Page 76 of Immortal Game

“I’m sending them to you now,” he said, clearly frustrated at her lack of response. “Look at them. I think you might find them interesting.”

Within a second, her phone buzzed against her cheek: a new email notification. Through the haze that clouded her mind, she once again wondered how he’d gotten ahold of her contact information. “What are you getting at?”

“Did you see my game?”

“Yeah. It was really bad. Like, probably the worst I’ve ever seen you play. Just awful chess.”

“I know,” he said frostily. “The point is, I woke up that morning feeling perfectly fine. Just before I played the first move, she said something to me. I can’t remember exactly what it was now. But I started feeling sick. I couldn’t focus.”

“You think she put some kind of enchantment on you?”

“I suspected as much,” he said. “But these photos prove—”

“Why does this matter anymore, Danya?” It burst out of her. None of this information was new to her. None of it would change anything. “You never have to think about the fae ever again. We lost. It’s over.”

“You know that’s not true.”

Of course, both of them would be thinking about the fae for the rest of their lives.

“And,” he added, “I didn’t lose. You didn’t, either. Both of our opponents were underhanded. I refuse to accept those results.”

“Maybe you should,” she snapped. “Life has to go on.”

For a moment, he said nothing—like she’d well and trulystunned him. “Is that what’s happening for you right now? Life?”

No, she thought.I think I’ve kind of given up on that.

“What do you care?” she demanded.

“Because I hate wasting my breath. Have you forgotten everything I tried to drill into your thick skull? You’re so…” He made a sound of pure derision. “You’re pathetic. Worse, you’re a coward. Go ahead and keep giving in at the very first setback you encounter. See how that turns out for you.”

“Okay,” she said, with a bitter laugh. “Fuck you, too.”

She hung up. This time, he did not call back.

Good, she thought.Good riddance.If she made it through the week, maybe she really would quit chess. Then she’d never have to hear his voice or see his face ever again.

The coffee machine beeped, as sudden and loud as a gunshot. Swearing in surprise, she poured herself a cup and slumped onto the kitchen floor. The mug trembled in her hands. Conflict always got her going, either over the board or in an argument. She definitely wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon, so she might as well drink it.

She took a sip. It was bitter—and a little burnt. She didn’t have any unspoiled milk, and it was too much effort now to get sugar from the cabinet. If nothing else, terrible black coffee was a fitting accompaniment to her self-pity.

Shea turned her phone over. The blue light illuminated her face, its glow harsh in the darkness. Absently, she opened the email from Daniil. No subject line, no body, but he’d attached an entire folder of photos. Shea flipped through them. The ones toward the beginning were grainy black and white. They didn’tlook like Lily at all. Seeing her without facial piercings—and in all this historical garb…

No, these weren’t photos of Lily. They were Fuamnach, unglamoured and undisguised. Her mind swam. Thanks to the bond of enchantment, she couldn’t disclose what she knew about Lily to anyone—not that her word would mean a thing. But Daniil had figured it out himself, and with these photos, they could prove it to Midir. They could get Fuamnach expelled from the tournament. Even if Aideen wouldn’t be free, she’d be safe. For now, that would have to be enough.

She called Daniil back. He answered on the first ring. “Well?”

“I get it now. I think we can get her disqualified.”

He huffed. “Glad you came to your senses.”

“Hardly.” Shea set down her coffee. “How did you even find these pictures?”

“I’m rich,” he replied simply.

“Right.” It was a little disappointing. She’d imagined him in a dark room, standing before a corkboard tacked up with photos and maps and printouts of forum posts, all of them connected by a length of red string. Realistically, he probably had some contact at the FIS—or had paid one of those content creators who could identify an exact city block by looking at a Google Maps image.

“So,” he said. “What now?”