Page 11 of Love Is A Draw
Gail hesitated. “Yes. And the analyst got the second knight line wrong. He assumed Black was forcing a double pin, but hedidn’t see the escape diagonal behind the bishop. A queen slide to d2 could’ve changed the whole endgame.”
Rachel’s lips twitched faintly. “You’ve never said that aloud before.”
Gail stiffened. “Said what, my lady?”
“That you’re better than the analysts.”
“I didn’t mean?—”
“But you are.” Rachel tapped one long finger on the edge of the desk. “Better than the men who study the matches. Better than many of the men who play them.”
Heat rose to Gail’s face before she could stop it. She hated how visible that made her still brilliant. “I only study the games chosen for theChronicle.”
“Don’t be modest, Gail.” Rachel tilted her head, studying her now. “Do you know what Fave said to me last night after Victor played against him?”
Gail didn’t answer, but her pulse raced.
“He said you might be the only person under this roof who could truly challenge Victor’s instincts. And that’s saying something. Because Victor doesn’t just play games, he dismantles opponents.”
A cold thrill ran down Gail’s spine—not fear, but connection. She understood that peerless ease, an incisive mind drawn to challenge.
Rachel continued. “I’m glad he’s here because someone has to dismantle the Lists, especially if they both play. But I know that look on your face, Gail.”
Gail straightened. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“You’re thinking of your grandfather. Of what it costs to come here. Of how dangerous it is to hope for something you were told you shouldn’t reach.” Rachel didn’t waver. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve lived it.”
Gail stood motionless—hands steady, breath caught.
“And if you’re also sensing,” Rachel added carefully, “there’s more on the board than who wins the tournament… you’re right.”
Gail swallowed.
“He’s good, exceptionally so. But he doesn’t know how many pieces are truly in play with List and his Baronesse involved.” Rachel pushed theChronicletoward her. “You do.”
Gail stared at the magazine cover. A game. And yet so much more—a summons of fate for the Jews in England.
“We’ll need you sharp for the opening ceremony.” Rachel’s voice softened. “Greg has asked to oversee her practice matches this morning. You’ll assist him.”
Gail’s fingers twitched at her sides. That’s not safe. She almost said it. But instead she asked, “Assist? In what way?”
“To make us unshakable.” Rachel smiled slightly. “He trusts your strategic mind. He’ll need your insight, whether he knows it yet or not.”
Gail moaned silently:I can’t—Not here. Not with Victor like this—like he saw me. She murmured instead, “Thank you.” But she wasn’t sure whether she thanked her for the chance to play or for the assignment to defend the Jews in the world of chess—for it spilled into politics, and that could mean far more than an earned title, it could anchor the right to exist.
Rachel let her prepare to leave—but her final words followed Gail like an impossible strategy waiting to be made. “I expect we’ll need every sharp mind and a stronger heart before this tournament is over.”
Meanwhile,a few streets away from St. James, Victor wanted to get some air. He couldn’t breathe at Greg’s, even thoughhe’d become the most unexpected ally —friend, even—he was constantly discussing moves with his wife. Just for a few minutes, Victor needed to breathe outside the checkered board.
He descended Greg’s front steps, and as the door clicked shut behind him, he drew a long breath.The air was damp with mist, the kind that clung to one’s collar and refused to lift. He had intended to take the alley to the mews, where a hired carriage waited—but he halted.
There, standing beneath the flickering glow of the gas lamp, stood Baron von List. He recognized him from pictures in the papers.
Victor’s spine stiffened. No footman stood nearby. No carriage. Just the two of them, alone in the mist, as if the baron had calculated the encounter as precisely as any chess move.
“I see you’ve taken to visiting the Crown’s political pets,” List drawled. “Or perhaps you’re being groomed to become one.”
Victor didn’t answer. A prickle of tension coiled low in his gut, the unmistakable sense that something had shifted. List wasn’t here to taunt. He was here to test.
