Ever since the mirror had appeared in Modina’s room, the two had avoided discussing the empress’s plans for Wintertide. Amilia considered having it removed, but knew that would not matter. Modina would just find another way. The secretary’s only other alternative was to tell Saldur, but the regent would imprison the empress. The ordeal had nearly destroyed Modina once, and Amilia could not be responsible for inflicting that on her again—even to save the empress’s life. There seemed to be no solution. Especially considering that if their places were reversed, Amilia would probably do the same thing. She had tried to delude herself into believing that Modina would change her mind, but the empress’s words and the reminder of Wintertide’s approach brought her back to reality.
Amilia helped Modina out of her gown, tucked the empress into the big bed, and hugged her tightly while trying to hide her tears.
Modina patted Amilia’s head. “It will be all right. I am ready now.”
Hadrian trudged back to the knights’ wing, carrying the white strip of cloth as if it weighed a hundred pounds. Seeing Thrace had removed one burden, but her words had replaced it with an even heavier load. He passed by the common room, where a handful of knights still lingered. They handed around a bottle, taking swigs from it.
“Hadrian!” Elgar shouted. The large man stepped into the hall, blocking his path. Elgar’s face was rosy, and his nose red, but his eyes were clear and focused. “Missed you at the hawking today. Come on in and join us.”
“Leave me alone, Elgar, I’m in no mood tonight.”
“All the more reason to come have a drink with us.” The big warrior grinned cheerfully, slapping Hadrian on the back.
“I’m going to sleep.” Hadrian turned away.
Elgar gripped him by the arm. “Listen, my chest still hurts from when you drove me off my saddle.”
“I’m sorry about that but—”
“Sorry?” Elgar looked at him, clearly confused. “Best clobbering I’ve taken in years. That’s how I know you can take Breckton. I’ve wagered money on it. I thought you were a joke when you first showed up, but after that flying lesson… Well, if you’re a joke, it’s not a terribly funny one.”
“You’re apologizing?”
Elgar laughed. “Not in your lifetime! Summersrule is only six months away, and I’ll have another chance to repay in kind. But just between you and me, I’m looking forward to seeing Sir Shiny eat some dirt. Sure you won’t have a drink? Send you off to bed right proper?”
Hadrian shook his head.
“All right, go get your beauty rest. I’ll keep the boys as quiet as I can, even if I have to bash a few skulls. Good luck tomorrow, eh?”
Elgar returned to the common room, where at least two of the knights were trying to sing “The Old Duke’s Daughter” and doing a terrible job of it. Hadrian continued to his room, opened the door, and froze.
“Good evening, Hadrian,” Merrick Marius greeted him. He was dressed in an expensive crimson silk garnache. Around his neck was a golden chain of office. Merrick sat nonchalantly at the chamber’s little table, upon which sat the chessboard from the common room. All the pieces were in their proper starting places except for a single white pawn, which was two spaces forward. “I have taken the liberty of making the first move.”
The room was too small for anyone to hide in—they were alone. “What do you want?” Hadrian asked.
“I thought that was obvious. I want you to join me. It’s your turn.”
“I’m not interested in playing games.”
“I think it is a bit presumptuous to consider this a mere game.” Merrick’s voice was paradoxically chilling and friendly, a mannerism Hadrian had witnessed many times before—in Royce.
Merrick’s demeanor distressed him. Hadrian had learned to read a man by his tone, his body language, and the look in his eye, but Merrick was impossible to peg. He appeared completely relaxed, yet he should not be. Although larger and heavier than Royce, Merrick was not a big man. He did not look like a fighter, nor did he appear to be wearing any weapons. If Merrick was half as smart as Royce had suggested, he knew Hadrian could kill him. Given how he had manipulated them on the Emerald Storm, which had resulted in the death of Wesley Belstrad and the destruction of Tur Del Fur, Merrick should further know it was a real possibility, yet the man showed no sign of concern. It unnerved Hadrian and made him think he was missing something.
Hadrian took the seat across from Merrick and, after glancing at the board for only a moment, slid a pawn forward.
Merrick smiled with the eagerness of a small boy starting his favorite pastime. He moved another pawn, putting it in jeopardy, and Hadrian took it.
“Ah, so you accept the Queen’s Gambit,” Merrick said.
“Huh?”
“My opening moves. They are referred to as the Queen’s Gambit. How you respond indicates acceptance or not. Your move has signaled the former.”
“I just took a pawn,” Hadrian said.
“You did both. Are you aware chess is known as the King’s Game due to its ability to teach war strategy?”
Almost without thought, Merrick brought another pawn forward.