Elva shrieked, scandalized. “What are you doing?!”
I blinked down at the board, utterly lost. “What?”
The pieces may as well have been carved from hel’s own riddles. She’d explained the rules a dozen times, but my mind was still circling the letter.
“Verena,” she jabbed her finger at the piece in question, “look at your knight.”
Thank gods for the gesture, because I’d genuinely thought that was the rook this entire time. Maybe that’s how Rook’s parents had chosen his name, deciding mid-game.
“You could take my queen in this move!”
That sounded important. Maybe even dire. I still didn’t care. I only played for Elva’s sake, never to win.
Which, for someone who loathed losing as much as I did, said everything.
I blew out a breath, collapsing backward into the plush cushion. “Why would I want to do that?”
She made a soft, despairing noise. “Have you been payinganyattention?” Her hand pressed dramatically to her chest. “If you spent half as much focus here as you do during training, you’d be a master already.”
Damn right.
She leaned forward. “If you take my queen, my king is unguarded.”
Oh. That part, at least, I remembered.
“Why are you telling me how to win?” I plucked a grape from the silver dish.
Elva’s lunch still sat untouched, though the aroma clung to the air. My empty stomach all but begged, though I knew she’d offer if she caught the sound.
She adjusted her position, rubbing the back of her arm. The breeze had died, the sun spilling straight through the open window. It burned across her like a spotlight, gilding her in a ferocity she didn’t notice.
“It’s important,” she said too softly, even for her.
“For me to learn how to play chess without entirely humiliating myself?”
Before she could answer, a lump of ginger fur bounced onto my lap.
“Gods, Lulu, you absolute oaf.” I shoved the feline down. “I am not your mother.”
As if I had to remind her. She’d been attached to Elva’s heels since the day she could walk. The cat hissed, offended, before sauntering to Elva.
She giggled, scooping Lulu onto the sofa beside her, fingers scratching gently behind her ears.
Around her neck, a delicate collar gleamed. From it dangled a small heart pendant, almost identical to Elva’s, its surface engraved with a single name:Lumen.
“No,” Elva sighed, deep enough even the cat tilted its head. “Sometimes you must sacrifice your queen for the king to triumph. And that’s okay.”
“Sounds moronic to me.” I stifled a yawn. “Isn’t the queen the most powerful piece on the board?”
Lulu stretched out luxuriously, smug, and boneless. I envied her. No responsibilities but to pester and nap. Meanwhile, I was left puzzled over a game that suddenly didn’t feel like a game at all.
“Yes,” Elva reached for the tray, spearing a cooled slice of chicken, and relief loosened in my chest. At least she was eating now. Perhaps whatever words had been in that letter had finally settled. “But the king is the most important,” she went on, lifting the fork. “A symbol of power.”
I froze. She didnotjust fork-feed her damned cat.
Lulu licked her lips like royalty, purring as though she’d been crowned.
“And the queen isn’t?” I asked, incredulous.
