Majesty
No matter his doubts about King Sanistral, Math couldn’t deny the man was a gracious host. He received a table piled with fresh fruit and chilled water, a steaming bath, and tools to shave.
The new clothes gave him pause: they were elegant and heavily embroidered, but still made him feel like he was about to dine in his nightclothes.
If the clothes felt strange, Math appreciated how Kai’s gaze stopped dead on him when they met again.
As for Kai, he wasn’t surprised to see she’d received the full royal treatment.
Her dress resembled the one she’d worn when she first woke in Isofal—gold instead of gray, more lavishly decorated.
Evidently, a woman more precious than gold and jewels should wear as many of them as possible.
Kai resembled a queen out of storybooks, drawn by an artist with a passion for the way gossamer fabrics clung to a woman’s curves.
She noticed his look and blushed. “I am not used to wearing so much—” She plucked at a ruby on her bodice.
“You could have left it off?”
“I did not wish to be rude.” She brightened. “You are looking very nice, I must say.”
He rubbed his cheek. “I had a lot of motivation.”
Diris, who’d waited through the exchange, bowed. “Please, my lady, my lord. His Majesty is waiting.”
Math took the hint. He offered Kai his arm and motioned for Diris to lead the way.
The palace struck him as odd. He was used to living in a massive building filled with people, but Isofal, like all Idallik Order cenobiums, existed to defend its libraries and support the Order. This place had been built for one man. The halls held only servants.
“Diris, does His Majesty have a spouse?” Math asked.
She looked back, startled. “No, my lord.”
“Any children?”
“No, my lord.” She looked like her greatest wish was for Math to stop asking questions.
Kai raised an eyebrow. “Are you going somewhere with this?”
“No, no. Just curious. Don’t mind me.”
When they arrived in the dining room—or rather, the informal banquet hall, since there were several—they found a table set for three, though it could seat eight. Likely the smallest available for an “intimate” dinner.
When King Sanistral said he had to take care of business, what he’d evidently done was instruct his cooks to prepare a feast. The table groaned under the weight of enough food to feed half the Idallik Knights in Bashan.
King Sanistral was already present, which Math was fairly certain was the kind of breach of etiquette that had started wars. The king stood and hurried over.
“I must say,” he said, grinning at Math, “after a shave, you bear far less resemblance to a ruffian.” He touched his own perfectly coiffed beard. “Though I’m sure you’d wear a beard well. It’s the decisiveness that matters. A man should never look as though he couldn’t make up his mind.”
Sanistral was teasing him.
Math smiled politely. “Thank you. Truthfully, I don’t think Kai would have forgiven me if I hadn’t.”
The king’s gaze flicked to Kai, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I’m sure she’d find it in her heart. Our Kaiataris doesn’t bear grudges. You look every bit as beautiful as I remember, dear one.”
“You really shouldn’t have, Sanis.” Unlike when most people said that phrase, Kai meant it. She smoothed the fabric of her dress against her thigh.
“I know,” King Sanistral said, gesturing for them to sit as he did. “But one advantage of being king is that when I’m self-indulgent, no one protests.”
Math felt Kai’s indignation. She started to speak, then shut her mouth with an audible click of teeth.
Sanistral noticed her reaction and laughed. “You haven’t changed at all, Kai. Speak your piece.”
Kai touched the edge of a crystal wineglass. The plates and dinnerware were gold, each piece precisely arranged. “No one protests—or no one dares?” she said, her gaze fixed on the abundance laid out before them.
“It’s not that bad, Kai. I’m a good ruler.” He nodded absently as a servant refilled his wine, though his focus stayed on her. “I’ve kept Lomar from falling into chaos. That’s no small feat.”
“That’s not why we’re here,” Math said, gently redirecting.
King Sanistral sipped his wine and chuckled. “I can see why you like this one, Kai. For now, enjoy the meal. Then you can tell me all about the Parnathi Queens.”
The food was far more elaborate than anything Math was used to—and far spicier.
He didn’t recognize half of it; several dishes had been cooked to the consistency of jam, their ingredients disguised beneath glaze and garnish.
Even the utensils felt unfamiliar in his hands.
He kept second-guessing which one to use and couldn’t shake the feeling that some of it was meant to be eaten with flatbread or bare fingers, not gold-handled forks.
“How are you enjoying the meal?” King Sanistral asked.
Math looked up, swallowing a bite that might have been eggplant—or something pretending to be. “It’s delicious,” he said, and it wasn’t a lie. “Even hotter than I’m used to.”
“I imagine so,” the king said. “Your people cook primarily with garlic, do they not? I’m quite fond of those stuffed chard leaves you make.”
“You know what they say. You can never have too much garlic,” Math said.
“Avansi food used to be far spicier,” Sanistral mused. “Back when you were still nomadic. Hot peppers preserved food then—soon they’ll be necessary because mold grows so easily. A pity the reasons change, but the need doesn’t. And to think—we still have four hundred years to go.”
Math felt a flash of dismay from Kai. He couldn’t blame her. The thought of four more centuries of magic growing ever more chaotic and uncontrollable was the stuff of nightmares.
“I’d hoped we’d have more time,” Kai murmured.
“Yes, just so,” the king agreed. “We were meant to wake centuries ago—the gravers, I mean. We might have prepared humanity. But we trusted poorly, and we were all betrayed.” His voice was deep and solemn, but also emotionless.
“What happened?” Kai pleaded. “We had contingency plans. Precautions. How did it come to this?”
“Dear one, you ask for nothing less than the history of modern civilization—inasmuch as that term applies. And I was not awake for most of it. What was it you used to say? In silence, wisdom is knowing the difference between the library and the tomb. Methinks much of humanity’s history has been both. ”
Kai stared at him, a flicker of shock breaking through before she buried it beneath carefully controlled silence. But through the bond, Math felt the crack beneath: fury first, then grief. She reached for her wineglass and drank—slowly, deliberately.
“We’ll have that conversation another time, perhaps.” Kai set her glass down with precision.
“Maybe it would be best if I told you what’s happened,” Math said. He didn’t understand why the king’s evasiveness had shaken Kai so deeply, but it had. She was holding it in, but under the surface, her emotions ran riot.
Sanistral’s gaze lingered on her, unreadable, before he turned to Math. “Please do.”
So, Math did.
He left out a few things: the telepathic link with the Queens, his often-uncontrolled powers, the Kaliri. He mentioned being expelled from the Order. Sanistral didn’t react—his expression stayed exactly the same, as if Math were reciting a lesson, not confessing a crisis.
Only when Math finished did the king finally move, sinking back in his chair.
“What a tragedy.” Sanistral sounded melancholy. He pushed his food around—he’d barely touched it—then looked to Kai. “The Queens are at war. And they’ll win, because Mathaiik’s people won’t see the danger in time.”
“The Parnathi can look human,” Math said. “No one knows the Parnathi can take control of someone without leaving any physical clues.”
“We know so little about the Parnathi,” Kai said bitterly. “There was a time our species coexisted, but even then, we understood almost nothing. We don’t even know how they reproduce.”
“Through others, apparently,” Sanistral said. “More like wasps than trees.”
Math rubbed his forehead. Tri-Mother help him, the headache was already blooming. “What can we do? We need to warn the regent. The empress is a child, but someone has to be told.”
“I agree,” King Sanistral said. “Fortunately, Rokasmaa keeps an embassy here. We could easily summon your ambassador and explain. But I must warn you—it won’t be easy. Your people aren’t exactly inclined to think well of Lomar.”
“If they suspect this is some kind of trick…”
“Then we’re lucky it isn’t.”
Math hadn’t expected naivete from the King of Lomar.
“I have a question,” Math said. “Unrelated to the Queens, as far as I know. We came through the waystation in the Vormadaak Grasslands, and Kaiataris showed me the map of active ones. I noticed one inside Kaliri’s borders.”
The king tilted his head. “In the interest of specificity: What is the question?”
“Are the Kaliri using their waystation? Could they travel from their country to the heart of mine at will?”
“Ah.” King Sanistral dabbed his mouth with a cloth.
Math waited.
“In short: no.” Sanistral’s smile aimed for kind and fell short. “The longer answer is that I blocked their access years ago. The Kaliri wouldn’t have contented themselves with Rokasmaa.”
Math leaned back, relieved.
“That you thought to ask speaks to your patriotism. So tell me—what are you willing to do for your country? Would you let yourself be painted a traitor?”
“Sanis…?” Kai’s brows drew together.
“Hush, dear one. Let the young man answer.”
Math swallowed. “What exactly are you asking me to do?”
“I’m not asking you to do anything. But I am curious what you would do to save your people—even at the cost of your reputation.” A look of sympathy crossed Sanistral’s face, almost apologetic. As if it had just occurred to him that Math might not have much of a reputation to lose.
“I don’t…” Math reached for his water glass, mouth suddenly dry. “Of course I’d do whatever is necessary,” he said—firmer than he felt.
Sanistral leaned back, the picture of regal ease.
“Very noble of you.” He sipped his wine and gestured lazily with the glass.
“But I wonder—what does ‘necessary’ mean to a man who has never escaped the nursery? You’re no knight.
What you have is improvisation. Wit. A knack for surviving under pressure.
Useful traits, yes—but not ones a kingdom rewards. ”
Math forced himself to stay still, though every instinct screamed to leave. “I manage.”
“I am sure you do.” The king’s tone was perfectly warm, perfectly bland.
“Still, it’s a tragedy, what your order has become.
Rokasmaa might have stood among the world’s great magical centers—if the Idallik Order hadn’t treated magic like a secret recipe.
Centuries of knowledge, locked behind walls, vows, and dogma.
And now, the biggest obstacle to saving your country is the very order sworn to protect it. Poetic, really.”
Math kept his mouth shut. He could already hear his mentors’ voices—warning, judging. But none of them were here. Only the man who might decide his homeland’s fate over a wine course.
“My order isn’t—” The words caught, brittle and weak.
“Your order is,” the king said gently, “long past its time. And your reluctance to admit it isn’t belief—it’s loyalty. They’re all you’ve ever known. And if you admit they’ve become corrupt, hidebound, bureaucratic … what does that say about the years—the loyalty, the dedication—you’ve given them?”
The air turned heavy. Math looked down at his plate. The steam had vanished. He hadn’t touched the food in minutes, and now the sauces had thickened, edges crusting. It didn’t look like a meal anymore.
“Enough, Sanis.” Kai’s voice cut through like a blade. “You cannot possibly think to blame Mathaiik for not seeing the sins of those who raised him.”
Math didn’t look up, but something inside him shifted. He wasn’t used to being defended with such quiet certainty.
He hadn’t realized how much that mattered.
Sanistral raised a placating hand. “Dear one, of course I don’t blame him. If anything, I admire his willingness to remove his order’s sad blinders. If only the rest of his countrymen possessed a similarly open mind.” He lifted his glass in a slow toast.
Kai didn’t return the gesture. She stared Sanis down across the rim of her wineglass, her grip on the stem tight.
“Sanis, what is your point?”
“We must see clearly—and be willing to make difficult decisions. You know I think the world of you, but you’ve always had a soft heart.”
“Compassion is not a defect.” The words were sharp, but what bled through the bond was sharper: fury, insulted pride, and something bruised beneath it all.
“In times of peace? No.”
Kai’s knife scraped hard against the gold plate. “One should not show kindness or sympathy only when it is convenient.”
Math spoke before the argument could deepen. “It’s about being willing to make sacrifices.”
Kaiataris turned to him, startled. For a moment, he thought he’d misstepped—but then she nodded, slowly, almost grudgingly.
Sanistral beamed. “What a remarkable young man you’ve found, my dear.” He stood. “Perhaps it’s time I showed you why sacrifices may be necessary—and what we stand to gain. Kai, I believe you’ll find this especially interesting.”
Kai raised an eyebrow. “However do you mean?”
King Sanistral smiled. “You and I both know the Queens are only a symptom. The real problem is the solstices.”
She studied him for a moment, then inclined her head in agreement.
“We fix the solstices,” Sanistral continued, “and the rest will follow. I intend to do exactly that. This, my dear, will be the last celestial cycle this world ever sees.”