to overwhelm the rumor with larger news — something that gives people more to discuss than my supposed romantic history.”

“Larger news?”

“King’s City is to be renamed the City of Dawn. The City of Neverwinter in the Western Region will become the new capital of Graycastle.” He smiled. “That should keep the taverns occupied for weeks. The Rats are already feeding out fragments in careful sequence — first the rumors, then the official announcements, building gradually. By the time I leave, no one will be talking about the old stories.”

There were other announcements in reserve: no coronation in the immediate future, competitive recruitment of skilled craftsmen. Layered out correctly, the news cycle would keep running long after he was gone.

“So the smile just now had nothing to do with the women?”

“Nothing at all.” He tapped the list on the table. “This is why I was smiling.”

The chemical demonstration Kyle had led in the Alchemist Workshop had exceeded every estimate. More than three hundred twenty people from the Workshop had agreed to relocate to the Western Region — alchemists, students, apprentices. With their family members, the total came to roughly five hundred. Five hundred. The combined headcount of all five chemical laboratories and both production plants in the Border Area had been five hundred. One afternoon in King’s City had doubled it, and most of the newcomers were trained professionals who would need only minor adjustment before they could be put to work.

“But that’s not even the best part,” he said. He spread the list and pointed to the names at the bottom.

“Retnin… Rayleigh… Archer.” Nightingale read them slowly. “Aren’t those the Workshop’s chief alchemists?”

“Kyle accepted them.” Roland kept his voice quiet, the way you keep a good thing quiet when you’re still getting used to it. “He said he was simply reclaiming what was owed to him.”

The alchemists had expected him to reject them, or at least to hold them at a distance. The history between Kyle and the Workshop’s senior leadership — particularly Retnin — was not a warm one. But Kyle had taken them on, without ceremony or revenge, and Roland found that it moved him. There were people, even in difficult times, who took the right road. The kingdom would be improved by having them.

A rhythmic knock at the window. Something striking the glass from outside, once, twice, a third time.

Nightingale vanished through the window and returned a moment later with the gray falcon cradled in her arms. The bird looked startled.

“A secret letter,” she said.

Roland read it, and looked up. “We need to leave sooner than planned.”

“Is something wrong in Neverwinter?”

“No.” He tried to keep the grin off his face and failed completely. “Lotus and Honey are coming back. And Tilly’s sending new witches with them.”

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