The Inheritances Game (Jameson Hawthorne)

Let The Games Begin

"Where is Alastair?" Branford asked.

"The Proprietor," Rohan replied, meeting Branford's eyes with a dark glint in his own, "has left the design and running of this year's Game to me."

"A test of sorts?" Zella said. "For the boy who would be king." Jameson tracked each word spoken, taking measure of the players. Zella was attempting to get under Rohan's skin, her reason for wanting to do sound clear. Branford had asked after Alastair and Rohan had come back with the Proprietor. And something about the shrewd expression on Katharine's face reminded Jameson of his grandfather.

"As you will have noticed, this year's Game has taken us to what most would agree is the Mercy's most notable win of the past decade." Rohan tossed a smirking look toward Branford. "Welcome home, Viscount." The Factotum's deep brown eyes lingered on Branford's, then his gaze shifted to Katharine's as he continued. "You are all aware of the stakes of the Game. The prizes you may choose from. Power. Riches." 

There was something in Rohan's tone that made Jameson wonder how long he had been waiting to run his own Game—and what he'd done to earn the right.

"Hidden somewhere on this estate," Rohan said with a flourish, "are three keys. The manor, the grounds—they're all fair play. There are also three boxes."

One, Jameson thought, for each key.

"The Game is simple," Rohan said. "Find the keys. Open the boxes. Two of the three contain secrets." Rohan smiled, and the expression was dark and glittering this time. "Two of yours, as a matter of fact." 

Cal hadn't been required to pay her way into this game, but Jameson had—and so had Branford. Zella had been dismissed from the room before the Proprietor asked for their secrets, suggesting that she, like Catalina, was in the clear. Katharine was a wild card, but she responded to Rohan's statement with the slightest, satisfied curve of her lips. 

Jameson thought about what he'd written down, and it took everything in him not to look at Cal, because suddenly, her presence here didn't seem like a boon. It was a risk. After all, Jameson could hear the Proprietor saying, these things are always more interesting when at least a few players have "skin in the game." Anyone reading those words would be bad. Cal reading them would open Pandora's box.

"So, two boxes with secrets. In the third, you'll find something much more valuable. Tell me what you find in the third box, and you'll win the mark." Like a magician, Rohan produced a round, flat stone out of nowhere. It was half black, half white. "The mark may be redeemed for either a page from the Mercy's ledger that has been forfeited this year or an asset the Mercy has claimed during that same time period. As for rules and limitations..." Rohan made the mark disappear once more.

"Leave the manor and the grounds in the condition in which you found them. Dig up the yard, and you'd best fill the holes. Anything broken must be mended. Leave no stone unturned but smuggle nothing out." Rohan laid his palms flat on the dark, gleaming table, leaning forward, his arm muscles pulling at the fabric of his suit. "Likewise, you may do no damage to your fellow players. They, like the house and the grounds, will be left in the condition in which you found them. Violence of any kind will be met with immediate expulsion from the Game."

Three keys. Three boxes. No damaging the house, the grounds, or the other players. Jameson's mind reflexively catalogued the rules.

"And that's it?" Katharine asked. "There are no other limitations or rules?"

"You have twenty-four hours," Rohan said, "beginning at the top of the hour. After that, the prize will be considered forfeit."

"And let me guess," Zella said, drawing out the last word, "if we forfeit, you get the mark."