Stop
Math spent the next hour explaining the Rokasmaa legal system to Kai, who had no shortage of scathing opinions—especially about the part where a cenobium commander could order an execution without trial or evidence.
He reluctantly pointed out that there was evidence, which promptly killed what little urge to keep talking he had left. Though, if he were honest, exhaustion played its part—he hadn’t truly slept in two days. Unconsciousness didn’t count.
Which was probably why he did fall asleep, despite the hard bench and looming danger. Math only woke when someone tugged on his collar and pressed a soft kiss to his temple.
He snapped awake.
Kaiataris stood over him, watching—and casually eating half a flatbread stuffed with cheese and grilled lamb. His stomach grumbled in jealous complaint.
Still … “Did you just kiss—?”
“Such a sweet couple,” the old woman with the flowers said.
Math forced himself to relax, to smile. They were being watched.
“We overslept, my heart,” Kaiataris explained.
Math blinked and sat up straighter. Morning sunlight poured through the windows of the motionless train. In the distance, voices carried, birds sang, and someone was chopping wood.
It was a sound Math had grown all too familiar with lately.
Math didn’t know exactly what Bashan looked like, but he was fairly certain this wasn’t it.
Kaiataris offered him her remaining bread and meat. “Madam Leadur was kind enough to share her meal with us.”
Math reached for the offered food, giving a grateful nod to the old woman, evidently Madam Leadur.
“Madam?” the old woman scoffed. “Mrs. Leadur, dear. Don’t be giving me airs.” She pushed the bread back toward Kaiataris before presenting Math with the other half of the flatbread. “You eat yours, sweetheart. Your husband can have his own.”
The man the old woman had shared a bench with was gone, and in his place Mrs. Leadur had set a woven picnic basket, the source of the stuffed bread.
“That’s very kind,” he told her.
The old woman waved off the gratitude. “Figured this was going to happen again, and wanted to make sure I had enough for the trip.” She made a moue. “But I overpacked. Food’s just going to go bad if it’s not eaten.”
Math ate slowly, forcing himself not to devour the food like a starving wolf. But after a few bites, her words caught up with him. “Happen again? It’s happened before?”
“You haven’t been reading the papers?” The woman tsked, then carried on as if he’d answered.
“I love these new trains—so much more comfortable than carriages—but every other day something’s blocking the tracks.
Last week, when I visited my granddaughter, it was an entire herd of giant birds.
Birds! Some new species. And today? A wild bramble patch bigger than the train.
Sometimes I think the Tri-Mother’s had quite enough of us. ”
Math stomped on his panic. A wild bramble patch … “We were supposed to be in Bashan by now,” Math murmured.
“I hate to disappoint you, young man, but ‘supposed to’ doesn’t often visit the present,” Mrs. Leadur said, shaking her head. “They claimed it would be a six-hour delay—that was five hours ago—and they’ve barely made a dent. Personally, I think we’ll be here all day.”
Math hurried to the door and leaped off the motionless train.
The chopping he’d heard earlier came from a group of men with axes, hacking at a massive briar of twisted branches—easily as tall as the train—that had overtaken the tracks.
The brambles looked ancient, though Math knew they had to have grown in just a few hours.
“As the solstice nears,” Kaiataris said, standing beside him, “this will become more common. The giant birds she spoke of would almost certainly be because of such increases in chaos.”
“Last week, the Queens hadn’t woken yet.”
“Indeed. It’s equally possible the Queens had nothing to do with these brambles, either.”
“Possible, but not guaranteed.”
“No, not guaranteed. Now that the Parnathi have absorbed people from your world into theirs—all the people they’ve killed and taken—the Queens will understand exactly how disruptive blocking these routes could be, and that it buys them enough time to catch up to us.”
Unfortunately, Math couldn’t find a single flaw in that reasoning. He clicked his tongue, then waved down a train conductor pacing nearby with a worried look on her face.
“Excuse me,” Math said to the woman. “You wouldn’t know where we are right now, do you? How far away from Bashan we might be?”
The woman sighed. “As soon as the obstacle is cleared, we’ll be on our—”
“But where are we? What would have been the next train stop if the tracks weren’t blocked?”
The conductor blinked. “Oh—Cherkiss. But it’s still twenty miles from here. You’re better off waiting. We should have this cleared in a few hours.”
Math looked past her to where workers were still hacking at the thicket. A few passengers had joined in, driven by the sensible belief that speeding things up served everyone—and helped ease their boredom. Math studied the tangled mass of branches and gauged their progress.
He shook his head as he turned back to the train conductor. “You’re not going to get out of here for at least another ten hours.”
Probably half that, if he helped. The problem with that idea, however, was that it meant he’d still be trapped here for another five hours. Which was absolutely not an acceptable idea should either the Queens or Idallik Knights show up.
“It’s better than walking,” the woman said.
“I’m going to miss my daughter’s wedding!” a man nearby shouted. A woman muttered about demanding a refund. Soon the entire group had erupted into argument.
Math returned to Kaiataris, who’d been standing close enough to hear the brief exchange. “If I start now, I can reach Cherkiss by nightfall and catch another train.”
Several of the other passengers heard his declaration. Their expressions turned thoughtful.
Kaiataris narrowed her eyes. “If you start walking?”
Math gestured for her to follow him away from the tracks, putting distance between them and any curious ears.
“The Idallik Order isn’t after you, and while the Queens might recognize you, I doubt they can track you.
The safest thing would be for you to stay here.
Wait for the tracks to clear—we can meet in Cherkiss, or Bashan if it comes to that.
There’s no reason we both have to be uncomfortable. ”
“Have we not already discussed why I have no wish to be parted from your side?” Kaiataris scoffed. “You shall not be rid of me that easily.”
He threw an arm up over his head. “I’m not trying to get rid of you—”
“Excellent. Then I’ll fetch our bags so we can be on our way.” She was heading back to the train before he could finish the sentence.
He muttered: “Of course. How could I refuse?”
Then Math followed after her—it would look strange for a newlywed husband to let his wife carry their luggage alone.
Since Math knew the way to Cherkiss no better than Kaiataris, they agreed the most sensible choice was to follow the train tracks. The tangled brambles that had stopped the train were far less effective at halting those on foot—they simply skirted the edge and kept moving.
They weren’t alone. Around two dozen others had made the same choice, scattering along the tracks like glass beads from a broken string. Loose pairs and trios walked at their own pace, never too far apart, never quite together.
Taking this route meant giving up the chance to catch a passing wagon, but with so many people on foot, it would’ve only led to arguments over who got a seat. As it was, following the tracks kept them off the main roads when the Idallik Knights came searching. Math was happy to do so.
Despite the grim purpose and pressing urgency, the day was stunning.
The sky stretched in a clear, brilliant blue; the landscape burst with the vibrant greens of spring, accented by elegant, unexpected touches of color—a solitary cloud, scattered yellow wildflowers, the dark line of train tracks cutting through it all.
Under other circumstances, he might’ve mistaken their group for tourists out on a leisurely hike.
“So, when did you first decide to become a knight?” Kaiataris gripped her borrowed suitcase with one hand, careful to keep it from bumping her legs as she walked.
Math glanced around them, but no one was close enough to hear. “It doesn’t work like that. It’s not a ‘decision.’ If a child starts demonstrating magical ability, they’re given to the Order to train. Of course I want—” He halted, flushed.
He’d wanted to be a knight. Past tense.
Because it sure as the oceans wasn’t going to happen now, was it?
“You’re forced into this as children?” He felt her outrage, even as she must have felt his grief.
“Can we talk about something else?” he snapped. “Anything else?”
Kaiataris came to a full stop, casting him a shrewd, assessing stare. “Very well.” As she resumed walking, she added, “There’s something I’ve been wondering since we boarded the train—a question about the behavior of men in this era.”
“Yes?” He already didn’t like where this was going.
“Is it truly so common in this era for men to sit as if you are royalty on a throne?” She glanced down—not at his legs, but his hips. “With your legs spread wide open as though some invisible lover is nestled between them, about to give you a—”
“Kai!” If he laughed, it was purely shock. He immediately lowered his voice. “Kaiataris, I mean. You can’t … you can’t just ask a question like that.”
“I cannot?” The look of utter innocence she gave him was as false as a painted smile on a doll. “But you asked me to talk about anything else. Don’t you remember?”
He inhaled, starting to feel irritated. Or was she the one who was feeling irritated?
No, it was definitely him.
“We have got to break this bond,” he muttered. “Or we’re going to kill each other.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“Are you serious?”