Page 67 of Silvercloak

“Good work, Killoran. But we need more.”

AS SAFFRON TOOK THE MEANDERING ROUTE THROUGH MOONLITAtherin, she thought of her parents, of their ramshackle home in Lunes, and of their favorite board game.

“Today, we’re going to play something different,” Joran had announced one Plenting eve, dropping an unfamiliar wooden box onto the low table in the living room.

Saffron, sitting cross-legged on the floor, had frowned. “But I like chess best.”

Joran had smiled, opening the box and pulling out a large board folded into quarters. He’d spread it on the table to reveal an intricately painted map, with a series of squares charting a path from one side to the other. The trail went through forests and mountains and rivers, volcanic eruptions and flooded marshland, the board textured to reflect the terrain.

“It’s called Flight of the Raven. Look how beautiful the artwork is.”

Saffron had sighed dramatically, blowing an errant curl out of her face. “I don’t want beauty. I want to win.”

“Six years old and already so headstrong.” Mellora had laughed, her eyes glazed with honeywine as she joined Saffron on the floor. “Never lose that, sweetling.”

Joran had pulled three wood-carved ravens from the box, setting them all on the starting square. He’d tapped their feathered backs, and their initials appeared on each:S, J,andM.“The aim of the game is to maneuver your raven across the board so it can deliver a message to the king. Some squares require you to pull a Fate Card, and you might be pushed back due to dragonfire, or stumble on some good fortune and move forward on a tailwind. Whoever gets their raven to the king first wins.”

“So there’s no skill to it,” Saffron had grumbled. “Just the roll of the dice and the words on the Fate Cards.”

“No, you have resources you can allocate as you wish.” Joran had dug out a series of other wooden miniatures. “Scouts who can fly ahead, a single-use golden feather to skip a square. And you’ll have to choose when to descend from the sky to the land to pluck worms from the soil. Flying hungry will cost your raven in the long run.”

“Besides,” Mellora had chuckled, ruffling Saffron’s wild silver-blond curls—a mirror of her own. “It’s not always about outthinking your opponent. Sometimes it’s about spending time with them.”

“Sounds like something a loser would say,” Saff muttered.

The game had gone on for an hour, and Saffron was in the lead until the very last moment. On the square before the King’s Keep, she pulled a disastrous Fate Card that sent her back to the mountains to retrieve a dropped letter. She’d already wasted her golden feather earlier in the game, so Mellora swooped in and took the victory.

Saffron had thrown herself dramatically onto the couch, arms folded and forehead scrunched. “See? This is why I like chess best. You don’t have to worry about bad luck. Whoever plays best wins.”

Joran had nodded sagely, as though this was the lesson he’d wanted to impart all along. “And that’s why games like Flight of the Raven better represent real life. Sometimes you can do everything right and it still won’t work out. Sometimes it won’t be fair, and you’ll have to adjust accordingly. To plot a new course. The art of adaptation is one that will serve you well, my love.”

The memory was warm, wine-scented, cast in golden light. A reminder of all Saffron had lost, and all she would do to even the score.

But it was also resonant, a bell tolling deep in her chest. This experience inside the Bloodmoons was not a neat, simple game of chess, but instead a Flight of the Raven. Every encounter she had was a Fate Card, a roll of the dice, and she just had to stay nimble. Adjust, adapt. Plot a new course.

Which is why, when she returned to the mansion to find Vogolan waiting in her bedroom, she did not panic.

At least, not at first.

Vogolan perched on the edge of her bedspread. The cut from Lyrian’s backhanded slap across his cheek had already been magically healed, leaving no trace of its existence. His greasy gray hair was slicked back from his face, his slate-colored eyes sinister and knowing.

“Are we feeling nice andclean,Filthcloak?” he drawled.

Saints.Had he been following her, after all?

She’d been so careful, but the kingpin’s right-hand mage was a Brewer. Did he have invisibility tincture in his arsenal? It was famously difficult to brew and required an array of rare and unruly ingredients. But with all the ascens in the world …

She was struck by the memory of Vogolan morphing from a curtain drape into a man. Had he somehow concealed himself in the baths?

At least Aspar had the foresight to cast a makeshift silencing shield.

“Erm, yes?” Saffron said, forcing herself to remain steady. “Why?”

“Had a nice littlebath,have we?”

“I think we’ve established that I have.”

A sickly grin spread over Vogolan’s face. “By the time I entered the water, you were the only one there. And yet as I disrobed, I could’ve sworn I saw a familiar figure leaving the gallery. Thesilverestof Silvercloaks.”