I was wondering about alternate ways one can sculpt their realm. It’s obviously impossible for us, but could you turn your entire realm into a single constantly expanding mechanism? What about a building, a palace or fortress?

  — Excerpt from Notes For Newstar

  Day 1605, 2:20 PM

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone! Go away! Leave me alone!” The screams reached me even before I opened the door.

  “Mel, dear, you are unwell,” a handsome man in his early thirties told the girl wrapped in blankets, hugging her knees in the bed’s corner.

  “This man will help you if you let him.” He pointed in my direction without turning around. “What happened to your parents was a tragedy, but you can’t keep hiding away from the world. You have already wasted a year. I was patient, I gave you enough time to collect yourself, but it’s time you moved on.”

  Yeah, definitely not among the top ten things to say to a grieving youth. His words were right behind, ‘Ever thought what to do with the giant cave we’ve got under the mansion?’

  “Good day, Lady Tidebreaker. My name is Dand—”

  “Piss off!” the young lady shouted in a very unladylike manner, and her grandfather choked in outrage.

  “Everything is fine, Lord Tidebreaker,” I said before he could escalate matters needlessly. “I am neither offended, nor do I hold the lack of decorum against the young lady. Do you mind leaving us alone?”

  He minded. He minded very much, but he still left the room when a soother asked him to leave.

  “I apologize for intruding. Your grandfather is concerned about you more than his words let show.”

  “He’s just worried about his investment,” Maelstrom said.

  “While that certainly could be the case, I don’t believe it is. And I don’t think you believe that either. Not really.” I decided on a calm, neutral-friendly tone, hoping Amicable would kick it, the way it often did during my counseling sessions. “Everyone deals with grief in their own way, but there are general patterns. People who need to stay busy, people who get violent, self-destructive…”

  Yeah, I’m not doing a good job here. Probably because I don’t know how to deal with grief.

  “What I’m trying to say is that your grandfather has tried to give you enough room to deal with it on your own, and that by now he believes you need help.”

  Yeah, this is going horribly, Amicable or not. What did I want when my father died?

  I asked myself the right question. My way out was to keep myself busy, but if someone had insisted on talking…

  I summoned a bottle and two glasses from my ring.

  “Wanna beer? Just tell me whatever you want or keep quiet if that’s what you prefer.”

  She looked at me as if I’d smashed her head with a brick. I ignored the accusing gaze and poured her a glass.

  “Here.”

  Too stunned, she took it and mirrored me when I took a sip.

  “What can I tell you? You’ve never met my parents?” Her voice was hollow, but she wasn’t hostile, and that was a step in the right direction.

  “Well, then, you should start from the beginning. What’s the oldest memory you have of them?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The conversation flowed more or less naturally from there. She laughed and cried, shedding way more tears than she gave smiles, but she had a lot of emotions pent up, and I was there to vent them.

  We were both third realm mageknights, with enough stamina, but after two days, Maelstrom was spent emotionally and physically. She gave me a conflicted look, and I held her gaze until she nodded.

  “Thanks, I needed that.”

  “I’m glad I could help. We should spend more time together in the following days. Remembering the past is important, crucial, but you need to focus on the present and plan for the future. I suggest you grab a good night’s sleep and call me before your grandfather forces me to come to your room. I’ll give you as much time as I can, but he seems quite persistent.”

  Maelstrom grimaced. “He is… persistent.”

  She drew a breath and sighed. “I’ll rest for now. We can talk again tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow.”

  I bowed and left the room. The door closed with a soft click, and the exalt appeared next to me before I could make a step. The air turned solid, and he bore all of his attention on me.

  “So? How is she? Is she all right?”

  “Your granddaughter is young and grieving, Your Royal Majesty. She was remembering her parents, honoring their memory, if you will, which is important to reach closure. I believe she is doing better, and she promised she would talk more with me tomorrow or the day after. Do you have some good wines or beers? Something she enjoyed drinking before the incident.”

  The exalt pierced me with his gaze. “She’s not escaping into the bottle.”

  “One glass of beer does not make her an alcoholic, Your Royal Majesty. Besides, it was a common beer, not an alchemical brew. She could drink half a keg of it without feeling the buzz. Now, I wish for some beverages and snacks she enjoys. Something to make her feel comfortable, familiar, and grounded. Like the world is what it was, like it exists even though her parents have perished. And, I have to say this just in case, don’t prepare the favorite treats she shared with her parents or that her mother had baked and stuff like that. Food and drink without baggage.”

  He stared at me like I was crazy when I realized he probably had no clue what his granddaughter had eaten with whom and what she enjoyed.

  “Or you can direct me to her maid or whoever was in charge of escorting her while she was a child.”

  “That would be difficult. The girl also died in the attack, but I’ll tell my chief of staff to come see you.” He paused, glaring at me. I was certain it was the time for “you better keep your hands off my granddaughter,” or “you better not be plotting anything,” but instead of threats, I got a nod, and he vanished.

  He’s faster than Explorer’s Gate’s exalt.

  For a moment I wondered how I knew, but I was certain of it without a doubt.

  I went down the corridor, returning to where I had come from, and before I took the second corner, the chief of staff was walking next to me, and we were discussing what would make Maelstrom comfortable without reminding her too much of her parents.

  The man’s first thought upon mentioning food was to throw the poor girl a feast, but we quickly scaled it down to tea and sweetmeats.

  Maelstrom called me the next day, and I came with an enchanted teapot and a platter of baker’s confections. The still-steaming cookies were filled with a cream similar to chocolate, sweet and bitter.

  I’m not sure how well they matched the sour tisane, but Maelstrom enjoyed both, and that was the important thing.

  “Did you have the energy to think things through last night, or did you go straight to bed?” I dipped my cookie into the tea, mimicking Maelstrom, and was quite pleased with the resulting jumble of aromas.

  She didn’t say a word, and looked away instead, telling me all I needed to know.

  “You have done nothing wrong. The two days we spent together must have drained you completely. We can talk now, or I can talk, or we can stay silent and just have our tea and cookies. Whatever you want.”

  “You mentioned your father had died when you were young?” she asked instead.

  “I did. And he did.” Not Dandelion’s father, but my own father. The man had died when I was around Maelstrom’s age. To say my memory of him and of the circumstances after his death were hazy was an understatement, but I had some vague recollections.

  “How did you deal with it?”

  “Well, my circumstances were vastly different.” I raised my hand before she could complain. “I’ll answer the question, don’t worry, I just need to give you some context. My father and I weren’t on speaking terms when he passed. He was angry with me, possibly because of the way I was acting, and instead of trying to do something about it, I was angry with him being angry. So when he passed, there was this big knot of regret, a host of what-ifs which are really bad for your mind and soul. I hope you don’t have those.”

  She shook her head, but all her attention was on me.

  “Another difference between you and me was that I had someone to lean on back then, if you understand what I’m talking about.” She shook her head.

  “I was in love, she loved me, and I was close to being my own man. I knew how to think with my head straight, how to find what was important and do it. Two days ago, I mentioned people handling grief in different ways, my way was keeping busy.”

  She listened raptly, her bloated cookie dissolving in her tea, but I kept talking.

  “For me it was easy, and I think it’s like that for everyone who chooses my path. When you’re busy working, exercising, focusing on other things, you don’t really have the time to grieve. I guess I could call it a kind of escapism, but it helped me, and I think it could help you too.”

  She suddenly recalled her cookie and tried to raise it, but half of it plopped back into the tea, splashing the table.