“I take it you’re at a dead end?” said Aelius. “Learned that we’re not as incompetent as all that?”
“Competence got nothing to do with it,” said Ilsa, matching his condescending tone with her own. “I reckon you need a pair of fresh eyes, is all.”
Aelius smirked and pointed his cane past her shoulder. “Well, Ilsa my darling, if you mean to find out what we know, you ought to cast your fresh eyes right there.”
Ilsa followed the line of his cane to the window and peered into the gloom. In the garden, beyond the halo of light emanating from a lamp left aglow on the terrace, a black silhouette stood rigidly by the roses, looking out towards the park.
Cassia appeared so absorbed in her melancholy that the dark did not bother her, nor was she wearing a coat to ward off the nighttime chill.
“Actually, I got a question for you.”
“Delightful!” He settled himself in the chair across from her and toyed with one of the chess pieces like a cat toys with a mouse. “I will endeavour to be of the utmost use.”
“Cassia’s a Sorcerer, ain’t she? So, how come she’s with us?”
“The most excellent of questions,” Aelius said with mock seriousness. “You may find your mark after all with that sort of gumption. Our Miss Sims is Jupitus Fisk’s granddaughter. She may bat for the Ravenswoods, but she has loyalty to the Heart too, I assure you.”
Ilsa frowned. “Who’s Jupitus Fisk?”
Aelius grinned. He clearly liked being the one to hold all the cards.
“Allow me to set the scene,” he said, nodding at the chess-board. “Do you play?” Ilsa shook her head. “It’s a marvellous education, chess. And no coincidence your mother was both a masterful chess player and an effective leader. The game is defence and attack in perfect measure. This” – he picked up a piece from the centre of the white formation in front of Ilsa and held it up between a thumb and forefinger – “is the king. The deciding piece. The game is lost when he falls. His position informs every move one makes and yet, alone, he is helpless.”
Ilsa nodded, grasping the analogy. “He’s the alpha,” she said. Aelius smiled and replaced the king on the board. “And I s’pose these small ones all in a line are the wolves, right?”
“Right you are,” said Aelius. “The pawns. Often undervalued by less seasoned players, impossible to ignore at a crucial moment. A well-placed pawn can frustrate, agitate, distract, plug a weakness. But they demand a player astute enough to wield them to their full force.”
“Like Eliot?” Ilsa said. She had heard the way Aelius spoke of, and to, the former commander of the wolves. As she anticipated, his expression hardened at the mention of his name. “He was the player wielding the pawns in all this, weren’t he?”
Aelius was still but for the hand twisting his cane as he no doubt contemplated the cleverest response. “Quillon’s father was a gifted strategist, may the stars keep him,” he said eventually. “It stands to reason he would pass some of that flare onto his son. It also stands to reason Gedeon would give as firm a friend as Eliot Quillon a position of such esteem, and that Hester would see fit to remove him from it. The lad is eighteen, lest we forget.”
Was there jealousy in his tone? Aelius was clearly ambitious, and leading the militia was a great deal of power.
“So who’s going to command the wolves now?” probed Ilsa, compelled by her hunch.
Aelius smiled convincingly, but then again, all his smiles were convincing. Ilsa doubted all of them were true. “With any luck, Hester will recognise that taming wolves and taming foxes is not so different.”
Is that why Hester had removed Eliot? To give the role to Aelius? Ilsa wasn’t convinced it was that simple. Something else hung between Eliot and her cousin.
“So which of these pieces are you and the other lieutenants?”
Aelius tapped the three pieces to the king’s right and named them in turn. “Bishop, knight, rook; the pieces that shape the game. They lay elegant traps. They move in beautiful and complex formations, always linked. They claim the victories in battle that win the king his war.” He flashed his wicked grin. “But don’t mistake me, even those pieces closest and most valuable to the king can be sacrificed when the game demands it.”
“Sacrificed by who?” she challenged, the double meaning of his words not lost on her. Was it a pledge to die for his faction and his alpha, or a willingness to give up his comrades for his cause?
“By the game, my darling.” He met her eye unwaveringly, in that way that told her he was assessing her reaction. That was the real game, Ilsa realised, so she refused to give him one.
There was a piece in the centre, next to the king, that Aelius had not yet mentioned. “And who’s that one?” she said, pointing to it.
“Ah. The queen.” Aelius picked up the piece and put it in the empty centre of the board. “That, dear girl, is Jupitus Fisk. The leader of the Sorcerers. When the Fortunatae massacred the Ravenswoods, Fisk was the one who stood at Hester’s side while she demanded merciless retribution for those who killed them. Every other faction was willing to face the other way as the Sage amassed support, and who could stop them? The Fortunatae took pains to keep their members anonymous. Hester Ravenswood may have cried that she watched a Wraith plunge a dagger into her father’s heart – but did she have a name, the North replied. Could she identify the Psi who cut her cousin Lyander’s throat, said the Underground. What were they to do?”
Had Hester really seen those things the night her family had been killed? Ilsa couldn’t bear to think about it. “So what did Fisk do?”
Aelius’s expression
