Page 67 of Immortal Game

Guardedly, Shea asked, “What do you mean?”

“You know who I am, so you must know some of what came to pass. When Midir lost his eye, our foster son summoned none other than the god of healers, who crafted for him a prosthetic of incredible power.”

“It allows him to steal talents.”

“Indeed.” Fuamnach crossed her arms. “Shortly after he did away with me, he became known as Midir of the Thousand Talents. He surrounded himself with mortals and fae alike who were the most gifted in the world at their craft. It was as though those in his orbit began to fade, until they vanished altogether. AndMidir himself flourished. I hear he was something to behold. Whatever you can imagine—swordplay, painting, dancing—he excelled at. But eventually, his interest in chess became quite singular.”

“You’re good,” Shea said begrudgingly. “But you’re not better than the rest of us—or any of the previous finalists whose skill he stole. How do you plan to beat him?”

“I am a sorceress,” she replied cryptically. “And you?”

“I’d hoped to find Aideen. But something tells me you’re not going to let me do that.”

“No. I’m not.”

Rage sparked hot within her. Her every word tasted like blood, as though she were tearing open every old and aching wound. “You said his eye was responsible for our misfortunes. But no, it’syou. You’re the reason my mother’s life was ruined. You’re the reason my family was torn apart. You’re—”

“I was the daughter of a king! I was among the cleverest and most powerful of our women, a master of our oldest form of magic. I was a good wife to him—a good mother to our children.” Cold fury exploded across Fuamnach’s face. Shadows snaked along her wrist and wove between her fingers. Every word was almost a snarl, and her yellow eyes burned in her bloodless face. “One day, my beloved husband went to visit our favorite of our foster children. For a year and a day, he was gone. I received no word from him. I received no news of him from any of our friends or family. I did not know if he was alive or dead. And when he finally deigned to return to our home, he’d brought a girl with him: a golden-haired, doe-eyed thing to replace me.”

Shea gawped at her. In Ciara’s version of the story, Fuamnach had seemed an unreasonable, jealous woman. But this was…

Fuamnach exhaled a long sigh, recomposing herself. “She was beautiful—as beautiful as everyone claimed. But she was so very young. She had none of our jadedness, but also none of the cunning or skill or knowledge or depth of feeling I had nurtured over centuries. I despised her, who would take everything from me and acted likeIwas the interloper.”

“But it wasn’t her fault!” Shea protested. “You’re going to punish her for Midir’s terrible decisions?”

Fuamnach did not acknowledge her. When she spoke, her voice sparkled with compulsion. “There’s nothing more to say. You will return to the dining room with me now.”

Shea had no choice but to comply.

When Shea reentered the dining room, she was shocked to see Lily—no, Fuamnach—still seated at the table. She glanced behind her. No one was there. And judging by the unchanged atmosphere at the table, no one had noticed her absence. Fuamnach met her gaze, but her expression remained perfectly neutral. Hatred boiled within Shea. She’d officially had enough of faerie magic.

“There you are,” Midir said, as if nothing strange or unexpected had happened all evening. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Shea slumped into her chair. Immediately, Ciara’s eyes found her. Within them was a question:Did you find her?

Shea shook her head.

“Let us move on to the matter of the remaining rounds.I have reigned as Tír nAill’s chess champion for more than a millennium. This year, I will allow the challenger to select the format of our final game. It has been too long since defending my title has presented a real challenge—and clearly, too long since I’ve shown the depths of my generosity.”

Shea could hardly believe his arrogance.

“It has been a long journey—one that will end in failure for two of you tomorrow,” Midir said. “I imagine each of you is eager to know who you will face.”

“Get on with it already,” Daniil groused. “You’ve kept us here long enough.”

“With pleasure.”

There came the sound of splintering wood. Something scraped against Shea’s wrist. Startled, she pushed her sleeve back. The branch fetter tightened—and then began to expand. Terror, briefly, lanced through the numbness that had settled over her. Her mind conjured images she’d tried so hard to avoid. Roots pushing through flesh like tilled soil. Blood spreading over the board. Branches emerging from her opponent’s chest like a second rib cage.

Shea clawed at the cuff, but there was no stopping it. Bark crawled up her skin until it encased the entirety of her forearm. This was it. All of this had been some twisted game. She braced for the worst. The pain of being pierced and torn apart from the inside out. Abruptly, the growth stopped at her shoulder. Delicately, it put out a little branch.

The table had gone deathly quiet. The only sound was their ragged breathing. At the head of the table, Midir absently swirled the wine in his glass.

From the new branch, a delicate bud sprouted. Then, itunfurled into a flower. It gave the impression of a cartoon gun spitting out a flag emblazoned withBANG.

She dared to look at the others. Half of Fuamnach’s face was scaled with bark. In front of her flung-wide eye was a deep violet blossom—a match to Daniil’s, which had sprouted from the tip of his bramble-wrapped finger. Ciara had plucked the flower from the joint of her elbow and studied it with a mixture of fascination and irritation. It was pure, radiant white, the same as Shea’s.

Daniil slammed his palm against the table. The glasses rattled menacingly. A carafe of water tipped over. “Cut the theatrics,” Daniil hissed. “What the hell is this?”