Page 58 of Immortal Game

He ignored her. “What do you know about the previous finalists?”

“Not much. I’ve studied their games, though.”

“And have you noticed anything strange about those games?” he asked, with the air of a teacher nudging his students toward the correct answer.

Shea chafed at his condescension. “Not really.”

“Then you’re not paying close enough attention. You’ve likely only been able to find the games they played before they entered the tournament—and their final games against Midir. None of them ever play again after they lose.”

“And?” Considering her own experience playing Midir, it didn’t strike her as terribly odd. If she had nothing keeping her in chess, Shea might have quit, too. “You wouldn’t understand unless you’d played him yourself. He’s a killer.”

“Be serious. Anyone who quits over a single loss doesn’t deserve to play. You assume it’s because they didn’t want to. What if it’s because they can’t?”

The thought chilled her. “But I played Midir. I didn’t have to give up chess.”

“You told me it was a draw.”

“It was, technically…” Her chest felt tight. The deeper she tried to inhale, the thinner the air seemed. God, she hated thinking about that night. “Where are you going with this?”

“Don’t you think it’s strange that he’s never lost a game?”

“I guess. But he’s had centuries to practice.”

“That’s exactly the problem. If he was that good at chess, wouldn’t he have gotten bored of it by now? He can’t innovate and keep himself sharp with no one of equal skill to play against.” Daniil leaned forward, the same way he did over the board when he’d begun calculating a winning line. “He never travels to the mortal realm. He never brings chess players here outside of this tournament, and as far as I know, he doesn’t have a second or a coach.”

Everything he said was true. By modern standards, Midir’s success was improbable, maybe even impossible. Still, she couldn’t shake her skepticism. “What, you think he’s cheating?”

He smiled mirthlessly. “Now you’re catching on.”

Shea lifted her wrist and pulled back her sleeve. Even in the scant moonlight, the silvery whorls on her wooden fetter glowed. “You remember how well cheating went for my first opponent. How could he survive his own tournament without getting skewered?”

“It’s a simple loophole. He didn’t bind himself to the same rules.”

The High King of the Irish Otherworld, cheating. Shea couldn’t wrap her head around it. She couldn’t accept it. “Butwe have some records of his games. He doesn’t play the best move all the time.”

According to the few games they had on record—sometime after chess notation was developed, shortly before the fae had withdrawn behind the Iron Veil—he was an extremely versatile player. Chameleonic, even. His style evolved with the times, often mirroring the most talented players of the era.

“Right.” Daniil lifted one shoulder. “Just most of the time.”

“So do all of us,” Shea countered. “Unless he’s got an internet connection rigged in this castle, he’s not using an engine.”

“Try to keep up, Fury. I’m saying everything is connected. When he defeats an opponent, he must be able to steal that opponent’s skill and use it for himself. I just don’t know how. If I did…” He made a frustrated sound. “Think. You must remember something unusual about that game.”

“Iam.” She cradled her head in her hands. “There was a lot unusual about that game. But I…”

A memory winked up at her from the bottom of her mind, like a coin glittering just beneath the dark waters of a well. Just before they played, he’d demanded something of her:If I win, I shall place you under bonds of heavy enchantment. You will carve out and surrender your left eye to me.Quietly, Shea said, “His eye.”

Confusion softened his expression. “What about it?”

“His left eye is a prosthetic. The day we got here, Lily told me that some fae have these magical objects, like the spear Ciara used tonight. They give their wielder some kind of power. I think you’re right. His eye is how he does it.”

Daniil’s eyes shone with triumph. “Well done. That’s the first intelligent thing you’ve said in weeks.”

“If I’m right, this isbad. For centuries, he’s been stealing the best ideas from the best players.” She threw her hands up. Of course he wasn’t consulting an engine; he practicallywasan engine, one fed with the games of every player she’d ever admired, every game she’d ever studied in a book. “What the hell are we supposed to do? We’re not up against one freak player’s skill—but hundreds. Maybe thousands. I’m sure he was doing this long before he started this stupid tournament.”

Daniil looked infuriatingly undaunted. “There has to be some way around it. Ciara might know something about this faerie hocus-pocus. Somehow, we’ll find out how it works before the final round. Beyond that, we keep winning.”

It cast the final round into a horrible new light: win, or never play again. Shea had considered quitting before, of course. But the prospect of beingforcedto quit—of losing both her sister and the game she’d devoted her entire life to…