Then he produced some twigs. He lined them up on the opposite side of his grid, arranging them by size as he’d done with the gravel. Once finished, he marked each horizontal row A through H and numbered the vertical rows 1 through 8. At last he surveyed his handiwork.

“Not the best, but it’ll do. The twigs are the black pieces, the pebbles are the white ones. I know you play a good bit of chess these days, Maria, but should you ever care to play simply for enjoyment, I’m happy to oblige.” Father Kolbe gave me a knowing smile. “I’m told I’m quite good.”

Grinning, I positioned myself across from him, then clasped my hands together to keep myself from snatching up my first piece. No matter how much the old me yearned for a simple pleasure from her old life, I couldn’t do it. It wasn’t fair. Not after what had happened.

Maria Florkowska was reckless as she danced around the chessboard one move at a time, strategizing and reacting based on her opponent’s counterattacks, never doubting she would emerge the victor. Prisoner 16671 knew one wrong move was all it took to cost her the entire game.

“You’re the white pieces, I’m the black,” Father Kolbe said, his eyes alight. “I must warn you, I play to win.”

My reservations nagged me, filling my mind with angry shouts, but a small, persistent voice argued in return. Father Kolbe had gone to the trouble to do something kind for me, to bring enjoyment back to the game that had become nothing but my lifeline. He was my friend, my only friend, and it would have been cruel to spurn him. Both voices took turns trying to win me over before I silenced them with my decision.

I’d made an exception for Father Kolbe regarding my name, so I could make an exception here, too. Just this once.

My strategy sprang to my mind, clear and distinct: I’d open with the Queen’s Gambit, and, if Father Kolbe countered with the Queen’s Gambit Declined, I’d lead into the Rubinstein Attack. So I picked up my queen’s pawn and moved it to D4.

This was chess the way the game was meant to be played. Two opponents coming together of their own free will to engage in a battle of wits. This was the chess that had been a part of me for so many years. Fritzsch could use the game to control my time here, but, when it came to me and the board, I would play as if nothing had changed, as if I weren’t desperate to leave this place. As long as I lived, I would play chess, and play well.