Otherworld Challenger (20 page)

“You gave the child to Bertha to raise as her own.” Vashti spoke with certainty. She recalled that strange scene in the old de Loix house. When Jethro had asked Bertha if the challenger had been taken to Avalon, his mother had remained silent, avoiding his eyes. When he'd suggested he had been taken elsewhere in Otherworld, she had started to rock back and forth, still refusing to answer. But when he'd asked if the challenger's nurse had taken him to the mortal realm, Bertha had become so distressed Gillespie had told Jethro to leave her alone. Of course she had become distressed! She didn't want to be forced into telling Jethro the truth about his own origins.

Because the irony—the incredible, impossible irony—of the situation they were in was that the challenger they were seeking was Jethro himself. If it wasn't so maddening, Vashti could almost have laughed out loud.
I have wasted all this time, and faced all this danger, looking for someone who was at my side all along!

“Why doesn't he look like a faerie?” She blurted out the first question that came into her head. She knew her voice must have sounded fierce by the way Rina shrank away from her. Forcing herself to soften her tone, she tried to explain. “You gave the child to Bertha. She raised him as a mortal and yet he did not look different or stand out. He looked like a mortal. He still looks like a mortal. Jethro believes he
is
mortal, yet he is faerie royalty.”

Rina gave her a sidelong glance. “You have heard of a changeling?”

Vashti frowned. “A changeling is a faerie substitute for a mortal baby. There was no exchange, there was no mortal child to be replaced.”

“The magic was the same. I used the same spell to enchant him. He was a changeling. He didn't take a mortal child's place. He stayed himself. I simply made him look like a mortal baby.”

“A changeling is a spiteful, hateful thing, bringing chaos and destruction into a mortal family's lives.” Vashti thought of the man she loved. The man who used his power and money to care for deprived children. A good man. “Jethro is none of those things.”

Rina shook her head. “A changeling is only evil if the faerie who makes the substitution wills it. I had no reason to wish that. Why would I? I wanted only happiness for the child in my care and for Bertha and her husband.”

“Bertha never told Gillespie how she came by the child.”

Rina hung her head. “We concocted the plan between us. Bertha knew if her husband discovered the truth about the child's background he would never agree. She told him the baby had been left on the doorstep of her orphanage. He knew the adoption was not strictly legal, but he never learned the full extent of our deception.”

“How did Jethro come by his necromancing powers?”

“Is he a necromancer? I don't know when those powers were bestowed.” Rina considered the matter. “Maybe at birth as a result of Morgan's spells or perhaps when I be-spelled him to make him a changeling?”

“Why did you take a job with my father?”

Rina's little face became sad. “I left Bertha and the child. If he was to survive, they had to be a normal mortal family. But I wanted to be close to Moncoya, to see if any suspicion ever leaked out about the child who survived and his whereabouts. My time at the faerie palace wasn't all subterfuge. I loved you and Tanzi, my princess. You became like my own family. Over the years the rumors about the lost heir persisted, but no one ever knew if they were truth or legend. Moncoya was secure on his throne. He wasn't interested in the challenger. There was only one person I feared.”

“Morgan le Fay.”

Rina cast a fearful glance over her shoulder as though expecting the powerful sorceress to appear. “Morgan had commanded me to take the child to safety. She knew the rumors a baby had survived the massacre, but, of course, she didn't know where the child was or what had become of me. Over the centuries, Morgan's powers have waned. Here on Avalon, she is still incredibly forceful. Elsewhere in Otherworld, she is less potent. In the mortal realm, her magic skills no longer have any effect.” Rina's face was white, her hands trembling. “Of course, she found me. She dragged the truth from me. Part of it, at least. I told her the child was alive and being reared as a mortal. Her fury was boundless. She hurt me—” her lip trembled “—but I didn't tell her his identity. She made the connection with Bertha, but, because of the orphanage, the child could have been one of hundreds. As long as Bertha remained in the mortal realm, Morgan couldn't pry the truth from her. She even had Bertha and Gillespie killed, in an attempt to force them to come to Otherworld as ghosts.”

“So
that
was why Bertha wanted to remain in the mortal realm after her death. That was why she was afraid of the fae one. And that was why everything changed on Halloween!” Vashti exclaimed. “That was the night when Jethro sent Bertha to Otherworld. Morgan must have had her spies looking out for Bertha. That was the night Morgan discovered who Jethro really was and sent her psychic message to Iago, telling him not to kill him.” She turned concerned eyes to Rina. “Tell me she didn't harm Bertha.”

“No. Morgan had no further use for Bertha once she had forced the truth from her. As soon as she revealed the identity of the lost heir—Morgan's beloved Arthur—Bertha was safe. Morgan may be vindictive, but she wouldn't waste her energy when she could be searching for Arthur. Besides, she left Otherworld immediately and went straight to the mortal realm.”

Vashti's brow wrinkled. “That seems an odd thing to do if her powers don't work in the mortal realm.”

Rina seemed to be trying to convey an important message with her eyes. “Morgan le Fay never does anything without a reason.”

Vashti shook her head as though trying to clear it. She thought of Cal laughingly telling Jethro he was as stubborn as King Arthur. Of Jethro, who drew people to him like a magnet, as that long-ago King of the Britons had done. “It's almost unbelievable and yet it makes a strange kind of sense. What I don't understand is, if the man she loves and has waited for all these years is finally here on Avalon, why has Morgan stayed away?”

Again, Rina cast that fearful glance around. When she answered, her voice was a whisper. “But she hasn't stayed away. Don't you see? Morgan has been here all along.”

Vashti's brow furrowed in an effort to understand. “You mean she's invisible?”

Rina didn't answer. Vashti got the impression the little maid was willing her—trying to force her—to grasp an elusive truth. Something that was just out of reach. Vashti didn't have time for riddles. Impatiently she leaped to her feet. “I have to find Aydan.”

Rina's voice followed her as she dashed out of the shed. “Be careful, my princess.”

Chapter 19

“N
o.” Aydan's expression was stubborn. “It isn't possible. Cal was King Arthur's best friend, his mentor, the person who knew him best. The first time he met Jethro, he'd have known him.”

Vashti was so hyped up she couldn't keep still. She paced the length of Aydan's small bedroom, forcing him to turn his head from side to side so he could follow her movements. “Jethro is not King Arthur brought back to life.” She tried to keep her voice patient. “Morgan's original spell preserved Arthur in some sort of enchanted sleep. When she was able to, she transferred his spirit into the body of the unborn faerie child. Then, of course, he became a changeling. Jethro himself doesn't know he's Arthur. It's hardly surprising Cal has no idea.”

“So what's the point? Why would Morgan do this if Jethro doesn't know who he is? Surely she would want him to be aware of his past? Otherwise the whole scheme becomes meaningless.”

It was a good question. Vashti paused in her pacing while she considered it. “There has to be some symbolism about his return to Avalon. She got Iago to challenge him to come here. Getting him to stay here must be important. Look what happened when he threatened to leave. Morgan has him incarcerated somewhere.”

“You think his past life memories will return if he remains here?”

“Who knows? He was already beginning to have unexplained flashbacks. He thought they were Avalon-induced mania, but it's possible they were actually memories of his former life.” Vashti threw herself down into a chair next to the window. “Or was he right and this is all madness?”

“I can see why Iago and Morgan would want to mess with our heads, but Rina? What's her motive?”

“Rina would never do anything to harm me.” Vashti was adamant. “But she's no match for Morgan or Iago when it comes to deviousness. Who knows what sort of pressure they could have put on her to get her to tell this tale?”

Aydan's expression was a combination of earnestness and trepidation. “There is someone else we could ask.”

“Who?”

His nervousness increased. “You said your father made cryptic comments about Morgan's reason for bringing Jethro here.”

Vashti was about to refuse point-blank to ask her father for help, even in so mild a form as confirmation of Rina's story. Then she thought of what was at stake. Of Jethro who had been through so much already. Who was who knew where, suffering at Morgan's hands. She had to do whatever it took to free him. Her mind began to race through the possibilities.

“My father has known Jethro for a long time. Before the battle for Otherworld, Jethro used to work for my father now and then. For money, of course.” Everything had changed with the great battle. Jethro had joined what became known as “Team Stella,” placing himself on the side of the other necromancers and fighting against the formidable triumvirate of Moncoya, Prince Tibor and Niniane. It had marked the end of his days as a loner. Cal and Lorcan might frown on the fact that Jethro was a mercenary, but friendships had been forged on that battlefield. Vashti had heard the stories of how Jethro had joined forces with Cal and Stella against Niniane and gone on—with his friend Dimitar, who had once been Prince Tibor's human slave—to save Lorcan's life.

“My father would never have tolerated Jethro's presence, let alone allowed him to live if the slightest rumor about his true identity had filtered through to him. Believe me, Jethro would have had one of my father's daggers between his shoulder blades the first time he stepped foot inside the faerie palace.”

“So why would Morgan tell your father anything about Jethro's identity now? And why would Moncoya be okay with it?”

Vashti covered her face with her hands in an effort to concentrate. When she looked up again, she spoke slowly, trying to express her thoughts clearly. “Because Morgan needs Jethro to stay here on Avalon. It must be only here that he will recall his true identity and become King Arthur once more. We are a problem because we are the ones who will take him away. We'll take him back to the palace so he can occupy his rightful place as the king of the faeries. Morgan's most powerful ally, the person who will stand beside her and support her in keeping him here and preventing us from taking him away...”

“Is Moncoya,” Aydan finished for her. “Because he is the person who has the most to lose if Jethro ever leaves Avalon.”

“My father wasn't happy when Niniane died and he lost her support. She was one of his closest allies. If he can replace her with Morgan, he will gain another powerful friend to stand by him if he returns to his place as the King of the Faeries. Which he will do if there is no one to oppose him. Morgan seems to know everyone's weaknesses. Moncoya didn't come here on a whim. She brought him here to help her get rid of us. She must believe he can exert some sort of fatherly pressure over me.”

Vashti's whole body slumped. It felt so hopeless. They were fighting the most powerful sorceress in Otherworld on her home turf and she wasn't even prepared to show herself to them. They had no idea where Jethro was being held or how to release him. Now she had her father—the most ruthless man in Otherworld—to contend with, as well. She needed Tanzi more than she ever had in her life, but her psychic link to her sister had failed her since she had come to this cursed island.

Tanzi, why the hell can't you hear me?

“What I don't understand is why Morgan thinks it will all be different this time.” Aydan's voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Pardon?” Vashti stopped trying to contact Tanzi and forced herself to focus on what Aydan was saying.

“Arthur didn't love Morgan. They had a relationship, they had a child together, but that was when he didn't know she was his sister. Arthur was eaten up with guilt about it. From then on he hated her. What makes her think things will have changed?”

“Because he will no longer be her brother. Morgan believes they will be able to rekindle the passion they once felt for each other and now there will be nothing to stand in their way.”

Aydan sent a sidelong glance her way. “What about you? Jethro cares about you.”

Vashti shook her head, swallowing the sudden obstruction in her throat. She wasn't having this conversation. But if they were talking about relationships... “Where's Lisbet?” She seemed to come up against some sort of mental block when she tried to think about the other woman, as though there was a barrier to her fae senses where Lisbet was concerned.
Maybe I just don't like thinking about her.

Aydan looked embarrassed. “I don't know. Since we arrived here, I've barely seen her.” He sighed heavily. “She's been caught up in the whole Arthurian legend thing. I don't think she was ever interested in me, to be honest.”

Vashti leaned over and patted his hand. She probably wasn't the best person to offer advice, but she had a feeling something might be required of her. “You're too good for her.” Surely there should be something more she could say to comfort him? She searched around wildly and came up with nothing. Aware that Aydan was regarding her in wary fascination, she returned to the subject in hand. “Anyway, being with a hornet like Lisbet has probably been a good preparation for what you are about to encounter next.”

“What's that?”

“Brace yourself, my friend. I am taking you to make the closer acquaintance of the one and only Moncoya.”

Aydan looked more than a little worried as he followed her along the maze of corridors that led to the grandest of the guest chambers. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“No, but do you have any better ones?” There was no response, but that might have been because she didn't give him time to reply before bursting through the door of the largest guest suite. “I want the truth and I want it now. Why did you come here?”

“You know I have the greatest dislike of raised voices,” Moncoya said in a tone of mild complaint. He was lounging full-length on a sofa. Clad in impeccable doublet and hose, only Moncoya could make medieval clothing into a fashion statement. He had his booted ankles crossed and his hands behind his head. He glanced up in feigned surprise at Vashti's turbulent entrance. “I thought I taught you manners, including how to knock before entering?”

“Don't try to evade me. Answer the question.”

Moncoya raised his eyes heavenward. “Always so demanding. You were the same as a child. It gets exhausting after a while. Aren't you going to introduce me?” He rose gracefully to his feet, regarding her companion with interest. Her father's eyes, their sidhe ring of fire blazing brightly, scanned Aydan's face. Vashti wished Aydan wouldn't look so nervous. Moncoya could sense weakness the way a cat could scent a mouse. It was a good analogy. He played with his prey in the same feline way before going in for the kill.

Despite his nerves, Aydan surprised her by stepping forward bravely. It wasn't the way most people behaved when faced with Moncoya's huge personality and that mocking expression. “My name is Aydan. I'm a friend of Jethro de Loix.”

“Really?” Moncoya elongated the word. “I suppose it had to happen one day. That he would manage to find himself an ally, I mean. Not even a mercenary loner can remain on the outskirts of society forever.”

Vashti ground out her question again. “Why are you here?”

“Until you disturbed me, I was trying to rest.” When she muttered an expletive, he raised his finely arched brows in mock horror. “Dear me, your language really has deteriorated. Since we are hurling questions at each other...when did I become answerable to you?”

“When you might have been summoned here by Morgan le Fay to force me to leave without Jethro.”

His eyes narrowed. “Since you are my daughter, I suppose I should not be surprised at your quick wits.”

“So it is true.”

As Moncoya moved closer, attempting to drape a fatherly arm around her shoulders, Vashti evaded his touch. “My child, you do not know what you are dealing with. Morgan has made up her mind about Jethro. You cannot fight her.”

“If she shows herself to me, I not only can... I will look forward to the opportunity.”

He frowned. “She would crush you like a bug under her heel. Jethro's fate is sealed. Come away with me. Let us leave this place before it is too late.”

“You are saying this because he is the challenger.”

He laughed, and the sound was an unpleasant reminder of those times in her childhood when she had displeased him. “Of course I am. Did you think I would bow down and allow him to take my throne?”

“It is
his
throne.” Aydan spoke up bravely.

Moncoya's eyes glittered briefly with the threat of future retribution. Ignoring the interruption, he turned back to Vashti, shutting Aydan out. His voice was low and hypnotic, his eyes mesmerizing. “I have already lost one daughter to these necromancers. Do not desert me as Tanzi has done. You must see the futility of fighting Morgan.”

Vashti was overwhelmed by a sense of weariness and failure. He was right. What was she fighting for? A man who had told her all along he could never love her? A challenger who would plunge the fae people into a bloody civil war? A chance to be torn apart by Morgan le Fay?

She raised her head, glancing out the window at the sunlit mountaintop. It was a perfect day. Avalon really was a beautiful place. King Arthur's tomb was visible at the summit of the hill. Her heart began to beat faster.

A slight smile touched Vashti's lips as she moved purposefully toward the door. “Aydan, come with me. We've got work to do.”

* * *

“Where are we going?” Aydan followed her down the corridor, glancing over his shoulder as if expecting to see Moncoya pursuing them.

“I know where she has imprisoned him. First, I need to get out of these clothes.”

“What about the decree?” Aydan stared at her as if she had gone mad. Perhaps she finally had.

“I'm about to desecrate King Arthur's grave. I'd say Morgan will be more annoyed about that than she will about my refusal to wear a long skirt, wouldn't you?” His jaw dropped and he nodded slowly. “See if you can find something to pry open that casket and meet me back here in ten minutes.”

Running to her room, Vashti was already half out of her dress by the time she hurtled through the door. She was finally going to take action and that felt better than anything that had happened since they'd stepped foot on Avalon's beautiful, cursed shores. She might die trying, but she was determined to release Jethro. Her fae sense, always strongest where he was concerned, told her he was in King Arthur's casket. She just had to get past four dragons and probably Morgan le Fay at her angriest to prove it.
Bring it on.

Clad in her own jeans, boots and tight-fitting black sweater, she ran out of the room, back down the stairs and across the courtyard to where Aydan was waiting. He carried a spiked pike, an ax and a sword that was nearly as long as he was tall. His expression was anxious but determined. Taking in all of these factors, Vashti overcame her aversion to physical contact and slid her arms around his waist, carefully avoiding the weaponry, so she could hug him.

Aydan blushed. “It might be worth getting disemboweled by Morgan just for that.”

“We don't have time for stand-up comedy.”
God help me, I'm starting to sound like Jethro.
“We have a grave to defile.”

“About that...” His face became serious.

“Remember what Jethro said? King Arthur's spirit isn't there. But right now that tomb is being used as Jethro's prison.”

The uncertainty left his features and he nodded. “I'm in.”

Vashti was so fast as she made her way up the hill that Aydan struggled to keep up with her. To be fair, she decided as she glanced impatiently back over her shoulder, he was weighed down by a number of large, unwieldy medieval weapons. When she reached the summit, she halted so abruptly that Aydan almost cannoned into her. They both stared at the woman who knelt in silence beside the tomb. At least they had finally discovered where Lisbet was.