Page 37 of Of Curses and Moonlight

On Rothbart’s side, the deluge slammed down in a steady sheet, obscuring his features. “Go back to the pond, swan. I have a sister to find.”

Odette’s fists balled, and she fought to catch her breath.

The portal shut before she had time to think up a response. She glared at the spot where he had disappeared and let out a moan, her body aroused and needy.

The man was unbearable. A cool breeze blew through her, causing her to shiver, cooling her desire. She opened her hand and a spiteful laugh bubbled out of her as she stared at the portal bean in her palm.

Victory.

Chapter 12

Rothbart

Rothbart banged on the large doors to Lady Gertrude’s large mansion home. The place was enormous, made of the finest stone. The balconies and verandas on the second and third levels reminded him of certain parts of the royal palace. And the stables and grounds dwarfed even Rothbart’s family estate. A huge labyrinthian maze of exotic plants and hedges made up the gardens.

He was a little surprised he’d made it through the front gates so easily. There were no spells he had to counter, nothing protecting this grand home from a magical attack.

No answer came at the door and he pounded again on the hand-carved mahogany, growing impatient. He didn’t care what her station was. If Lady Gertrude had sent the men who had attacked his home, she would face his wrath.

After the refusal to open up. Rothbart raised a hand and cast a spell. The doors flew wide and he swept into the front entryway, ready for a magical attack, or guards racing forward with weapons, for servants to come rushing up, protesting. Something.

The large chandelier hanging high overhead made of thousands of tiny diamonds suspended in delicate silence was the only thing that greeted him.

Perhaps Lady Gertrude wasn’t home? But even if she wasn’t there, servants, grounds keepers, someone should be. He turned in a slow circle, catching the glimpse of a low flickering light coming from a side room. Stepping up to the ajar door, he pushed it open and entered.

Lady Gertrude sat in a high backed chair next to the flames of a fire. A maid stoked the meager flames and glanced up with annoyance at Rothbart’s appearance but said nothing.

“Yes, come barging in,” Lady Gertrude said. She waved a hand at him. “Not that I can stop you.”

Her pink floral dress spilled out over the arms of the chair and she sat with a wine glass gripped in her fist. Its deep amber liquid reflected the firelight.

She looked at him through bleary eyes. “Oh, it's you, Rothbart. Come to level more accusations at me because of my family relations, have you?” Her words slurred out of her and her head tipped back precariously.

Rothbart’s gaze traveled around the room, noting the hard floor that clearly hadn’t been polished lately, the walls that lacked any adornment and lack of furniture besides the one chair that Lady Gertrude currently lounged in. The room felt too wide, too open. He had been here once before and this wasn’t anything like Rothbart remembered. Where were the silk carpets and the lavish furniture? The portraits from artists around the world that should adorn the walls?

He would worry about that later. “Someone attacked my estate this evening.”

“So naturally”—she spun her free hand as she squinted at him—“you believed it to be me? Why not go barging in on my dear cousin? She is the sorceress, and the jilted one, as you say. Oh right, it's because if you step on her grounds, she strips you of your magic in a second.”

If it was Alecta, hewouldneed a better plan than storming her home like he’d done to Lady Getrude. Shit. He hoped it wasn’t Alecta.

“Something precious to me was taken,” he said. “I need to search your estate.”

She huffed. “You really think I can stop you? At one time I would have commanded those who could bring you to your knees. Now…” She threw out an arm, her face contorting in disgust as she took in the room. “Look at it!” Sinking back into her chair, she took another sip of her drink, choking on a sob. “Do whatever the hell you wish, Rothbart.”

Rothbart trudged into his home office. He considered grabbing a bottle of liquor and drinking himself into oblivion like Lady Gertrude, but cast the idea aside. That wouldn’t help Zoya.

His search of her estate had turned up nothing.

The rest of the night he had been up, combing the countryside, searching everywhere he thought she might have used that goddamned bean to hide herself. He fell into the chair next to the fireplace and massaged his temples. The early light of morning shone through his window and he came to his feet as he remembered that today was the day of the inspection.

So he knew just where Kilron would be.

While he’d been out searching, he’d gone over every possible suspect in his head. If it wasn’t Lady Gertrude or Odette and the swans, then it had to be Kilron. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that the night he saw Zoya in his office was the night his home was attacked. He’d even admitted to Kilron that he was going to be away, giving him the perfect opportunity.

And what stung the worst was that Kilron had pretended to be his friend. All to get close to him.

He’d make Kilron spill his guts figuratively, or he’d spill them literally.

---