"Human?" Yes he'd wanted a child. But he certainly hadn't expected this. God, Marian, I'm not sure this is really fair. And yet he couldn't resent it.

"The queens on their own colors," Irene said. "And the pawns in front to protect them." She seated herself and contemplated the board. "I -- I think I'm beginning to understand. My own mind, I mean."

"Don't rush it. There're some thing you're not going to want."

"The sorrow of it." Their eyes met. Her lenses were as sharp as surgeon's scalpels, peeling away layer after layer of pretense.

She had learned that from Andrei. "Yes," he said. "The sorrow, the guilt, the sheer cussedness of living. You survive, though, inside your rock."

She smiled at his simile. "And love, and the pain of loving."

"Yes, that too. Always that."

Each playing piece sat on its own square. "First move," Irene said. "Pawn to King Four." She took her role as teacher very seriously.

Perhaps thought is its own excuse for being, David told himself. Like beauty. The paraphrase seemed appropriate. He moved his own pawn.

"Second move."

Outside, the moonless darkness was pricked by light. Earth hung low on the horizon, the evening star. The wind from the Labyrinth of Night sang in perfect counterpoint to the symphony. Irene looked up at David and laughed.