Chapter Four #2
It struck her then: There was no turning back from this.
Shea stood on the precipice of redemption or failure, and the enormity of it threatened to overwhelm her.
She’d been able to keep it at bay while she was lost, addled, and arguing with Daniil.
Now, only a narrow stretch of lake separated her from the place where her sister lived—no, the place her sister had been taken.
Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her mind emptied of everything but the steady refrain of Aideen, Aideen, Aideen.
Shea had half a mind to leap into the water and swim the rest of the way to shore, but she settled for leaning as far as she dared over the railing.
She surveyed the castle as she would an opponent’s position, seeking out weaknesses in its defenses, any oversights she could exploit.
This place was a fortress. She very much doubted she could steal Aideen away under Midir’s nose, but he couldn’t bar Shea from seeing her.
She’d tear the entire castle apart stone by moss-covered stone if she had to. And when she found her …
God, she hardly knew. She’d envisioned their reunion too many times to count, but in her every imagining, words slipped away from her.
What was there to say? What was there to do, really, but throw herself at Aideen’s feet and beg her forgiveness?
She had failed to save Aideen once. She wouldn’t fail again.
By the time the boat docked, a small crowd had gathered to greet them.
This—the excitement, the anticipation, the energy—was more like what Shea was accustomed to.
But she had no interest in greeting fans today.
She would make a beeline for the castle gates.
As soon as the gangplank dropped, Shea hurried down onto solid land.
Just like that, she’d slipped behind enemy lines. Immediately, the onslaught began. Cheers and applause rang in her ears like cannon fire. The crowd pressed toward her like the inevitable forward crawl of an army. She searched the sea of inhuman faces for her sister’s—until a flash blinded her.
Shouts of horror burst forth, along with the high ringing of faerie steel.
As the spots cleared from her vision, Shea saw that some of the fae had drawn swords and were pointing them directly at a mortal photographer.
He stood with his camera clutched to his chest, all of the color draining slowly from his face.
Ciara’s voice rose above the noise. “There is no need to panic!”
In an instant, the crowd parted. Ciara stood there, all burnished golds and deep reds, as wild and bright as an open flame.
She seemed almost surprised to have commanded their attention so effortlessly.
Clearing her throat, she went on. “Perhaps you recall daguerreotypes from your last trips across the Veil. This is no different.”
The crowd’s hostility faded into fascination. Swords went back into their sheaths. Shea relaxed slowly, grateful to no longer be the most interesting thing in the Otherworld.
Leading up to the event, there had been speculation on how it would be covered.
Midir had surprised them all by admitting a few photographers.
He’d also arranged for the moves of each game to be relayed to the mortal world for their own broadcasts and analyses.
It wouldn’t be live video, but it’d be something—both for chess fans and people hungry to catch a glimpse of the Otherworld.
Clearly, it went both ways. The fae seemed just as eager for a glimpse of humanity.
Some posed for the camera now, still and severe, as though they were sitting for portraits.
They might as well have stepped right out of the late eighteenth century with their gaudy waistcoats and structured skirts.
Shea could hardly believe it’d been so long since the Iron Veil had separated their worlds.
“Shea.” When Shea glanced back to Ciara, the princess extended a beckoning hand. “Come with me. I will show you to your room.”
What could Shea do but comply? Ciara whisked her through the courtyard, the tails of her brocade cloak fluttering behind her. Every so often, Shea could see a flash of the lining. This time, it resembled a fly’s wings, segmented and crystalline.
A dull suspicion pricked at Shea as she listened to the brisk tap, tap, tap of Ciara’s boots striking the cobblestones.
What was she doing here? The two of them hadn’t exactly parted on good terms. In fact, she seemed to recall vowing to destroy Ciara.
A little dramatic, maybe, but she stood by it.
Beyond that, Ciara was the princess. She had better things to do than play courier the other day—and surely better things to do than serve as the butler now.
Still, Shea hobbled after her. Her sneaker dug painfully into the wound on her heel with every step. As they passed beneath the barbican gate, Shea caught a glimpse of three ghostly white cranes peering down at them from the parapets. Somehow, their thin avian faces communicated judgment.
“Be welcome,” Ciara said, with deep unenthusiasm, as she led her into the receiving hall. The air hung heavy as incense and smelled of pollen. It took Shea only a moment to see why. The ceiling soared above them, supported by archways and columns of the interlocking branches of living trees.
Nobody was here. Perfect. Before she could think better of it, Shea seized hold of Ciara’s lapel. “Where is my sister?”
Ciara’s lips parted in astonishment. After a moment, she regained her composure enough to slide her reproachful gaze down to Shea’s fist, where it was balled in Ciara’s ridiculous velvet cloak.
“I am well, apart from your needless jostling. Thank you for asking. And how do you do? I trust your travels were uneventful.”
“No more games.” Shea took a step closer. Never had she resented her height more. Ciara did not move an inch. She only stared down the bridge of her regal nose, looking more exasperated than intimidated. “Tell me where she is.”
“In her quarters, most likely.”
A non-answer, of course. Shea shouldn’t have expected any different. Asking a fae not to play games was like asking a river to stand still. “Then take me there.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because Midir does not admit anyone to his wing of the castle. After the wrongs he has suffered, he protects his privacy quite jealously.”
“Spare me the sob story.” Shea bristled, but desperation beat back her anger. “I don’t need you to escort me. Just tell me where to look, and I’ll go myself.”
“No.”