“Chess pieces.” I spat on the strand. “I don’t want to be a pawn, Gibson. I don’t want to play.” I have always hated that metaphor. “You have to play, Hadrian. You’ve no choice. None of us has.” “I’m not his.” I said the words as a snake might, glaring at my teacher, venom dripping from my tongue. The scholiast’s dim eyes narrowed. “I never said you were. We’re all pawns, my boy. You, me, Crispin. Even your father and the vicereine-duchess. That’s the way the universe works. But remember!” His voice cracked upward, and he jounced his cane against the weathered white stone. “No matter who tries
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