Wizardborn (World's First Wizard Book 3) by Aaron Schneider (read me like a book txt) 📕

“Or do you mean Georgia, where we again single-handedly captured one of the most powerful Red warlords and his right-hand man to deliver to military intelligence?”

“I mean Georgia, where you risked the operation multiple times while acting in direct and belligerent defiance of a senior officer,” Jorge stated coolly. “An officer I happen to hold in some regard, mind you.”

Milo wasn’t sure which he disliked more: Jorge reminding him of the constant near-failures or stating plainly that he had regard for Captain Lokkemand. Ambrose stirred from his seat and cleared his throat, sparing Milo the burden of his thoughts on that score for the moment.

“Or maybe the Georgia where you won over the support of a powerful fey to our allies, the Shepherds, while mastering a new form of magic,” Ambrose added as though Jorge hadn’t spoken, frowning thoughtfully beneath knit brows. “Or the Georgia where we repeatedly fended off American agents and their mercenaries to save a member of that same group of allies I mentioned.”

Jorge stared at the pair, his face a practiced mask of disinterest and his eyes flat.

“My, we do sound heroic when you put it that way,” Milo said, looking at Ambrose, who smiled, white teeth flashing beneath his mustache. “Do you think they give medals out for such things?”

“If they don’t, they should.” Ambrose chuckled.

“I’m gone for a little while, and you boys start developing delusions of grandeur.” A silky voice behind Milo and Ambrose made both jump.

Before either of them could turn around fully in their chairs, Rihyani had reached between them to lay a folder on the table in front of Jorge.

“As you requested, Magpie,” she said softly as her traveling cloak brushed Milo, and her dark lips smiled teasingly in his direction.

“Thank you, Contessa,” the colonel replied as he took up the folder and began reading.

“Rihyani,” Milo blurted and made to rise, but she settled her hand on his shoulder, and he sank back into his seat.

“In a moment, darling,” the fey said softly and bowed her head to press her wine-dark lips against his mouth.

Milo’s shock turned to delight, and he suddenly felt that perhaps the travails of the day were not quite so bad after all. He took the fey’s long fingers and their hands intertwined as she stood at his shoulder.

“Nothing for your favorite cook, then?” Ambrose called, looking forlorn with a great puckered frown.

Rihyani rolled her eyes and leaned over and planted a peck on his proffered cheek.

“I’m glad to see you too, Simon,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Thank you for keeping my young rascal alive in my absence.”

“J'aurais fait n'importe quoi pour toi,” Ambrose replied before pressing a kiss on her outstretched hand. “It is good to see you again, my dear.”

“I’m glad to be back,” she said softly, then retrieved her hand and clasped it over her and Milo’s interlocked fingers. “I’ve missed you both.”

Ambrose smiled as he settled back into his chair. Milo looked up at Rihyani, who was smiling down at him. She nodded at Jorge, and Milo turned and saw that the colonel had put down the folder, and despite his best efforts, a small smile had formed on his lips.

He realized he was smiling too, and for one moment, a moment that seemed etched in stone, Milo understood that everyone he cared about, everyone he loved, was here in this small room in Berlin. The world was at war, there were nefarious schemes afoot, and danger lurked around every corner, but right then, this mad bunch was bound together in the shared joys and smiles of reunion.

For a moment, Milo wondered if all the magic he’d learned would equal what flowed between and through each of them at that moment.

But precious moments are fragile, and it soon ended. Jorge sniffed, Ambrose shifted in his seat, and the fey’s hands let go of Milo’s, though one hand settled on his shoulder.

“Yes, well.” The nearly unflappable Jorge floundered for a moment as he looked down at the folder he’d been perusing. “To business.”

“Something is going on in Russia,” Rihyani said solemnly as the colonel gathered himself. “The forests around Moscow have been dangerous for some time, but something much bigger than bandits is happening.”

Ambrose leaned forward keenly, and Milo felt his stomach tighten.

Thinking of Russia reminded him of the man he’d dragged as a penitent to the general staff. Milo remembered the Georgian who had once come so close to ruling all of Russia and remembered the name he’d hissed into Milo’s face on the night of his capture.

He recalled the name that burned in his mind and made the card in his pocket chafe like an iron shackle.

Milo fought to remove the swirling thoughts and emotions from his head as Jorge cleared his throat.

“Our garrison at the village of Sergio-Ivanoskye has sent some rather troubling reports, the most recent being that the nearby town of Gzhatsk was secretly emptied overnight. Given your report from Imrah about Zlydzen and his allies camping near that area, combined with Rihyani’s network of sources, I’m inclined to believe that this is something that will require your attention.”

Milo recalled the dwarrow’s declarations of his plans and damning proclamations before he’d fled in Georgia. Given the power his magical creation had in enthralling the minds of men, it was within the realm of possibility that he could enslave an entire community in a night. But to what aim? Nothing good, that he was certain of.

“We have all sorts of questions about what is going on out there but no answers,” Jorge summarized, both hands opening in front of him as though waiting for solutions to land in them. “I need you three to go there and find me some answers.”

“Have you extracted any more information from the prisoner we brought in?” Ambrose asked, not hiding his sidelong glance at Milo. The wizard didn’t begrudge him the look, though he had to batter down a surge of annoyance. They both knew it was a sore subject.

“Stalin’s interrogation results