“Is it?” She tugged at the sleeve of her dress. “I should think that it would at times be worse – knowing how someone was feeling, but not the cause. You’ve been what now, three months parted?” She shook her head. “Strange how time manages to both accumulate and fade.”

She did not know the full extent of what troubled my father, but whatever it was had been mounting since my incarceration. Time was of the essence.

“It seems like longer,” I said. “I miss her terribly.”

One eyebrow rose in acknowledgment of my uncharacteristic frankness, but she did not seem surprised. “Do you still wish to play?” She gestured at the Guerre boards sitting in their rack, but it was not the game of which she spoke.

I said nothing for long enough for my silence to be significant. “I will play,” I said. “But only because there is no other worthy opponent.”

“It’s in your blood,” she replied.

The four primary boards floated off their rack, the pieces lifting out of their boxes. They were new, I noticed, elaborately carved out of black onyx and white marble. Undoubtedly Reagan’s work. “Shall we start where the game was left off?”

I nodded, my pulse quickening as I watched to see how she would place the players.

The pieces circled the boards. Kings and queens. Princes and princesses. Warriors, spies, tricksters, nobles, assassins, half-bloods, and tiny humans went round and round. “You play the white.”

It wasn’t a question, but I nodded for the benefit of those who spied on us.

White pieces rained down onto the carpet, accompanied by only a few black. “You’re losing,” she said.

“But I haven’t lost.”

“Not yet.” Her voice was cool, eyes unreadable as the players settled into their places. The black players were thick on the board – not representing her, but my father. Only a handful of white remained. The king, four warriors, and one human. I stepped closer to look at them, recognizing my own face carved onto the king, and those of Marc, Anaïs, Victoria, Vincent, and Cécile. I touched the piece representing my wife, marble curls hanging down her back and an amused smile on her face. Instead of the cudgel usually wielded by a human piece, she held an open book out in front of her.

“Is the game laid correctly?”

“No,” I said quietly. “I lost her.” I pointed to the female warrior, hair blown back in an imagined wind, sword raised in defiance. The piece floated off and settled gently on the table, her onyx twin rising to settle itself amongst my father’s players. “No.” I snatched the piece off, my eyes searching until I found a female spy on the carpet. “Her.” I set the piece next to the black king.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. There is no doubt.”

Crystal clinked, and two glasses of pale wine made their way over. I accepted mine, holding it absently with a filament of magic while I considered the board. Plucking a male half-blood off the carpet, I set it next to Vincent’s piece. Tips.