Chapter 5: Chess

Ash turns out to be a formidable chess opponent, indeed. Emrys loses more matches than he wins, which is a refreshing change. At home, his only real opponent is Westrys -- even though he's young, his mind is agile, and he's got a gift for strategy and seeing far ahead. The first time they played, Ash defeated him five moves earlier than he'd expected. Aesind watched, amused, as Emrys demanded that Ash explain the strategies used so that he can learn them, too.

In the last week, they've played dozens of games. Usually after breakfast, they've been sitting on the terrace together, trading moves in relative silence. The staff brought out a table with the board etched and stained into the wood on the second day they came out here. They've got a spot in the shade of a tall evergreen bush in one of the far corners. It's tucked between the bush, a stone barrier, and a marble statue of a globe set on a pedestal. It isn't quite hidden, but it's private enough to let Ash feel comfortable.

Ash remarks one sunny morning, chalk scratching, that they appreciate Emrys's willingness to exist quietly.

"I grew up with five little brothers underfoot," Emrys replies as he moves his bishop across the board. The pieces are made of a polished stone, so it glides over the chess table's surface smoothly. "I'll never turn down an opportunity to enjoy peace and quiet." He leans back in his chair as Ash surveys the board. "But you're free to ask me whatever you like, you know."

Ash's ruddy fingertips hover over one of their knights. Yellow eyes flick up to brown. They've pushed their hood back so that their face is more visible, but the scarf remains tightly tied in place over their mouth. No matter how hidden Ash is, though, their curiosity is obvious.

"I understand why you'd hesitate," Emrys says carefully. "You should know that my intentions are benign."

The daemon scans Emrys's expression. Their hand moves from the knight to a pawn nearby, shifting it forward one space.

Emrys frowns. It isn't a move Ash would normally make. There's no clear leader at this point in the game, but moving that knight would've put them at an advantage. The pawn simply...

Ah.

If they want to extend the game, Emrys won't argue. Another game is afoot now. He adjusts his strategy accordingly.

"Go on," Emrys says, gesturing to the chalkboard lying beside Ash's small collection of captured pieces. "Ask."

While Ash writes, Emrys considers his options. The pawn's movement leaves him with a few openings, but they're all obvious. No doubt Ash has plans to deal with each one. It's a matter of predicting which avenue will be the best in the long-term.

Ash turns the chalkboard around. In neat, even lettering, the message reads, "I do not mean to be suspicious. You are a nice person. I can tell. Aes & Arch are my friends. I do not want them hurt or put in a bad situation."

He's been waiting for the inevitable scrutiny. But he's also been waiting for the expression of worry.

"I get that," Emrys says, pushing one of his own knights forward into a more favorable position. "I'm only here while I heal from my injuries. Once I'm recovered enough, I'll go back home."

And leave his new friends behind. Surely he can visit. That'll be more than enough. It's just one more reason he's got to get Aesind's pretty smile out of his head.

Ash quirks a bushy eyebrow. They make a move immediately and write, "Are you sure that is all?"

"I don't know what you mean," Emrys replies stiffly. Surely he hasn't been that obvious. He watches Ash write out of the corner of his eye as he considers the board again.

"You like Aesind."

Emrys's hand freezes over a pawn as the words form on the slate. He forces himself to keep moving. The pawn captures one of Ash's to clear the way for his bishop to break through the defense they've built. It's a predictable move, but he's long past trying to catch Ash off-guard.

He keeps his voice level as he says, "Of course, I like him. He's my friend. I wouldn't spend time with him if I didn't."

Ash gives him a patient look. They shift their own bishop so that it skates clear across the board. Emrys realizes with a groan that he let himself get distracted. It isn't checkmate, but it's damn close. Ash wasn't prolonging the game at all; they were working to shift Emrys's focus.

"Shit," Emrys mutters under his breath. He gnaws on his thumbnail, ignoring the scrape of chalk on slate. This next move will decide the game. He's got to be extremely careful.

By the time he's figured out his best move, adjusting a rook to protect his king even if it puts his queen at risk, Ash has long since finished writing. The white words wait for his attention.

If Ash has really figured him out about this ridiculous crush, there isn't anything he can do. Emrys doesn't plan on pursuing it. He hardly deserves to. Aesind and Archimedes are noble, for fuck's sake.

Emrys is from a village just barely large enough to have a map marker. His only title is heir to his mother's position, and that isn't recognized as a lordly title by any means. Their family is a proud one with a long lineage, but in circles outside their own, it holds less weight than titles backed by heavenly magics and old mandates of power and good, old-fashioned money. It's impressive enough to earn him status in common places. Undoubtedly, the lordlings visiting the couple now are many times more powerful and gilded than he is.

They deserve the best.

Yellow irises dart around, taking in Emrys's demeanor carefully. Ash sighs audibly. They turn the slate around, write down a few more words without erasing, and lay the chalkboard down on the table where Emrys can't ignore it. And, in a brilliantly vicious move, Ash's queen slips into place.

"I will not say anything to him," Ash has written. "But he is not a fool. He will find out. I do not judge you for it." Beneath it, they've added: "If you become a threat, I will tell them both everything."

Emrys swallows. He stares at that final word. Everything. His gaze flicks to Ash.

"What do you mean, everything?" he asks quietly.

Daemons have a long history on the surface. Descendants of hell's more reclusive denizens, they've long been regarded as excellent trackers and hunters. Their senses are second to none. When they arrived to the mortal realm with the first fiends thousands of years ago, it was as allies, not servants, though some sources try to claim otherwise.

Finding a daemon these days is rare; they're born seemingly at random from apparently normal parents. But it only takes a single drop of daemon blood to "taint" an entire lineage. It might take generations to manifest, but eventually, a daemon child will be born.

Ash picks up the slate again. They draw a single straight line. Bits of chalk crumble to the table. Emrys had a feeling about this. In that first meeting, as he and Ash appraised each other, he knew. They both knew.

There's an old saying often repeated in antique nursery rhymes in Emrys's hometown: A daemon never blinks.

It's checkmate.

"Look," Emrys says, glancing around. They're entirely alone out here. For the most part, the suitors leave him alone, and the staff rarely hover when Ash is around. Even so, Emrys keeps his voice low. "I get it. I do. But I've got absolutely no intentions of threatening anyone for any reason. You must know that, or you would've said something to Aesind already."

Ash bobs their head in a sincere nod. They think for a moment then draw a careful circle around "He is not a fool."

"I know he isn't." Emrys picks up his defeated king. He rolls the cool stone between his forefinger and thumb. His pieces are the black ones, and they sparkle faintly in the light. "If he asks, I'll be honest. But..." He sets the king back down on its side carefully so that it won't roll off the table. "You understand why I'm reluctant to just offer everything immediately."

Ash nods again, more solemnly. They rub their thumb and first two fingertips together. The white chalk smeared over their hand can't disguise the color beneath. The scarf around their mouth can't hide the curious questions in their eyes, either.

Emrys leans back in his chair. He gestures at the board. "Rematch?"

The chalkboard slate scrapes lightly as Ash reclaims it from the table. They erase their words with one white-smudged sleeve. The pieces are quickly reset by Emrys's hands while Ash's scribble an actual first question: "Where did you learn how to play chess?"