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I was locked in a cell in the musty dungeons of the Black Palace. Anytime I was not with the King, Bishop Dragoslav brought me here and locked the heavy wooden door, leaving me in darkness.
My eyes adjusted quickly, unnaturally so. I was soon able to see, not fully, but better than ever before. What would have been utter darkness a day ago resolved into shapes: a bucket in the corner, a bench against the wall, and nothing else.
The first day Dragoslav locked me here, I tried to bring down the door. I rammed my shoulder against it more times than I cared to count. I felt stronger than ever. If the door had been of a regular build, I knew I would have been able to break through, but this was no ordinary door. It was built to keep Rooks in—maybe even Knights and Bishops.
Maximus was keeping me hidden from the Board and only let me out when it pleased him, when he could taunt me with Timotei’s presence whose hopeful eyes filled me with a mixture of rage and sadness.
The monster played games with my little brother’s heart. He treated him sweetly, made him think he was helping me, then turned around and fed from him until the boy was left sickly.
What was everyone in the Board being told about me? Did they think I was in the infirmary? They certainly didn’t know Maximus had broken one of the most sacred rules of the Board. He had turned me into a Rook even though I’d lost—hence my confinement.
Steps sounded outside my cell. I stood from the bench that also served as my bed and faced the door. Metal clanked and echoed through the dungeon’s cavernous corridors as the latch was pulled back.
A robed figure stepped in. Dragoslav. A red tint colored the inside of his hood, reflecting the glow from his eyes. Other than that, there was little but blackness under the hood.
“Come,” Dragoslav said, his voice a low whisper that might have been a hiss.
I stepped outside. He walked behind me, his small hands interlaced in front of him, his head bowed. No words crossed his lips. It was the same every time.
We climbed up a winding set of stone stairs that led to a hidden corridor. From there, we walked for several minutes, making our way out of the very bowels of the palace.
At the intersection of four passages, I started to turn left toward the corridor that led to the room where I’d woken up that first night after Maximus made me a Rook.
“Not that way,” Bishop Dragoslav said in his low whispery voice. “Continue forward.”
I frowned, confused, but did as I was told. Anytime I’d left the dungeon in the past few days, the Bishop had taken me to that same room. Where were we going now?
Five minutes later, I had my answer as we walked into a grand hall with a fifty-foot ceiling and stone walls just as far apart. There were no windows to let light in, but candles burned from hanging candelabra, casting a warm glow over the many obsidian statues that occupied the space: stallions, dragons, lions, demons. All manner of creatures, real and mythical, seemed to stare at us with stony eyes as we made our way to the dais in the back of the room.
Maximus waited, standing next to his elaborate throne with a hand tapping the armrest. The piece of furniture was hideous, gnarled and intricate in its confusing design. I made out shapes carved into the wood, creatures like the obsidian statues we’d just passed. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to their placement.
The King spared no greeting. “Go,” he ordered. “He’ll be here any minute.”
At the sound of his voice, something stirred in my chest, a feeling that assaulted me every time he was near and that I’d grown to despise because I suspected it was his blood calling out to mine—a reminder of who had made me into what I was and who had control over me.
Bishop Dragoslav nodded and, touching me for the first time since he’d been in charge of carting me across the palace, he grabbed my arm and led me up the dais, past the King and his throne, and through a hidden door behind the heavy drapes that hung down that back wall.
Once inside a narrow corridor, Dragoslav led me up a set of stairs lit by a single gas lamp. When we reached the landing, he slid a narrow wooden panel on the wall and whispered, “Watch. In silence.”
I peered out of the hole the wooden panel had revealed and blinked at the scene below: the back of the King’s throne, the long hall littered with statues leading to the entrance.
The view was dimmed by a mesh of gossamer fabric, which surely disguised the spying gallery from those below.
What had they brought me here to watch? My stomach clenched, fearing Maximus’s twisted games.
The doors through the throne room opened and two men walked in. As they neared, I was able to discern their features: Skullflare and Knight Traian.
They stopped a few feet from the dais, inclined their heads and, in unison, saluted by extending their right arms at a forty-five degree angle with the floor.
“Your Majesty,” Skullflare said. “You summoned me?”
“Rook Skullflare,” he said, “I understand Knight Traian has begun your training.”
“He has, Your Majesty.”
Knight Traian nodded in agreement.
“Good,” Maximus said. “I assume you have studied the maps and ledgers carefully then.”
Skullflare frowned and shuffled from foot to foot. “I have started, Your Majesty. It is a great amount of information to go through.”
The King huffed. “I need another Trove,” he said. “The two I have are... weak. Rook Datcu brought me Talyssa and Sanda brought me Little Timotei. It is your turn to prove your worth,” he added, his last sentence sounding very much like a promise of punishment if his request wasn’t fulfilled.
Skullflare’s face grew rigid, and his eyes widened as if they would pop out of their sockets. He stood frozen for a moment, then his mouth opened.
I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. Instead, he clamped his mouth shut. He was smart enough to realize there would be no point in arguing with the Black King, no matter how unreasonable his request.
Bowing again, Skullflare said, “I will do my best to please my King.”
There was a pause, riddled with silence, then the King said, “Knight Traian, continue to speed up this Rook’s training. His best better be good enough. Otherwise, it’s the pit for him.”