Page 39 of Immortal Game

“Good, good.” He propped his chin up on his fist. “Have you anything to confess?”

It seemed the trap had been sprung at last. Ciara went terribly still. “I beg your pardon?”

Slowly, he rose to his full height. Golden light seemed to pour off him, from the fall of his hair to the metallic trim of his cloak. Illuminated as he was, Shea could hardly stand to lookat him. Midir nudged one of Beann’s chews—a massive hunk of elk antler—with the toe of his boot.

“I heard the bards working on the strangest song this morning.” A threat simmered beneath his conversational tone. “One about a flying girl and her dog.”

The color drained from Ciara’s face. Shea’s breath caught on a sudden rush of guilt. She was responsible for this. She’d brought down Midir’s wrath on Ciara.

When Ciara offered no reply, Midir smiled coldly. “You have sheltered our kinsman here against my wishes. You know very well that his father sided against me in the matter of Elcmar’s—”

“Beann is a dog! He poses no danger to you, unless you have stolen something from him and…” Ciara seemed to realize her insolence a moment too late.

No warmth remained on Midir’s face. “I could have left you to rot on the heath.”

Now, Ciara did flinch.

“I sent the search party for you. I summoned you here. I named you my heir. I gifted you these rooms. I recognized your talents and cultivated your skill as a chess player. I am the one who organizes and sponsors your sojourns across the Veil.”

“And I am grateful to you—”

“And this is what you call gratitude?” Midir swept his arm across the room at the scattered mass-produced clothing, the candy bar wrappers, the pretty electric guitar. “You have always been disobedient. Butthis, I cannot tolerate.”

Ciara steadied herself against her desk, but she did not reply.

“The mortal realm is a land of sin, sorrow, and death. And yet, you have all but built a shrine to its pernicious greed. You are an envoy to the mortal realm, and the privileges you havebeen granted come with responsibilities. You are there to remind them of their inferiority—not to court their favor and become enamored with their folly.”

“My tournament performance has been good,” Ciara protested.

Midir curled his lip. “To a point. You were provided files and analyses of that mortal girl. You were provided a team of seconds and trainers. And yet, you have not won a single game against her. Now, you have aligned yourself with her.”

Shea’s heart gave a painful thump against her rib cage. He was talking abouther.

“She is a good player,” Ciara said wanly.

Midir laughed humorlessly. “You are unreliable. You are a disgrace. But most unforgivably, you are a dissident. Whatever kindness I grant you is repaid with treachery.”

“Treachery?” Ciara cried, outraged.

His eye flashed dangerously. “Your behavior is nothing short of ideological sabotage. Mortals’ fear and awe of us is the only thing that keeps them at bay. And my subjects’ fear and awe of me is the only thing that protects this family. When I am lenient with you, they doubt me.”

“It has been more than a thousand years since you lost her, and you have prevailed over your enemies!” A note of panic entered her voice. “You must let go of this paranoia.”

Since you lost her.Ciara was referring to Aideen, surely. What did she mean by that? How could it possibly have been a thousand years? Aideen was only twenty-four.

“Be that as it may, I have abided traitors in my own home too many times.”

The threat in his words hovered like a blade trembling overCiara’s head. The two of them faced off, silhouetted in the bow window: Ciara and her bloody hair, wild and blazing, against the cold gleam of Midir’s polished gold.

“You did not need to bring me back,” Ciara said quietly. “I did not ask you to.”

“And you would have preferred I left you to wander, belonging nowhere and to no one?”

Shea stood close enough to hear Ciara’s indrawn breath. “I belong to you, as you have made so clear. Do not pretend it was generosity, brother, or any sense of familial duty.”

He considered Ciara beneath his hooded eyes, a match to her own. “Until the end of the tournament. That is the limit of my forbearance. I expect a good performance.”

When Midir left, the whole room seemed to tremble in his wake. Ciara stood frozen before she said decisively, “Wine. I could use some wine. Come out of there, Shea. Would you like a drink?”