by Meg Cowley
“Should have thought? Yes, you should have.” Liv rolled her eyes at him and pushed away from where she stood leaning against his desk, pacing across the room and shutting the door. The latch clicked into place. “They have returned then,” she said sombrely.
“It would appear so.” Raedon’s voice was heavy, too. It had been a long time, decades, since he had chased whispers of the Order of Valxiron, with Liv by his side, his most trusted deputy at the time, and since.
They had all but exterminated them and the last of the line of Saradon–or so Raedon had thought. Now, the Order seemed as alive as ever, and that meant their dark rhetoric had survived, too. They hold the capital. It was worse than he could have imagined.
Liv’s glance fell to the floor, and her curtain of chestnut hair obscured her face, but he had seen the hard set of her jaw. “Our quest must start anew then, after a sorts.”
“We have a long way to go before we could consider it, I’m afraid.”
Raedon returned to his desk, fishing a scrap of parchment from the top drawer and bending over it as he scrawled a hasty note.
We need to speak at once. R.
He rolled it up, melted wax with a word, and stamped the dragon of his office upon it. He would send it with the next batch of ravens. Liv watched him with curiosity.
“I need to speak with Dimitrius.”
“You don’t trust him, do you?” But Liv’s eyes narrowed in confusion, not hostility. She knew as well as anyone that he had never seen eye to eye with the spymaster.
“I’m not sure, but enough to hear him now, in any case.”
Thirty Three
Aedon’s heart hammered in his chest as the three of them picked their way through the clutter of moss-and-lichen-covered boulders, ducking under the low-hanging, tangled, and gnarled branches that writhed in a non-existent breeze, the long, trailing fronds growing upon them swaying, too.
The silence hung thick and heavy to the point of unnatural pressure on their ears, but Aedon did not remark upon the annoyance of it, as he might have done so casually on any other occasion. Today, it was renewed cause to be silent and wary.
The Queen’s guards both led and trailed them, silent and hostile. Aedon, Brand, and Erika were unbound, but they were not free. The flicker of Aedon’s magic was a comforting, silent protection. He hoped he would not need to use it, but he had a feeling that such hope was futile.
Brand and Erika had been stripped of the dwarven weapons they had brought from Keldheim, having nothing but their bodies to defend themselves with. Did that bode well? Did they not need weapons? Aedon could not decide whether that worried or reassured him.
A faint light emanated ahead, a break in the unrelentingly thick, heavy, smothering tree cover that blotted out any trace of fresh, natural air. Aedon’s steps longed to quicken, but their path was treacherous, every step requiring a careful navigation over the boulders that would so easily snap an ankle or send one tumbling. As the tangle of trees and the litter of rocks finally thinned and ended, they looked up, and gasped.
Before them was an open space, but not a clearing of the type he had come to associate with the wood elves. With a sinking heart, Aedon realised he had been in this place a long time before.
The cleared space was flagged with hexagonal stones in three colours, carefully arranged in a giant, six-sided terrace. The forest stopped precisely at the edge of the stone, as if it had been clipped back, but Aedon knew it was the magic of the place that kept it so.
The gasps of his companions behind him told him they possibly recognised what the space was. A giant chatura board, upon which a living game was played, at the Queen’s pleasure, to survive or perish as She saw fit.
To either side rose moss-covered steps, where a crowd already gathered. At the far end rose a green throne of tangled woods and plants, and upon it sat Queen Solanaceae, clothed in glimmering fabric as green as the moss and iridescent as the water, a crown of wood and flowers upon Her head, a forest-green, velvet cloak hemmed with white furs about Her shoulders–though she did not need the protection of a cloak in the woods She controlled.
It felt like a warm, spring day, but Aedon shivered all the same. He now knew with certainty why they had been brought.
Half a dozen elves rose fluidly from the front row at an unspoken command, bowed for their Queen, and filed onto the board to stand before Her, facing Aedon and his companions, who they watched with malicious smiles. All were in the same moss green as Solanaceae, wearing smart doublets and loose, flowing trousers, their dark arms bare and brows adorned by gold, silver, and cloudy, green gems.
Behind them, the forest rumbled and shivered, small trees ripping themselves from the forest floor. The living trees, the dhiran, which Aedon had longed to never see again. The urge to flee rushed through him as they advanced, walking upon roots that littered wherever they trod, straightening as they stood, one to a tile, before their elven masters and the Queen.
Grim faces stared from the trees, some masculine, some feminine, all unfriendly. Aedon might have admired them–their flowing curves, their somewhat obvious elf-mirrored forms, their arms stretching up into their branches–had he not previously seen them rip a person to shreds in seconds. Deceptive green vines and pretty blossoms wreathed them. They were green and fair, and full of false life and beauty that was not reflected in their dark hearts.
Solanaceae stood and descended from Her throne with languid grace to stand in the midst of Her ranks. A mutter whispered through the crowd gathered. Aedon knew as well as they that the Queen never deigned to play Herself. He swallowed. This was personal. She was determined to see him fail.
At her ascendance to the board, Her elves simultaneously sank to one knee, and even the trees hunched over to bow.
“Join me for a game, thief and friends,” Solanaceae said, Her white teeth flashing between cherry-red lips in a wicked grin, Her amber eyes regarding them coyly.
Like we have a choice. Aedon was annoyed. Nevertheless, he executed a short bow, which his companions mirrored, then turned to Brand and Erika, careful to not put his back to the Queen.
“We will have to play the finest game of chatura we have ever managed to have any hope of survival. It is known the Queen executes the losers commonly.” He neglected to say he had seen it done.
“The Queen has taken the position of the Queen, the rest of the elves are the power pieces, and the dhiran are the pawns. I will assume the position of queen. Brand, will you take the warrior?” He gave a sharp nod. “And, Erika, we need your strength as one of the knights.”
“I’d make a better druid.” Erika’s reply was curt, her narrow eyes already evaluating the playing area, their opponents, their chances.
Aedon dithered, but only for an instant. “Fine. We can communicate through each other’s minds.” They had done so before. They knew he would hear what they spoke into his mind, then relay it between them all. His companions nodded.
At a crack behind them of a tree bending, Aedon hastily turned back to the board and strode into his position, whilst his companions paced to theirs.
“I don’t know how we’re going to manage this,” Aedon said to them both, “but pray that we can defeat them.” This is just the first trial, he thought to himself with trepidation.
“Are you ready?” Solanaceae’s smile widened.
Aedon dared to frown at Her. “My Queen, surely not. There are but three of us against eighteen of you. We could not presume to give you much entertainment.”
She drew herself up at his challenge, hard eyes deciding whether to punish him or acquiesce to draw out Her own pleasure. “Very well. I will give you more players, but you must move them yourselves without straying from your own tiles, for if you do so, you will forfeit.” She smiled, a cruel glint in Her hungry eyes, as if pleased with Her cleverness at the impossible allowance She gave him. But it was all Aedon needed. He nodded and bowed.
Ghostly statues rose from the tiles around them and solidified. Pale,
white, cracked stone with dark veins, wreathed with the dead vines of sleeping winter. Twisted, stone trees. Druids, cloaked and kneeling. Elven fighters atop stone steeds, armed with twin blades or bow and arrows, and frozen in position. Warriors, armoured, with swords of stone and helms of rock.
“I shall be kind. You may move first, thief.”
Aedon surveyed the pieces before him. He wished Ragnar were in his place. Of them all, the dwarf was the master of chatura. Aedon was a mere imitation, as were his companions. But Ragnar was not there, and they would have to make do. Aedon would have to draw on every lesson the dwarf had taught him. He only hoped it would be enough.
At his bidding, a tree at the front of their formation creaked to life, his magic ushering it to move one tile toward their enemy. The Queen mirrored with one of Her trees.
They danced toward each other across the board, one piece at a time, Aedon careful to keep his main pieces behind the safe wall of his tree pawns, until there was no way but to meet.
He was the first to fall. With relish, Solanaceae sent Her pawn to attack one of his. His tree withered back into stone and sank beneath the tiles, leaving a gap in his defences.
Aedon took one of her pawns in revenge, the tree withering to stone and dead vines before it dropped with an ear-splitting keen below the stones. It was a decoy. Swiftly, one of Her druids rushed to his lines, snatching another tree and forcing Aedon to defend them from the breach.
Brand took the druid with relish. His eyes widened as it withered to stone and dead vines, yet remained upon the board. Momentary glee washed over Aedon.
“So it is like Ragnar’s variant of chatura then. Any pawns taken are retired, but any power pieces convert to the control of the taker, to be retired or used as they wish.”
His glee faded when, in quick succession, a harsh assault by the Queen saw them lose two pawns and a knight, then a warrior. He replied in kind, taking two of Her own pawns and another druid, but he knew their lines were painfully thin, and his trepidation was mirrored in the worry that rolled off of Brand and Erika like a tangible wave.
“We cannot keep going like this,” Brand growled.
“She will pick us off one by one,” Erika added.
Aedon knew they were right, but what else could they do but dash themselves against the walls of Her strength? Ragnar would have had a clever strategy, Aedon berated himself. The dwarf was the master of fooling them all, playing one smart strategy only to defeat them in an entirely unpredictable way.
Aedon stilled. The Queen glared at him, at the delay he caused, but he did not notice. Feinting.
“We need to deceive her,” he said to his companions as he moved a warrior forward and behind what was left of their defensive wall. “Like Ragnar does with us all the time. Runs circles around us, popping up from the left, then running past on the right.”
Brand chuckled at the memories of Ragnar’s quick wit. “How, though?”
“We dodge her,” Erika said, turning to them across the board and smiling viciously, eerily resembling the malicious Queen across from them, behind Her own thin wall of pawns and pieces.
Aedon’s lips curled into a slow smile. “Precisely. Any pieces we take can remain in play in their present square...or be taken, to be reintroduced on any square of the board.”
“You mean to...”
“Yes.” Aedon’s smile widened. Across from him, he saw Solanaceae scowl.
“What piece could be powerful enough to take her?” Brand glanced around as Solanaceae felled their last pawn.
“Me,” Aedon said softly. “If I move three tiles forward and to the right, her warrior will take me. She will leave me in play, if only to gloat that I am gone. You must distract her to another part of the board, and then... He turned his green, now solemn eyes upon Erika. “I need you to recapture me.”
“I will not let you down.” Erika was just as serious.
He bowed his head to her and turned to Solanaceae. “There’s no use, my Queen. We shall triumph,” he said aloud, his voice carrying across the arena.
Solanaceae burst into delighted laughter, and titters echoed around the space as the wood elves mirrored Her. “I just took your last pawn, thief. I have three pieces I could take from you in the next move alone. Do you not already notice the number in my ranks doubles your own?”
She spread Her hands wide, and he followed Her gesture, looking at Her strong forces, weakened in pawns but strengthened by the warriors, knights, and druids She had already taken from them.
“Soon, I will have you at checkmate, and at my mercy.”
Her eyes narrowed, sparkling with mirth. It was all a game to Her, this challenge and the two that would follow. A game in which She knew She would not lose. The only question would be how long they could endure before yielding to Her for Her true punishment to take place.
“I will give you one last chance to surrender, my Queen,” Aedon said in an even tone.
Solanaceae’s brows rose as high as they could go in disbelief. “I think not.” Her voice was flat and cold.
“Then you leave me no choice. I shall take you.”
Aedon kept his gaze on Hers, Her honey eyes locked with his forest ones, as he moved forward, slowly and deliberately. He saw the momentary flicker of realisation as he stopped, as She understood the vulnerability he had placed upon himself.
In a moment, Her warrior pounced. The blade dug into his throat painfully, but did not break the skin. The wood elf pushed his face close to Aedon’s, and his breath, which smelled of blossoms and the forest in the rain, warmed Aedon’s cheek.
“You spoke too soon, and too rudely, thief. Yield.”
“I yield,” said Aedon, dropping to a knee. Vines twirled up from the ground to ensnare his limbs, blossoms and flowers blooming before his eyes, whilst leaves unfurled around his figure. They encircled his chest, constricting, making it hard to breathe. He gritted his teeth as he severed his mental connection to his friends. He would not show the Queen their plans.
“How does it feel to be mine?” the Queen purred at Aedon.
Aedon clenched his teeth, but he belonged to Her now upon the board, and he could not issue word or action against Her will.
Brand charged forward to take the warrior, turning the living elf to petrified stone, frozen in a ghastly grimace. Solanaceae was forced to defend Her position when she realised Brand could strike at Her king, who had been left behind in the corner of the board, behind Her wall of warriors.
With the next move, Erika leapt to Aedon’s side, her teeth glittering in a feral snarl. “He is ours,” she growled at Solanaceae.
The living material circling Aedon solidified to stone and dropped from his form, shattering upon the ground below them as fragile petals and thin leaves collided with unyielding stone tiles.
Solanaceae’s snarl turned into an open-mouthed gape as Aedon faded from his tile. Too slowly, she realised their ploy. She whirled around, but She was bound by the rules, as ever they were, and could not protect Her king, a tall elf with mahogany hair flowing down to his waist, his head crowned with berries and leaves.
He could not protect himself as Aedon materialised upon his own tile. Aedon yanked the king’s ceremonial knife from the pretty leather, embellished scabbard at his waist and raised it to the king’s throat.
“Checkmate,” he said, his clear voice ringing across the arena.
The very air seemed to darken around them all, the trees creaking and groaning as the Queen’s anger rippled outwards, Her warm, terracotta skin paling, Her eyes flashing with fury as She turned, still bound to Her own tile by the magic of the game She had made, to Aedon.
“Checkmate,” Aedon repeated, meeting the Queen’s gaze without flinching.
“I yield,” said the king softly and, with slow, graceful movements, knelt at Aedon’s feet and presented him with his crown, which Aedon took, holding it high for all to see.
But the Queen’s wrath only grew, and the game ending with the defeated king�
��s final surrender, She charged across the clearing to Aedon.
“Thief! Trickster!” She shrieked at him, blazing with magic.
“We won, Queen,” Aedon said in a brittle tone, brandishing the king’s crown at Her. It burned in his grasp with the force of Her magic, the heat searing across his palm, and he dropped the flaming, shrivelling, blackening circlet by reflex. “We played by the rules.”
Solanaceae stood before him, Her eyes wild, vengefulness written in every line of Her snarling face. Brand and Erika hurried to Aedon’s side to stand shoulder to shoulder with him–no matter that She could kill the three of them without a second thought.
Their movement seemed to distract Her, for Her breathing slowed, deep and ragged, and Her eyes lost some of their wild gleam. “Very well,” she breathed. “It was too easy for you, I see. Well, Aedon, you and your companions may have triumphed in your first trial, but there are two left, and I shall see they are not so easy.”
With that, She whirled away, Her cloak arcing with the force of Her movement, shrouding Her as She disappeared into nothing. Silence fell in the arena. Cold, unfriendly faces watched them.
Aedon’s mixed relief and wobbling triumph faded at the uncertainty surrounding them. No help would they find there. As if to confirm, something sharp and unyielding poked Aedon in the small of his back.
“Move,” growled the unfriendly voice. Aedon glared at the wood elf, who glared back with eyes of cold mud, and did as he was bidden. Back to captivity with his friends. The first task had been simple to overcome, once they had realised how. Aedon was under no impression that Solanaceae wouldn’t make the next one difficult enough to kill them.
Thirty Four
The small, unquenchable smile they shared at their secret had not yet left either of their lips. Harper’s stomach fluttered at his touch as he brought them back to his silent quarters, and warmth coursed through her, banishing the chill that remained, despite the fire of desire burning through her veins.