INTRIGUE

Zachary made the first move. He pushed a scout two paces toward Karigan’s side of the board. As a first move, it was not unusual. Scouts were often used to delve into enemy territory to collect intelligence and discern what an opponent was up to.

Karigan, who was, of course, given the green pieces to use, surveyed the small wooden figures, their potential for victory or defeat, sacrifice or survival. Some games of Intrigue were known to last weeks, if not months, and she’d heard of cases where games had lasted years. Those were played by dedicated enthusiasts of which she was not one. In fact, she was wondering how she might lose as quickly as possible to get it over with.

And yet, here was a rare opportunity, placed right in front of her, to spend time, perhaps hours, with a man whose attention and touch she craved. Just thinking about it made her shivery inside, and that was exactly why she had to make the game as short as possible. Being around him stoked desires that must not, and could not, be fulfilled. And it was all very painful because as much as she might wish their situation to be different, the reality was that it was not.

Zachary watched her intently. “Your move, Rider.” He nudged the dice toward her.

She rolled. Not bad. Five paces. She considered her pieces once more, shrugged, and moved her merchant ship toward a region of the board known as the Sea of Passions. The merchant was usually used to collect wealth to help build a player’s army.

“Hah!” Zachary said, apparently pleased she’d chosen so appropriate a piece. He set sail his own ship, a warship, on a course to intercept her merchant.

She did not defend it, but allowed him to take it. He gave her a sidelong look. She sent out an embassy to negotiate its release, but he refused it. She marched out her foot soldiers, one by one, in no particular pattern. He easily took them, or pushed them to the far regions of the board. “Either this is a most ingenious strategy on your part that I don’t yet understand,” he said, “or you are intentionally trying to lose.”

“N-no, of course not.”

He looked askance at her. “Hmm.”

During play, people continued to come and go from the tent under the watchful gazes of Weapons. Some paused by the table to observe the game.

“Looks like you have an uphill battle there, Rider,” Counselor Tallman told her. “His Majesty is a fierce competitor.”

By then, Zachary’s pieces vastly outnumbered her own, and she could tell he was not pleased by her poor showing. He was looking ever more annoyed.

She did not know how much time had passed, or what was happening beyond the game. She put up a half-hearted defense and made a feint at his cavalry, but it was clear it was only a matter of time before defeat.

Good, she thought.

She decided to put an enticing target into play and within his reach—her queen. If he captured or killed her queen, then the game was more or less over. She rolled the dice and picked up the queen to move it into the thick of things.

He grabbed her wrist, grabbed it before she could set the piece down. “Are you sure you want to do that?” he asked softly.

His grip wasn’t hard, but it sent a shock through her so that she blushed and trembled. They were surrounded by silence, alone. Even the Weapons had stepped out.

“Are you trying to lose?” He squinted at her. “You are, aren’t you.”

“Well—” His intensity made her unable to put together a coherent sentence.

He held her wrist for a few moments more before he released her. When he did, she felt as though she were tumbling away, adrift in some void.

“Surely,” he continued, “you are not letting me win because you felt it best not to upstage your king, or you fear for my frail ego.”

“Er, no.”

“Is it because you’d prefer not to be in my presence?”

She glanced around to ensure they were still alone. “Gods, no!” Though she recalled her earlier thoughts about losing quickly to get away from him.

He leaned back in his chair and appraised her, a hitch to his eyebrow. “That is good to know. Then what is wrong? I know you can do better than this.”

“I do not care for the game.” She decided it would be better not to broach the other reasons.

“Is that all? You could have told me that before we began.”

“I did not wish to disappoint you. And you are the king.”

His expression fell. “Karigan,” he said quietly, “I thought we were beyond that.”

She sat there uncomfortably staring down at the board. She didn’t know what to say, her mind and emotions in turmoil. Finally, she said, “It is true. No matter what has happened in the past. You are my king who—who has a queen. I am just your common messenger, no matter what one or the other of us may feel.”

He looked away. “I am sorry. It is hard, and I’ve made it harder by asking you to stay to play the game. I had thought it a way for us to see one another without any taint of impropriety, but it would appear I erred in not judging how difficult it would be for you. And for me.”

Though they’d only the table between them, it might have been miles.

“The north,” he continued, “the time we had together there, seems like a dream.”

She gave a harsh laugh.

He looked up at her startled. “Why do you laugh?”

“Don’t you mean it was like a nightmare?” They’d both been tortured, both had been near death, she from the torture, he from a poisoned wound. She had stayed by his side as he writhed in fever, thinking his every breath would be the last, and it was a different kind of torture for her thinking about what it would mean to lose not just her king, but the man she loved. Just because they couldn’t be together didn’t mean she stopped loving him, and the gods knew she’d tried.

“You well know what I meant,” he said. “Those rare moments with none of the watchers to observe that we could be like two normal people together.”

Unlike here. They were alone in the tent, yes, but just outside she heard soldiers going over a list of supplies. Somewhere nearby was the cling-cling-cling of a farrier at work. Footsteps hurried by, and someone laughed in the distance. She gazed at the Intrigue board, and letting her queen alone, moved a messenger forward.

“My messenger would like to meet your king,” she told him.

He looked pleased. “This king,” he said, “will always welcome your messenger.”

She smiled in return.

A cry went up outside, followed by another, and the clamor of steel. Fastion and Donal rushed in.

“Intruders!” Fastion said. “Your breastplate, sire.” And he grabbed it from a corner of the tent to help Zachary buckle it on.

“I’d better go,” Karigan said, gripping the hilt of Colonel Mapstone’s saber. She needed to be out there with her fellow Riders.

The uproar, sounds of fighting, a scream, moved closer.

Donal grabbed her arm. “You are staying right here.”

She figured it was because she was supposed to be an honorary Weapon, but when eight more Weapons barreled inside, all ten formed a ring around her and Zachary. She looked up at Zachary uncertainly, but he gazed ahead, focused.

“What’s happening out there?” he demanded.

“Warriors appeared out of nowhere,” Fastion said. “In scarlet, like the brethren Sir Karigan told us about.”

The Lions Reborn, she thought.

“Number?” Zachary asked.

“Nine, so far.”

“The travel device,” she murmured. “They must have used it to get here.”

“Our Black Shields are formed up around this tent,” Fastion continued, “but I’m afraid other parts of the encampment may take heavy casualties.”

Karigan’s stomach churned as she thought about how good these Lions were supposed to be. She prayed her fellow Riders would be well. She prayed that the greater number of Sacoridians would simply overwhelm the Lions.

“I should be out there,” she said, but guiltily thought how relieved she was to be protected by Weapons.

“I am very glad you are here,” Zachary said, “though I know you would wish to be with your Riders at this time. I do not like being held back, either.”

He hadn’t said it precisely, but she knew that he meant he was glad she was there where he, too, could protect her. And about that, why were the Weapons so intent upon—

Steel rang just outside as those Weapons engaged the intruders. Karigan tensed at the grunts and footfalls of fighters. She watched shadows dance across the tent walls. She hoped the skill of the Lions did not live up to Brother Pascal’s boasts.

Shining blades stabbed through the tent walls and cut through them. Swordsmen in crimson poured in through the rent canvas. All around Karigan, the Weapons flung themselves into motion.