Page 22 of Immortal Game

When next Shea blinked, all that remained of Ciara was aswirl of butterflies. Their wings were a vibrant, iridescent blue ringed with black. Most of them fluttered out the open window, but one landed delicately on Shea’s lapel.

What have I done?

It was like an aggressive attack on her opponent’s king had fizzled out: all her initiative killed, her position ravaged by her own recklessness, all her energy spent for no real gain. It’d felt good in the moment. Now, she felt no satisfaction. No relief, either. She felt only, to her horror, the tiniest twinge of guilt.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Shea sorely regretted not asking where this Fraughan Festival would be held. Outside the cold stone embrace of Midir’s castle, she found only a herd of cattle grazing in their paddocks. A few shaggy white dogs stood watch over their charges, their tongues lolling.

Shea was surprised to see how many fae bustled about the place, hauling buckets across the yard, repairing fences, brushing out the cows’ brilliant coats. There hadn’t been nearly this many servants at the opening ceremony. Clearly, Midir valued his cattle. Ciara probably had some explanation. Then again, Ciara would likely never speak to her again.

A fae nearby was pitching hay into a wheelbarrow while a steer nosed at him for attention. Apparently unafraid of its massive horns, he shoved its head away with fond exasperation. Shea must’ve looked hopelessly lost, because he said, “You’re one of the chess players?”

“I am.”

“Head on up the mountain.” He jerked his chin toward what, to Shea, was a hill. Whatever. She would offer no argument.“His Majesty and the rest of them are meeting at the trailhead. You’ll make it if you hurry.”

“Got it,” she said. “Thanks.”

She unlatched the gate that led to the trail—and ensured it had shut behind her when someone yelled, “Close it!”

Shea trotted along the path, dodging wayward stones, until she found the competitors gathered at the tree line. Only sixteen of them, an even mixture of mortals and fae, remained. The fae dressed more casually than they had yesterday, in airy muslins and straw hats, and they’d woven summer flowers into their hair.

“Welcome.” Midir’s voice carried above the group’s dull murmuring. He stood alone beneath a canopy, looking golden and resplendent even in the gloom. “Our mortal guests may not know that few crops grow in Bri Leith this time of year, except for the fraughan—the bilberry. The fruit is small and grows hidden in the heather. They are quite difficult to find; it might take all afternoon to fill one basket.”

As he spoke, servants materialized to hand everyone in the crowd a woven basket. Shea accepted hers with great reluctance.

“Eventually, with foragers spending long hours together, harvest days became known as courting days. On both sides of the Veil, many matches were made during harvest season. And as the Lord of Bri Leith, mortals came to venerate me as a god of love. In return for their labor, I would bless their matches.” He sounded almost wistful. “It was a fitting title. I have always been a fool for love. It has been both my salvation and my downfall, as it soon may be for each of you.”

Curiosity pricked at her. What exactly did he mean by his downfall?

After the wrongs he has suffered, Ciara had told her,he protects his privacy quite jealously.

“In the spirit of the Fraughan Festival,” Midir continued, “you will choose your partner for the next round, and I shall seal that match. Do not return until you’ve made your decision—and you’ve collected enough fraughan to fill your basket. As the High King of the Elfmounds, a portion of the heath-fruit is due to me.”

With that, they began their trudge up the hill. The trail was lined with pink heather and well worn from hooves and boots, but the damp earth made for a treacherous climb. A few of Shea’s fellow competitors bent their heads together conspiratorially, already deep in conversation as they walked. Others knelt alone on the ground, searching for bilberries among the dense thickets. As Shea contemplated each player’s strengths and weaknesses, she spotted Daniil scowling down at his empty basket.

No, she thought.Anyone but him.

But as much as she disliked him, hewasranked fifth in the world. There were worse allies to have. Cautiously, she approached him. “Hey.”

He turned toward her and immediately looked like he regretted it. “Fury.”

“Enjoying yourself?”

“No, as a matter of fact. I don’t enjoy being insulted.”

“I think it’s supposed to be fun.” Foraging did make her feel almost nostalgic. She and Aideen used to pick wild strawberries in their yard, and sometimes, if they were lucky, their grandparents would take them to an orchard to fill cardboard boxes full of apples and plums. Aideen would climb up tothe highest boughs and toss the choice picks down to Shea, and they’d gorge themselves beneath the dappled shade of the trees.

“If servitude is your idea of fun, you’re no better than a dog.” Frustration edged into his voice. “We came here to play chess. This is nothing but a power trip, making us kowtow to his ridiculous whims and—”

“I agree with you.”

He eyed her warily.

“I’m frustrated, too.” She knelt beside the heather and searched until she found a bilberry bush hidden underneath. “But we have no choice but to play along.”

With a huff, Daniil knelt beside her. They worked together in silence for a few minutes, until Shea at last talked herself into asking. She glanced over at him and studied the line of his profile, the hard set of his jaw. He looked absolutely murderous, but it wasn’t like she’d find a better opening. She opened her mouth, and without preamble, he said, “No.”