Page 26 of Immortal Game

Shea half expected her to walk away, but Ciara extended her hand.

Shea grabbed at her forearm, but her damp fingers couldn’t find purchase. She slipped, but as her body threatened to sink deeper, Ciara clasped tightly onto her wrist. Shea nearly gasped at the warmth and strength of her grip. So great was her relief, she felt almost weightless in the mud now. Little by little, it released her. Ciara dug her heels into the peat and pulled. Slowlybut surely, Shea emerged from the depths—and with a final tug, Ciara dragged her onto dry land.

Shea scrabbled away from the edge of the bog, as though it might seize her and swallow her whole if she lingered. Exhaustion crashed down on her. She flopped onto her back, panting, and relished the solidity of the earth beneath her. She was plastered in mud from the waist down. Her left shoe and one of her bracelets were casualties. But she was alive.

“Thank you,” Shea wheezed. “I owe you my life.”

“You should not pledge a life-debt to a fae so freely.” Vague concern flickered across Ciara’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it arose. “But I understand the impulse. It was rather heroic of me, wasn’t it?”

Shea groaned. “Don’t push it.”

Ciara watched her from beneath her eyelashes. In the faint sunlight, they shone golden. “You’re serious about us working together?”

“For better or for worse, yeah. I’m serious.”

“Then let us have it out.” Ciara dusted off her hands. The mud on her skin flaked away and scattered like a flock of birds, leaving her pristine once more. “You have spun quite the narrative in your mind. I’m flattered you thought about me so much, but in truth, I didn’t realize you took our games so personally.”

Shea didn’t know whether to find this confession hilarious or infuriating. “How could I not, after that game we played in Prague?”

“That was five years ago,” Ciara protested, with genuine surprise coloring her cheeks. “We were fourteen.”

“So? You were a fucking menace. You still are.” Shea’s facewarmed, too. “Don’t deny it. You’ve been trying to punish me for beating you ever since.”

“I should be offended you think me so petty and spiteful. But I suppose you’re not entirely wrong. At first, I did resent you. But as the years went on, playing terrible chess became less about annoying you and more…”

“More what?” Shea asked impatiently.

“Itwasfor my own amusement. But not at your expense.” Ciara shook her head. “I thought you’d play along eventually. But you never did.”

“Why is that surprising?” Shea felt oddly flustered—and more embarrassed than she wanted to admit. She struggled to reorient herself to the truth: that all this time, it’d been her, not Ciara, who’d held on to this petty grudge.

Ciara threw her hands up. “Whywouldn’tit be? It is shocking. How you must love drudgery! Doesn’t it ever bore you, playing such principled chess? Knowing the first twenty moves of every game? Knowing theoutcomeof every game?”

Yes. Of course it does.“Not really.”

“Is that so? Am I to believe you really do lock yourself away reading Dvoretsky’sAnalytical Manualfor fun?”

Fun.What a foreign concept. Chess had become so predictable. Every other player had become so predictable. But she couldn’t afford risk or innovation when she couldn’t handle losing. At any rate, fun was a luxury of childhood, immaterial at this point in her career. Shea shrugged. “You caught me.”

“You are as dull as I expected.”

Shea smiled in spite of herself. “And you’re only a little less annoying than I expected.”

Ciara sniffed. “As I said earlier, I am trying to reform.”

That, of all things, made her relent. “I guess I was a little harsh earlier. I’m sorry.”

Ciara blinked, clearly surprised. “Well. How good of you to say so. Thank you. It is appreciated, the great effort this must’ve taken on your part. I felt only half your usual murderous intent and insolence, although some flattery would be nice to make up for it.”

Of course she had to ruin it. “Just give me an answer. Will you be my partner?”

“Yes. Fine. Very well.” Ciara brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, clearly as uneasy as Shea was with this shift between them. “Can you stand?”

“I think so.”

“Good. You might as well help me with this.” Ciara gestured at her half-empty basket. “I dread to think what Midir will do if we don’t pay him tribute. Do be careful, though, or you might walk into a bog.”

Shea glowered. “Hilarious.”