Page 45 of Immortal Game

“Well!” Ciara clapped her hands. “That is quite enough of mortal emotions for today. Get some rest. We will do better tomorrow.”

“Right. Tomorrow.”

“So long!”

Ciara all but fled the alcove. Suspicion pricked at Shea. There was something about Ciara’s voice and the overbright glint in her eyes. It wasn’t until the doors closed behind Ciara that Shea realized that maybe, just maybe, that ache of yearning had not been hers alone.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The next day, they did do better—and the day after, and the next. They won and won and won. Some of their games were less a victory than they were a massacre. Still, the pressure mounted. Thanks to their earlier loss, they wanted to win every game to ensure they made it into the top four. It all came down to the last day. Shea and Ciara would face off against their undefeated opponents: Lily and her faerie teammate, a grandmaster named Lochlainn of Knowth.

At the board, Lily wore an expression of complete and total calm. It made Shea painfully aware of how she’d insulted her. Lily would no doubt be eager to crush them, if only to make Shea regret underestimating her.

But as long as Shea held her nerve, they could win.

They shook hands, and Lily started Shea and Ciara’s clock. Both sides played their first few moves in rapid succession. It both stunned and delighted Shea to see their opponents steering the game into a tricky, venomous line of the King’s Indian Defense. Ciara favored King’s Indian positions. And Shea, knowing that, had prepared far too many niche lines to combat it. This was well within her wheelhouse. Already, shefelt herself cooling like tempered steel into something sharp and deadly.

Within a few moves, they’d entered into a variation Shea recognized well. “I was looking at this line recently. Playing the pawn forward here is kind of a rare move. I don’t think either of them will know it.”

“I certainly have never seen it before.” Ciara’s amusement sparkled through their bond. “Did you prepare that for me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Shea hesitated for only a moment. “But yeah.”

“Well, then. I’ll follow your lead. I’m eager to see how you would’ve taken me down.”

That was all the encouragement Shea needed.

Both sides maneuvered their pieces: their bishops freed, their knights unleashed, their pawns marching onward. The middlegame transformed the board into a battleground, riddled with complications. Shea could not see it clearly yet, but she couldfeelit. They were teetering on the edge of breaking through their opponents’ defenses. As she stared across the board at Lochlainn’s drawn, wan face, Shea could smell the blood in the water.

“What are our candidate moves?” Shea asked Ciara. “They’re close to cracking.”

Ciara surveyed the board, her lips forming the shape of words without speaking. “We could castle here. Or we could play g3, unless you think f5 is too dangerous.”

“Castling is definitely the best move. But they might go c5, which looks a little scary, I guess.”

Ciara shot her a look out of the corner of her eye. “I’m not scared. I like our position a lot.”

Her confidence bolstered Shea. “I do, too. And we’re going to go b4 at some point. Like, if they go rook f4, we go bishop g5, rook-f b1, h5, king f1, g4, takes, takes.”

“Then king e2?” Shea could hear the smile in her voice, impressed or delighted by the idea. “Bold.”

“Exactly. What are they going to do?”

Shea had meant it rhetorically, but Ciara, thorough as ever, closed her eyes, envisioning the resulting position. When her dark eyes slid open, she looked game and eager—and best of all, certain. “Very well. Let’s do it.”

It sent a thrill through Shea.

They forged ahead with their plan, securing a five-minute lead on the clock. Their opponents, however, did not go down easy. They parried and pressed, forcing them to think, until each side was down to fifteen seconds on the clock. It was a time scramble. But Ciara knew it as surely as Shea did: They’d already won. It was only a matter of delivering the final blow.

“Where’s the win?” Shea muttered. “Knight f4, g6…”

Ciara craned her neck forward, her tongue pressed against her full lower lip, her brow furrowed. “Why not rook g2?”

“Fine,” Shea conceded. “Rook g2. That’s fine. I guess we just can’t go f7.”

“But then we’re threatening—”

“—we are not. No, we are not. Do not even think about it.”