Page 87 of Immortal Game

This disappointed her. “Whenwill there be guests?”

“When there must be,” he replied. Then, indulgently, he asked, “Can I not keep you to myself for a time?”

She asked him again on every holiday and every birthday. His answer never changed. For two years, she was satisfied. But with every passing day, her loneliness grew. Bri Leith was not her home. Aideen didn’t remember much, but she knew this. Home was the cold of the waves. Home was the cliffs jutting into the sea. Home was a girl with green eyes and a chessboard.

“You are pensive,” Midir told her one day.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

“You have me.”

She did. She loved him. She knew him better than she’d ever known another soul. She hardly knew him at all. Sometimes, he watched her with such a mixture of expectation and disappointment, as though waiting for another version of her toreappear. He looked no older than thirty, but his eyes were so old. Aideen was twenty and so bored—so isolated.

“It’s not enough, Midir.”

He looked shocked, and she couldn’t stand the thought of arguing with him about this again. She stormed out of the castle and into the soft haze of the heath. Somehow, even miles away from where Midir had taken her, her feet guided her true. She knew where the treacherous paths were, in body if not in mind. It thrilled her as much as it terrified her, the places her old self pushed through the cracks of her awareness.

She walked until it began to rain. No matter how far she went, there was nothing and no one. She walked until exhaustion claimed her. Midir appeared to her when she collapsed in the mud, frustrated and humiliated beyond words. He did not scold her. He did not panic. He only extended his hand. Aideen knew, somehow, that he had been there all along, out of sight and waiting for her will to crumble.

She’d traded one prison for another.

She couldn’t regret it. Midir had never lied to her. She’d only deluded herself, thinking this would be the answer to her prayers. As he lifted her onto his horse, her mind spun round and round in its cage. If only he were gone. If only he listened. If only he loved her better. If only he loved her less. She was grateful. She resented him. She loved him. She hated him. She’d wanted this. She’dchosenthis.

Was it ever a choice at all?

She was just a child when he came to her. How could she have denied Midir when he was thousands of years old with power she could not imagine? How could she have denied himwhen she weighed gold and silver and magic against the cruel mundanity of her old life?

No, she couldn’t go back to her old life. Not even for Shea. She couldn’t give up the way magic hung in the air or the quiet in her mind. This place could be home. She could make it so, if only she were queen in more than just name.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

“Shea.”

Somehow, Shea hadn’t heard Ciara approach. When she turned to look at her, she saw Ciara standing there with her arms crossed, framed by the light pouring in through the open door of the tournament hall. She wore a look of uncharacteristic uncertainty. Ciara, chastised. Now, that was something Shea hadn’t expected to see in her lifetime. But there was no vindication to be had here—only a deep, simmering resentment she hadn’t realized was still there. It was like grabbing the handle of a pan you’d forgotten was still hot. It seared her right to the bone.

Here was Ciara, who had pulled her from a bog. Ciara, who had pierced through all her defenses. Ciara, who had kissed her. Ciara, who had given her hope and then smashed it to pieces again. Seeing her here was like plunging a burnt hand into cold water: a relief and agony both.

“You,” Shea said quietly, “have a lot of fucking nerve.”

Ciara winced. “I freely admit I owe you an apology—a groveling one, if you like. But is that really the conversation you want to have right now?”

The pity in her eyes was too much to bear. In the face of it, all of Shea’s anger evaporated. What lay hidden beneath it was despair that threatened to swallow up everything in its path. It would pull her under, and she would never resurface again.

Aideen didn’t want to be saved. Aideen didn’t need her, and maybe she never had. Nothing was holding her up anymore. None of the laws of the universe that kept her world turning on its axis existed anymore. Shea sank to her knees, and before she was even conscious of what was happening, she began to sob.

Tears slid down her face, hot and unrestrained. There was no escaping what she’d done now. She’d devoted her life to something Aideen did not even want. She’d killed her own love of chess chasing this goal. She’d wasted years and years, denying any sort of closure—any sort oflife—for herself. What was she even playing for now? What was the point of going through with it at all? But refusing to play was as good as an official forfeit.

If she did that, she’d never play chess again.

Chess had done nothing but hurt her. Maybe it would be a blessing now, to have it taken from her. It was so much a part of her, maybe it’d tear out her heart by the root along with it, so that she didn’t feel likethisanymore. She didn’t want to be herself anymore. She didn’t want to be anything at all. Not if it meant she had to go back to her empty house. Not if it meant she had to be alone again.

“I don’t know what to do,” Shea gasped out. She tasted salt on her lips. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on anymore. I have nothing. No one—”

The scent of hyacinth and honey enfolded her. As Ciara encircled her in her arms, the warmth of her cheek pressedbetween Shea’s shoulder blades. It stunned her. Slowly, slowly, the racking sobs subsided.

“Better?” Ciara asked softly.

“I don’t know.” Shea slumped against her. The steady beat of Ciara’s heart tapped out a soothing rhythm against her back. “You must feel so vindicated. Aideen never wanted me to come here.”