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Chapter 597: Blood and Fang

It took Heidi a long time to assemble herself.

She touched her thigh — healed, solid, no longer the source of fire it had been on the ship — then studied Nightingale with narrowed assessment, and finally turned her gaze to Roland. Her face was doing something complicated.

“Is that what Iffy told you?” she asked. “About Annie?”

“Yes. Annie was her friend.”

Heidi’s jaw set. She was silent long enough that the torchlight shifted across her face twice.

“You had the power to shelter them,” Roland said. “Archduke Island belonged to Archduke Morgan, and you were his heir. You had the resources. Even daily gruel would have been enough. Instead you abandoned them — assistant witches you judged worthless. But assistant witches are not worthless. The flintlock Andrea used against you was built by assistant witches working alongside ordinary craftsmen. A farmer who has never held a weapon in his life can operate it within a week. That weapon is what took your leg.”

Heidi’s head came up sharply. “Ordinary people can use it?”

“Do you still believe I conquered the Kingdom of Graycastle with witches alone?” Roland leaned back. “If they had that kind of power, the church wouldn’t have been persecuting them for centuries.”

“Then how did they—”

She stopped herself. Roland watched her process the implication. Then he stared at her, flat and patient, until she understood she had stepped outside the terms of the conversation.

“We’re not at a banquet,” he said.

She swallowed. Her eyes moved to Nightingale. “This woman is—”

“Nightingale. She works for me, not for Tilly.” His voice didn’t harden, but it didn’t soften either. “I’ll ask you again. Where did the witches go?”

Heidi drew herself up as much as the cell permitted. “I let them seek other witch organizations. Some returned to nearby cities and towns. Some may have gone to the Kingdom of Dawn—”

“She’s lying.” Nightingale’s voice was quiet and absolute.

The silence after it landed like a dropped stone.

“Your Majesty, she can’t possibly know—”

“Save it.” Roland shook his head. “Nightingale detects lies. Not voice patterns, not hesitation — lies. Every sentence you say in this room is either true or it isn’t, and she knows which.” He let that sit for a moment. “You know now why Tilly brought you from the Fjords to the Western Region. You’ll be formally tried here. If you want to avoid suffering, tell me exactly what happened. My patience has limits.”

The torchlight moved. Heidi’s expression moved through three things Roland didn’t try to name, and settled on something hard and calculating. She grabbed the bars.

“Your Majesty Wimbledon — the Kingdom of Wolfheart has been absorbed by the church. The king is gone. I am the last of the Morgan bloodline. Help me reclaim my kingdom and I will give you everything — gold, gems, witches, the Bloodfang Association’s full service to Graycastle!” Her voice had climbed to something close to desperation. “Half of Wolfheart’s territory. Everything west of Blackstone Cliff — yours!”

“Stop.” Roland cut across her. “I want to know where the witches went. That’s the only thing I want to know.”

“My kingdom can’t compare to a few assistant witches?”

“Can’t you hear me?” The patience in his voice was a different texture now — not warmth, just control. “Wolfheart is not yours to give. I have no interest in land that distant from my current position. I’m asking once more, because the protocols of formal nobility require it. After this, I have other methods. Tell me what you did with those witches, and I may still spare your life.”

Heidi seized on the last sentence like it was the only solid thing in the room. “You’ll really spare me?”

“I’m a man of actions.”

She lowered her head. The silence went on long enough that Roland thought she might refuse entirely.

“I sent them to the nobles,” she said.

Roland felt something settle downward through his chest, cold and heavy.

“You sold them.”

“It was a trade.” She breathed carefully. “I couldn’t build the Bloodfang Association on witches from Archduke Island alone. To draw more witches to us, I needed the name to carry across the whole of Wolfheart. But the Rats who spread information are controlled by nobles — and if the church had discovered Archduke Island, I would have had nowhere left to go.” She was looking at the floor now. “I paid the nobles in witches. Assistant witches. Non-combat. In exchange, they watched the church’s movements, managed the Rats, diverted attention from us. They had enough investment in hiding what they’d done that they protected the secret.” A pause. “I spread the Bloodfang Association’s name only in domains where I’d already confirmed the local lord would accept a witch. That minimized exposure.”

The logic was sound. Roland recognized that, and it made the conclusion worse, not better.

He did not have to ask what happened next to those witches in the nobles’ care. He knew what kind of rooms they were kept in, what kind of men kept them there, what eventually finished those who didn’t die of magic bite — nobles who were accustomed to having their curiosities satisfied, or church enforcers who eventually extracted the information from lords who had been keeping illegal secrets.

He felt Nightingale’s stillness change into something else beside him, and he raised his arm before she could move.

“Who carried this out for you? Iffy said you never met Annie directly.”

“Skyflare.” Heidi’s voice was almost nothing. “Skyflare did it. She’s dead — Ashes killed her.”

“Did any other members of the Bloodfang Association know?”

Heidi did not speak.

“Say it.”

”…No.”

Roland let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “Last question. What was the purpose of the Bloodfang Association? Why build a force of combat witches?”

A pause. “To help my father reclaim the throne that was taken from him.”

She stopped there. Roland filled in the rest without difficulty: after Archduke Morgan died, the Association became Heidi’s own instrument. His throne, by then, was her throne. His enemies were hers to settle accounts with when the day came.

He stood. He walked out of the dungeon and up the stairs, and Nightingale took his hand in the corridor, suddenly, with both of hers.

“Are you going to spare her?”

“Heidi Morgan is Sleeping Island’s witch. It’s not my place to execute her.” He looked at the torchlight on the stone wall. “Tilly brought her here for exactly this reason. I extracted the truth. What Sleeping Island does with that truth — that’s Tilly’s decision.”

Nightingale’s eyes caught the light. “I see.”

“Whether Sleeping Island spares her,” Roland said, spreading his hands, “is not something I can decide.”

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