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Chapter 594: Shallow Beach and Reunion

Tilly herself was coming.

Not a delegation of combat witches sent as military aid — Tilly Wimbledon, princess of Graycastle, was sailing for the Western Region in person. Which meant she had resolved the trouble on Sleeping Island, or settled it enough that she trusted the island to hold without her.

Roland received the news and found himself quietly pleased in a way he didn’t examine too closely.

The day after the letter arrived, he waited at Shallow Beach with Anna and several witches. What had been mudflat a month ago now showed the first outlines of something permanent. Wooden board houses and work sheds clustered around the slope, their windward faces painted a conspicuous orange — anti-corrosion coating, functional first, but the color was striking against the grey sky and grey water. Thirty meters of beachhead had been leveled and faced with brick; the natural deep-water harbor saved him the cost and time of a trestle, and even three-masted ships could berth directly.

Most of the witches had not been to Shallow Beach during this phase of development. They moved along the waterline with the unhurried attention of people who have nowhere urgent to be.

Anna came to stand beside him. The salt wind off the water shifted her hair across her face, and she pushed it back without looking at it, already pointing toward the far end of the beach. “Is that the collapsed shipyard? What are they doing there now?”

“You’ve heard about it,” Roland said, with the tone of a man who has already accepted his guilt in this matter.

“Nana told me the same day three workers broke their legs.”

The coke oven explosion in a test run he could classify as an acceptable cost of development — a price paid to understand a new process. The shipyard collapse was harder to excuse. Minister of Construction Karl had recommended building near the hills, where the ground was firm. Roland had overruled him: the time pressure was real, Thunder’s steam vessel needed to be in the water before the following year, and he had told himself the soft foundation was manageable if Lotus laid a steel skeleton and they filled it with poured concrete.

The walls had looked immaculate when the concrete set. He had been quietly proud of himself.

Then the portcullis went in.

The moment the arm-thick gate was released from Hummingbird’s hands — she had been keeping it weightless during installation — its full mass transferred to the vertical walls. The walls and one side of the gate assembly came down together, burying three workers in the debris. Nana saved all of them. The post-incident survey found the cause: during the pour, sand and mud had migrated downward beneath the formwork. The join between floor and wall had never properly bonded — only a thin skin of concrete, holding nothing.

In the modern world it would have been a career-ending failure. Here, the workers survived, and the nobles surrounding him registered nothing beyond mild curiosity at the lord’s odd new hobby. Only Roland kept the full arithmetic: three men nearly killed by a mistake he could have avoided.

He cleared his throat. “They’re installing earth-retaining walls. Timber posts cross-braced into the ground — friction anchors. Like tree roots.”

Anna considered this. “So the vertical walls can’t pull away from the floor.”

“This time I’m checking the concrete bond personally before anything goes in.”

“Look — a ship!” Mystery Moon’s voice came over the sound of the surf.

A sail had appeared on the horizon: pink flag, three masts, making for the beach on a broad reach. The Charming Beauty, rounding Southernmost Cape from the Fjords. It tracked along the waterline for a minute, adjusting its heading, before recognizing where the dock actually was.


The plank came down. Roland extended his hand and Tilly Wimbledon took it — and whatever formality the gesture might have carried between a king and a princess dissolved in the handshake itself. They had not seen each other for months. Both of them were smiling.

The witches managed the reunion in their own way, which was with considerably less restraint. Honey, Candle, and Evelyn attached themselves to their Sleeping Island friends before the plank had stopped swaying. Andrea bent an arm around Nightingale’s shoulders with the easy familiarity of someone who had entirely forgotten she was a noble lady. Wendy took Ashes’ hand and started asking questions.

Softfeathers stopped moving when she saw a pale, hollow-looking witch standing slightly apart from the Sleeping Island group.

“Why are you here?” Softfeathers approached her, voice careful. “Did Heidi Morgan send you because she hadn’t heard from Iffy and me?”

“No.” The witch shook her head. “Lady Heidi is on the ship.”

“She came to the Western Region?” Softfeathers’ exclamation pulled the attention of everyone on the dock.

Who is Heidi? The Bloodfang Association leader? What does she want?

Roland looked at Tilly. “Have you resolved your differences with her?”

“If you mean whether she’s currently secured — yes.” Tilly spread her hands with the air of someone summarizing a complicated document. “The plan worked. Heidi did attempt to kill the Annie we staged. But she refuses to say where the witches she expelled from the Association went. She says she’ll only tell you.”

“Me specifically.”

“She considers you her last useful leverage. You’re King of Graycastle — secular authority, formal power. I think she believes that if she offers you enough profit, you’ll intervene on her behalf. Perhaps help her reclaim standing in Wolfheart.” Tilly’s eyes were steady and direct, telling him everything before it could become a misunderstanding.

Roland laughed quietly. “You’re telling me this so I know what she wants before she says it.”

“I’m making an observation.” Tilly’s mouth curved.

“If I were the kind of man who trades in witches for political gain, you would never have brought her here.” He shook his head. “What witch am I meeting?”

“Nightfall. A combat witch of the Bloodfang Association. Without her Seed of Symbiosis sustaining Heidi’s life since the confrontation on Sleeping Island, Heidi would not have survived the voyage.”

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