Page 47 of Immortal Game

“What? Is there something wrong with it?” Ciara demanded. A little color rose in her cheeks. Shea got the sense that she’d genuinely embarrassed her. It was oddly endearing.

“There’s nothingwrongwith it. It’s just that most people’s bucket lists are like… Traveling to new places. Climbing Mount Everest. Skydiving. Things like that.”

“Why would I want to climb a mountain?” Ciara asked, horrified. “What is skydiving?”

“Never mind,” Shea muttered. “I just mean you could do half of those things in an hour.”

“That is why the list is so long.” Ciara began rolling the scroll up with an air of profound self-consciousness. “Think me ridiculous if you must. I rarely get to see anything beyond my hotel room when I travel for tournaments.”

“No,” said Shea. “I mean, I do kind of think that you’re ridiculous, but…”

Ciara huffed.

“I guess I’m just wondering where you’d go, if you left the Otherworld.” Shea frowned. “You don’t have anywhere to live. I’m sure you could get something for yourself with your tournament winnings.”

Ciara lowered her gaze. “I do not get to keep my tournament winnings.”

She really did have nothing, then.

Shea hadn’t meant to confront Ciara with logistics, but she did need to think this through. The Chess Federation might help her some, but they couldn’t exactly bankroll a faerie princess’s lavish lifestyle. A private donor might support her—maybe one of the billionaires who funded those fancy, offbeat tournaments; the type who barely knew how the pieces moved but respected the game for its general aura of prestige. But what kind of life would that be, beholden to a patron like it was the Middle Ages? No, it wouldn’t do.

“I guess you could stay with me,” Shea said. “At least until you figure things out.”

She didn’t know what possessed her to say it. She shouldhave regretted it—or better yet, withdrawn it—because it was an objectively terrible idea. They didn’t hate each other anymore, but they still bickered. If they lived together, one of them would be dead within a month. And yet, all she could really concentrate on was the way it had felt during the last game they’d played—and the way Ciara was looking at her now.

“Really?” Ciara’s voice was both hopeful and suspicious.

“Yeah. Really.”

“That’s good of you.”

“It’s no bother,” Shea replied, too quickly to be casual. Worse, she found she couldn’t stop herself from babbling. “You wouldn’t like living with me, though. I’ve been alone for too long.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Ciara canted her chin. “Wouldyoulike living with me?”

Would she? Over the past week, her animosity had melted into something like respect. When Ciara played to her full ability, how could Shea not admire her? Ciara’s creativity, her restlessness, her eye for tactics, her rawskill… They set Shea ablaze.

When they were grinding out the theory of some obscure line, she felt as though they were birds: flashing through the air, soaring and diving and coasting, surveying the expansive domain of all chess knowledge from a great height. Maybe it should have terrified her to brush up against a skill that might exceed her own. But it didn’t. Who else but Ciara could keep up with her? Who else could challenge her like this? Ciara made Shea remember, distantly, what it was like to love this stupid game that she’d once loved and that had betrayed her.

Ciara made her want to play.

Shewantedto play chess. Shea could hardly believe it—could hardly contain her excitement. She wanted to face Ciara again. She wanted to tear apart her defenses. She wanted to launch an unstoppable attack. She wanted to experience the full force of her ability, with nothing held back between them. She wanted… She wantedCiara.

Chess opens a door between two souls.

The gazebo was suddenly airless. Sunlight played in the fiery red of Ciara’s hair and lit her black eyes. They stared at each other across the painfully little space between them. Slowly, Shea cradled Ciara’s face in her hand. She slid her thumb along Ciara’s full lower lip. She felt the hitch of Ciara’s breath, the flutter of her pulse. “Yeah. I think I would.”

Melancholy stole across Ciara’s expression. Her smile was so soft and uncertain. “Of course, all of this assumes that I win.”

Those words sank into Shea’s heart like a dagger. Her hand dropped back into her lap. “Right. Assuming you win.”

They fell silent. What else could they say? This world they’d envisioned could never exist. Somehow, she’d forgotten the painful truth. They couldn’t both win.

PART

III

On a warm spring afternoon, Shea was set to give a simultaneous exhibition for Wayfolk’s local chess club. When she and Aideen entered the library, everything was ready for her. Someone had writtenWelcome, Shea Furyon a whiteboard in green dry-erase marker. Ten tables were arranged in a U in the center of the room. Ten people sat on the outer curve of the U, each with a chessboard in front of them. No one spared Shea a glance. They all stared at Aideen with a mixture of reverence and horror, desire and loathing. Aideen kept her gaze fixed on the floor.