Page 9 of Immortal Game

Once the call ended, a horrible sensation expanded within her until her chest felt tight. Numbly, she sat in front of her chessboard. The fading sunlight illuminated all the beautiful, hand-carved pieces and transformed the light squares into pools of silver. Shea played through her and Yangmei’s game, then pulled out her phone to analyze the moves with an engine. There had been no mistakes.

Good, she thought. In the Otherworld, she couldn’t afford even a single inaccuracy. Because no matter what Yangmei claimed, Shea had plenty to punish herself for. Losing had cost her everything.

On the night Midir had returned to Wayfolk, Shea awoke to the muffled sound of voices coming from the front porch. As soon as she recognized his voice filtering through her open window, she flung herself out of bed, half dragging the bedsheets with her in her haste. She went downstairs, her mind emptying of everything but her purpose.

Save her.

When she opened the front door, he was there. He looked exactly as she remembered him. He had the same diadem made of silver branches, the same hunger in his eyes, the sameentitlement.

Aideen stood at the top of the porch stairs, washed golden in the guttering lamplight. From her tense shoulders and the brittle silence, Shea could tell that she’d interrupted their conversation. Aideen did not spare Shea a glance. “Go back to bed.”

Shea ignored her. “Midir of Bri Leith, I challenge you to a game.”

Aideen did look at her then, with a slow-dawning horror. Midir, however, regarded Shea with reluctant interest glittering in the inhuman green of his one visible eye—the green of an ancient forest, the green of still, depthless waters. He tilted his head, and his burnished-gold hair fell almost boyishly across his forehead. “What sort of game?”

The fae loved games. And lucky for Shea, the Irish fae loved chess most of all. It was the game of kings, after all; naturally, their ruler would be the king of games.

But he was in her domain now, and she would make him regret ever showing his face here. Shea smiled, as sinister and sharp as a poisoned blade. “Chess, of course. I’m good at it.”

It was a strange thing, to feel the hunger of his stare redirect onto her. “I am no mean player myself. Shall we make a trial of it?”

Shea had imagined this a hundred times before. She’d even pored over old legends, where heroes far cleverer than she had claimed a stake from their faerie foes. Her reply came instantly: “Yes. We’ll play one game. Each of us will have an hour on theclock, with no increment. The loser will do whatever the victor demands.”

“What is your demand?”

“If I win, you’ll leave my sister alone. Forever.”

Something shifted in his expression, and Shea had the distinct feeling that the floor had dropped out from beneath her. It should have terrified her, but it thrilled her. Nothing made her feel more alive than a real fight over the board.

“And if I win,” he said, “I shall place you under bonds of heavy enchantment. You will carve out and surrender your left eye to me.”

He said it lightly, as though it were nothing of value to him: a prize befitting the triviality of her challenge. Maybe Shea should have backed down, but she was thirteen. And Midir? He was old. They had no technology in the Otherworld. He didn’t spend his time studying cutting-edge theory with an engine that could outmaneuver even the strongest player. Shea had. She couldn’t lose. It was unthinkable.

“Shea,” Aideen said, more urgently. “Don’t do this.”

She had to. Aideen had shouldered their burdens alone for far too long. Shea couldn’t ensorcell the people who threatened their family. She couldn’t fight them off. She couldn’t make their mother be kinder or more reasonable. She couldn’t force Wayfolk to stop fearing Aideen. But she could play chess. Against this one foe, she could prevail.

She brushed past her sister and thrust out her hand to Midir. “It’s a deal.”

He accepted it. The moment their skin touched, the air shivered with magic. Fog bloomed over Shea’s vision, until she and Midir were suspended in a swirl of white and gray. And then,there came the groan of splintering wood, the hiss of leaves and vines unfurling. A thicket erupted around them, enclosing them in a place that was both here and elsewhere.

He’d brought them to the Otherworld.

A chessboard was perched atop a spiral of branches, framed by two toadstool chairs. Each corner of the board glowed with the light of a gemstone, and the pieces were made of gold and silver.

With an almost bored wave of his hand, Midir said, “You may play with the white pieces.”

Mockery disguised as generosity. Whoever got the white pieces had the inherent advantage of moving first. Shea thought,You’ll regret that.She said nothing as they took their seats.

Her gaze drifted over the board, and perfect calm settled over her. These sixty-four squares were more familiar to her than anything else she’d ever known. Although the pieces were stationary, she could envision them in a thousand different configurations: memories of hundreds of games she’d studied laid over reality. There were endless roads with forking paths stretched out before her, all of them leading to his demise.

Shea advanced her king’s pawn to e4. For the first time, she noticed the hourglass beside Midir’s elbow. As soon as she made her move, the sand began to fall. When Midir replied with c5—the Sicilian defense—the sand stopped flowing. As her own timer began, she considered her options. There were a number of lines she could take them down: the Alapin, the Dragon, the Najdorf…

“I believe it is customary for you to move now.” An indolent smile played on his lips. “It is my turn, then yours, and so forth.”

With a vicious glare, she brought out her kingside knight. Back and forth they went. With each move, her confidence waned. By the fifteenth move, he had played something Shea had never seen before, taking all of the venom out of her brewing attack. By the thirtieth move, it became glaringly apparent that she was dead lost.

Shea stared at the board, her hands knotted in her hair. She couldn’t comprehend how she’d gotten herself into this position. Where had she gone so wrong? How had he outplayed her so thoroughly? As the grains of sand in her hourglass slipped away, tears burned in the back of her throat. There had to be some way out of this, some way she could fight back. But she had nothing. She was down too much material—and too much time.