Chapter Four #3
Ciara pried Shea’s grip loose from her cloak, but she did not release her wrist. Their glares sparked off one another.
She did not know what she resented more: Ciara’s stubborn unhelpfulness or her own treacherous body, yielding to the steady pressure.
Shea was suddenly and painfully aware of her pulse fluttering wildly against Ciara’s palm—and just how close they stood.
Shea yanked her arm out of Ciara’s grasp.
Ciara smoothed out her lapels with exaggerated care.
“Since you are, unfortunately, standing here before me, you’ve chosen to ignore my generous warning.
For your sake, I pray you find a modicum of impulse control and listen to me this time.
You cannot simply go rummaging through this castle as you please.
It violates the rules of hospitality to wander where you haven’t been invited. ”
“Fuck hospitality. Do you think I care about being polite?”
“It is a marvel to me you play chess so carefully yet go blundering through the world like a boar. Do you not know the first thing about Tír nAill?” Ciara paused before letting out a weary sigh.
“No, of course you don’t. Hospitality is the fae’s most sacred of principles.
As Midir’s guest, you are under his protection for the duration of your stay, so long as you remain within the castle grounds.
But if you’re discovered abusing his hospitality, he will be under no obligation to you.
In fact, it is an insult punishable by death. ”
“You’re joking.”
“I am very serious.” Ciara crossed her arms. “Unless you are invited to, you mustn’t open any closed doors. And do not steal anything. That much should be obvious, but considering the state you’re in, I feel nothing goes without saying. Can you manage that much?”
Ciara’s expression betrayed nothing of her thoughts. What was she playing at? What did it matter to her if Shea wandered off and got herself killed for committing some stupid faerie faux pas? It’d certainly make Ciara’s path to victory much smoother.
“Why are you telling me this, anyway?” Shea asked.
“Do you really think me so unsportsmanlike?”
“Do you really want an answer to that?”
Ciara winced. “I am trying to reform. That aside, it’d spoil the fun to see you killed so unceremoniously—and so early, for that matter.”
Shea noted that Ciara didn’t object to the idea of her death in general—only an uninteresting one. “So, what? I’m just supposed to give up and play nice?”
“Oh, no one expects you to play nice. Just that you play the game.”
And what game is that? she wanted to ask.
Ciara’s, Midir’s, or chess? She supposed it didn’t matter; it was all chess in the end.
That suited her fine. Better than fine, really.
She could be patient. For all its complexities, chess was simple at its core: a series of concrete solutions to concrete problems. If she wanted to see Aideen again, she would have to win.
Ciara’s dark, hooded eyes swept languorously over Shea, until at last, their gazes met. Shea’s ears warmed. “What?”
“You cut your hair.”
Self-consciously, Shea touched her hand to the bare nape of her neck. She’d almost forgotten she hadn’t always looked like this. “You changed yours, too.”
She hadn’t really let that sink in until now. For years, Ciara’s hair had been the unnatural shade of black that came out of a box. To say nothing of the all-black wardrobe and dark eyeshadow. The natural red suited her better.
“Yes, well. The dye was tiresome to maintain. I enjoyed it for a brief time, but I enjoyed how much Midir hated it more. Both my pleasure and his displeasure have finally run their course, I’m afraid.” She tucked a lock behind one pointed ear. Lowly, she said, “Your new style becomes you.”
Ciara had never commented on her appearance before. It made Shea feel off-kilter and suspicious—and oddly flushed. Ciara’s expression changed as she watched Shea, her dark eyes agleam with curiosity and something Shea couldn’t exactly read. “Thanks.”
“Let us not delay any further, then. Come along.”
She brushed past Shea and glided into a hallway with long, purposeful strides. She did her best to memorize the twists and turns they took as she pursued the bright flame of Ciara’s hair like a will-o’-the-wisp through the woods.
At last, Ciara stopped in front of a door and rapped lightly on the frame. “This is your room. I suggest you remain here until the opening ceremony, which will take place at eight o’clock. Do not be late. Is there anything else you’d like to interrogate me about before I leave you?”
“No,” Shea bit out. “I think we covered everything, unless you have any more faerie fun facts you want to share.”
Ciara looked exasperated. “You are in a fine temper today, I see. Have you gotten it all out of your system?”
“More or less.”
“Excellent.” With that, Ciara headed briskly down the corridor.
“Actually,” Shea called after her. “One more thing.”
Ciara paused but did not turn around.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here. But you helping me changes nothing.”
At that, Ciara did glance back. Shea could see little but the line of her profile—and her full lips, curving just slightly into a smirk. “You’re right. It doesn’t change a thing.”