They played again. This time, he fought harder, his strategy shifting, adapting. The game stretched long into the evening, their breaths the only sound aside from the occasional crackle of the fire. His fox lunged, his pieces moved with renewed cleverness, and for the first time, she felt the onset of nerves.
Still, in the end, she surrounded him. His loss was inevitable, no matter how well he had played.
"You poor thing,” she cooed, reaching out to lightly pat his hand. "Was that all you had?"
His fingers twitched beneath hers, and she felt the warmth of his skin, solid and real beneath her touch.
"In every story Grim offered, he never once told me you were so… ” Death paused, searching for a word.
"Smart? Strategic? Glorious?" she offered, grinning.
"Fiendish,” he corrected smoothly. "Conniving. Evasive."
They were close now. Too close.
She hadn't noticed how their movements had drawn them in, how the verbal sparring had tethered them in space, breath mixing in the small sliver of air between them. She could feel the heat of him, the way his presence filled the room, pressing against her like a declaration unspoken.
She swallowed, returning her gaze to the board, pretending nothing had shifted. But his gaze lingered.
"One more,” he requested, his voice softer now.
She faltered, then smiled, resetting the board.
She beat him again. But this time, he did not seem put out by the loss. Instead, a new light manifested in his expression, quiet and contemplative, like a man who had opened a book he had not expected to enjoy, only to find himself unable to put it down. That look stayed with her long after the fire dimmed. She lay in the quiet of her bed on one side of the small chamber, staring at the darkened ceiling, the memory of it abiding in the warmth of her chest.
Chapter 28
Ilys woke to the muted hush of early morning. The fire had long since burned down to smoldering coals. Death had already risen, the bed across from hers made up neatly, as though he had never slept there at all. She found her veil, left to dry over the back of a chair, stiff from the night’s rain, and the garments she had left hanging still cool to the touch. She stretched, rolling the stiffness from her shoulders, then glanced at the small game table between their beds.
The board had disappeared.
She frowned, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, then turned toward the door, where Death stood adjusting the straps of his pack, punctilious in movement.
"Have you truly been so offended by the game that you’ve tossed it into the fire?" she asked, tilting her head, her voice rough with sleep.
He barely glanced at her. "I have taken it."
"Death,” she chided, pulling her cloak around her shoulders as she stood, "you cannot take that game."
“I am a dying man,” he said simply, fastening his coat. "And I like it. I should have it."
She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off with a dismissive wave. "Hush. I paid the old woman for it."
Ilys scowled, moving to gather her things. He had been up for hours already, she could tell, the room stripped of any sign of their brief stay. She felt rushed again, the way she always did when he forged ahead—ground giving way, tugging her from stillness before she found her footing.
They stepped out into the cold morning, the sky a dull slate gray, brimming with the promise of more rain. A fog clung to the trees beyond the inn, wrapping around the malnourished trees, stretching papery over the distant road.
She followed him to the horses, tightened Spire’s reins, and secured her bags. Death moved with quiet efficiency beside his own steed, his fingers working the straps with ease, the black leather of his gloves worn from years of use. His dark coat hung open at the throat, his mortal skin pale against the high collar of his tunic. Dark hair curled at his temples. Ilys wondered herself capable of capturing that curl, the indolent, endearing spiral that it was.
"Tell me,” Death said finally, "When do you know to press in?"
She turned in the saddle. "Press in?"
"In the game,” he clarified. "The geese. When do you know to move forward?"
"As if I would reveal my secrets to my nemesis,” she said, tilting her chin.
He scoffed, "We are not nemeses."
