Page 64 of Immortal Game

“You’re so beautiful,” Shea whispered.

Ciara smiled almost shyly. “I know.”

Clearly, Shea was delusional, too. There was no world in which this would work. But right now, with nothing but the sound of gulls and water lapping the shore, with Ciara’s weight settled so comfortably against her, Shea could not bring herself to care.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The next night, a faerie footman led Shea to the Final Four dinner.

They turned corners Shea had never noticed before, then ascended a staircase for far longer than should’ve been possible given the height of the turrets. With every step, her limbs grew heavier and her head lighter. For good measure, she hadn’t eaten or drunk anything since her conversation with Ciara. She felt terrible, woozy, brittle—but somehow not hungry. It was as though the memory of Ciara’s kiss alone could sustain her.

The footman threw wide a set of doors that opened into the formal dining room. A limb of the silver apple tree sprouted from the floor and curled around the stone walls, its branches forked like a stag’s. Each point was draped with moss and shone with a pale faerie light. At the center of the room was a massive live-edge table: a long slab of silver applewood polished to a shine.

Daniil arrived next, dressed as he would be for any tournament: a deceptively simple jacket, no tie, and the first few buttons of his shirt undone. No pearl necklace rested against hiscollarbones; Shea felt only a little guilty she still hadn’t returned it. Lily followed him a minute later, wearing a black gown and the same scuffed pair of Doc Martens she’d worn every other day.

“Where’s the last of our quartet?” Lily asked.

Daniil crossed his arms. “Good question. Fury?”

“Don’t ask me,” Shea muttered, pointedly ignoring the look Daniil was giving her. On the inside, her heart fluttered at the very suggestion of her name.Ugh.

She was spared from further interrogation by Midir emerging from another set of doors.

“Welcome. It is my pleasure to celebrate the four…” He trailed off as he noted the conspicuous absence of his own sister. “… the three of you tonight. Please, sit.”

Midir took his place at the head of the table. Shea, Lily, and Daniil filled in each side. The sheer size of the table meant there was an awkward distance between each of them. Shea could hardly even see Lily on the other side of the centerpiece. Black and white tapered candles burned in silver dishes, nestled in an arrangement of stones and apple branches. How could anyone have a conversation like this?

As if on cue, a battalion of servants emerged from the wings. Each of them carried a carafe of pale wine. When one circled around to Shea’s elbow, Shea placed her hand over her glass. “None for me.”

The fae looked stunned for a moment, then cradled the carafe almost protectively against her chest. “Something else for you?”

“No,” Shea replied. “Nothing.”

Distress flickered momentarily across her face. With a bow of her head, the servant said, “Very good.”

“My apologies!”

Everyone’s head swiveled toward Ciara as she swept into the room. She looked immaculate and decidedly unapologetic. Half of her hair was pulled back from her face in elaborate braids and woven through the silver circlet around her temples; the rest tumbled down her back in perfectly coiled ringlets. Tonight, she wore no cloak—only a white shirt, fastened at the center of her chest with a single mother-of-pearl button. Shea did her very best not to notice the bare skin underneath. Her black trousers were detailed with golden thread. Knowing her, she must’ve spent several hours getting ready. It was the equivalent of walking into a tournament five minutes late, cup of coffee in hand. Shea’s heart soared pitifully at the sight of her.

Midir looked faintly disapproving—but entirely unsurprised. He gestured to the empty chair across from Daniil. “Please, join us.”

Ciara sank into the seat, then leaned back until she was balanced on the chair’s back legs. A servant appeared at her side and filled her glass to the brim. She raised it to her lips, then surveyed them over the rim with an air of boredom. The silence stretched out, until there was no sound but the pop of sap in the fireplace. Here they were: the final four, all their dreams on the line and tension simmering between them. Midir smiled serenely, either oblivious or relishing their discomfort.

The servants sprang into action again. As coordinated as a pawn storm, they fanned out around the table carrying serving trays. One stopped at Shea’s side and lifted the lid from the tray,unveiling a bowl of green soup garnished with herbs. The rich scents of asparagus and dill filled the room.

As the fae prepared to set down the bowl, Shea said, “No.”

There was the faintest quiver in her hand. “Are you certain, my lady?”

“Yep.” Shea smiled thinly. “I’m sure.”

This time, Midir did glance her way. Curiosity flickered across his eerily inhuman face before his attention passed over her.

The courses came one by one. A salad with radishes, shaved fennel, and grapefruit. Roasted meats with a crust of spices and slivers of snap peas. A galette with goat cheese and arugula. Every dish was as beautiful as it was inviting. Her mouth watered. Her stomach growled. She refused all of it as it came.

The servants had begun to murmur among each other. When she turned away every dessert option—some kind of berry crumble, lavender shortbread, and a lemon chiffon pie—she felt Midir’s gaze on her. “Something is not to your liking.”

Somehow, she hadn’t expected him to address the issue so openly. “It isn’t that.”