“But you lost this one, no?” She lifted Marc’s hooded warrior and started to set it aside.

“Not yet!” My voice was too loud, too heated. I forced myself to relax. “His fate is yet uncertain.”

“Hmm.” She sipped at her wine. “I will have to take your word on that.”

Ice ran through me. Had something more happened to Marc that I didn’t know about? If she knew for certain that he was lost, she wouldn’t have let me keep the piece, but I did not like the doubt in her voice.

“We are in agreement?”

“We are.” It all looked so hopeless, laid out like this. My father stood next to his queen and a tiny crowned prince, surrounded by all his other key players. I had only four allies, all of which were in some sort of jeopardy.

“A bleak position you are in, Your Highness,” she said. “What are the options for the white?” Her tone was lecturing, as though she were still teaching me the game. But she wasn’t. The question was legitimate.

“Political positioning.” In the game, it was a risky move that involved maneuvering your king into a specific position among your opponent’s players. If done correctly, you could replace every one of the players within range with your own pieces. But if you executed your strategy poorly, you could lose your most powerful player.

“Do you see a strategy that would have them in the position to listen?”

“Some of them.” I moved Tips’s piece to the second board.

“Only the weaker players would be in position to hear. It isn’t enough to win.”

I no longer saw the half-bloods as weak, especially as a group, but she was right. “Agreed.” I cracked my neck from side to side. “Assassination.”

“You have no assassin.”

“True.” I nudged my own piece. “But I have a player who could manage the task.”

She sniffed. “Risky, and even if the black king fell, the crowned prince is still in play. You would not have won.”

I looked at the tiny representation of Roland, half-imagining I could see the madness in his onyx gaze. “I know. It would take more than one assassination.”

“Perhaps.”

I turned my attention from the pieces to my aunt. She obviously thought there was another option, but nothing on her face told me what it was.

“You should enjoy your wine while we still have it,” she said, sipping hers. “It will become a dear thing if circumstances continue as they have.”

“A fair point.” And an obvious one. What was she getting at? Even though it was tasteless to do so, I lifted the glass to my lips using my magic and took a long swallow. My wrists hurt like the fire of the damned after my scuffle with Marc, and even the weight of a wine glass was enough strain to make me feel sick. I did not care to admit it, but the manacles were starting to have a marked impact on me. The tips of my fingers had turned slightly blue and my hands grew stiffer by the day. If they remained on much longer, the damage might be permanent.