The Final Gambit (The Inheritance Games #3)(29)

I began by sorting the letters: consonants in one pile, vowels in another.

I hit a 7 and started a third pile for numbers.

“Forty-five pieces in total,” I told my sister once I was done. “Twelve numbers, five vowels, twenty-eight consonants.” Moving as I spoke, I pulled out the five vowels—one each of A, E, I, O, and U. That didn’t strike me as a coincidence, so I started pulling out consonants, too—one of each letter, until I had the whole alphabet represented, with seven letters left behind.

“These are the extras,” I told Libby. “One B, three P’s, and three Q’s.” I did the same thing for the numbers, pulling out each digit from one to nine and turning my attention to the leftovers. “Three fours,” I said. I stared at what I had. “B, P, P, P, Q, Q, Q, four, four, four.”

I repeated that a few times. A phrase came into my head: Mind your P’ s and Q’ s. I lingered on it for a moment, then dismissed it. What wasn’t I seeing?

“I’m not exactly a rocket scientist,” Libby hedged, “but I don’t think you’re going to get words out of those letters.”

No vowels. I considered starting over again, playing with the letters in a different way, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. “There’s three of each,” I said. “Except for the B.”

I picked up the B and rubbed my thumb over its surface. What wasn’t I seeing? P, P, P, Q, Q, Q, 4, 4, 4—but only one B. I closed my eyes. Tobias Hawthorne had designed this puzzle for me. He must have had reason to believe not just that it could be solved, but that I could solve it. I thought about the file folder the billionaire had kept on me. Pictures of me doing everything from working at a diner to playing chess.

I thought of my dream.

And then I saw it—first in my mind’s eye, and once my eyelids flew open, right in front of me. P, Q, 4. I pulled those three down, then repeated the process. P, Q, 4. When I saw what I had left, my heart jumped into my throat, pounding like I was standing at the edge of a waterfall.

“P, Q, B, four,” I told Libby breathlessly.

“Cream cheese frosting and black velvet corsets!” Libby replied. “We are just saying random combinations of things now, right?”

I shook my head. “The code—it’s not words,” I explained. “These are chess notations—descriptive, not algebraic.”

After my mother had died, long before I’d ever heard the name Hawthorne, I’d played chess in the park with a man who I’d known as Harry. Toby Hawthorne. His father had known that—known that I played, known who I played with.

“It’s a way of keeping track of your moves and your opponent’s,” I told Libby, a rush of energy thrumming through my veins. “This one—P-Q4—is short for pawn to Queen four. It’s a common opening move, which is often countered by black making the same move—pawn to Queen four. Then the white pawn goes to Queen’s Bishop four.”

P-QB4.

“So,” Libby said sagely, “chess.”

“Chess,” I repeated. “The move—it’s called the Queen’s Gambit.

Whoever’s playing white puts that second pawn in a position to be sacrificed, which is why it’s considered a gambit.”

“Why would you sacrifice a piece?” Libby asked.

I thought about billionaire Tobias Hawthorne, about Toby, about Jameson, Grayson, Xander, and Nash. “To take control of the board,” I said.

It was tempting to read more meaning into that, but I couldn’t linger. I had the first clue now. It would lead me to another. I started walking.

“Where are you going?” Libby called after me. “And do you want me to have Jameson meet us there? Or Max?”

“The game room.” I made it to the door before I answered the second half of that question, my stomach twisting. “And yes to Max.”





CHAPTER 26

Built-in shelves lined the walls, all of them overflowing with games.

“Do you think the Hawthornes have played all of them?” Max asked Libby and me.

There were hundreds of boxes on those shelves, maybe a thousand.

“Every single one,” I said. There was nothing more Hawthorne than winning.

If what we have now—if everything we have now—starts to feel like another competition between Grayson and me, like a game? I don’t trust myself not to play.

I slammed that door in my mind. “We’re looking for chess sets,” I said, focusing on that. “There is probably more than one. And while we’re looking…” I shot my best friend a pointed look. “Max can catch us up on the Xander situation.”

Better her romantic drama taking center stage than mine.

“Everything involving Xander is a situation,” Max hedged. “He specializes in situations!”

I scanned the boxes on the closest shelf, checking for chess sets. “True.”

I waited, knowing that she would break.

“It’s… new.” Max squatted to stare at the lower shelves. “Like, really new. And you know I hate labels.”

“You love labels,” I told her, skimming my fingers across game after game. “You literally own multiple label makers.”

Chess set! Victorious, I pulled the box from the shelf and kept looking.