RE: Monarch

Chapter 229: Fracture XXXIV

Chapter 229: Fracture XXXIV

"If we're done whispering to each other like confabulating children, shall we begin what we came here to do?" Ozra approached the central table that held the Koss board, gesturing towards it with casual aplomb, any indication that he was at all unsettled by the pre-negotiation maneuvering perfectly concealed.

Annette steeled herself and followed, coming to a stop across from the arch-fiend. She held there, making no effort to reach for the chair, expression muted and cold.

A minute passed. Then another. And another.

Finally, Ozra spoke, side of his mouth pulling up in a half smile. "For a people with roots so recently mired in savagery, you Uskarrions spare such pretense for pageantry."

"Have you negotiated with so many of us, my lord?" Annette asked, cocking her head to the side.

"A long time ago, before they bore the name. Simpler times. But it may surprise you to learn your brother did much the same." The arch-fiend spared me a sidelong glance. "Evaluated the room, the setting. Refused to sit as it would position his head below mine, reflecting a disparity in power that, while accurate, did not appeal to his vanity." His eyes slid back to her. "It did not help him any more than it will help you."

"I beg to differ." From behind, I saw Annette's thumb press into her hand, massaging her palm in idle circles. "A demonic summon, the support of a powerful and organized demonic legion as well as various boons and resources he eventually leveraged to solidify relations with a second, potentially more powerful ally. From all appearances, Prince Cairn secured exactly what he sought."

"At great price. A price many might argue to be foolish."

"I do not care for the arguments of the many. Just as my reticence to sit has nothing to do with dynamics of power."

Annette extended her arm towards the chair. "These are clearly formal proceedings. Which raises a question of etiquette. Were we in my kingdom, I would sit first and wait for you to join me." She looked around the expansive room, her impassive voice echoing off the tile. "However, this appears to be the hells, or at the very least analogous. In which case, our roles would be reversed."

"It is a place between," Ozra answered, seemingly pleased by Annette's explanation.

"Then we will take our places concurrently." Annette pulled out her chair, waiting for Ozra to do the same. The moment they both settled down, she fired off the obvious question. "Why is there a Koss board?"

Ozra picked up the white queen piece, rotating it idly in his fingertips. "Because from what I've heard, I'm in the presence of a master. Naturally, I wanted to test my mettle," He grinned, sharpened incisors on full display. "And, forgive the cliché, but I find this sort of mental spar far more interesting when there's a wager in play."

"Terms?" Annette asked.

"If you win, I'll do whatever you like. Answer any questions rattling around in that sweet little mind of yours, including the identity of the person who holds the contract with the demonic entity in the sewers," Ozra answered sweetly.

"And if she loses?" Maya asked from beside the table, arms crossed, positioning herself so she could see both the Arch-fiend and his second without having to glance between them.

"An admission of victory would be enough." The side of Ozra's mouth quirked as he replaced the queen piece on the board, long-nailed finger tapping against its crown. "And the allowance to pat her forehead in a disparaging manner."

"Why?" Annette asked, not quite masking the growl in her throat.

"Because I derive a great deal of enjoyment reminding small, insignificant beings exactly how small and insignificant they are."

My little sister bristled. For a moment, I thought she might bite. Then Maya leaned down and whispered in her ear. It was impossible to make out from where I stood, but I watched as Annette's irritation slowly faded away to nothing. As Maya backed away, Annette steepled her fingers and spoke. "My intercessor has advised me to abstain on the account that physical contact may allow you to better evaluate my potential worth. As Vogrin himself used a similar method to glean insights into my soul, I have to agree—"

"—Strike the spoken agreement from the record," Maya cut in vehemently.

Quill slashed parchment, as Loria—still lounging in the oversized chair behind the desk—flicked her wrist, floating pen making the annotation before it returned to its original place, levitating at the most recent line of text. Once that was done, she rested her chin on her fist and returned to glowering at me, clearly bored with the proceedings.

"I cannot take this wager," Annette clarified, keeping the statement simple.

"Very well." Ozra rolled his eyes.

"However..." Annette started, scanning the pieces. If nothing else they were elaborate, the red transparent crimson, as if carved from ruby, the white opaque and reflective like ivory. "This is an enticing set."

"Isn't it?" Ozra kicked back, recalling a memory. "Won it off a hellhound thane a few centuries back. No idea where he found it—Never been much for crafting or artistry, the hellhounds, so he must have taken it off a corpse at some point. Yet, despite searching, I've never seen the like."

"What was the wager then?" Annette asked. "With the hellhound?"

"The set, obviously." Ozra made a dismissive gesture, nostalgic smile turning cruel. "Beyond that, the simple expectation he don a collar and heel at my side as I attended my business throughout that era. A bit of harmless fun, really. Fed him quite well, bathed him. Even taught the old dog some valuable new tricks."

"Guessing he enjoyed the arrangement less than you did?"

"Oh, yes." The arch-fiend sighed, rubbing his forehead. "One night I was scratching his belly, the next, it was all 'blood-feud' this, and 'the night of fire and teeth,' that."

Beside the table, Maya's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. "The Night of Fire and Teeth happened because of a stupid bet?"

"Loria, please note the intercessor's unwarranted interjection and strike her comments from the record." Ozra inspected his nails idly as Loria's quill made another audible scratch against the parchment.

Immediately, Maya's mouth snapped shut, as she realized she'd been baited. Judging from her reaction, I had to guess there was a clause that allowed the ejection of an intercessor who kept speaking out of turn. It wasn't worrying, exactly—Maya was too clever to be tricked into making the same mistake twice—but it seemed Ozra's underlying strategy of destabilizing everyone in our camp and keeping control of the situation, until someone inevitably made a mistake, remained the same.

In theory, we should be doing the same. The question was how? Maya and Annette were entrenched with keeping Ozra at bay. That left Vogrin. He'd talk to me, of course. But we were in his domain now, and no matter how real the bond we'd formed felt, his loyalty lay with the asmodials first, with me second.

I needed to think about it.

"I also have a treasured set." Annette's thin fingers traced the base of the board, her brow furrowed. "Though it is not nearly as rare, or beautiful—simply carved from marble like every other set in the castle—it is treasured."

"Your first?" Ozra asked, not looking particularly interested.

Annette straightened the pieces minutely, leaning down to check that they all held the same distance. "Sometimes just holding the pieces in my palm gives me solace. But on the nights sleep abandons me, I sit next to the open window and study it, playing game after game in my mind. I know every defect by heart. The small chip left behind by an errant chisel, all three uneven squares scattered around the board. Something about seeing those small imperfections in a game of order, never fails to grant me peace. It would be painful to lose it."

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The longer my sister spoke, the more the arch-fiend leaned in, perhaps sensing what was to come. "Shall we narrow the scope of the bet then? My treasure for yours?"

Again, Maya cut in before Annette could speak with a chiding voice "Please clarify the exact terms of the wager."

Several pieces jostled, a few toppling as the arch-fiend pushed back from the board in frustration. "Princess Annette. Would you be willing to retire all elements of the previous wager and instead, wager my Koss set for yours?"

"The terms of the wager are acceptable." Annette paused. "Yet we have not discussed the terms of the game. Naturally, we'll use the modern rule set as I have never learned another. More critically, are we playing for material or conquest?"

"To conquest, of course." Ozra shrugged, eyeing the board. "As I had the advantage of choosing the game, the choice between white and red is yours."

Wordlessly, Annette rotated the board so the white pieces were on her side. "The wager is set, and the terms are agreed upon. Let us begin."

The first moves came almost instantly. Annette maneuvered her foot-soldiers up the center in an aggressive approach, the pieces clicking as their bases struck the board in a staccato of rhythmic tapping, Ozra responding in kind. The speed was surprising. My sister was generally quick to think, slow to act. And like most demons, Ozra was basically immortal. I'd expected a more thoughtful pace—instead it was blisteringly fast, almost violent, as pieces were exchanged, every capture followed by another.

"About my brother's deal." Somehow, Annette's expression grew more frigid. "Would you offer the same to a peasant, or farmer? The institutional support of the asmodial legion for a soul?"

Ozra scoffed, capturing a Feudal Lord with a knight and placing it to the side with the rest, the feudal lord snatched up by Annette's priest immediately after it touched the square. "Of course not. Desire is universal. Dreams, alternatively, are as varied as the appearances and personalities of the mortals that envision them. Where a noble might dream of commanding a vast army, a farmer daydreams of verdant fields that remain fertile and resistant to blight throughout his lifetime and the lifetime of his children. Both temptations require a great degree of power to grant. Yet I would not offer the farmer an army, just as I would not offer the noble a field."

"We are heirs of a kingdom established through conquest. Every wingspan of territory was paid for in the blood of men who willingly went to their deaths to lay the foundation of a future they would never see. We are in the business of trading souls. And I suspect that reality was not lost on my brother. For many, such a trade would indeed be foolish. They haven't the vaguest notion as to where or when they will meet their end, for all they know, they are trading their reincarnation for paltry few weeks of short-lived perfection before meeting an untimely end. With all the dangers this world presents, the risk is simply too high. Prince Cairn, alternatively, has visions that warn of mortal danger, including the foretelling of Ragnarok. He will live far longer than many in his stead, and when he does meet his end, it will likely be as the world is meeting its own." Annette's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Tell me, my lord. What good is reincarnation to a mortal if the world itself is gone?"

"You are vastly underselling the arduous nature of the hells, and the span of eternity itself." Ozra returned, hand hovering over one piece, before he changed his mind and moved another.

"By the same token, you choose to assign desperation and emotion to a decision in which I glean only the cruelest pragmatism. Cairn wishes to see this world continue. If he fails to align the various powers in this land and repel the arch-mage, it will not. In that case his soul is effectively useless to him. What better outcome could one hope for than trading something that is effectively worthless to attain something that is—in their specific circumstances—infinitely more valuable?" Annette drummed her fingers on the table thoughtfully. "Even if he were so craven, the gods are not kind. As you have more experience in this area than I, allow me to pose a question. Where do you think the gods would assign the soul of a mortal who had the potential to save the life of every living person on this plane, and refused to do so purely out of selfishness?"

"It is... impossible to say." Ozra answered, haltingly. "The gods have been rather distant as of late. Some question if they even remain at all."

"Perhaps." Annette continued to push the forward offensive. "But fables and legends do not speak kindly in regards to the pantheon's treatment of heroes who refuse the divine call, or worse, squander the gifts they've been given to miserly ends. A coward in such a story would likely be condemned to hell, rendering his selfishness poetically ironic. But as fables and legends have little bearing on reality, I can only ponder hypotheticals. Just as I'm left to wonder, who truly overpaid?"

A tense moment passed between them before Ozra broke it with an overly dramatic sigh. "From the looks of it, we are destined for an impasse." As he'd surmised, there were few pieces left on the board, likely too few to pin the king and achieve victory.

"Discendente," Annette murmured, completely transfixed, barely paying attention to her opponent.

"Don't be childish. There's hardly five moves left. Let alone an avenue for victory." The arch-fiend protested, double-checking his side of the board before his gaze landed on one of her pieces near the back. "Promote that foot-soldier to whatever you like. None of your captured pieces are capable of completing the coup. Nothing short of a queen would make a difference."

"How long has it been since you played with a mortal, my lord?" Annette asked, suppressing a smile.

"I dabble, when time permits."

"At least two centuries. Am I wrong?"

Ozra squinted uncertainly. "That is... extremely precise. I'm rather curious how you worked it out."

"My first clue was the lack of spare pieces. Not enough to be certain, of course. Perhaps you held them separately, intending to produce them out of thin air as a parlor trick. I varied my strategy for further confirmation, mixing new and old. Against the old lines—particularly Luecippus', Rizon's, and Iolla's—you responded perfectly, instinctually playing the best possible moves. You answered the newer lines perfectly as well, but there was the briefest hesitation, as if you hadn't seen them before." Annette pulled the silk tie out of her hair, allowing her brown curls to spill down her back as she relaxed. "The rules have changed little over the last millennia, when they were first modernized. Only minor adjustments and clarifications... with a one major exception. A few centuries ago, you would have been right. A foot soldier could only be promoted to a captured piece. There could only ever be three priests, four knights, and of course, a sole queen." Annette's eyes twinkled with glee. "A certain Panthanian ruler with the proclivity for collecting wives took issue with this. His logic, while rooted in vanity, was ultimately sound. If one could achieve the arduous task of marching a foot soldier across the entire board, they should be able to promote the lesser piece to whatever they like. And while most scholars of the game did not share the ruler's resistance to monogamy, they appreciated the potentially boundless new strategies this small adjustment brought to the game itself. Panthanian Koss grew in popularity, rivaling Koss itself until the adjustment was universally adapted."

Slowly, Ozra's gaze panned down to the board, reevaluating his position as he processed the new information. Disappointment dawned as he sat back, scooping up his king from the tile and clenching it in his fist. "Loria?"

"Conversing with the natatorium now." Loria's head tilted, as she listened to something only she could hear. "They're confirming. The princess is correct."

"And it's as universal as she claims?"

"Yes."

The arch fiend rolled the king between his fingers. "You called discendente at four moves to conquest, rather than the requisite five."

"I was not yet certain of my victory," Annette admitted.

"Even if you were, the foot soldier was already too close to intersect. It wouldn't have mattered. Take the victory, and the board." Ozra extended the king piece out towards Annette, then stopped, closing his hand before she could reach for it, something lighting in his eyes. "Unless... yes. The potential for multiple queens is not a small adjustment. It alters the trajectory of the endgame significantly. I am cunning, but cunning only goes so far when applied to a game one has never played. A rematch could be anyone's game."

"But what will we wager?" Annette asked. Her voice, while still guarded, was warmer now. The match had changed the dynamic between them, perhaps imparting a sense of mutual respect.

"There are at least a few artifacts lying around that might draw your fancy, any of which I'd happily put on the line to get that board back," Ozra panned the room, "Plenty of books mortals have never laid hands on that would certainly be of interest to a young academic. Barring that, Rizon himself is gallivanting around in the lower reaches of the second circle, somewhere. I could summon him, but he’s... well... he probably wouldn't be what you'd expect."

"So the rumors about him..."

"Oh yes. Arguably worse. Terrible company. To be frank, even his screaming is unpleasant."

"A tragedy. As tempting as all those possibilities are, we could return to the first wager." Annette mused, watching his reaction closely. To my utter shock, instead of immediately buying in, Ozra instead seemed immediately uncomfortable with the proposition. "I'll even throw in the board."

"Princess—" Maya began to interject, but Annette threw up a hand and silenced her.

"The intercessor is correct," Ozra quickly agreed. "There's no need to revisit stakes we've already agreed to discard."

"Because for the first time in as long as you can remember, the odds do not favor you?" My sister challenged, staring down the arch-fiend.

The scratching pen suddenly halted, leaving burgeoning silence as Ozra rose to his full height, full of barely restrained anger and an imposing stare. "Such pride, born from a triumph of technicality. Very well. State your wager for the record then. If that is what you wish."

"It wasn't four."

"What?"

"There weren't four moves left until discendente. There were five." Annette reached out, hem of her sleeve sliding along the table until her fingers pressed against the side of the Koss board. Wood gave way with an audible click as she pressed her thumb against the surface.

A compartment snapped open.