Rewrite That Witch
CH607 · Rewrite
☕ Support

Chapter 607: Lighting the Beacon

Calvin had been thorough about it. Besides the formal reply to Roland’s inquiry, he had sent Edith a private letter — enthusiastic, detailed, laying out his reasoning as though she might have missed the obvious. Roland had not yet married. Edith was capable of charming anyone she chose to charm. If she could secure that position, when the nobles’ territories were inevitably folded back into the crown, her family’s standing would be inextricable from the king’s. The queen’s position, in a kingdom where the king was the only noble remaining — that position would be extraordinary.

Calvin believed his daughter understood political architecture. He had built her understanding of it himself.

He had received no reply. Neither had Roland.

“Don’t tell me it’s because you don’t like him,” the duke said, pouring himself a third cup of tea. “I’ve never seen you like anyone. And besides — you considered marrying Timothy. Why is Roland different?”

“They’re not the same,” Edith said.

“Two kings. What’s the difference?”

She closed the notebook. “Timothy needed a reliable ally in the Northern Region, and marriage was the mechanism he understood. If I had refused, he would have found a more pliable family and displaced us. There was nothing I could do but delay — keep him interested, keep the marriage unresolved, hope Roland prevailed and made the question moot. But if Roland had failed, then yes: I would have played my role and married Timothy. I had no other option.”

“And Roland?”

“Roland chose me because I’m competent.” She said it plainly, without vanity. “Not for my family’s lands, not for our relationships, not for the Northern Region’s tax base. None of those things matter to him — they’re noise. Which means—” She tilted her head slightly. “—since the noble forms are already dissolving, why would I follow the old rule that said a woman of my station should be positioning for a queen’s seat?”

Calvin turned his teacup in his hands.

“Look at the people who manage City Hall in Neverwinter,” she continued. “Very few of them come from noble families. Most are common people who earned their positions through examination rounds. I’ll be honest — they make errors that any experienced noble’s steward would catch immediately. But within their own specializations, they are not inferior. Not to anyone I’ve worked alongside.” A slight pause. “That is his new rule. You keep your position by performing well. The old rule — you keep your position by blood and land — that one is gone.”

“Even so,” Calvin said carefully, “a queen is not a management position. If you bore him a son—”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, father.”

“Why not?”

Edith picked up the quill she had set down and turned it between her fingers. “His Majesty Roland appears to believe in love.”

Calvin blinked. “He has someone already?”

“A witch.”

“A—” He set down his teacup. “Say that again.”

“Scroll — she’s a witch who serves as the Minister of Education in City Hall — told me directly: Roland will marry a witch. The witch in question is not named, but Scroll seemed entirely certain.”

“A political marriage, surely.” It was the only frame that made sense. “Witches can’t conceive children. He must need something she provides.”

“It’s not political.” Edith’s voice was even. “He wants to marry her because he loves her. That’s what Scroll said, and — after a month of watching him operate — I believe her.” She leaned back in the chair. “I know that sounds impossible. I know it sounds like something from a story told to peasant children. But among all the nobles I have ever dealt with, he is the least like a noble I’ve ever met. When you finally see him, you’ll understand what I mean.”

“And the question of heirs?”

“They’ll solve it. Somehow.” She shook her head. “That is not our concern, and we should not involve ourselves in it.”

Iron Axe moved through the trenches with a group of officers, checking the layout the way a craftsman checks a joint — not performing inspection, but genuinely looking.

His Majesty’s design was meticulous. The primary trenches gave cover from thrown projectiles and ranged attack; behind them, secondary and tertiary lines connected by longitudinal grooves, so soldiers could move forward and back without exposure. Wood piles and barbed wire on the surface would slow any advance to a crawl. On both flanks, machine gun emplacements: low bunkers at the forward line, tall towers behind, a well-proportioned firing network that covered every approach. Behind the trench system, fifty field artillery pieces standing in line. Further back still, the 152mm Longsong Cannon positions.

To get Lotus here in time, Iron Axe had specifically requested Maggie’s express transport from His Majesty. The results were visible — the fortifications were ahead of schedule.

He reached the end of the defensive works and stopped.

Beyond the wire and the cleared ground, the tan-colored Impassable Mountain Range filled the horizon. This was the foot of the Big Gap — the only way down. The mountain wall rose sheer on both sides, and Coldwind Ridge clung to the hillside above, barely visible at this distance, its Beacon Tower a dark pencil-stroke against the grey sky.

Strategically, the position was like Border Town in miniature: watch the pass, hold the road, sound the warning if anything comes through.

“Can’t we evacuate the citizens of Coldwind Ridge now?” Brian asked. He was scanning the mountains with the expression of a man doing arithmetic he already knew the answer to. “The church will turn them into the first wave of enchanted soldiers if they get their hands on them.”

“If we evacuate them, the church knows we’ve set a trap here,” Iron Axe said. “We can’t take that risk before the fortifications are finished. Coldwind Ridge functions as bait — it’s too close to Holy City to be the real battlefield.”

“Besides,” Van’er added, “nobody believes a stranger who runs into town yelling that the war is starting. Unless we force them out — which is the same as sending Holy City a signal.”

Brian exhaled. “I know. But—”

“Three more days,” Iron Axe said. “After that, we can begin the evacuation. The intelligence says the main Holy City force is still in its staging camp. We have time.”

“I hope—” Brian’s voice cut off. His eyes had fixed on the mountains.

Iron Axe followed his gaze.

Above the distant ridge, against the pewter sky, a line of black smoke was rising.

Thin. Unmistakable.

The Beacon Tower.

Discussion

Suggest a change