Rewrite That Witch
CH595 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 595: Germination

“Was Heidi injured during the capture?”

“Shot in the leg.” Tilly’s voice was level. “Bleeding stopped, but she can’t walk.”

“And the others?”

“My witches came through. A Bloodfang witch named Skyflare died last night.” Tilly paused. “She couldn’t be saved.”

Roland nodded. “I’ll have Nana see to Heidi. The other matters — after we return to the castle.”

The church invasion came before the Bloodfang Association in Roland’s order of priorities. He returned Tilly to his office and spread the Northern Region correspondence across the desk. Ashes and Andrea joined them; the three major families of the Kingdom of Dawn’s capital had a stake in these developments too.

Since the secret warning arrived, Roland had exchanged two letters with Hill Fawkes to fill in the gaps. He laid out what he knew without editorializing. When he finished, Andrea closed her eyes briefly.

“Otto. Always the same.” She shook her head. “He would never have gone into that palace without Oro beside him.”

“He still managed to warn us.” Ashes shrugged. “And he did it partly for you.”

“Have you replied?” Tilly asked Roland.

“I urged him not to act. The God’s Stone of Retaliation has no effect on the witch he described — which means she’s invulnerable to ordinary opponents, and the God’s Punishment Warriors compound the problem. The Kingdom of Dawn is too far for me to reach directly. Under those conditions, the wisest option is to appear ignorant of the church’s activities until their attention shifts fully to Graycastle.” He poured tea and passed cups. “Patience is difficult to recommend to someone with Otto’s temperament, I know.”

“He’ll still act,” Andrea said. “Impulse has been his baseline since childhood.”

“He has a reason to restrain himself now.” Roland’s expression stayed measured. “I told him Andrea was safe in Neverwinter. That the church could not touch her here, not even in direct combat. And that if he died, he would forfeit any chance of seeing her again.”

Ashes whistled softly.

“Enough,” Tilly said, before Andrea could formulate a response. She gave Roland a look that communicated precisely how much she appreciated him turning Andrea into an argument. Then she turned to the map. “The church’s invasion — what’s your plan?”

Roland tapped the border of the Northern Region. “A defensive line at Coldwind Ridge, guns and cannons dug in across the approach. I’ve already dispatched the First Army to move war materials to Deepvalley Town and eliminate church influence in the kingdom. Holy City of Hermes will know what we’re building.”

“You intend for them to see it,” Andrea said. “That information isn’t accidental.”

“It’s the only way to control where they strike first. A fixed defensive line invites a fixed attack. My people suffer less if I can predict the direction. And a pitched defensive engagement is what the First Army does best.”

Tilly studied the map. “One vulnerability — Pure Witches. Firepower doesn’t compensate for threats we can’t detect.”

“Exactly. Which is why I need witches who can counter them.” Roland looked at Tilly. “Not just as a resource — as allies who understand what we’re fighting.”

“We’re already here.” Tilly’s voice was quiet and certain. “The witches of Sleeping Island fight with you, brother. Trust that.”

Back in the Witch Building, Tilly found her old apartment unchanged.

The same furniture arranged the same way. No dust on the table — Roland had kept someone attending to it the whole time she’d been gone. Near the door, three wooden bathing basins stood in a line, each holding folded clean clothes and a pair of sandals. She had bathed more regularly in Neverwinter than anywhere else in her life, and the standing hot water had spoiled her thoroughly for the Fjords.

She opened the cupboard on the scent of food and found it stocked: dried meat floss, bread, seasonings. Someone could eat at any hour without asking anyone for permission.

Princess Tilly had never been particularly attached to luxury. But standing in this room, she felt something warm move through her chest.

From the living room, Andrea’s voice: “Scented soap. And new towels — Ashes, look, the towels are new.”

“Is that good?”

“Good for me. For you, perhaps that old rag you brought from the ship will do. Why would someone who can tolerate bathing in salt water need a new towel?”

“What exactly are you saying?”

Tilly stood in the kitchen doorway and listened to them bicker with a feeling that was close to peace. These were familiar sounds. This was a familiar weight settling back into place.

She thought about what had shifted in her own mind, and followed it back to the moment in Roland’s office when he had crossed the room to pour tea for the witches himself — not a servant, not a gesture of condescension, but ordinary courtesy extended between people who trusted each other. She had seen it before and thought nothing of it. Today it had struck her differently.

He was not performing tolerance. He was not managing witches the way a clever noble manages a useful resource. He treated them as his people — genuinely, consistently, whether they were watching or not.

That was the thing she had been circling without a name for. It was that.

“Are you alright?” Ashes had come in behind her and closed the kitchen door softly.

Tilly turned. “Yes.”

“Why did you call him brother today? On Sleeping Island you said — you said he wasn’t the same as the Roland you remembered. That it didn’t matter who he actually was.”

Tilly was quiet for a moment. “I don’t think he’s the cowardly elder brother I grew up with. I’m not sure I care whether he is or not.” She moved to the small kitchen window and looked out at the castle backyard, which was full of noise and motion in the afternoon light. “Have you thought about what this war means? Not retaliation — what it means?”

“Tell me.”

“Freedom of life.” She watched two witches cross the yard below, unhurried, unafraid. “If we win — if we actually break the church — witches won’t need to hide. Not on an island, not anywhere. Sleeping Island was always a shelter, not a home.” She paused. “Have you ever thought about living somewhere else?”

Discussion

Suggest a change