More than a little unnerved by the weather, she frowned. “How, Daddy? Call Danika and ask her to grow it larger?” She laughed.
But he didn’t join in, instead his eyes filled with glee. “Oui.”
Not that she was a prude exactly, but… “Daddy, that’s cheating.”
His square jaw with at least a day’s growth of black stubble clenched tightly. “It’s not cheating when Arondale struck the first blow.”
It was not in Shayera’s nature to tell her father no to anything. Usually. Father was her hero, the man who’d saved her from near death at age nine. She loved him dearly, but he wasn’t acting like himself.
“You don’t know that he did… this.” She stumbled over the word, because it was hard for her to even accuse their neighbor of cheating when to her it all looked as it should.
“Bah, it’s as clear as the nose on my face.” He rolled his wrist as if swatting her words away. “Obvious to anyone with eyes. We must win this contest.”
“But at the expense of our honor?”
Rolling his eyes, he shook his head. “Love, no one will ever know. Danika can keep our secret, and you’ll see once she arrives that I am right. Somehow that viper spoiled my crops.”
No matter how she looked at this, Shayera couldn’t agree, but maybe if Danika came she’d make him see reason where neither she nor her mother obviously could. “Call her then. Plead your case.”
Spitting by the sole of his boot, he glowered at her. “You know she will call me a fool, just as you and your mother have said.”
She gasped. “Daddy, I never said—”
Holding up a hand, he shushed her. “You did and well you know it. She will not help me in this, but if you call her and tell her that you wish it done for a different purpose, she will do it.”
“But she’s not my godmother. Not yet anyway,” she sputtered, because he already knew that. “She cannot grant me wishes; no one can at the moment.”
“Not true.” His smile grew wide. “While you were gone, the paperwork was finally processed through and Danika is now well and truly your godmother.”
Squealing with joy, because unlike some, she’d always wanted her own godmother, she laughed. “Really? I cannot believe it. Usually someone with my history cannot—”
Brows dipping, he shook his head violently. “They were wrong. Now call her, Shayera, for the contest is being held this evening and we must all have time to shower and change.”
The thrill of having a godmother was squelched by the reality of what her father was asking. “You of all people should know better than to ask this of me. You, who taught me that cutting corners was not the answer.”
“Well, clearly I was wrong, Shayera,” he grumped. “I’ve toiled for weeks on this and I will not allow Arondale’s treachery to go unpunished. This is the year our fortunes change. Now. Call. Her.”
Each word was carefully enunciated and it was on the tip of her tongue to do it. Her desire to be her father’s golden child, to always make him proud, was so ingrained that she’d almost break her own rules to make him happy.
Dropping her eyes to the ground, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Father. But I won’t.”
His face screwed up into a twisted, demonic mask, and when his mouth parted she knew immediately the words that would pour from it. “You fail.”
Her heart gave a violent lurch and the meager contents of her stomach heaved because she’d been right all along—this had been her test.
She’d never really been home. Shuddering as the dimensions of the room reformed back into walls of stone, she stared absently at the floor, not sure exactly what she felt at the moment.
Numb. Betrayed. Hurt. And then finally joy…
Not because she’d failed, gods, she knew that wasn’t good and could only hope that whatever punishment came from failure it wouldn’t be bad or long, but because that really hadn’t been her father acting so cruelly. Being so ugly.
Her dad was home, and he was kind, and gentle, and a beautiful soul, and at least in that she could find solace.
Turning her gaze up, she stared at the wall, knowing he watched her, and she smiled. “One more test, Rumpel, and then I go home.”
Chapter Twelve
That night Rumpel tossed back one tumbler full of brandy after another, the burn easing his needs, his desire to seek her out. She’d not been sad, or miserable like last time. She’d been elated.
To leave him.
That fact tore at his gut like a rotten, foul stench. If she was so keen to go, then he was doing a lousy job of seeing to her. Last month had been a failure of epic proportions.
Shayera Caron was a puzzle, a dangerous, delicate, beautiful one. He desired and feared the need she instilled in him, the want and passions that rivaled that of what he’d felt for Caratina.
Staring into the dancing flames of the fireplace, he vowed that starting tomorrow, everything would be different. Anything she wished, his touch, his words, his time. Anything she required would be hers. Already he could feel the rush of time breathing down his neck.
Somewhere in the castle a lonely howl echoed…