I can.” Vashti was wary of promises. They usually imposed restraints she inevitably ended up breaking.
Stella glanced at the commanding rear view of Jethro, and Vashti followed her gaze. He walked alone, slightly to one side of the crowd. It seemed to be a metaphor for his life. He was known throughout Otherworld as a loner. The mysterious human necromancer whose loyalty was for sale to the highest bidder.
Her eyes took in the broad shoulders, set in a rigid line, then dipped lower to his trim waist. Something about the way those faded jeans clung to his shapely buttocks as he walked made Vashti’s mouth go dry. It was a new sensation and one that brought a rush of blood to her face. She hoped Stella hadn’t noticed it.
Jethro de Loix probably took it for granted that every woman was watching him. It wasn’t just the perfect body that drew her eye. His face was too handsome for his own good. Luckily, he didn’t have the sort of looks Vashti admired. He was way too overtly rugged and sure of his own masculinity. Vashti preferred a bit of finesse. I mean, seriously, when was the last time he used a razor? Not for a few days, judging by all that designer stubble. Nevertheless, up close, it was hard to stop watching him. He was like a work of art. As if a masterful hand had decided to create a perfect image of manliness and, once finished, had stepped back as if to say, “Soak it up, guys. This can’t be beaten.”
“Be careful on this mission. Jethro won’t back down from a challenge.”
The smile that touched Vashti’s lips was grim. “Good, because nor will I.”
* * *
The Spae knew how to celebrate. There was delicious food, home-brewed beer, singing and dancing, with the wedding festivities continuing long into the night. Vashti’s initial attempts to avoid being flung wildly around in intricate whirling dances she didn’t understand had proved futile and her hand was claimed repeatedly by the younger men of the village. After her annoyance gave way to resignation, she started to find the experience quite exhilarating. But that might have something to do with the effects of the beer.
“Aren’t you the belle of the ball?” Lorcan, intervening before she could be thrown from one partner to another—the prevailing etiquette on the village green that served as a dance floor—caught hold of her hands. “I thought it was time we danced together. After all, we’re family now.”
The words jolted Vashti. For a long time her family had consisted of Tanzi and Moncoya. Recently her feelings toward both had undergone a dramatic change. Now she had a brother-in-law and Tanzi was pregnant, so she would soon have a nephew. She should probably try to say something welcoming to Lorcan. Her brow furrowed with the effort of trying to come up with the right words.
“You look quite ferocious. Have I done something to upset you? Other than marry your sister?” Lorcan slowed the steps of the dance so they could converse.
Vashti shook her head. “I’m glad she has found someone to love.” She took a deep breath. May as well get the apology out of the way. “And I think you will care for her.” She hoped he realized that was as close as she got to groveling.
He grinned. “I certainly intend to. Can we declare a truce between us? For Tanzi’s sake?”
It was easy to see why Tanzi had fallen for him. That smile was breathtaking and his charm was legendary. The surprise was that Lorcan was prepared to settle down with one woman. Until now the rumor had been that he was impossible to tame. Aware there was a suspicion of curtness about her nod, Vashti tried to be conciliatory. She should try to put the past behind her. The battle for Otherworld had changed old allegiances and the Alliance was about forging a new future. “I see no reason why we cannot be friends.”
To her horror, Lorcan caught her up in a hug and kissed her cheek. Affection, even toward those closest to her, was something Vashti found profoundly uncomfortable. She broke free of the embrace as quickly as she could, mumbling an excuse about needing to get a drink. In reality, the last thing she wanted was any more of the heady brew that tasted of sour apples.
When she reached the long table that held the barrels of beer, she snatched up one of the lanterns placed on its wooden surface and wandered a few hundred yards along the path to a point overlooking the bay. No one would miss her and a bit of solitude was exactly what she needed.
Yet when she reached the curve in the path, a tall figure was leaning against one of the trees, looking out over the still waters. Stifling an exclamation of annoyance as she recognized Jethro, Vashti prepared to stealthily make her way back. It was too late. He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps and, when he saw Vashti, his neutral expression changed to one of distaste.
“Coming back to the Isle of Spae must remind you of the last time you were here. The night you helped your father escape from justice.”
He could not have said anything that would more effectively enrage her, and he knew it. There was no way Vashti could defend herself against the false allegation Jethro repeatedly insisted on making. How could she possibly prove Moncoya had tricked her into letting him go that night? Her anger kicked up a notch. And why should she have to defend herself to Jethro of all people?
“When do we set off in search of the challenger?” Two could play at this make-your-blood-boil game.
By the light of her lantern Vashti saw something shift in the midnight darkness of his eyes. Something dangerous. “Why did it have to be you?”
All around them the night was haunting in its perfection yet they remained inside their own little bubble of tension. Vashti had no idea what he meant. “Pardon?”
“Why do you have to be the one who comes with me? The Council could have sent anyone.”
“My people have the most to lose if you find the challenger. I want to be absolutely sure you get it right.”
“Ah, yes. I was forgetting. You will cease to be a princess if his claim to the throne is proved. That must sting.”
His barb struck home. Vashti felt her own rage light up the night skies almost as effectively as the fireflies dancing around them. “You sanctimonious bastard.”
Why must he persist in ascribing such hateful motives to her actions? It was the legacy of being Moncoya’s daughter. Everyone assumed she was as evil as her father, yet somehow it hit harder when it came from Jethro. Or maybe he was prepared to be more honest than most and say exactly what he thought of her.
Jethro grinned, his anger dissipating as quickly as hers ignited. “Tomorrow.” Vashti blinked at him, not comprehending this sudden shift in the conversation. “I am setting off in search of the challenger first thing in the morning.”
“Okay.” She turned away, but his next words brought her back to face him again.
“And, Princess, just so you know? Despite what you think, you won’t be able to keep up with me on this quest...and I have no intention of waiting around for you.”
“Is that a challenge?” She flashed the words right back at him.
“You can count on it.”
* * *
As the night wore on Vashti noticed the party had dwindled to a few hardy souls. A group, including herself and the bride and groom, sat in a circle, earnestly discussing the matter of the challenger for the faerie crown.
“Surely
