CH596 · Rewrite
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Chapter 596: Home of the Free

Ashes looked at her with an expression that had no easy name for it. “What did you say? I’ve never thought of leaving you.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Tilly turned from the window. “To be honest — this place isn’t bad. And you like it, don’t you?”

A pause. “The Witch Cooperation Association has their reasons to stay and work for Roland. But we’re different. We have our own home.”

“There are three ways this war ends.” Tilly’s voice didn’t rise — it never did when she was being precise. “The first: we’re defeated by the God’s Punishment Army and die in the final line in the Northern Region. In that case, neither Sleeping Island nor Neverwinter matters anymore.”

Ashes’ hand covered Tilly’s mouth before she finished the sentence. The honorifics came out: “I swear by my life, my lady — you will never die at that kind of place.”

Tilly waited, patient, until Ashes removed her hand. “That’s a hypothesis. I don’t think the church kills me either.”

“Then don’t say it aloud. A thing said frequently enough—”

“Becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy,” Tilly finished. “I know. That’s why I told you the worst outcome first — to be rid of it.” She walked to the small kitchen window and looked out at the castle backyard. Late afternoon, full of motion, witches crossing the yard in ones and twos. “The second possibility: Roland loses, but we survive. The Kingdom of Graycastle can no longer hold the church. Neverwinter burns. Roland has one place left to go.”

“Sleeping Island.”

“Yes. We fight on from there until the Battle of Divine Will. Perhaps the human species is extinct in a hundred years. We can’t do anything about the timescale — we won’t live to see it either way.”

“And the third?”

“We defeat the church. We take Holy City of Hermes. Every witch alive is free from the hunting, the burning, the hiding.” Tilly looked at the yard. “Sleeping Island’s purpose is fulfilled. Not abandoned — fulfilled. We wouldn’t close it; we’d keep the Sleeping Spell running. But we wouldn’t have to confine ourselves there. The Fjords are cold and the supplies are limited and the weather is unkind.” She paused. “If we could choose — any city, any shore — wouldn’t that be worth the war?”

Ashes was silent for a moment. Then: “I’ll stay with you in hell and surrounded by demons.”

“And in a world of salted fish and fish soup?”

”…” Ashes seemed to encounter a difficulty.

Tilly laughed — a genuine one. “Relax. They make me sick too, after enough of them. I’d probably come to Neverwinter for a few months every year. I’d like a change in diet.”

“Hey.” Andrea pushed the kitchen door open without knocking, towel balanced on her head, wooden basin under one arm. She craned her neck to look at them. “What are you two whispering about? Lady Tilly — are you coming to the baths?”

“Yes, give me a moment.” Tilly moved toward the bedroom to change.

“I’m coming as well,” Ashes said.

“I didn’t invite you.”

“I’m accompanying Tilly. Don’t confuse the two.”

Andrea’s look communicated her assessment of this distinction. Tilly changed her clothes while the argument continued in the kitchen — the same argument, as it had always been, with different vocabulary — and felt herself imagining a future in which this exact exchange could happen in any city in the known world, on any street, in full daylight, without fear.

She found that she was looking forward to it.


Roland sat in his office for some time after the witches left, doing nothing in particular, which was unusual enough that he noticed it.

Nightingale came through the wall with a piece of dried fish and found him staring at his desk. She set the fish down. She waited.

“She called me brother,” Roland said.

“I know.”

“She’s never done that before. Not since — not since I arrived here.”

“I know.” Nightingale ate half the dried fish. “If you want, I can call you that. I’m three years your senior, so it’s technically accurate.”

“You’re a noble. Don’t you have a sense of propriety to maintain?”

She gave him a look. “What do you think actually changed her mind?”

Roland rubbed his chin. “I’ve been trying to work that out.”

“She watched you act instead of talk.” Nightingale’s voice was matter-of-fact. “You didn’t use the Bloodfang Association witches against Sleeping Island’s stability. You declared war on the church. Compared with promises, actions are harder to argue with.” She shrugged. “Or it was a slip of tongue. I genuinely can’t tell.”

“The cause matters less than the result.” Roland straightened. “Whatever shifted her, she’s closer now — and that means we have broader trust among Sleeping Island’s witches.” He stood. “Time to meet Heidi Morgan.”


The dungeon beneath the castle was lit by torchlight that moved with every draft. The smell was stone and old straw. Heidi Morgan lay across a crude bed, unconscious, her leg bound in fresh linen.

Iron hoops encircled her neck and both wrists, each inset with a God’s Stone of Retaliation. The locks required specialized tools. Even asleep, Heidi’s face was composed in the expression of someone who expects the worst and has decided to face it on their own terms.

Nightingale kept her voice low at Roland’s ear. “I knocked her out before Nana started the healing. Too dangerous with the Stone off — she tried to use Andrea as a hostage during the confrontation on Sleeping Island.”

“You were thorough.”

Tilly had briefed him on the power: the ability to collapse any hollow space within ten steps from the inside outward. Inward compression. Organic or mechanical, no apparent material restriction. A wooden container: crushed. A metal one: crumpled. A human body cavity: its contents forced outward.

Roland found himself thinking, not for the first time, that from a purely engineering standpoint the power had significant industrial applications — precision compression, working between material layers without external machinery. With sufficient patience and education, she could have eliminated a class of heavy press equipment entirely.

He recognized this line of thought was not immediately useful.

“Wake her up,” he said.

Nightingale went in, gripped Heidi by the shoulders, and pulled her upright against the bars.

Heidi’s eyes opened. She oriented methodically — the bandaged leg, then Nightingale, then Roland on the far side of the bars. She assembled the picture with the deliberateness of someone who does not rush even when she has nothing left.

“Your Majesty.” Her voice was controlled. “Was it you who had my leg healed?”

“Yes. Otherwise Nightfall would have exhausted herself sustaining you.”

Roland set a chair in front of the cell and sat down.

“Tell me where the witches went,” he said. “The ones the Bloodfang Association expelled.”

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