The crystal edge of the game piece scraped against a glass game board with lazy ease by the hand that led it. Scratching sounds weren’t enough to pierce the quiet level of conversation in the room nor the crackling of the fire, but they did force High Lord Arand to raise his eyes and lift his brow. Vera’s smile was half hidden by shadows created by the mask that hung at the side of her hood.

Although the moon was high in the sky above the Lord’s Manor, Vera remained in full uniform with her staff propped against her chair. Other Riders had given up on parts and pieces of that white hood and tunic, arranging themselves around the High Lord’s Den as strategically as boredom would allow. They had barricaded themselves in the western wing of the manor for most of the night. Vera would let no one rest until the sun rose, not after being told the assassins would make their attempt now. Hasna sharpened her sword by the fire, humming what Vera could have sworn was a tavern song. Raed made himself busy by shuffling cards again and again in an attempt to entice a skulking Eithne to play. Birloch was in the halls, on patrol with the High Lord’s guard. And that young Rider, the green one. Nieve. She kept quiet for the most part, staying to her own corner. Maybe her pride was still smarting from the blow it’d been dealt earlier. Vera refused to let her go on rounds like other Riders had before Birloch. Instead, she made Nieve stay with the High Lord. She was too young to go out on her own and know the signs assassins would give. Too green. Vera didn’t care who trained her.

She drew her gloved fingers from her crystal piece to the onyx figurine sitting diagonally across from her own. Four other crystal pieces sat in an arrow shape behind her own and she touched them as well before leaning back in her seat. “I’ve trapped you now,” she said, confidently. “You can’t escape.”

High Lord Arand rested his chin against steepled fingers, his amused blue eyes falling back to the table as he hovered more intently over the game. He was inspecting her strategic handiwork, trying to find what holes she might have left behind. “Your moves were almost too perfect.”

“Are you suggesting I cheat?”

“No,” the High Lord said slowly, dryly. He tapped his fingers at the edge of the game board. “Extreme cases of luck have been known to occur…”

( I don't believe in luck or fate. You lose only because I have bested you at last. )