Beat me blue
Bloody me crimson
Bury me brown—
Just never Blacken my name.

- "An Ode to Honor" by Lord Marit a'Falcyn

"Your move," Duke Veidan says as he pushes a Banner across the board.

The leaves of a weeping willow waver around us. Outside their curtain stands the silhouette of Keighlia, my escort. On a normal day, I might have her fan away the muggy Garden heat, but conversations like this require at least the illusion of privacy. I'm glad today's pale green, silk-and-gossamer dress is light, wispy, much like the willow tree itself.

I'm also glad of its close-fit curves and low-cut sleeves. I've traded my normal armor—endless layers of fabric and jewels—for this slip of a silk sword, and I've caught his eyes cutting themselves on it more than once.

I drop two of my chips into the bowl and seduce one of his pawns into my Crest. "Did you get my gift?"

An artist like him should see clearly the tapestry I wove yesterday: at least a hundred girls from Houses, Banners, and Crests across Imperia all eying his Banner Red with longing. Power, in Imperia, is based on the people who depend on you, who appeal to you when casting their vote. The more people, the taller your tree of names, and the higher you rise in the political stratosphere. Few enough people, and your name goes Black—empty, with no House to its name. I've sent his House enough women that, should my pawns follow through on Naming Day, his claim to a Banner will be uncontested.

More than that, his capture of a Crest will be as easy as plucking an apple from a Garden tree.

"Gift? Do you mean these pawns?" he says as he captures two. He plays fast, as if he always knows where I will move and exactly what the board will look like before it's ever his turn.

"Pawns, yes, but not these." I toy with one of the Blackened pieces, banished to the outside of the board. With a lithe shrug, I release it and take my turn. "I thought perhaps your sister would have told you."

"Ah, you mean all the lovely women who came courting her favor yesterday, asking after our House." He tsks with a wry turn of his lips. "Now, now, Lady Sylnavi. You really shouldn't talk so lowly of people."

His dark eyes dance with mischief. He makes his move without looking.

So do I, refusing to break eye contact. "Why not, when we're nothing more than a tally in some scribes' Census book?"

"Rather existential for such a lovely morning."

"I suppose Census week has me pondering my life." I let chips slip from my fist, one by one, into the bowl.

His lips twitch, and he leans back in his chair, dissipating the warm air building between us. His hand flicks lazily toward the board. "You're supposed to pay first, you know. Before you move."

Leaning forward, I prop my chin on the backs of my twined fingers. "What do you think the hundred women I sent your way was?"

Veidan's gaze drifts up from where it had fallen south of my face. I'm glad for the Garden's heat—the last thing I want is for him to think I'm some blushing ingenue. "You must make up your mind, my lady. Was it a gift or was it a payment?"

"A demonstration." A curl of my hair slides across my face, but I don't dare fidget to move it. "And they can be swayed to some other House just as easily."

He chuckles. "Threats already?"

"Just realities." I straighten so that he can take his move.

"Dangerous ones, it sounds like."

My heart thrums in my throat, afraid to release the truth. But he isn't the dust of the earth, isn't one of my pawns, and he must know, must hear, must see. Artist that he is, I'm sure he already does know; if so, there's no sense lying to him. I want, for once in my life, someone I don't have to lie to—someone smart enough, with all my information laid before them, to do the right thing.

"You know," I admit, "my Father wants me to Blacken your name."

He tsks, pushing one of the Emeriald pawns to the Blackened edge of the board. "A task easier set than finished."

"So is changing the votes of a hundred women in one afternoon."

His brow quirks. "We don't know what their votes are yet."

"Ply your spies. You'll see I'm right." I move a piece and say lightly, "I can provide you with the names if you're not up to figuring it out yourself."

He laughs. "I'm sure I need all the help I can get."

The casual acceptance of my insult speaks volumes more than denying it ever could. I eye him appreciatively, and the grasshopper nerves fluttering in my stomach flap their wings harder. I don't just want this to work; I need it to. Before me sits the one man whose intellect and drive might match my own—my twin star. After meeting him, how could I ever settle for the dust again?

"The hundred girls were an afternoon's work." I tear my gaze from him to examine the board. "I win more games in a week than an average noble dreams of in their lifetime. And most opponents, when we're finished, don't even know they've lost."

"Perhaps you're playing with the wrong people."

"There are very few right people."

He takes one of my pieces. "Is that so?"

I meet his eyes and, louder than I ever have before, Sing. It is the blast of a marching drum, the pounding of an army's feet. It is the pulsing, insatiable, conquering quest inside me.

"Yes," I say.

He leans back as if struck. His jaw is slack, unguarded, and his inner symphony falters for the first time since I've met him. He looks around, searching for the source, then back to me, staring him down unblinking. "That was—what was that?"

"A taste," I say. "Of what I am and what I do." I slink from my side of the board to his, leaning back against the table as I stand over him. "I could paint you Black if I wanted, topple your empire one pawn at a time. But I want more than that."

His gaze travels up my frame, from my waist to my collarbone and finally my eyes. The grasshoppers in my stomach shudder and tremble under the weight of his eyes. Calculations burn behind them. His breath is held, but he sizes me up with the terrible balance that one might an expensive purchase: with stomach-tingling desire and casual dismissal, ready to walk at a moment's notice. "What," he says very softly, "do you want?"

I draw a sobering breath. My voice lowers to a whisper. "I want you," I say, "to paint me red."

His head tilts. "You want to join my Banner?"

"I want to join the Banner Red as your wife." My fingers, behind me, curl tight around the edge of the table. "And if you let me have my way, we won't stay a Banner very long."

"We've hardly met," he murmurs, eyes still searching my face.

"Things move fast during Census Week."

"So they say."

His eyes pry as hard as Mother's Ear. In them spin a million possibilities, a million futures, a million ways to slip and fall while chasing the stars. But his aura is a fire for my soul, a promise we will catch light and shine brighter than anyone has ever shone before. I offer him my left hand, the one my father so smugly pointed out was ringless. Veidan takes it carefully, the way one might a poisoned knife.

"Marry me," I say, "and I will bring the world bowing at your heels. You will be invited to every party. The artisans you want will come begging you for jobs. The princes of the Crests will cast their crowns at your feet, not because you browbeat them into it, but because they think they want to. Everyone will serve your desires, happily, and all you must do is whisper them in my ear."

My hand slides from his like a blade slipping from a sheath. Chin high, breath held, I slink back into my chair. My skin buzzes with nervous energy, and I fold my hands beneath the table.

"And if I refuse this rather sudden proposal?" he asks quietly.

"I think you're smart enough to know." I've told him too much, tipped my hand too far. My only option left would be to destroy him, push him to political obscurity, and my secrets with him.

He toys with a Blackened pawn, tilting it on its base. He holds it up to me. "You'd really do this to me?"

I take a lesson from my father and let my silence speak for itself.

His brow quirks. "It sounds more like a declaration of war than of love."

"I respect you. Trust me, that's both more impressive and important."

He puts the pawn back down. "How about this?" The strings of his symphony pick up tempo, plucking with the same mischief that turns his lips. "I'll consider your proposal, if you do something for me first."

I lean my chin back on interlaced fingers. "I'm listening."

"Prove to me you mean it. Leave here with me. Now. Alone."

A sharp laugh escapes my throat. "Certainly not."

His hand tips. "See? You don't mean it. You're keeping your prospects open."

"More like keeping my father from leaving you as a smear on his boot."

"And here I thought you spoke of respect." His hand feathers the air, and he lounges back with disinterest.

I lean forward over the board. "I respect you enough to lay the truth out for you. If we don't play this right, my father will devour you—within the law or outside of it. Besides—" I tip one of his pawns over, slowly withdrawing back to my chair. "You're thinking about this backwards. You'll know I'm loyal when I put d'Veidan down on my ballot. You won't be the one left hanging—I will."

I watch his reaction, Listening sharply for any deviations in his aura. Once I appeal to his name, I'll be left in limbo, having rejected my own House but not accepted into his unless he agrees publically. He could make fools of me and my family, shame me in front of the whole assembly of nobles. If he's so stupid as to reject all I offer him, I need to know now.

But as always, his inner symphony gives no hints, and neither does his practiced face. He scratches his lip. "Well, Lady Sylnavi." He spreads his hands. "It sounds we're at an impasse. We both want proof of something that cannot be proven." He rights the pawn I tipped. "Shall we at least finish our game? It'd be a shame to leave that open too."

I clasp my hands together and let a wicked smile take my lips. "Well, Duke Veidan," I mimic. "Why not play for it? Winner gets proof."

"Now that," he says, finger tapping the board, "is a terrible proposition, my lady." He smiles back with all the warmth of the snake. "I win, and you leave here with me?"

"And if I win, you provide me a date to the ball. Someone other than you." His brow knits, and I shrug. "House heads provide for their dependents. This is my proof you'll do that for me."

"You'll marry me, but not dance with me?"

"Once the Census is over, we can dance as long as you like." I Sing to him the hidden-harp Song that caught his attention by the fountain yesterday. His own symphony skips a beat, and I hide the smug smile that threatens to rise. "But until then, my father can know nothing."

"You drive a hard bargain, my lady."

"You wouldn't be marrying me if I drove a poor one."

"Oh? Perhaps I won't be marrying you at all."

My shoulder rolls with practiced ease. "Then you're not as smart as I thought." I nod at the board. "Your move."