At that, he chuckled.
We played for several minutes without speaking. Kay was good. Not brilliant, but good, and he played like a man who’d spent decades being underestimated: cautiously, defensively, with an eye toward forcing errors rather than engineering victories. I could respect the strategy even while recognizing it.
“Arthur hasn’t decided what to do with you yet,” he finally said. He moved a knight.
“I assumed.”
“He’s considering several options.” He paused. “Some of them end badly for you.”
“Also assumed.”
Kay’s jaw tightened slightly. It was barely visible: a microfracture in the performance. He hadn’t expected boredom. Most men in this cell were afraid, and fear was a language Kay spoke fluently.
I moved my bishop and said nothing.
“You could make this simpler,” he said. “For yourself.”
“Could I?”
“You could.”
“How so?”
“Provide information.”
“What kind of information?”
He shrugged. “Merlin’s movements. Annwyn’s defensive positions.” He kept his voice light, academic, like he was asking for directions.
“In exchange for what?”
He looked up at me then and smiled. “Your life.” Then he paused. “And perhaps more. The exchange of messages sent? Better food? A cell without—” he gestured at the glowing walls— “all of this.”
I looked at him.
He had the gaze of a man who collected vulnerabilities like currency and did so purely for sport. I’d seen it the moment he’d walked in: the way his gaze moved over me, quick and systematic, looking for the places where I was soft. The sleeplessness, probably. The discomfort of the light. The fact that I’d had the only woman I’d ever loved less than two days ago, and she was now somewhere else, and I had no way of knowing anything about her condition.
“No,” I said.
The word sat there. Simple. I didn’t add anything to it.
Kay studied me for a moment. “You’re not afraid,” he said. The words came out more thoughtful than he’d intended.
“Is that unusual?”
“In this cell? Yes.”
I moved my queen. “Then your cell isn’t doing its job.”
He was quiet for a beat too long. I watched the calculation move behind his eyes: reassessing, adjusting, filing away. This was a man who stored information the way a miser stored coin. Everything useful, nothing wasted. “It’s not my cell.”
I looked at him. “It might as well be.”
I didn’t know how long we were silent after that. It could have been a minute or four.
“I find something interesting about you, Corvin of Blackhollow.”
I didn’t bother looking up at him. “Do you?”