Chapter Thirty-Four
Once Midir had composed himself enough to appear before his court, he conducted two ceremonies: one recognizing Shea as the victor and the other presenting his wife as their new sovereign.
The announcement was little more than a formality; apparently, the land itself always screamed when the crown passed to a new ruler.
At any rate, the lords and ladies of the Otherworld appeared eager to witness Midir’s defeat.
Their every wicked smile and bladed look seemed to say, Finally, some novelty.
It was hours before Shea found the opportunity to slip away from the festivities with Daniil.
They went to the barbican that overlooked the hills.
In the deepening twilight, they were dark against an even darker sky.
It twinkled with constellations Shea didn’t recognize, brighter and stranger than any over her own home.
Daniil saw none of it; he did not say a word.
He seemed to be on another plane entirely as he stared out into the distance, restless and searching.
Shea couldn’t blame him. True to her word, Aideen had demanded Irina’s release.
The Lord of Mag Mar was evidently so keen to make a good impression on his new queen, he’d sent his staff to fetch her immediately.
Now, they waited. Shea had installed herself on the low stone wall that lined the path to the castle’s gates.
A mug of cider warmed her hands. There was an iridescent shimmer on its surface, and a fragrant, almost hypnotizing, steam wafted into the cool air.
Some suspicious, cynical part of her had clearly died, because she didn’t consider it might be enchanted until she’d taken a few sips.
“I owe you, Fury.”
Daniil still wasn’t looking at her. He kept his gaze fixedly out over the empty fields. In the gloaming, she couldn’t see much but the faint rainbow sheen of his necklace in the moonlight.
“You don’t owe me anything.” It sat between them, final and painfully earnest. She tried for a half smirk. “Unless you count an apology.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” His retort came instantly, but it was toothless. “I won’t apologize. But I should say that you’re…” His face contorted into a grimace, as though he’d bitten into something sour. “You’re better than I thought you…”
“Yeah?” Her grin widened. “What’s that?”
“You’re better than I thought you were,” he gritted out. “You work hard. You have good instincts. And keeping your cool in a game like that, with so much on the line … It’s not easy. In fact, it’s impressive, what you did. Genuinely. Good job. You did well.”
He said it all begrudgingly but with real feeling. It was strangely touching and also deeply unsettling. She had no idea what to do with one compliment from Daniil Tsoi, much less five of them. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
He adjusted his glasses so they sat higher on the bridge of his nose. “That much goes without saying. In any case, thank you. You didn’t have to do this for me.”
“You’re welcome.” They sat in companionate silence for a moment. “I’ll see you at the World Cup?”
“Yeah.” He sounded grateful for the topic change. “I think so.”
“Cool. I’m looking forward to it.”
He scoffed. “Strange, to anticipate a loss.”
She shoved him. “Asshole.”
In the distance, a pale light bloomed from the darkness, then another.
They hovered like will-o’-the-wisps over the fields and moved toward them with surprising speed.
Both Shea and Daniil fell silent with anticipation, and soon, she could make out the four-count beat of galloping horses.
Two of them came into view: giant white stallions, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake.
They descended on the gates in a flash of gilded armor, snorting in their exertion.
Glass lanterns hung from their saddles, emitting a faint, magical glow.
A faerie rider in red livery declared, “We have returned on the Lord of Mag Mar’s and Queen Aideen’s orders with the girl.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, he looked down at Shea and Daniil uncertainly. Clearly, he could not tell if they were household servants, glamoured mortals, or simply there by sheer happenstance. All the same, his companion helped down a figure from the horse they’d shared.
Even Shea knew who it was, traced in that faint, unearthly lamplight: Irina, dressed in a pale lace gown.
The resemblance between her and Daniil was striking, from the warm undertones of their skin to the full, almost pouting lips.
She stepped forward like the principal dancer she was, all grace and untouchable poise.
When Irina saw her brother, the divine ballerina became a mortal girl in an instant.
Her shoulders slumped with sheer relief, and tears sprang to her eyes.
Shea did not think she’d ever see such joy on Daniil’s face again. “Irochka.”
When they embraced, clinging to one another like children, his shoulders shook with silent tears. Shea’s heart ached at the sight of them.
“I’ll let Aideen know,” she said quietly.
Neither of them paid her any mind.
Shea slipped back through the gate. She could still hear the sounds of the celebration emanating from the keep.
She found herself oddly paralyzed. She couldn’t stay out here, intruding on Daniil’s reunion.
She couldn’t go back to the party, where she knew no one.
And she couldn’t return to her room, not when she felt so alive.
After everything that had happened today, she both wanted to sleep for a hundred years and run a hundred miles.
The world was raw and bright and somehow new—or at least, she was new.
After today, nothing would be the same again.
Shea walked aimlessly through the grounds. Here and there, as she had for weeks, she spotted the flicker of butterfly wings. Of course, now of all times, she’d be surrounded by things that reminded her of Ciara.
The sound of footsteps bounced off the walls of the abandoned courtyard. Shea turned.
Ciara stood there, with Beann at her side, surrounded by white butterflies as they made their way back to her. One of them alighted on Ciara’s extended fingertips. Its wings seemed to drink in the light of the moon and emit their own soft glow. It cast marbled patterns across Ciara’s face.
“At last,” Ciara said. “I’ve found you. I wanted to congratulate you.”
The rush of relief and plain, giddy joy was too much for Shea to bear. “Thank you.”
Ciara jumped, lithe as a cat, toward a stretch of the half-crumbled wall.
For a moment, her cloak blotted out the moonlight, and her hair sparkled beneath its fine silver rays.
She settled onto the ruin, wearing an uncharacteristically pensive expression.
There was no sound but the sigh of the wind over the heath, the pull of the lake against the shore, the soft flutter of Ciara’s cloak, unfurling behind her to reveal its white moth-wing lining.
“They’ll expect me back tomorrow,” Shea said hesitantly.
“Tír nAill will be empty without you.” She spoke with such profound, forlorn sadness. It gave Shea pause. Did she not know yet what Aideen had promised to do?
“I wish I could wait here with you.”
Ciara rested her chin on her forearm. “I imagine you would be waiting quite a long time.”
“Maybe a few weeks,” Shea offered.
Ciara eyed her suspiciously. “You expect our worlds to open their borders so quickly? Unless there is some catastrophic global event I am unaware of…”
“Aideen said she’d negotiate some kind of clearance for you. As long as there’s a country willing to sponsor you, there shouldn’t be any problem—”
“You’re lying.” Ciara’s dark eyes glittered with unshed tears. There was such hope and heartbreak written across her features. “Do not jest like that.”
“I’m not lying.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear on my life.”
As quick as lightning, Ciara reached out to grab Shea’s chin.
Her touch was surprisingly delicate as she tipped her face up.
Ciara leaned down and kissed her. It took Shea’s mind a moment to catch up with her body.
On instinct, she’d risen onto her toes to meet her.
After a moment, she pulled back to gaze into the delighted surprise that illuminated Ciara’s expression.
“Clever girl,” Ciara said breathlessly. “I’d wondered how you were going to keep all those ill-advised promises you made.”
Shea smiled languidly. “Did you really think I’d strand you here?”
“I don’t know. With your mortal inconstancy, who is to say what you might’ve done?” Embarrassment made her sound cross. “I suppose I am not used to people coming back for me.”
“I always will,” Shea said lowly.
Ciara traced Shea’s jawline absentmindedly, her eyes hooded. “So, how would this work?”
“My offer stands. You can stay with me for however long you want.” She considered it. “I think we can be happy, you and I. We can see all the things you want to see. Do all the things you want to do.”
“And where does chess fit in?” she asked, a little slyly. “Would we train together?”
“No. Of course not.”
Disappointment stole across her features. “No?”
“The World Championship is in two years. If we both qualify for the Candidates Tournament…”
It amazed Shea that for the first time, the thought of chess did not make her feel so awful.
In fact, it thrilled her. Ciara had always been her perfect rival.
Even if Shea loved her, they would never cease being at odds with one another: pushing each other to new and greater heights. She would have it no other way.
“Well.” Shea shrugged. “I can’t have you knowing all my tricks, can I?”
Ciara stared at her with a thrilled, heady delight. It was as though Shea had played a particularly brilliant move—one Ciara hadn’t foreseen at all.