AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter 4
Rothbart
2 Months Later (Present)
Rothbart sat in his father’s master potions room, glaring down at the list in front of him.
Since his father’s passing, Her Majesty the Queen had appointed Rothbart as the new Head Sorcerer, giving him the right to inherit the master potions room. But he still didn’t think of it as his. It was his father’s potions that lined the shelves, his father’s painting that hung from the wall, his father’s sandalwood scent permeating the furniture.
This room didn’t belong to Rothbart, and wouldn’t for the foreseeable future. Still, it was his designated workspace, and when he wasn’t at home with his sister, he came here, working, plotting, searching. The reminders of his father merely drove him forward.
The funeral services for his parentsand sister had been a month ago, on a dark and dreary day. And like that, Rothbart was left completely alone. At least, that is what the attendees believed. It had been Rothbart’s idea to pretend that Zoya had died in the attacks too. He couldn’t get it out of his head. How the assassins, once he had awoken and fought back, had abandoned him and gone for her. The way they’d acted as if only her death mattered. But why? His stepmother and stepsister had married into wealth and position. Outside of his father’s status, they had been simple commoners with no connections.
And yet, he’d had no choice to act as if she had died. In order to protect her and to deter others from seeking her death. The swans were the only ones who knew she was alive… and potentially the person who hired them.
Which was why he needed to find who had set the assassins to attack them.
After the funeral, Rothbart got to work. The parchment in his hands contained his curated list of individuals who had the means and connections to hire a team of elite assassins. The majority of those names were court members.
He checked the second list on the page, this one much shorter. Sorcerers and sorceresses who possessed the ability to create a skull pact. Unfortunately for him, none of the names on the two lists overlapped.
He’d worked feverishly for the past month writing to sympathizers, in hopes he could meet with other sorcerers. To learn more about the skull pact and any clue that might reveal who did this to his family.
“You figure out who it was yet?”
Rothbart jumped, glancing up at the man, Kilron, who stood beside him, having materialized out of nowhere.
Kilron’s dark hair fell into his face and he carelessly brushed it aside. “I’ve got fresh magic beans.” His lavender eyes sparkled with amusement as he held up a stuffed bag about as big as Rothbart’s head.
A sigh escaped Rothbart. He had been running low. He reached out to accept the beans, but Kilron snapped it back. “Ah, ah, ah. You know the deal, my friend.”
With a roll of his eyes, Rothbart stood and retrieved the mixture of potions and rare magical herbs his father had always used to pay Kilron. He shoved them in his own burlap sack. “Where do you even find them?”
Rothbart knew that the small, flat, white beans grew from the rare pranelum plant, a green leafy plant that grew close to the ground and tended to blend in with its surroundings. The bean was difficult to tell from other regular beans except for the tiny silver dot on its tip, only spotted after it was picked. But the plant’s presence was so rare and difficult to keep alive that Rothbart had only seen pictures of it.
“A supplier can’t reveal their sources. Creates too much competition.” Kilron gazed over the lists on Rothbart’s desk. “Glad to see I’m not a suspect.”
Rothbart looked Kilron over as he handed him the goods. The man was fifteen years older than himself, and his fellow sorcerer, tall, with a carefree air. But became no nonsense and commanding in an instant if he wanted. He was powerful. Ambitious. And willing to sell anything to the highest bidder. Perhaps Rothbart should have added him to the list. But at the moment, he was glad he hadn’t. Besides, Kilron was his friend. He couldn’t suspect everybody.
Kilron’s head tilted as he continued to examine the names, his light-skinned hand running down the parchment. “You are going to need to get the queen’s permission if you want to question the members of the court.”
Rothbart frowned and checked the sundial next to the window. “I have a meeting with her later this evening.” He only hoped he’d be persuasive enough to gain her favor.
His door burst open and Prince Torsten stormed in, a scowl dampening his normally sunshiny temperament. He tore a hand savagely through his golden hair and threw himself into the chair at the table where Rothbart and the prince usually conducted their lessons.
“Come on. We might as well get this over with,” he grumbled.
Kilron gave him a sympathetic grimace. “I’ll see you later.” He turned to Prince Torsten and bowed. “My prince.” Then, with a swirl of his robes and clutching Rothbart’s payment, he walked from the room.
Rothbart had forgotten the bi-weekly meetings. As the head sorcerer, it was his duty to tutor the prince in the ways of magic. Another thing he had inherited upon his father’s death.
Turning, Rothbart cast a longing glance at his list before striding over and sitting in his seat. It was unusual for Prince Torsten to be put out by their sessions together.
“Is there something bothering you, my prince?”
The prince’s expression grew darker, his square jaw clenching. “Nothing you can do anything about.” He paused as he eyed Rothbart. “How old are you?”
The silken fibers of Rothbart’s deep purple and gold-lined robes weighed on his limbs. Everyone always questioned his proficiency because of his age. They all thought adept sorcerers should be old men. He reached up and straightened his clothes. “Twenty-six.”
