Chapter Eighteen
Although it took them the better part of an hour, the two of them managed to drag Ciara back to her room.
Ciara, being unconscious, was no help at all.
By the time they arrived, Shea’s entire body ached with exhaustion.
They dumped Ciara onto her oversized bed.
She hardly stirred. She flopped back onto the mattress, her red hair splaying around her like a corona.
It looked as wild as the bonfire—and smelled like it, too.
Daniil crossed his arms as he cataloged the room. With supreme condescension, he said, “She really lives like this?”
“Somehow. I’ll wake her up and make sure she’s all right.”
He reached up to adjust his glasses and scowled when he realized they were gone. Instead, he raked his disheveled hair out of his face. “We should talk.”
“That’s ominous,” said Shea. “About what?”
He fixed her with an impatient look. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
He whisked out of Ciara’s room, pursued by the black sweep of his coattails. Shea sighed. Whatever he wanted, it couldn’t be anything good.
For now, she had to focus on the task of rousing Ciara from her dead faint.
She’d never been much use at playing nurse.
Aideen had never gotten sick, and the most Shea had ever done for Kara was throwing canned soup on the stovetop and a blister pack of DayQuil on her nightstand.
Something told her they had no similar conveniences here in the Otherworld.
Rummaging through Ciara’s bathroom turned up a carafe of water, an empty cup, a jar helpfully labeled SALVE, and strips of clean linen.
She took them all and returned to Ciara’s bedside.
Her hands were still trembling, from exertion or fear or some combination of the two.
As much as she hated to admit it, Ciara had frightened her.
She’d never seen that side of her—ruthless, almost delighting in her own capacity for violence.
The things I could make you do.
Now, she looked toothless enough. Ciara still lay atop her rumpled sheets. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, which was good, but the deathly pallor of her skin made all her freckles stand out in sharp contrast.
Shea had no idea what to do, so she only stood there, feeling increasingly inept.
She probably needed to clean the wound, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to undress her.
Really, this entire situation was above her pay grade.
She filled the glass in her hand with a small amount of water, then unceremoniously poured it over Ciara’s head.
Ciara shot up, spluttering and hissing like a doused cat.
Well, that was one thing taken care of.
Ciara’s furious eyes locked onto Shea. “Making sure the job is done, are you? You nearly drowned me!”
Wordlessly, Shea filled the glass of water again and held it out to her.
Ciara accepted it warily, still glaring at Shea over the rim, and took a sip.
When she’d drained the glass, she set it on her cluttered nightstand and flopped back onto the mattress with a piteous moan.
“It hurts terribly, Shea. I do not know how you bear it, the suffering that is humanity’s lot.
How do you cope with your own fragility? ”
Shea sighed with deep exasperation. Her fear seemed very far away now. “Do you want me to look at your shoulder?”
“Yes, I would like that, actually. You might as well see what battle scar I’ve incurred on your behalf, for which I expect no gratitude at all.”
“Thank you,” Shea gritted out. “Really. But I didn’t ask you to save me. I don’t even know how you found us.”
“I may not be the most powerful of my family,” Ciara said crossly, “but I am a faerie princess. Do you doubt I have my tricks?”
“Why?” Shea asked, with a half-strangled frustration she hardly understood.
Her voice grew harsher as she picked up momentum.
She’d been thinking about how strange it was for a while now, and now that she was finally venting it, finally confronting Ciara, she found she couldn’t stop.
“You’ve been at it for weeks. First, you told me to decline my invitation because it was too dangerous to come here.
You pulled me out of a bog. You asked me to work with you when we still hated each other.
And you keep following me around and worrying about things that aren’t your business. ”
“Oh, but it is my business! I never would have agreed to this bargain if I had known how determined you were to die here. It is absolutely exhausting to keep up with you, and—”
“What bargain?”
Ciara went pale but said nothing.
“What bargain?” Shea repeated, enunciating each word.
Ciara closed her eyes as if searching for an inner source of strength.
She sighed heavily. “I suppose there is no use hiding it from you any longer. Your sister asked me to watch out for you. She asked me to discourage you from coming, which I really did try to do. And when I failed, she asked me to ensure you stayed out of danger. It seems she had a prophetic gift, because you have done nothing but gravitate toward dangerous situations. I would love to know how you manage it.”
“But … why?”
“Because she knows you,” Ciara replied wearily, “and that you have some sort of death-wish.”
A horrible feeling swelled within her. Shea felt she would burst from it. It was anger and exasperation and—of all things—love. Even now, Aideen was trying to save her. “She is such a fucking martyr. What did she do to get you to agree to this?”
“Ah. Well, I suppose it was more of an oath than a bargain. We do not see each other often, but she has been a friend to me.” Ciara smiled ruefully.
“Do not say it. I know it’s pathetic. Princess Ciara of Bri Leith, undone by scraps of kindness.
On death’s door for a mortal who can hardly stand her. ”
Shea sank onto the bed, suddenly exhausted. Aideen hadn’t wanted her to come, because she knew Shea would throw herself into danger. But it was the last thing Ciara had said that Shea latched on to.
“That’s not true,” Shea murmured.
“What isn’t?” Her voice was breathy, almost hopeful.
“I don’t dislike you. Not anymore.” Shea kept her gaze fixed on the floor. “I thought maybe … I don’t know. Forget it.”
“No,” Ciara pressed. “What is it?”
Chess had been her silent companion in melancholy for so many years.
She’d hardly realized just how deep the ache of loneliness went, until Ciara chased it away.
Over the past few days, she’d believed that Ciara got her—and that maybe this horrible, unwanted yearning wasn’t entirely one-sided.
But now, she understood that Ciara had been around out of obligation.
Her sympathy was pure politeness, something to make their temporary alliance more bearable. And that almost-kiss …
Ciara had been the one to pull away. Ciara had been the one to remind Shea about the competition. God, how humiliating. Shea must’ve taken her completely off guard.
It was better this way. Better to make the cut clean.
“Nothing.” Shea forced herself to focus. “Let me see your wound before you bleed out.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It probably won’t bleed out.” Ciara did not look convinced. Her gaze lingered on Shea’s neck. Her expression darkened, and the dangerous glitter in her eyes sent a little thrill through Shea. “She wounded you.”
“It’s not a big deal,” Shea muttered.
“It is,” Ciara hissed. “I must demand satisfaction for—”
“For your cloak, I know. And you will, I’m sure, when you see her next.” Shea pinned her with an irritable look. “Let me take care of you first.”
She hadn’t meant it to sound so intimate, but she couldn’t take the words back now. Shea’s face warmed at the astonishment in Ciara’s eyes. “Very well.”
Carefully, Ciara shrugged out of her cloak.
She held it out with a look of great concern, drinking in the jagged tears and bloodstains.
She shook it out like a sandy beach towel, and when she finished, it looked pristine once more.
Next, she unfastened the opalescent buttons of her blouse until she could free her wounded arm from its sleeve.
For a moment, Shea could do nothing but admire the expanse of bare skin over her collarbones, dusted silver in the moonlight and pearled delicately with water.
Her gaze landed on the gash on her shoulder. “That looks horrible.”
Ciara huffed. “It feels horrible, too.”
Shea busied herself with soaking a cloth in water and soap. “Will it heal quickly?”
“Perhaps in an hour or so.” When Shea dabbed at the cut, Ciara sucked in a breath through her teeth. “That stings. Be careful, or this really will kill me.”
“Sorry. I couldn’t exactly fit first aid into my tournament prep schedule.” As she worked, she thought of the sorceress who’d attacked them—and the way Ciara had spoken to her. “You recognized that woman, didn’t you?”
Ciara closed her eyes. “Yes. Her name is Fuamnach.”
“Fuamnach? Like, the same Fuamnach in that story you told me? Midir’s first wife?” Shea’s temples pounded. That name … That was right. She knew that name. The memory of Midir’s first appearance in her life came hurtling back.
“Tell me,” Aideen had asked Midir, “what was it that parted us?”
“No hard matter,” Midir had replied. “The sorcery of Fuamnach and the spells of Bressel Etarlam.”
“The very same,” said Ciara.
“But that’s impossible. You said she was executed.”
“She was supposed to be,” Ciara said gravely.
“Then what is she doing here?”
“She must have escaped—or someone spared her.”
Shea’s head was spinning. “But why interfere with a chess tournament—and why this one, when she’s been gone for a thousand years?”
“I don’t know.” Ciara frowned. “We theorized a sorcerer was aiding a competitor. But perhaps she is a competitor.”
Shea poured water over Ciara’s wound to rinse it, then began to wrap her shoulder in linen. “You think she’s impersonating someone.”
Ciara winced. “It’s possible, yes. Since she’s trying to sabotage mortal competitors, I suspect she wants to win Midir’s boon.
It’s the only way she would be able to get to Aideen, since he keeps her hidden.
Fuamnach swore that in whatsoever part of the world Aideen might be, in whatsoever shape she might be, as long as they both lived, she would do nothing but harm to Aideen. ”
Shea tightened the bandage’s knot with more force than she’d intended. Ciara’s soft gasp of pain was masked by the shush of fabric as it tightened. “Then we have to tell Midir.”
“No. He’ll cancel the tournament.”
They couldn’t allow that to happen. “Then what do we do? We can’t just—”
“It is my fault we are in this position.” Ciara’s face twisted with regret. “I should have stopped her tonight. Without her switch, she cannot cast spells. Had I disarmed her…”
“Wait,” Shea interjected. “Ciara, what are you talking about? None of this is your fault.”
“I wasn’t strong enough.” She smacked the bed frame. It was a familiar gesture of frustrated self-reproach—the same as when she slammed her fist onto a chessboard after a tough loss. “I have never been strong enough to make a difference.”
I ran away like a coward, without even stopping to think.
The things we do in desperation … It is impossible not to regret them.
Is that really what Ciara thought of herself? “But you saved me—and Daniil. And Beann, too, last year. Doesn’t that mean anything?”
Ciara’s lower lip trembled. Shea recognized that look in her eyes all too well: a longing for redemption. She bowed her head and spoke almost too quietly to hear. “I swear to you, I will come up with some solution to keep your sister safe. I only need some time to think.”
“That’s…” Shea hardly knew what to say or think. She found it hard to draw breath. “I think that’s probably outside the scope of your oath.”
“My oath?” Ciara laughed softly, almost disbelievingly. It made her cheek dimple. “Is that what you think this is?”
Shea felt nearly dizzy. “I…”
Abruptly, Ciara broke out into the fakest coughing fit Shea had ever heard. “It appears my strength is fading. We will have to finish this conversation after our games tomorrow.”
Shea was not sure if it was relief or disappointment she felt. But she had no strength left to argue, either. Besides, she needed to see what business Daniil Tsoi had with her. “All right. Tomorrow.”