Page 16 of Immortal Game

Tomorrow, she told herself. She could save this for tomorrow. For now, she needed to sleep. Shea dragged herself to the ballroom’s entrance, where two guards stood sentry beneath anarchway. When she attempted to move past them, they drew their swords in perfect unison, then crossed them to block her path forward. The sound of struck metal rang out.

“What is this?” she demanded.

One of the guards replied, “His Majesty has requested that all competitors remain in the courtyard until he has concluded the opening ceremony.”

What more could Midir possibly have to say? Shea stalked away from the guards with the beginnings of a headache pounding in her temples. She was utterly powerless against Midir’s whims, just as she’d always been.

One by one, all thirty-two of the competitors returned. Shea took stock of each of them. All of them were fettered as Shea was. All of them, fae and mortal alike, wore looks of grim determination. From high above them, Midir gazed impassively down at the crowd.

“Competitors,” he called, “be honored.”

They exchanged looks as applause broke out across the courtyard. As the commotion died down, Midir’s voice rose above it. “The first round begins now. It will be single-elimination. If you draw, you will play another until there is a decisive result.”

Immediately, chaos erupted. Her fellow competitors shouted in protest and disbelief. Only hours after arriving, half of them would be going home tonight. A good portion of them were likely drunk, sleep deprived, or both. None of them would be playing at their best. Shea certainly wouldn’t. It didn’t matter. No matter what happened, no matter how she felt, she had to win.

Midir held up a hand, calling them to order once more. “I will show you to the tournament hall.”

He led them outside and toward another stone building. From the outside, it looked almost like the ruins of a chapel. Inside, the impression remained: They stood on old, hallowed ground. Through the half-collapsed ceiling, Shea could see luminous slabs of the night sky overhead. There was no floor, only a carpet of grass scattered with wildflowers. Bare-limbed shrubs twisted from the ground in the shape of tables. Atop each of them was a wooden chessboard.

“Play will begin in five minutes,” said Midir. “Make your way to your assigned boards.”

Instantly, the fetter on Shea’s wrist yanked her forward. Shea dodged through the milling crowd as best she could, until she found her board in the corner of the room. When she glanced down at her bracelet, it had sprouted a single hellebore bloom. The night-dark petals winked up at her. She’d be playing black, then. Shea sat in front of the black pieces and surveyed the board. It was a work of art, with alternating tiles of ash and maple wood and an inlay of silver around the border.

“Good evening.”

Shea glanced up as her opponent joined her at the board. She could tell that he was fae from his pointed ears and the preternatural symmetry of his face. His strawberry blond hair was tied into a bun at the nape of his neck, and he wore a silk doublet embroidered with metallic thread. He wasn’t one of the faerie grandmasters who competed in the mortal tournament circuit. But apparently, he was a good enough player to make it here.

“Hi.” Shea extended her hand gruffly. The International Chess Federation’s code of conduct stipulated that players greeteach other before the game started—or at the bare minimum, that they not insult their opponents outright.

The faerie lord examined her outstretched hand with some wonderment. “It seems your norms have changed since I last crossed the Veil. I have never seen mortal women compete in a chess tournament.”

“They do now.”

“Nor have I seen one who looks like you.”

Shea could only offer a thin, forced smile in response. “Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

“No,” he replied, with the air of someone hearing a juicy morsel of gossip. “It cannot have been three hundred years already.”

“Two hundred thirty, actually. More or less.”

He laughed, although Shea hardly saw the humor in what she’d said. At last, he clasped her hand in his own. Only then did she notice his peculiar ring. The multifaceted gem winked up at her from his thumb. “Well, good luck.”

It had an air of,You’ll need it.She looked forward to disabusing him of that unearned superiority. If twenty-first-century norms had surprised him, twenty-first-century chess theory would be a cold shower.

“Hello, cousin.”

Both Shea and her opponent flinched at the sound of Midir’s voice.

“Your Majesty,” he said.

Midir stood at Shea’s elbow, considering the board. “You’re an e4 player, are you not?”

Something about the way her opponent’s face crumpled suggested he was not, in fact, an e4 player. Without waitingfor his response, Midir moved the e-pawn forward two squares. The ceremonial first move had been played.

Midir gestured at the hourglasses on the table. Shea’s was filled with black sand and her opponent’s with white. “You may start his clock.”

With that, he moved on to the next board. Shea reached out to turn her opponent’s hourglass on its head. He huffed indignantly as he retracted Midir’s ceremonial move, then brought out his kingside knight to f3.