Chapter Thirty #3
“It’s not as bad as it seems,” Ciara protested, more animatedly now.
“People have no idea what to do against it. You can quickly apply some nagging pressure with a bishop and queen battery, and in the long term, your bishop pair comes alive. It’s very uncomfortable to play against. By the time your opponent can utilize their material advantage, it’s often too late. ”
“God,” Shea muttered under her breath. She was so fucked, if her best chance at victory was essentially giving the best chess player in the world rook odds. But Shea could almost see her point. Rooks were endgame pieces. Their power could only truly be felt once files began to open.
“It’s still bad,” Daniil snapped.
“You might not like it,” Ciara countered, “but this is the future of chess. When everyone has counters for every reasonable opening, every game is a draw and—”
Shea rubbed her temples. “All right. I’ll bite. How are you supposed to play it?”
Ciara flashed her a dimpled I’m-so-glad-you-asked smile. She reset the board, then played through the most common moves.
Daniil stared down at it with open hostility and disdain. “This is the best you can hope for, and the position is lost.”
“Theoretically speaking, yes,” Ciara said brightly.
“But practically speaking, this level of imbalance is immaterial in a bullet game. Besides, there is the psychological component. You drag your opponent down into the mud with you, and then lead them into Tal’s deep, dark forest, where you’re familiar with the plans and they’re not.
Once you do, you strike fear into their heart.
And when they realize something that shouldn’t work is working …
They get angry. They start playing worse. It bends their mind to your will.”
Shea had seen Ciara employ that strategy time and time again.
It was like ensorcellment, what Ciara did to people.
The sheer confidence and skill she played with turned even the best players in the world into uncertain children.
It wasn’t magic, of course. It was something even simpler: She wasn’t afraid to lose.
“Maybe for you,” Shea replied quietly.
“Shea.” Ciara frowned. “You’re good enough to play like this.”
“I don’t know,” Shea rasped. She would never be as good, as confident, as innovative, because she wasn’t like Ciara. She was afraid to lose—more than anything.
If she did, Ciara would be trapped in the Otherworld forever, and Shea would never see her again. Daniil would fail to save his sister. And Shea would never play chess again. She might as well run away while she still had the chance and spare herself the humiliation.
Once, chess had been her domain, the only place she felt safe. But when she imagined it—Midir, seated across from her, with that green-and-silver stare and his languid smile …
It made her entire body go numb with dread.
Every time she lost, she felt the same close terror of that night, when some piece of her soul had begun slipping away with every grain of sand drained from the hourglass—and even worse, the same humiliation.
She’d played like a novice against him. Never before or since had she felt that kind of powerlessness.
Shea stared out the window, past which the moon glared down at them, as bright as Midir’s silver eye. Its light cut across the chessboard like a blade.
“Alone, maybe you’re not,” Daniil said. “But between the three of us, we can turn this joke into something competitive.”
You’re fools to put your faith in me, she wanted to say. It was too much pressure. She’d collapse, just like she always did. “Don’t bother. I’m just going to disappoint you. Every time I have the chance to protect someone, I blow it.”
“Whether you win or lose, my opinion of you cannot get lower,” Daniil said irritably.
“But your sister…”
“It was my job to save her,” he said gruffly. “Not yours.”
Shea glanced at Ciara helplessly. “And your freedom…”
Daniil made a face like he was going to either vomit or throw himself out the window.
“That is very gallant of you,” Ciara said softly, “but I will find a way.”
They offered her redemption so freely. She shook her head. “I won’t be able to live with myself.”
“You won’t be able to if you don’t try, either.” Daniil drummed his fingers impatiently on the board. “Now, don’t insult our intelligence anymore. Are you going to let us help you or not?”
Beann nudged Shea’s hand with his snout. She stared down into his soft black eyes and saw only understanding.
“All right,” Shea said quietly. “Show me more.”
The hours slipped away as they pulled out books full of Midir’s former opponents’ games—and as they tried idea after idea in the Hay Meadow.
“What do you think of bishop b5?”
“Why put the knight there?”
“No, if you do that—”
It was beginning to seem possible. In every outcome, every position, they succeeded in creating a complicated, tactical mess. It was horrible and beautiful and inexhaustible. It was fun. When sunrise stained the horizon navy and pink, Ciara let out an undignified yawn.
“All right,” she said. “We should sleep for a few hours.”
“Right,” Shea said, but she felt alive with possibility. How was she supposed to rest after this? “Any last words of wisdom?”
Daniil studied her from across the board, his glasses sitting askance on his nose and his hair mussed. “You’re ready. Crush him.”