Page 61 of Immortal Game

Shea dusted off her sleeve. “Good game.”

Eri’s attention snapped to Shea and pressed into her like a blade. She rose to her feet, swaying a little. Nothing remained in her expression but a terrible desperation. And then, faster than Shea could blink, Eri’s shadow elongated. It launched itself across the board, a flash of red eyes and gnarled claws.

In one fluid motion, a figure stepped in front of Shea.

Ciara.She moved so swiftly, her sleeve billowed out fromher outstretched arm, revealing a flash of the embroidered-wing lining. She drew no weapon and said nothing. And yet, the shadow stopped a bare inch from her nose. She looked fearsome as a warrior queen, the same as she had only last night, with her spear and her hound and her hair like a ravening fire.

Shea had stumbled backward. She was humiliated to hear the sound of her own terrified panting, to see her arms half raised to protect herself. Cold sweat prickled at the back of her neck. Death loomed far too close for comfort. The audience had gone completely silent, either with horror or disappointment.

In the balcony above the board, Midir stood halfway out of his chair, a spear in hand, as though he’d been prepared to intervene. Right. Shewasunder his protection. He stared down at the three of them with a strange look on his face, caught somewhere between perplexity and annoyance. When he realized someone had to break the silence, he settled back into his seat and began a slow clap. Scattered applause broke out through the hall, until it became thunderous. Shea heard little of it through the rush of blood in her ears.

“Thanks,” Shea said a little breathlessly.

“Kindly avoid dying for the next hour,” Ciara replied, with a lilt of fond exasperation. “I have a game to win.”

Shea could do nothing but nod. On her way out the door, a servant called her name. Shea paused and turned to face her. With her eyes downcast, the faerie girl handed Shea a letter, stamped in wax with the royal crest.

“Thanks,” she said warily.

As she stepped into the afternoon light, she opened the envelope. The parchment within shone with golden ink andsmelled faintly of apple blossoms. The message was brief, and yet it struck Shea with foreboding.The Final Four are invited to dine with His Royal Majesty, King Midir of the Mighty Deeds, of the Silver Eye and Golden Hair, tomorrow evening at eight o’clock.

Shea sat on a swing hung from the branch of a rowan tree overlooking the lake. Afternoon sunlight set the water aglitter. Herons waded slowly in the shallows, and cormorants dove beneath the surface. The sound of footsteps pulled Shea from her reverie. Somehow, even without looking, she knew that light tread.

“Did you win?” Shea asked.

Ciara scoffed. “What do you take me for?”

Relief crashed over her. “Good.”

“Is that all you have to say? You do not want to hear of my exploits? It was a heroic battle, I will have you know.”

“I’m sure it was.”

Ciara rested her boot on the wooden seat of the swing. It listed a little, sending Shea twisting off course until Ciara steadied it with her hand on the rope. Finally, Shea looked up at her—and regretted it. She could focus only on her rosy complexion and, with the voluminous sleeve of her cloak gathered around her elbow, the flex of her forearm muscles. This close, comforting heat and the scent of orange blossom rolled off Ciara’s body.

My oath? Is that what you think this is?

“Is something troubling you?” Ciara asked suspiciously.

“No,” Shea replied hastily. “Why?”

“A few reasons come to mind.” She smiled in some attemptat bleak humor. “You were attacked by a sorceress and a child in the span of twenty-four hours, and now, you’ve made yourself into quite a forlorn picture. I somehow doubt you are birdwatching for its own sake.”

“I did want to talk to you.”

Ciara frowned. “Right. About the plan.”

“Actually, about something else. Daniil has an interesting theory,” Shea interjected. “He thinks your brother is cheating.”

Ciara’s eyes went wide. She clamped her hand over Shea’s mouth. Shea could only glare at her in mute outrage. In a harsh whisper, Ciara said, “Keep your voice down.”

They waited in silence as a group of faerie nobles strolled by, giggling and whispering. When they passed, Ciara released her. “Tell me what you think you know.”

Shea did. Ciara listened with a preoccupied expression, and when Shea finished, her shoulders slumped. “I have long suspected that his skills were unnatural. But I did not imagine it could be something like this.”

“Is there a way to disable its power?”

“Not that I know of.” Ciara twisted the ring on her thumb absentmindedly. “These objects go dormant only when their wielder dies, or when they’re broken.”