Witchmarked (World's First Wizard Book 1) by Aaron Schneider (my reading book .txt) 📕

of the company at eye level with Milo, was a creature of moonlight and lilac who seemed perpetually uninterested yet keenly aware.

All three magnificent creatures, living gods as Milo saw them, stood in a court of monsters who seemed to be working themselves into a frenzy.

“Let’s see what the meat has to say for itself,” his newly awakened ears caught as the white-mantled go-fer led him across the floor.

“Did they really think they would get away with this?” another voice hissed from somewhere in the gathering beneath the galleries. “The arrogance!”

“Now we’ll touch the bottom of this swamp,” a ghul behind Milo croaked in a deep voice. “The council will wring the truth from them, just you watch.”

“I hope it refuses to speak and the council must...encourage it.”

“To think it took the fey to bring us this news.”

“Let’s hope they make an example of him.”

“Filthy humans!”

Milo felt the muscles in his neck coil like springs, and soon, his hands were aching as he gripped his new cane. A potent mixture of anger, fear, and unease roiled in his chest, and Milo soon found his wonder at the fey eclipsed by the reality of the ghuls around him. He could practically feel the pulsing, suspicious energy of Ambrose at his side.

“This isn’t good,” the bodyguard muttered. “We might’ve come with news, but we might have to stay for a trial.”

Milo grunted in agreement, then, seeing past the trio of fey for the first time, he nodded so Ambrose could see.

“And that jury doesn’t seem likely to give us a fair one.”

Beyond the fey, a group of nine ghuls sat in high back chairs that were practically thrones, wearing ivory mantles and stoles, before the empty throne of the Bashlek. With gimlet eyes, the Nether Council watched Milo draw closer. It was impossible to escape the feeling that they were ready to pounce. Milo knew next to nothing about ghul development from womb to tomb, if the wicked things were born or died in the first place, but something about each member of the Nether Council struck him as a very old kind of evil. Not decrepit or frail, but old in the sense that ancient trees will become twisted against the wind, growing gnarled and hard.

“Stand here and wait to be addressed by the Nether Council,” the go-fer instructed as they came level with the fey envoys.

Milo planted his feet and then let the cane tap the stone in front of him as his hands sat upon the skull. He hoped he struck the audience as confident, even untouchable, as their vitriolic whispers slithered around him.

Nonchalantly, he glanced at the fey and saw that all three of them were looking at him. He nodded at them and then listened in dismay as the verdant one with the vines giggled softly, the sound as soft and pure as wind through the trees. Feeling his cheeks burn, he fought to keep his face expressionless as she whispered behind her hand up to the bronze colossus. The towering fey’s smirk broke into a broad smile, and a laugh like thunder rumbled out of his chest. It was a chuckle of such power and grandeur that Milo wanted to join in even though he knew he was the butt of the joke.

For a moment, the whispers quieted to a low susurration, the ghuls in the dark glaring with envious, glinting eyes.

“That’s enough,” came a soft whisper from the smallest fey, her face turning toward the Council before Milo could get a good look at her.

The huge fey shrugged, and his face returned to its knowing smirk. The emerald fey flared her eyebrows teasingly at Milo and gave him a wink before joining her two companions in facing the council. The whispers began to encroach again.

Now that he was no longer under the fey’s direct scrutiny, Milo felt like a weight had been lifted off his chest. He could breathe deeper, and as he did, he was thankful for the tall cane he leaned on.

“Making friends everywhere we go,” Ambrose muttered, eyeing the fey with open suspicion. “Just everywhere.”

“The Nether Council is called to order once more,” croaked a ghul whose wide mouth and thick, wattled throat made him seem like someone had bred a ghul with a toad.

The whispers subsided again, and the toad-ghul nodded toward another ghul who looked remarkably like the one who had sent her cronies to die in the Contest of Abjuration.

“Thank you, Lord Speaker,” said Lady Dazk. “We are also thankful for the patience of our honored guests.”

With one hand sweeping toward the fey, she dipped her head in a shallow bow. They nodded in silent acknowledgment.

“Now to business,” she said, turning to Milo with a triumphant smile that displayed her jagged teeth. “It seems you have a good deal of explaining to do, Magus.”

The title came with a sneer that made Milo wonder if it was kosher to challenge a member of the Nether Council to a Contest of Abjuration. The thought had Milo smiling coldly into the leering face of the ghul aristocrat.

Just a thinner, uglier Jules, Milo told himself. Upon consideration, he thought, Well, not that much uglier.

“Do you think to defy this council with your silence?” she asked in her shrill voice as the whispers began to climb in volume. “Is human arrogance so great that even now, with your treachery exposed, you think this august council beneath you?”

The whispers began to buzz angrily once more.

“Lady Dazk,” Milo said as steadily as he could manage, “if I knew what treachery I’d supposedly committed, I might know what to say. I don’t know if the ghuls have magical ways of reading minds, but I haven’t been taught them yet, so it would be helpful if someone started explaining things.”

The only thing louder than the eruption of Ghulish growls was the verdant fey’s laughter. Milo felt good about himself then and made to wink at the giggling fey, but Ambrose surreptitiously bumped Milo’s elbow and nodded at Lady