Page 93 of Boy of Chaotic Making

“Pardon?” asked the queen.

“His name.” Owein pointed to himself. “The one who sacrificed so that I could live.”

Blightree’s eyes watered. “Oliver. Oliver Whittock. Thank you for asking.”

Owein nodded. “Thank you, for helping me. For giving me a voice again. And hands.”

A few tears spilled over the necromancer’s face as he smiled. “My dear boy, you are very welcome.”

It was fascinating how efficient a household could be, despite the collapse of a good chunk of the house itself. Merritt supposed that was a benefit to living in a mansion. Even when entire rooms collapsed, there was still space left over.

The kitchens had been unharmed, and so Merritt and Hulda were able to get a simple lunch. Prince Friedrich, also with bandages poking out of his sleeves, dropped in for a bit to speak with them, to apologize, and to see how everyone fared. But duty called, and he soon departed again. There was a lot of hustle and bustle about the arrival of Queen Victoria and an alarming number of people from the Queen’s League of Magicians—in part to reacquire the bead and clean up the social mess, as nobility cared far more for the social ramifications of their deeds than the physical ones. As neither Merritt nor Hulda had a drop of royal blood in them, they weren’t privy to exactlyhowthe issue was being handled, but Merritt was sure that, once everything calmed down, Lady Helen would tell them all about it, whether they wanted to know or not.

And so, needing to take their minds off the suppositions and unknowns, Merritt located a chess board and set it up, which was how he learned Hulda was a far more adept chess player than he was.

“Check,” she said. Merritt moved his king over one square. She did the same with a rook. “Check.”

Merritt moved the piece back.

“Really, Merritt, just surrender.” Exasperation weighted her words.

“In true war, this is how an army stalls so reinforcements can come in,” he countered.

She looked at him over the rim of her glasses. “You’ve no reinforcements. Check.”

He moved the piece over one square.

“For heaven’s sake.Iforfeit.” She knocked down her king with a flick of her finger.

Merritt grinned. “Andthatis how I never lose at chess.”

Folding her arms, she rolled her eyes. “You’re intolerable.”

“You’re stuck with me, my dear.”

“Unless I travel somewhere that doesn’t uphold Druidic law. Russia, perhaps.”

He set up his pieces again. He’d chosen the black, despite knowing that meant Hulda would go first. He had always liked the black pieces, for one reason or another. But he paused, a polished pawn in his hand. Black like Owein’s undercoat. He sighed.

“Don’t suppose we can scatter these and have you take a peek, hm?” He placed the pawn on the board.

Her hand stilled as she set down a bishop. “I’m afraid to.”

The door opened just then. A maid slipped in, nodding quietly to them before fetching their tray. She slipped out just as quietly.

Merritt returned his king to his square in the back. “Your turn.”

Hulda moved a knight out front. Merritt copied the move. She pushed out a pawn, and he mirrored it.

“You’ll lose, that way,” she said, pushing out another pawn.

“We’ll see.”

The door creaked again, perhaps the maid returning for the pitcher.

“I guarantee it.” She moved another pawn. He copied her. She captured his pawn with her first knight.

“Ah,” he said, and inched out his rook.

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