Page 68 of Immortal Game

Unfazed, Midir rose from his seat. In the firelight, his shadow jumped and thrashed like a snared animal. The golden strands of his hair shifted, until Shea caught a glimpse of his prosthetic eye underneath. It glinted almost mischievously in the half-light. “The pairings are set. Tomorrow, Daniil Tsoi will play against Lily Keenan.”

Shea could hardly hear him through the blood rushing in her ears. She could only stare numbly at her arm as the bark retreated back into the fetter. There was no sense in being surprised. Even less in being disappointed. One way or another, it was always destined to come down to this.

“And Ciara of Bri Leith,” he continued, “will play against Shea Fury.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

The night welcomed Shea eagerly; the cold and mist closed ranks around her. A light drizzle had begun to fall. She shoved her hands in her pockets as she strode down the parapet walk, not knowing and not caring where she was going. She’d walk the entire stretch of the castle walls, if only she could outpace all of this.

“Wait!”

Shea paused. That was Ciara’s voice. At least, she thought so; it sounded far away, like the wind meant to carry it off. When she turned, she saw Ciara there, coming through the haze like a torch. The sight of her smarted. Tomorrow, they’d play against one another. Tomorrow, one of them would have their dreams crushed—and the other would be responsible. She wanted to turn away and keep walking, but she felt rooted to the spot.

Ciara trotted up to her. Her breath came in soft bursts, pluming in the chilled air. Her curls had begun to wilt in the rain. She drew a wide circle in the air over her head. The rain sparkled against the invisible umbrella she’d conjured and slid off in a wide arc around her. For a few horrible moments, theyonly stared at one another. Then, a little helplessly, Ciara said, “Come out of the rain, Shea.”

“All right.”

Ciara shifted to make space for her, and Shea stepped beneath the awning of her magic. It was warmer inside than out; if she were in a better mood, she might’ve smiled. Still, neither of them spoke. Ciara was staring out over the battlement. The sky beyond was so densely gray, they might as well have been standing at the edge of the world.

“What happened?” Ciara asked.

“Nothing,” Shea said quietly. “I didn’t find her. This was our one shot, and I blew it.”

“There must still be a way.”

Shea couldn’t bear to look at her. She couldn’t bear to pretend they could overcome this anymore. “I doubt it.”

Ciara seized hold of Shea’s wrist. Her jewelry was frigid against Shea’s skin. “You cannot give up now!”

“Why are you being so encouraging? Only one of us can win.” Saying it aloud hurt more than Shea expected. There would be no items checked off Ciara’s list. There would be no more collaboration. There would be nothem. “Or have you forgotten that?”

Ciara’s expression slackened. “We may be playing against one another, but that does not make us enemies.”

“What do you want me to say, Ciara? What would make this situation tolerable?” Her temper flared, but her voice stayed icily even. “For years, you’ve driven me insane. Deep down, I think I loathed you because I wanted your respect. I wanted to know which of us was truly the better player. I wanted a real game between us—no tricks, nothing held back—becausesometimes, I think that might be the only thing that would make me feel alive. And now that I finally might have it, it’s poisoned.”

Something lit Ciara’s night-dark eyes from within. It made Shea’s mouth go dry. The air buzzed with anticipation—the kind of adrenaline-laced thrill that came when you calculated victory just five moves away. Rain beaded on Ciara’s eyelashes. Her cheeks were flushed. With a furious, almost disgusted sound, Ciara grabbed two demanding handfuls of her jacket.

“What are you—”

Shea never got a chance to finish her sentence. Ciara yanked her forward and kissed her. It left no space for thought or doubt. Ciara’s mouth—ravenous, almost desperate against hers—shattered any confusion, any resistance. It unleashed something within her, long held dormant. The first time they’d kissed had been almost sweet. This time, there was nothing gentle about it.

Shea moved on instinct, meeting her with equal fervor. She snared Ciara around the waist as one of Ciara’s hands wound tight into her hair, sending a delicious frisson of pain through her. They stumbled forward, and Shea relished the soft, throaty sound Ciara made as her back hit the parapet wall. Ciara’s lips parted hungrily for her. In her kiss, Shea tasted all her resentment, all her anger, all her desire—and deep, red wine.

It wasn’t nearly enough; she wanted—no,needed—to hear her make that sound again. She dragged a kiss along her jaw, and Ciara let her head fall back with a sigh. Obligingly, Shea’s lips found where her pulse leapt at her throat. Her fingers tangled in Ciara’s hair, and she inhaled the scent of her perfume: hyacinth and honey. Ciara’s skin was damp with rainwater. With teethand tongue, Shea followed the path of a droplet down the long line of her neck, to her collarbones, to where the fabric of her shirt parted. Even in the darkness, she could see the flush rising in her skin, stained a lovely red beneath a scattering of freckles and gold dust.

“Shea,” Ciara breathed.

Shea had never felt this way. Until now, her life had been contained in the sixty-four squares of a chessboard: a fortress and she, the king, safe within it, in control of every possible outcome. But Ciara made her feel wild and too eager to please.

Come away with me, Ciara’s night-black eyes seemed to say, like a faerie maiden in a poem.Yes, Shea wanted to reply. Yes, to the promise in her eyes. To the promise of tonight—and every night thereafter.

Ciara drew back sharply. Rain pattered softly against stone. Their breathing came in labored gasps. Ciara looked ruined: her eyes dark, her hair mussed, her lips reddened.

“Shea,” she repeated, almost too quietly to hear. “I’m afraid.”

Shea took Ciara’s face in her hands as carefully as she could. “Why?”

“Everything you said… I want that, too. I want to play a real game against you, but at the same time, I don’t.” Her mouth wobbled. “I’m afraid to know how I will measure up against you. Because I will die if I stay here.”