And then on the ground outside Alecta’s gate. How he’d wanted to rip that thin white dress off her and have his way with her right then and there.

His blood heated, and he no longer noticed the soreness in his muscles as he paced. Rothbart didn’t know if he wanted to dominate her or win her over.

He drew his hands into fists. The truth rang with the clarity of a death knell. He desired Odette in a way he’d never wanted Alecta. In a way he’d never wanted anyone.

And he hated himself for it.

“Roth?”

He faced the open doorway. A young woman stood there. Her plain clothes and apron marked her as a maid in his household. He forced his fists to relax, and he took a calming breath even while he fixed her with a stern glare.

“It is my lord or sir to you, maid,” he emphasized the last word.

The young woman rolled her eyes and stepped into the room. She flopped down into one of the two chairs sitting next to the fireplace. “Oh, stop it. All the servants have retired for the evening. I’ve made sure.” She motioned from head to toe. “If you wouldn’t mind?”

Rothbart frowned. “Shut the door first.”

She let out a long sigh but rose and did as he asked, snapping the door to his study closed before turning to him. “Now?”

He muttered some words and his magic flowed out of him into her. The young woman’s physical appearance changed, her complexion growing darker, her stature shrinking just a little, revealing his stepsister, Zoya.

She stared at her hands before touching her face and lifting a lock of her hair to make sure it was back to its rich ebony color. She let out another sigh before raising her eyes to Rothbart. “How much longer are we going to do this?”

“You know the answer to that. Until I find who’s trying to kill you.”

She glared at him impatiently. “And how much closer are you to discovering that?”

Rothbart dropped his gaze to the intricate swirled design on the carpeted floor.

She released a small sound from her throat, signaling her displeasure. “When I lost my mother, I didn’t realize I’d be losing my life, too.”

“I’m doing the best I can, Zoya.”

“You really trust that those swans told you everything?”

“They have no reason to hold any information back at this point.”

Her lip curled. “I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Neither would Rothbart, but he had no other way to convince them to open up. He thought about Alecta’s words when he’d tried to get her to reveal who had hired her. She was the one who knew something. He gazed at his sister. Alecta had said to ask her again. It was silly. Zoya didn’t recall anything about her past that she hadn’t relayed to him, and she had no idea why anyone might want to attack her.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me about your life before you met father and me.”

Zoya threw up her hands. “I’ve already told you what I remember. A hundred times over.”

“One more time.”

“It was only Mother and I until you and father came along. We lived in a shack near the outskirts of the royal city, barely making ends meet. Mother was good at sewing and used what little earnings we received to make scarves she’d sell on the street corner.”

Rothbart nodded. It was how his father and Stylleta had met. He’d been riding by on a blustery, wintry day and she had offered him one of her homemade scarves. He’d fallen in love with her from that moment, and there was no going back.

Wait. Zoya had been alive by then. Where was she in the story? He looked at his stepsister. “And what did you do while your mother was off selling her creations?”

“Oh, she’d leave me with Helga. She was the local midwife who also tended to the young children of the working mothers during the day.” A fond smile came across her face. “Mother said that it was Helga that delivered me.”

Rothbart took an eager step toward his sister. Zoya’s memory of her early years may be limited, but maybe the woman who delivered her could fill in what she was unable to remember. “Do you know where I can find this Helga?”

Zoya shrugged. “I guess she’s tending to the children on the outskirts of the city. Around Arrington.” She perked up. “Wait, do you think she might know something?”