Prologue One: Play in Silence
"You'll never get free, lamb to the slaughter
Whatcha gonna do when there's blood in the water?
The price of your greed is your son and your daughter
Whatcha gonna do when there's blood in the water?"
~Blood / Water (grandson)
15 years ago
Aerin Nightshade (14) Assassin of the Obsidian Guild
The evidence of her crime coats her fingers in crimson and stains her soul red. It drips down onto the white tile of the President's bedroom and blooms across the marble like some malignant replica of a beloved flower. Aerin Nightshade stumbles back at the sight of it. Presses herself back against the wall, and when she pulls away, the once pristine surface is marred with a mirror print of her blood-covered hand. Shit.
You've been trained for this since birth, the young assassin berates herself. How could you have been so careless? Her mother's orders resound clear as a bell inside her head, burned into the space behind her eyelids. Leave no trace behind. It's like you don't even exist; you are simply a shadow in the night. Nothing more, nothing less. Don't let me down.
And now Aerin is here, Jasper Boreal dead at her feet, and glaring evidence of her presence is smeared across the wall.
Mother will be so disappointed in me. Aerin nearly rakes her blood-caked hands through her hair, before remembering just exactly where she is. The Presidential manor. The rooms of President Jasper Boreal. With said President's corpse lying at her feet. His blood runs across the floor in rivers of red, and the white tile will surely be stained with the memory of his gruesome demise. She was told to leave no trace but… but there's something almost satisfying about knowing that the mark of her deed will be here for generations.
Although it's not like anyone who would particularly care would be around to see it. Not if the plan succeeds- not if the Obsidian Guild has their way with things.
The Obsidian Guild. Her mother's legacy, built solely on a foundation of twenty-nine years of an elaborate scheme for revenge. A group of silent, lethally trained assassins, gathered for the single purpose of conquering Panem, bring down the government, and create a new Panem. A better Panem.
Her mother has told her the story of how the Guild came to be many times before. Those pale, elegant fingers sweeping in familiar gestures as a young Aerin would lie in bed, watching with widened eyes. A tale recounted countless times, a memory that was enough to drive a woman to build herself a creed of assassins, to dream of overthrowing the very President of Panem and redesigning the world the way it was always meant to be. The story of two sisters, pitted against one another. A bloody and vicious game, where only one could emerge from the other side of those hell-wrought gates a winner.
The foundation of the Presidential line has always been uncertain. Trembling even more so when the Nightshades had inserted themselves into the equation. Infection spirals through the roots of the family tree, and it is finally time to take an axe to the once-mighty oak.
There are only three things that matter now. President Jasper Boreal is dead, the Guild's plans have been set into motion, and the true downfall of the Boreal family has begun.
You need to get out of here, a small voice whispers in the back of Aerin's mind. She calls it instinct, honed and sharpened to a razor edge from years on top of years of being trained to kill.
Casting a final, desperate glance back at the blood-soaked bed of the President, Aerin hurries across the room to the large window overlooking the manor's gardens, and throws it open. Clambering over the sill, careful to avoid catching her hair on the shutters, the assassin drops onto a grotesque, for once grateful for the stone spies carved into the wall. Rising up on her toes, Aerin nudges the window shut, and starts her descent, fingers finding cracks and handholds in the stone, feet bracing against the wall.
She drops to the ground not three minutes later, brushing off her hands, and tilting her face up to the sky. Aerin exhales hard, embracing the cold. It shakes her out of the mindset of the mission. Clears her thoughts, allowing her to realign herself with her objectives. No distractions, no more slip-ups. The only thing left now is to report back to the Guild and Evelyn Nightshade. And while her report may not be as flawless as she would like it to be- as she needs it to be- the deed is done, and it is better than a failed murder, and being caught in the act.
The assassin keeps her steps light as she scales walls and clambers across rooftops, keeping low to the shingles, little more than a whisper on the chill night air. The wind whispers frigid fingers across her face, her neck, creeping through every available space in her garb. Where she once welcomed the cold, without the adrenaline of the hunt to propel her, now it makes her very bones go cold. Her supple boots find sure purchase on the finely crafted shingles, and she is watching, listening, feeling the very night around her. The Obsidian Guild has established themselves right in the middle of a densely populated area of the Capitol- what better place to hide in plain sight? The sprawling, well-kept manor was the last place one would look to seek out a guild of silent assassins, bent on overthrowing Panem's government. Plotting treason.
She slams a wall of ice and resolution over that train of thought before it can get any further. Those thoughts will get you killed. Paying too much attention, paying too little attention to what one is doing is a fatal flaw. A mortal mistake. Perfection is not an option, it is a mindset.
Aerin vaults over the wall surrounding the place she has come to call her home. There is no one waiting to greet her outside the Assassins Keep, and Aerin slips inside, simply a wisp of shadow on a misty night.
Biting down on the urge to rush through the halls and get to her mother as soon as she possibly can and get everything over with, Aerin forces herself to slow her steps. Take a few deep breaths before navigating to her mother's study, hidden behind two double doors at the end of a long corridor. When she reaches her destination, the assassin finds one of what she assumes to be the many hired servants waiting to greet her. He gestures towards a small table beside the doors, and as she nears, she realizes that he is not a servant at all, but her mother's second-in-command. What is someone like Sebastian Aeolian doing here? Standing outside her mother's study like some trained dog?
Shaking the thought from her head, she brushes past him. Plucks the inkwell from the servant's hand, scratching out her message on the provided slip of parchment. She slips the note under the double doors. It is done, mother.
Sebastian's disapproval of her flippancy radiates off him. She pays it no heed. Instead, she turns, and slumps against the far wall. Refraining from kicking the sole of her boot up against it, knowing well that it must be filthy from her path across the rooftops, she instead settles for folding her arms across her chest, and resigns herself to wait.
Finally, the rustle of parchment whispers throughout the hall. Aerin pushes off the wall, crossing the floor in a few long strides. She eagerly snatches the scrap of paper, her mother's sharp handwriting spiking across the page. Enter.
The young assassin wastes no time and heaves the oak doors open.
She finds her mother waiting in the room within- dark hair shining in the lamplight as she rests her chin upon laced fingers. Those sharp, turquoise eyes- the eyes they both share- are fixated upon a chess board.
Aerin stops five paces from the smooth, mahogany table her mother is seated at. Clasps her hands together, and waits for the leader of the Guild to acknowledge her presence. Once inside the walls of the Keep, silence is mandatory- and even outside the manor, speaking is unadvised.
Seconds tick by. Minutes. Aerin's toes curl in her boots, in an effort to keep her from tapping her foot upon the floor. Still, Evelyn Nightshade pays her no heed.
It is only when Evelyn has put the enemy king in checkmate and reset the board does she look up. Turns in her chair, crossing one slim leg over the other, and tilting her head to the side. Report.
Aerin's pulse quickens. In the waiting hall, she thought she had come to terms with what had happened back in the President's mansion. She thought. But under the unwavering scrutiny of her mother's unforgiving, angular face, under the hawkish gaze of her turquoise eyes… how easy it would be to lie. She's an assassin, lying is practically her artform. But she'll know. Her mother always knows, or will know, and then there will be punishment. Punishment for untruths, punishment for withheld information, punishment for unsatisfactory execution. Aerin can feel sweat beading on her brow.
Her mother's nostrils flare delicately. It is impolite to keep a queen of assassins waiting.
The younger woman's fingers are visibly shaking as she begins to sign through the gestures of her report.
When she is finished, there is a long pause within the room. Lamplight flickers across the angles of her mother's face- casting one eye into shadow, making her expression unreadable as she takes in the information. Finally, she gestures. Not in any private language, not in reprimand or criticism. She simply sweeps her hand towards the chess board. Reaches out, long, white fingers floating through the air to wrap around an ivory piece on the board before them. She slides her pawn two spaces forward, and raises an immaculate eyebrow at her daughter. Nods at the chair across from her. It's Aerin's move.
Heartbeat hammering in her throat, Aerin takes her seat. Makes her move, even as she feels sick to her stomach. Even if Evelyn hasn't expressly said anything, she knows that her slip-ups will not go unaddressed. Maybe not punished, but definitely not unaddressed. Evelyn Nightshade expects nothing less than perfection. If you don't meet her standard, there will be consequences. That much is true for every assassin in the Guild- perhaps Aerin most of all.
These thoughts spin through her mind- a flurry of doubt and despair and panic. And thus her mother corrects her only two moves into the match- as Aerin moves to take her c-pawn. Halfway through the motion of reaching across the board, Evelyn's fingers land lightly on her own, stopping her daughter in her tracks. Do not take it, she signs. You cannot retain the pawn without incurring a disadvantage. It is called the queen's gambit for a reason.
An irrational surge of anger sweeps through Aerin's mind. She knows better than this. To be rebuked within the first two moves is embarrassing, and with everything flooding through her head, it's instinct to open her mouth to protest. To try and explain herself. "I-"
Evelyn's eyes narrow, and Aerin instinctively flinches back.
Play in silence, her mother scolds. Hands weaving through the air, shifting patterns that only those of the Obsidian Guild know. Repeating a decades-old mantra. Only speak when it's time to say checkmate.
A/N: Hello, everyone, and welcome to my first SYOT under this account name, The Queen's Gambit. I'm still a little new to this, so please bear with me as I relearn what it is to write an SYOT. For all of you who have read this, I'm so glad you're here! Feel free to drop a review down below, and constructive crit is very much appreciated, I'm always looking to improve.
Quick disclaimer before we get any further: I am by no means an expert at chess, I just love the idea and aesthetic of it, and thought it would make for an interesting role within an SYOT. I only play for fun, not professionally, and while I do research, I cannot speak from many personal experiences. If you see something within my depiction of the game within this story that is deemed inaccurate, please let me know, so I can fix it!
Alongside that, if any of you are interested in submitting, the form can be found below. It can also be found on my bio, along with other information regarding the SYOT. You are also more than welcome to PM me with any additional questions concerning submissions or worldbuilding. Sponsoring info will be up hopefully alongside the posting of the next chapter, and I'm in the process of making a blog for this story; the link will be posted on my bio once I'm finished with it.
As this is a partial, things will be working a little differently than they normally would. Instead of filling slots myself, I am accepting submissions to all slots: 12 of which will be PoV, and the others… well, non-PoV. Six of the PoV slots are yet to be decided, while the other 6 are given to the Careers (D1, D2, and D4 tributes.) You are free to submit to whichever slot you please, and after submissions close, I will choose the other 6 slots that I will write for. Even if your tribute does not have a PoV in this story, that does not mean that they won't play a part in the overall plot. No, they won't be a Victor, because that just doesn't make sense, but they're not a guaranteed early-game death either. I do my best to make all characters in my stories relevant, and I don't want to throw anyone's tribute to the side.
Once again, submission stats can be found on my bio, alongside some general guidelines I'd like you to follow when you submit, and the form. The form is also down below. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope to see you submit! Happy holidays!
-Rune
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