Domain
They said little on the walk back to their rooms. Each time Math tried to speak, Kai shook her head and flicked a glance at the servant.
He took the hint.
At their doors, awkwardness hung heavy. For the first time in days, Math was clean and shaved—everything he’d thought he’d been waiting for, apart from the tangle of emotions now knotted between them.
Kai shook her head before he’d even reached for her. What he felt from her wasn’t rejection, but wariness, suspicion, and a thread of deep anxiety—none of it directed at him.
“Sleep well,” Kai said. Her expression was calm, but beneath it, her emotions churned—worry and unease roiling just under the surface. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
She gave him an odd look, then disappeared into her room.
As Math stepped into the room, every candle and the fireplace flared to life at once. He nearly jumped.
King Sanistral sat in an open-backed chair at the center of the room, waiting.
“How did you—?” Math pointed toward the door. How had Sanistral beaten him here? Some secret passage?
“This is my domain,” Sanistral said, clearly amused. “I go where I please.”
“Your domain.” Math remembered when Kaiataris had woken—how she’d called the Queens fools for attacking her in hers. A graver’s domain was the one place they were guaranteed to have enchanted down to the foundations.
“Right,” Math said slowly. “That makes sense. So—what didn’t you want to say in front of Kai?”
Sanistral smiled. “She did well in finding you, didn’t she? But never fear—I mean Kaiataris no harm. Quite the opposite. I should have expected this. Kaiataris has always preferred unorthodox political systems.”
Math eyed him uneasily. “I don’t think she’s thrilled you made yourself king.”
“She’s always favored meritocracies,” Sanistral mused. “I could argue I’m still upholding that—but I doubt she’d listen.” He waved a hand. “None of that matters. What matters is restoring balance to the world’s magic—and convincing her to help.”
For a moment, his frustration showed, though he masked it quickly. “I had hoped she’d be reassured, knowing I intended her to be the recipient.”
“She hasn’t said no,” Math pointed out—though he had a sinking feeling she would.
“I know her too well. She will refuse.”
“I don’t…” Math perched on the edge of the desk, then quickly moved to a chair under the king’s parental glare. “I don’t know what I can do. I’m not even sure what the right decision is.”
“The right decision will require sacrifice.”
“Remind me how nearly unlimited power is a sacrifice?”
“Most of us will not be receiving unlimited power, and the Queens are not easy to predict,” Sanistral said, his tone patronizing.
“They’re not human—and they don’t think like us.
In order to have them agree to our plans, we shall need to explain those plans.
To do that—someone will have to enter their collective mind as an ambassador.
Unfortunately, it will be a one-way trip. ”
Math felt the blood drain from his face.
“You want me to do it.”
Sanistral looked mildly surprised. “It needn’t be you—but it cannot be Kaiataris or myself. And whoever takes this on must volunteer, which I suspect will be … rare.”
“I know someone,” Math said. “One of the knights they took. I’ve fought him several times … but we’ve also spoken. Maybe he could be a go-between.”
Sanistral’s gaze drifted, then locked back onto Math. “How long ago?”
“How long ago what?”
“Since he was killed and returned as one of theirs?”
“Almost a week.”
“Then I’m afraid not.” King Sanistral said it with the absolute certainty of a man who made a point of never being wrong.
“Why not?”
“Because what the Queens do isn’t resurrection,” he said simply.
“It’s easy to believe their victims return unchanged—but they don’t.
First, they lose their humanity. Then their memories.
Finally, even thought. In the end, they’re no more independent than your hand is from your body.
By the time you see your friend again, he may not remember you at all.
Wait longer, and he won’t even know how to say so. ”
Math thought of their last fight at the train crash—how Huraiik hadn’t used his manifested weapon.
As if he’d forgotten how.
Math swallowed. “I see.”
“If you’re worried about your relationship with Kaiataris, I wouldn’t be.”
Math looked up, incredulous. “How do you figure?”
Sanistral shrugged. “Because there is no relationship. There never was, and never can be. You’re both young, attractive, and have endured together—it’s natural to think there might be more between you.
But it isn’t possible. Even if you don’t sacrifice yourself, you’ll still be mortal. She will not.”
His expression was all compassion and pity—which only gave each word a keener edge. Math hated it.
“I thought you said the recipients wouldn’t become gods.”
“Again, not in a religious sense.”
Math stared at the wall. He hadn’t predicted “opportunity to become a goddess” would be one of the obstacles they’d have to overcome.
Though he supposed it would solve the “how to stop people chasing Kai for being a grim lord” problem.
The corner of Sanistral’s mouth twitched, as if he knew exactly what Math was thinking—and found it amusing.
But the amusement vanished in an instant.
“I apologize if this seems patronizing,” he said, “but it’s merely a clearer view of a problem that was always there.
The power imbalance between you was never going to be anything but insurmountable. ”
Math’s breath caught—hurt, then anger. “You’re right. That is patronizing.”
“I’ve known her much longer than you,” Sanistral said.
“She’s more powerful than you and always will be—because a graver’s strength isn’t magic, it’s knowledge.
Intelligence. She’s smarter, better, and she’ll never settle for second best. Eventually, your pride won’t survive that.
What do you think she’s going to do—set aside all her ambitions in favor of defining herself as your wife and the mother of your children? ” He scoffed.
“I think you’re getting ahead of yourself,” Math said. “We haven’t known each other that long.”
What stung most was how close the man had come to the truth. Math hadn’t dared voice his desires—not even to himself—but after only a few days, he already knew how badly he wanted to keep Kai in his life.
Math shook himself. What a hypocrite he was being. He’d hesitated to start a relationship with Kai because he’d hoped to return to the Order. The least he could do was offer her the same courtesy—the same freedom to follow her own ambitions.
“You share a magical bond, so no—I’m not getting ahead of myself. I’m sure she intended it for someone quite different than a strapping, handsome, earnest young man. Still, the emotional connection must have fallen into place easily enough, helped along by physical appeal.”
“That might be the most long-winded way anyone’s ever said ‘she thinks you’re cute,’” Math snapped—then caught himself.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong about the relationship, Your Majesty.
We haven’t known each other long. Certainly not long enough to talk about true love—” Liar, his heart whispered with every beat.
“But the reverse is true, too. It hasn’t been long enough to say it can never work.
What you are wrong about is thinking I need to be in some superior position. I don’t.”
He figured Sanistral was simply centuries behind the times when it came to women’s roles. Before the Order solstice, Kai had probably defied every expectation of what a woman could be. But now? Women led without fanfare. By the Tri-Mother, a woman was in charge of the Rokasmaa Empire.
“Very well. You don’t.” Sanistral’s tone shifted—something unreadable beneath it. “Nor do I expect you to leap to your doom. As I said, it needn’t be you—it just can’t be us. All I ask is that you not stand in the way of Kaiataris accepting her destiny.”
He paused. “And maybe persuade her toward the right decision.”
Restless, Math stood and crossed the room to the window. He drew back the gauze curtains and stared out at the city, the Monchlen heat pressing close even at night.
The city’s lighting struck Math as strange.
At first, he couldn’t place why—then he realized: only the streets of Monchlen were lit.
In most towns and cities, the glow came from homes—hearth fires, candlelight.
But here, the houses were dark. Rokasmaa required every home to hang a lantern outside after nightfall.
Some cities were moving to gas, but … these lights were the wrong color.
Math shook his head, aware he was letting a tangent distract him—mostly because arguing with a king was a terrible idea. But that was exactly what he was about to do.
“You just told me my pride wouldn’t let me be with Kai unless I was in charge—and then asked me to help convince her to do what we want. I don’t…”
He trailed off, frowning as he glanced at the lantern on the wall. It had a shutter to dim the light, but the glow wasn’t candle flame. This was something else: pure, steady, white. It didn’t flicker at all.
“Am I boring you?” Sanistral’s tone had cooled—understandably, given the conversation.
Math’s gaze snapped back to the window. “No,” he said.
The streetlights—same as the lantern. Some kind of graven magic, probably. Impressive, really. A safe, steady source of light after dark—who wouldn’t want that?
If only …
If only there were any other kind of light out there. That was what unsettled him. There should’ve been variation—the glow of hearths and candles, bonfires and forges. This was Lomar’s capital. Where were the other lights?
Then there was the noise—or the lack of it. He stood at an open window in the heart of the capital, and heard nothing. No barking dogs. No drunken revelers. No carriages. Just … nothing.
In silence, wisdom is knowing the difference between the library and the tomb.
King Sanistral sighed.
“I did try.” The chair creaked as he stood. “I was nothing but complimentary over dinner, nothing but helpful. I wanted you both on my side. We could have done this the simple way—but you had to be too smart for your own good.”
Math wondered how high the drop from the window was.
“It’s irrelevant. The window only looks accessible. In truth, nothing more solid than air can pass through. A basic precaution.”
Math’s gut clenched. He turned to face Sanistral, eyes wide.
Sanistral’s lip curled. “I am in my domain,” he said. “Here, I am god. Of course I’m reading your mind. Another basic precaution.”
The door opened. Half a dozen armored guards filed in, weapons drawn.
“She won’t be happy if you kill me,” Math said. In hindsight, not the sturdiest rope to hang his life upon.
“No, I imagine not,” Sanistral said. “Which is why I suggest you don’t resist. You might fight back for a time, but you won’t win. Come quietly, and at least you’ll keep the hope she’ll ransom you with her cooperation.”
Math ran the odds. Grim, just like the man had said—pun absolutely intended.
Then Sanistral’s words sank in, and Math sneered. The bastard had been lying the whole time, hadn’t he? If he meant to use Math to force Kai’s cooperation, then one thing was clear: he had no intention of handing her power.
The king smiled. Math knew he was right—and that he’d picked the worst possible moment to realize it.
Worse still, his mind served up something even more damning.
“Let me guess,” Math spat, even knowing he was being monumentally foolish. “You lied about the Kaliri and the waystation. They can use it whenever they want—and they’ve been smuggling people into the country. Just like you’re the one handing them those shiny new graved black-powder weapons.”
Math expected him to lose his temper. Instead, Sanistral looked delighted. “Now, Math,” he chided, tone almost playful. “You were raised an Idallik Knight. Surely you remember who authored the Innalova Accords?”
And then the bastard waited—like he was teaching a class.
“The first King Sanistral did,” Math said at last. “Which I guess means you, since there’s only ever been one King Sanistral.”
“Full marks. Indeed. I’m the one who outlawed such barbarity as black powder and battlefield magic. No civilized people should ever fight that way.”
The mockery wasn’t subtle.
Math clenched his jaw, reminding himself he wasn’t standing in front of a defenseless man. “Nicely done,” he told the grim lord. “You convinced everyone to outlaw the only weapons that could stop you.”
Sanistral chuckled and reached out to tap Math’s cheek—managing it, even when Math flinched. “Not all the weapons, my boy. But don’t worry: the Queens won’t be a problem much longer … and neither will your Idallik brothers and sisters.”
The grim lord gestured to his guards. “Show our guest to his new room in the dungeon.”