Page 81 of Immortal Game

“No thanks, Sisyphus.” Daniil sat on a log, glaring at herthrough the mop of his sweat-damp hair. “I know how this story goes.”

“Fine.”

She set to work herself, but it felt pointless. Her body was on the edge of total collapse, while the fae tormenting them could likely keep this up forever. There was no winning this game. She was so consumed with her thoughts, she let out a yelp of surprise when her shovel struck something solid. The dirt shifted beneath the blade, as if something was stirring from deep within the earth.

“Daniil?” she called.

“What?”

He dragged himself over—just in time for two figures to burst free of the depths. Both Shea and Daniil stumbled backward. What stood before them were two massive black hounds, shaking dirt off their coats. Mud spattered Shea’s shirt, but she hardly paid it any mind. As their red eyes bored directly into her soul, she experienced a vague and consuming dread.

“What have ye against us, O Shea Fury and Daniil Tsoi?” one asked.

“We have dealt ye no injury,” said the other.

The irritation was plain in their voices. Maybe pure stubbornness paid off from time to time. Shea recovered her senses first. Injecting as much confidence as she could into her voice, she said, “We’re looking for Midir. Let us in.”

“Crossing the Veil is forbidden by decree of Midir of the Mighty Deeds—”

“—and by the kings of the mortal realm,” finished the other.

Daniil crossed his arms. “So?”

Growls sounded deep within their chests. Their hacklesrose. In unison, they thundered, “Tell us why we should not devour ye where ye stand.”

“Because,” Shea blurted out, “he’s one of the kings of the mortal realm.”

Daniil did not contradict her, nor did he look terribly surprised. In a way, maybe he was. What couldn’t you do with infinite wealth and resources? He shrugged. “I’ve been wronged. Midir owes me a debt I intend to collect.”

The dogs exchanged wary looks. After silently conferring with one another, one said, “Take blind whelps with you and blind cats and leave them here.”

“That is the work ye must do every day,” said the other.

“For how long?” Daniil asked.

“Until the work is done,” they replied in unison.

Daniil laughed humorlessly. “No, I don’t think so. I will bring in artillery the likes of which your kind have never seen. You do not understand the lengths I will go to or the armies I have at my disposal. Nothing and no one will stand in the way of what I want. No one denies Daniil Tsoi his due.”

Although their expressionless dog-faces remained unchanged, Shea could sense the concern radiating from them. This—debts and warfare—was a language they understood. “What would you have us do?”

“Bring him to me,” he said, enunciating every word with venom. In his voice, Shea felt exactly what made him so fearsome over the board now and, probably, one day in a boardroom: cold and imposing and unwavering. “Now.”

A wind shivered through the heath, and they were gone.

“You scared them,” Shea said, marveling at how such a ridiculous speech could produce such a result. “Feel better?”

“Hardly.”

“Do you think it worked?”

“It had better,” he said darkly. “Or he’s a coward.”

The fog billowed and thickened around them. Out of the gloom, the smudgy outline of a figure emerged. Shea saw the snap of his cloak first, then the five prongs of his spear. The golden hair came next—and last, the soft, pleasant smile clashing with the cold fury burning in his one green eye. Midir of Bri Leith had come to greet them at his gates.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

“Well!” Midir said by way of greeting. He drove the points of his spear into the ground, an act of pure frustration. Shea jumped back in surprise. Daniil did not flinch. “What have you two against me? Each of you resigned your games of your own volition. You left my realm unharmed. And yet you return to terrorize my subjects and show me such blatant disrespect. You have not played me fair. This is the only chance I will give you. Go and injure me no more.”