Chapter 15: The Precocious Observer

Valkyrie's POV

The rain had ceased, but the cottage walls were still damp and felt cold.

Thirty-two carved wooden pieces were laid out on the scarred chessboard, which was situated on the worn wooden coffee table between us.

My four-year-old son, Lachlan, sat with his legs crossed on the rug, his hands on his knees as he stared at the board with terrifying, silent concentration.

On the sofa in the small room, Chloe lay covered by three thick wool blankets; the only noise was her steady, difficult breathing.

Lachlan said softly, "Rook to E4." Although his little voice was high and small, there was a calm and certain determination in the way he spoke that made the hairs on my arms stand up.

With a small, round hand he reached out and moved his black rook, trapping my white queen in a clean and impossible diagonal fork.

I looked at the board, my mind refusing to take in the position.

"Lachlan... you can't move the rook to that square at the moment since you haven't moved your knight yet."

"Three turns ago I moved the knight, Mommy," he said as he looked up at me.

Kaelen's remarkable eyes Kaelen's eyes were fixed directly on mine.

"If you capture my rook with your pawn, my bishop will take your king in two moves, and that will be checkmate."

I studied the board more carefully and saw he was correct.

A young child who is just four years old had arranged a typical grandmaster trap six moves earlier, moving with a cold, spatial logic that isn't something a toddler should have.

"Who taught you that pattern, sweetheart?" I asked, even though I was trying hard to keep my voice steady. "Did Dr. Hamish showed you that arrangement?"

"No," Lachlan replied, putting his chin into his hands as he looked at the pieces. "Hamish plays slowly. He enjoys protecting his pieces. I prefer to take them."

My heart struck my ribs with a sharp thud.

Kaelen had played chess in precisely the same manner: cold, offensive, and calculating twelve moves ahead while his opponent was still considering their opening move.

"Mommy?" Lachlan asked, his voice changed from the sharp, analytical tone of the game to something fragile and desperate.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, gently brushing a lock of dark, wavy hair from his forehead. "Yes, my love?"

"The man at the gate today," Lachlan whispered, his eyes looking at my face. "Why was his coat identical to that of the men in the big books?"

"He was just a visitor, Lachlan," I lied smoothly, the deceit I had practised feeling as though it tasted of ash. "Just a man passing through Port Campbell on business."

“He didn't look like a visitor,” Lachlan said softly.

He extended his hand, picked up the white king I had captured, and rolled the wooden piece between his small fingers.

"He looked at you," he said, "as I look at the board when I'm trying to win."

I looked at my son; a sudden wave of nausea hit my stomach.

Though he was only four years old, his mind worked on various frequency channels that concerned me; since he started speaking, he had not merely observed his environment but had analysed it.

He used prime numbers to count the tiles on the kitchen floor and memorized the licence plates of all supply trucks that went down our driveway.

Now he was cutting me up.

“Lachlan,” I said, making an effort to ease my stance and bending down to take his little hand into mine.

"We've discussed this already. The only people here are you, me, and Aunt Chloe. No visitors are allowed."

"You told me my daddy was a sea captain," Lachlan said, lowering his voice. “You said he went on a large ship before I was born and got lost in the deep ocean."

"Yes, he did," I whispered, my chest hurting so much I could hardly draw a breath.

“Sea captains wear blue jackets with golden buttons,” Lachlan said, looking down at the chess king in his hand. "The man at the gate was wearing a black wool coat with silver cuff links, the same silver cuff links as those in the box hidden under your mattress."

My body froze for a moment.

I tightened my grip on his hand before stopping myself to let go, my hands shaking violently as I pulled them back into my lap.

"You went through my room?" I breathed, horror climbing up my throat.

"I was searching for my blue blanket yesterday," Lachlan murmured, without the slightest bit of guilt on his face. "The box was under the floorboard next to the closet. The man at the gate has the same face as the one in the drawing inside the lid, Mommy, the drawing you made with the charcoal pencil."

The walls of the quiet sanctuary which I took four years to build were crumbling into dust right in front of my eyes.

"Lachlan..." I managed to get out, my eyes finally filling with tears. "Please..."

“Is he the sea captain?" Lachlan asked, stepping closer to me on his knees, reaching out to me with his hands to stroke my wet cheek; his eyes filled with an intolerable, heartbreakingly intelligent emotion. "Did he come back from the ocean because he found out I was here?”

Before I could get the right words to reply to him, to come up with another protective lie to shield his innocent heart from the dark and dangerous monster the Vance empire was, a loud and violent shudder shook the front windows.

The electricity in the cottage stopped working, leaving the living room in complete darkness.

Chloe screamed from the sofa, her medical monitor emitting a high-pitched, continuous flatline alarm as its backup battery kicked in.

Footsteps crunched heavily across the driveway as seen through the dark front window, followed by three slow, careful, and heavy knocks on the door, with a deep and dark voice that echoed so low and smooth it made the floorboards beneath our feet vibrate.

"Open the door, Valkyrie," Kaelen’s voice called out from the porch. "Before I tear it off the hinges.”