Page 50 of Immortal Game

She cleared her throat. “You always awake this early?”

“It’s the only time it’s quiet. At least, it used to be.”

“Right.” Shea could take a hint. She ran her hand through her hair and sighed. “Look. I think I owe you an apology.” Lily’s mouth twisted, either displeased or surprised, but Shea went on determinedly. “You’re right. You do deserve to be here.”

“Even if I am just a depressed international master?” she asked wryly.

“I did say I was trying to apologize,” Shea muttered. “So, I apologize.”

Lily’s expression softened some, but her tone remained guarded. “Where is this coming from?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just been thinking about how chess can be kind of lonely if you alienate everyone around you…” Shea felt herself beginning to babble—and saw the wariness reenter Lily’s eyes. “Whatever. I don’t know. You played well yesterday, and I thought I should tell you. I wanted to know how you played. Now I do.”

“And how is that?”

“Like a storm.”

A genuine smile broke over Lily’s face. It made her look much younger—so much less world-weary and jaded. “That’s a new one.”

“It’s just the truth. Whoever that guy is you’re trying to getback at… I don’t know what he did to you, but he should be afraid.”

“Men like him never are.” Like a cloud passing over sunlight, Lily’s smile faded. “I was a fool for not seeing his true nature, but I never thought I could be so easily deceived.”

Lily clasped her wrist absently. Her sleeve had ridden up, revealing a mottled band of scar tissue that crept out from beneath the fabric and stretched over the back of her palm. It shone faintly in the early-morning light. Shea didn’t know the particulars of Lily’s situation, but she could guess at it. She’d seen enough of her mother’s terrible boyfriends over the years to know. It always started slow. You could always find ways to justify it. You never wanted to believe that love wasn’t enough to overcome it.

“That doesn’t make you a fool,” she said.

Lily shook her head. “Maybe not.”

“He’s the one to blame.”

“He is…” She withdrew into herself, seemingly lost in thought. “I survived him. I should let it go. But I can’t.”

Shea remembered the exact moves of almost every game she played—and certainly all of the ones she’d lost. “You’re a chess player. That drive for perfection, the obsessiveness, the spite… It runs in our blood.”

“Not all of us. My father taught me to play. He was like Smyslov and Tal and Spassky: an artist. He never wanted to see his opponents suffer. He wanted to be their friend, I think. He wanted to work with them to make something beautiful.”

Truly artistic games arose through that fine, balletic dance of collaboration and competition. Shea had played somepretty games, but it hadn’t been her goal since she was a child. Now…

Shea strangled that thought. “Were you like that, once?”

“I don’t know anymore. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t see chess as a means to an end.” It hurt, to hear her own feelings reflected back at her in such plain terms. Lily studied her, her expression unreadable. “I forgive you, by the way. But this doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Of course not.”

The dullthunkof axes sinking into wood echoed across the lake. Then: the groan of trees as they broke, the crash as they fell. Shea and Lily exchanged a look, then hurried to a window. Outside, fae hurried here and there carrying baskets full of golden flowers and bundles of wood.

“You know about this stuff, right?” Shea asked. “What’s happening, exactly?”

Lily placed her book on the windowsill. Dappled shadows played across her pale face. “It’s the festival of An Ionradth today. It marks the day of the fae’s arrival in the mortal world.”

Another holiday, so soon after the other. “Right.”

“Good. You’re both here.” Shea turned around to see a faerie servant approaching them. He wore a garland of golden flowers around his brow. He stopped a few paces away and said, “His Royal Majesty requests your presence at the festivities tonight, after sunset. He will give you more information about the next round there.”

Judging by his tone,requestsmeantexpects. An uneasy feeling came over Shea. “Great. We’ll be there.”

When he retreated down the hall again, Lily muttered, “I hate festivities.”