Black Knight

by Ingrid Seymour

  “As a matter of fact,” he said, approaching Timotei and pulling him away from the curtain, “I had word earlier that White Rook Neculai died in a tragic accident today.”

  The image of Bianca standing next to the dead Rook’s body flashed before my eyes. Blood and guts and brain matter smeared on the cobblestones. My stomach twisted. I licked my lips and glanced in Talyssa’s direction. She hugged herself and stared at the rug under her feet.

  I grabbed my head and squeezed. I wanted to scream, pound my skull against the wall, undo what had been done to me.

  “Sit here, pet,” Maximus said, gently lifting Timotei into a golden upholstered chair. He patted my brother’s head, then wiped a tear from his cheek. “Your brother will be just fine. I promise. He just needs a little time to... process.”

  Timotei peered up at the creature who caged him, who made food out of him, and nodded, that same hopeful twinkle back in his eyes.

  More tears spilled down my face, hot and with a mind of their own. And while my eyes wept, my heart hardened, and I felt nothing.

  The King turned away from my brother and faced me. “And don’t you worry about a thing either, Nyro. Bishop Dragoslav will take care of Rook Datcu. He will meet his own tragic end in the next few days.”

  CHAPTER 4

  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.”

  CHAPTER 5

  “It’s a dilemma,” King Maximus said as he lounged on a long chair. “On the one hand, I do want Skullflare to find another Trove, but on the other...” He glanced in my direction as he said this, weighing his hands up and down like a scale.

  I was sitting across the room as far away as possible from him. We were in a drawing room decorated in blacks and reds, a new space he had started to use for this late-night meeting he seemed to enjoy. It was late,
after midnight, most likely. There was no clock in the room, but Maximus preferred the late hours to lounge and talk and feed.

  Timotei wasn’t here. He was asleep, resting, Talyssa had told me so before settling on a large, comfortable chair to doze off. She always appeared tired, same as my brother.

  The King picked up a wine glass from a side table and took a sip. “Of course, it’s in your best interest if he doesn’t find one.”

  “Is it?” I asked dryly.

  “Sure.” He lifted the glass in my direction. “Unless you want to live in that dungeon for the next few decades.”

  My left eye twitched. I was sick of the dungeon, its dank smell and dripping silence. Of course I wanted out, especially if the reason for my release was Horasiu Skullflare’s inability to find another blood slave for Maximus.

  “Why are you doing all of this?” I asked.

  The question had crossed my lips several times, but Maximus never gave me an answer. He just smiled smugly, a twinkle in his eye. He did the same now as he enjoyed another sip of wine.

  I stood and walked to a window. My new sight pierced through the darkness to make out the shape of trees and the fleeting flight of bats.

  “Doesn’t this life bore you?” I asked, eyes following the line of trees until it met the palace’s outer wall.

  “Sometimes,” he said.

  I glanced back, surprised by his honesty. He had laid his head back, blond hair spilling back, and was squinting at the ceiling, the wine glass resting on his chest.

  “When that happens, I leave the city for a while,” he added.

  I stared dumbfounded. I’d never considered that the King might leave Acedrex. I was so confined by the many walls that surrounded me that my imagination could see no escape for anyone else.

  Where did he go? What did he see?

  “Why do you need Acedrex if you can go wherever you want?” I asked, anger pulsing in my chest as I squared my shoulders in his direction.

  He lifted his head and gave me a contemptuous look. “I don’t need this city. But you do, along with the rest of the residents of this fine city”

  I blew air through my nose to convey my derision.

  Maximus rolled his eyes. “You think you know so much, Nyro. You shouldn’t contradict your elders. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

  “Your precious city killed everyone who might have bothered to teach me.”

  “You are insufferable, you know?”

  “Then why bother to keep me alive?”

  He sighed heavily and sat up, glancing at Talyssa for a moment. She had started to lightly snore. He smiled fondly at her, and the gesture left me feeling conflicted. He couldn’t possibly care for her, not in a natural way. His fondness was for her blood, the honeyed life that traveled through her veins which I could sometimes smell if she was near.

  Again I thought he wouldn’t answer my question, but he surprised me.

  “I’ve kept you alive because I have a task for you,” he said, getting to his feet and approaching. He stopped right in front of me and regarded me impassively for a long moment.

  A task? I wanted to ask what he meant, but I was afraid pressing him would make him turn secretive again.

  “What task?” I finally asked as the silence stretched for too long.

  “Something I want you to steal for me.” He swept his hair back, turned to the window, and peered into the night the same way I had. “I know what a talented thief you are, and I know you are... motivated. If you get this item for me, there might be a handsome reward for you in the end.”

  A surge of pure energy sang in my veins, sending my heart into a thumping frenzy. Was he offering what I thought he was offering?

  “What reward would that be?” I asked. I had to know.

  Maximus faced me again. Specks of ancient blue speckled his red irises, giving me a glimpse of the way his eyes had once been.

  “How about...” he twirled a hand as if trying to pull the answer out of the air. “Oh, I don’t know. Anything you want. Your brother’s freedom, perhaps?”

  My heart stopped. I held my breath. If I moved, I would discover I’d imagined this answer. I didn’t want to break the moment. I wanted it to go on for as long as possible, so I could hold on to what I’d lost.

  Hope.

  Finally, I spoke, hoping not to undo the spell. “And where can I find this item?”

  The King smiled, showing a pointed fang. “At the White Palace.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Darkness enveloped me in my dungeon cell. I sat with my head bowed and my eyes closed. Surprisingly, my heart was at ease, and I still hadn’t come to terms with the fact that Maximus was responsible for that change.

  But he had given me back hope.

  A part of me warned not to trust him. There was no way he would ever release Timotei, his favorite Trove. Yet, the more worldly side of me had noticed the need in his eyes when he talked about the item he wished me to steal. If I could get a hold of it, something told me I would be able to demand whatever I wanted.

  I still had no idea what the item was. Maximus hadn’t told me more about it, though it didn’t matter—not while I was kept locked in this cell.

  A week passed slowly in between moments in Timotei’s company, thoughts of Bianca and time in the cell.

  As days went by, I found myself thinking of Bianca more and more, and of the fact we had agreed to meet in Alfil Park after our first, failed attempt. Dreams of her also occupied my mind when I slept, my arms around her, her mouth on mine. They filled me with a strong desire to live. The fact that I wouldn’t be able to see her made me angry.

  Still, it was Timotei who occupied my mind the most. Maximus allowed me talk to my brother, allowed me to ruffle his hair, but never left me alone with him.

  “How do you feel?” I found myself asking every time I saw him. I didn’t need to ask. I could see his pallor, his weakness.

  “I feel fine,” he said every time, putting on a brave smile. “The food is so good. Much better than you used to make.”

  We both laughed at that. Living in Mrs. Pinehurst’s attic, there had been nowhere to cook, so our daily meals had amounted to dry bread, overripe fruit and vegetables, and the very occasional hot meal at an inn.

  “I have a nice room,” he said, trying to put me at ease. “And now you’re here.”

  Did that make the situation better in his innocent mind? It couldn’t possibly. He should have been mad at my failure to keep him safe, not glad that I had joined him in the King’s lair. But he was just a child. How was he supposed to keep his emotions straight when the King toyed with them so shamelessly?

  The faraway echo of steps let me know Bishop Dragoslav was on his way to get me. I stood and stretched my body, looking forward to getting out of the cell. I’d been here longer than usual.

  The Bishop threw the door open and stood framed by it. “Come,” he said in his whisper of a voice.

  I stepped into the threshold and stopped when I realized there was someone else standing off to the side. I blinked at the broad figure under the lamplight. His hands were tied behind his back, and a small burlap sack was thrown over his head. He was tall and broad, and wore a Rook uniform.

  Skullflare!

  I peered at the Bishop, trying to get a glimpse of his face under the heavy hood he always wore, trying to figure out the meaning of this, but there was none to be found. Instead, he got behind Skullflare and urged him forward.

  Several yards behind, closer to the exit, another hooded figure stood like a guardian. It was Bishop Balan. He always seemed to lurk, forever quiet and watchful.

  From my cell, we walked deeper into the dungeon, away from the winding staircase that led to the exit. We passed many closed-door cells that gave no obvious indication of life. The stone-lined hall was wide, its surface slick with moisture, growing darker and dingier the deeper we went.

  At last, we reached the end, a circular enclosure like the inside of a watch tower. It was d
ark until Dragoslav lit a torch from one of the few gas sconces in the outside hall, then went around touching the flame to other torches affixed to the enclosure’s curving wall.

  A wide, dark hole took shape in the stone floor at the very middle of the room. Its edges were ragged and shining with condensation. Why were we here? I stared at the hole, wondering about its purpose. Was this the pit Maximus had threatened Skullflare with?

  The Bishop shoved the blindfolded Skullflare around the other side of the hole and turned him toward it, facing me. I stood back, a clawing dread climbing up my back.

  In one swift motion, Dragoslav removed the burlap sack off his captive’s head and threw it down at his feet.

  Skullflare blinked, his eyes adjusting. In a moment, he focused on me then the ragged hole between us.

  “You,” he said. “What is going on here?” He struggled briefly against his restraints, but a quiet command from Dragoslav and a glance at the hole below were enough to make him stop.

  “He should be dead,” Skullflare said, thrusting his chin in my direction. “Why is the King playing favorites?”

  “It’s not for you to question the King,” Dragoslav said. “Your duty is to do as he commands and you have failed.”

  “One week ain’t enough time to find a Trove,” Skullflare said, all the hatred in his eyes directed at me. “It’s not fair.”

  “The King fed you of his blood, gave you power.” The Bishop said as he fiddled with Skullflare’s restraints.

  Suddenly, the Rook’s hands were free. He pulled them forward and blinked as he rubbed the angry, red marks on his wrists. His massive chest rose and fell. His eyes darted around the room, fear growing in his features.

  Did he know what this place was?

  “Give me another chance,” Skullflare said. “I will find someone. I have a lead.”

  “That’s not what Knight Traian says,” the Bishop said just as he unceremoniously pushed Skullflare toward the hole.

  The Rook’s face disfigured into a mask of horror as his arms windmilled. He teetered at the edge of the pit. Then, he plummeted, eyes shooting a murderous curse in my direction before darkness ate him whole.