Rewrite That Witch
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Chapter 556: The Bottom Line

“A gift?” Roland raised an eyebrow. “What kind?”

“The Hawes Family and the Lista Family of the Northern Region.” Cole’s voice was careful, clearly prepared in advance. “Both earls were not only defying Your Majesty’s authority but actively conspiring with other nobles against you. My father uncovered their scheme and punished both families accordingly.” A brief hesitation. “Unfortunately, I didn’t expect Your Majesty to return to the Western Region so soon. The evidence—their heads—was lost in transit. We offer our sincerest apologies.”

“Your father directly executed both earls?”

Cole glanced at the woman beside him. “Yes.”

A stronger commitment than I expected. Roland considered it. Cutting down the Hawes and Lista families—both older and more regionally entrenched than Kant, as Barov would certainly confirm—burned Calvin’s bridges to the eastern noble coalition. It was irreversible. Whether it was truthful was a question Nightingale could have answered in a moment, and Nightingale was not in the room.

He leaned toward Barov. “The two families—how prominent?”

Barov touched his beard with the air of a man who has been awaiting this moment. “Horsehead Hawes and Double-Guns Lista were reputable families of the Northern Region—more influential than the five major Western families. The Lista ancestors went on campaign for the Wimbledon line; the double-gun device on their Kamon comes directly from Graycastle’s own banner. That was two centuries ago, but the name has carried weight ever since. The Kant family, by comparison, emerged only about fifty years ago. Timothy’s decision to appoint Calvin was unexpected and would have generated friction with the older houses from the start.” He paused. “As to whether this is a lie—I would say unlikely. Noble honor constrains this particular kind of fabrication. If the pledge were built on invented killings and the deception later discovered, the Kant family would be finished.”

Roland straightened. “It doesn’t matter whether it’s true. My position doesn’t depend on it.”

He looked at Cole evenly. “First: I want to express gratitude to the Duke. Upholding the crown’s integrity is the responsibility of every noble. Your father has done his duty well. Second: the kingdom will not pursue further action regarding his handling of the two families.”

The relief that crossed Cole’s face was immediate. “Father will be very glad. He has always wanted to serve the true king.”

“I’m glad to accept his allegiance,” Roland said. “But allegiance requires compliance with Graycastle’s new regulations.”

“New regulations?”

“The retrieval of manorial authority from the noble class.” Roland kept his voice level. “There will no longer be noble titles in the kingdom. All domains will have a single lord—the King. This is the foundation on which any cooperation must rest.”

Cole’s expression went through several rapid changes. He turned toward the woman beside him.

She had her mouth just slightly open—not blank incomprehension, but the contained stillness of someone who has understood completely and is already restructuring around it. The shock was genuine. The composure reasserting over it was faster than Roland expected from an aide.

Not an aide, something in him noted.

“No need to decide today,” Roland said, keeping his tone easy. “Send word back to the Duke. In the meantime, please stay—Director Barov will arrange a tour of the city. I think you’ll find it worth your time.”

Cole, visibly searching for something manageable to say, found it: “Your Majesty, I’d like very much to see the factories. How the paddle steamers and steam engines work. I’ve been curious since I heard of them in the king’s city.”

The request might have been tactical intelligence-gathering. The expression seemed genuine—boyish, slightly tentative. Roland had learned to read the difference. “I’ll ask Barov to arrange it.”

He summoned an attendant to bring the promotional manual—the document laying out the new regulations in accessible language, with case studies from Longsong Stronghold—and watched Cole’s face as he received it. The young man’s confusion was evident. He’s just a messenger. Second son, barely into adulthood, no real authority here. Roland had decided to detain him as gentle insurance against the Duke acting rashly before they received an answer.

He was already calculating how the meeting had ended when Cole made one more request.

Roland had thought it was over. He recalibrated.

“I’ll have Barov arrange it,” he said again, and meant it both times.

He returned to the office. He was nearly back to his drawings when the glass tapped.

Lightning lay across the windowsill with her arms folded over the edge. Maggie was balanced on her head, pecking at the pane with one claw.

His chest went cold. Three days. That’s not enough time for a round trip.

He threw the window open. “Why are you back? Where are the others?”

Both of them spoke at once. He managed to extract the following, in no particular order: they had captured a demon alive; Anna, Leaf, and Nightingale had been injured; the injuries were not serious; but they were quite painful; and could he please allow Miss Nana to come with them on the steamer.

He held up a hand. They stopped.

“Nothing serious,” he repeated.

“Coo! Nothing serious!”

He turned from the window. “I’ll send for Nana. And next time—everything, from the beginning, one at a time.”

The steamers appeared the following evening as silhouettes at the western bend of the river.

The First Army cleared Trestle 22. A covered carriage waited at the foot of the gangway—the demon would not move through public streets openly. In the castle’s backyard, Leaf had already established the compound: one shed at the center of the olive grove, the perimeter enclosed by a living hedge, serving simultaneously as laboratory, Sigil workshop, and demon study room.

Roland was at the pier. He had said he would be in the castle. He was at the pier.

Anna descended the gangway, looked across the dock at him, and covered the distance at a pace just short of running. She put her arms around him and held on. He felt her exhale—a slow, full release—as though she had been carrying something for four days that could only now be set down.

“It was a hard mission,” he said.

She said nothing. She stayed where she was.

“Your Majesty.” Nightingale’s voice, dry and familiar from three steps behind. “You said you’d wait in the castle. The pier is not a safe location.”

“You all had a long time of it,” he said.

“It was…” She shifted slightly. “Actually fine.”

Anna stepped back and drew Nightingale in with one arm. Then Wendy crossed to them. Then Leaf.

One by one, the witches came down the gangway and closed the distance—by hand, by arm, by proximity, the grammar of people who have been afraid and are now, collectively, relieved. Agatha came. Iffy came. Both tentative, each in her own way. Both came.

The sun was maroon and nearly down. Their shadows on the pier boards ran long, overlapping, braided together beneath the fading light.

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