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

stood in a soft linen shirt and woolen trousers, his feet bare on the cold wooden floor. Collecting his dirty clothes from the floor, he made a perfunctory attempt to get the worst of the filth off them before laying them out in front of the fire, along with his boots.

Milo stared into the flames for a second and then bent down next to the grate. Behind him, he heard the squeak of floorboards and the scuff of boots. It seemed the soulless were typically unresponsive because of disinterest rather than inattention. What did they think he was going to do, grab a burning log and hurl it at them?

Considering the option, Milo decided that if Ambrose and Rihyani weren’t out there, he might have considered that action far more tempting. Still, there was something far more valuable to him right then than a hand-charring missile. Something that, even without his two companions, could afford him a chance to escape.

Hoping he wasn’t taking his life in his hands, Milo scooped a pocket full of ash from the edge of the grate. Rising quickly, he dusted his hands on his pants and turned to face his guards with open hands.

The soulless had advanced several steps, their bludgeons drawn from their belts, but seeing him unarmed, they lowered their weapons and moved back to their posts.

Milo heaved a sigh and began to pick the last traces of soot on his fingers when the doors to the apartment swung open.

“Well, I’ve been to see the dwarf, and let me say he does not like you.” Roland chuckled as he strode into the room, flanked by two more men in Soviet khaki. “And between you and me, that is putting it mildly.”

At a glance, Milo could tell these men were not yet soulless since both were looking nervously between Milo and Roland.

Milo straightened, swiping his hands on his trousers distractedly as he cleared his throat.

“I tend to have that effect on megalomaniacs and monsters.” He sniffed and then crossed his arms.

Roland laughed, and his eyes narrowed as he looked Milo up and down. He tried not to clamp his black-stained hands any tighter to his sides lest he give himself away, but one look told him it was too late. Roland’s dark, piercing eyes darted to the fireplace, racing over Milo’s dripping clothing and then back to Milo. The entire process had taken the space of a single heartbeat, and in that time, Milo’s heart rose into his throat.

He was found out; he was sure of it.

Roland strode forward, his boots snapping out each step until he was looking down at Milo. It took everything he had to keep from flinching as one powerful, long-fingered hand tugged at a corner of the stained shirt.

“My God, you always make a mess of whatever I give you.” Roland tutted, raising one eyebrow as he studied Milo’s face. “If I gave you a little something to drink, you think you could manage not to get it all over yourself? We aren’t savages here, but fresh, clean clothes like that are not easy to come by.”

Milo could have collapsed with relief, but that feeling left him burning with shame. Where were his defiance and strength now?

Hating the sheepish smile spreading across his face against his will, Milo looked at Roland.

“I suppose I can try,” he said, swallowing hard.

15

These Guilts

“Milo, there are some things you need to understand,” Roland began as he handed the wizard a tumbler of brandy. “Everything that happened between us from Berlin until now wasn’t what I planned.”

Milo ground his teeth together as he took the glass, trying to will himself back to the confidence he’d had earlier. It wasn’t working, but throwing back the brandy in one hard toss served as a momentary anesthetic.

And perhaps the burn gave him a little courage.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Milo snapped, biting off the words as he smiled toothily at Roland. “I’d hate to be left with the impression that when you lied to the crew that night, you intended for them to kill me, or that when Jules followed me from the workhouse to the penals, your instructions for him to kill me were literal.”

Roland’s eyes grew glassy, and his smile became fixed to his face like the respirators of the masked soulless. It seemed Milo could still sting him after all.

Milo savored the petty victory. Snark was no replacement for spine, but he’d take it in the process of looking for the real thing.

“To clarify,” Roland said stiffly, sipping from his tumbler, “Jules wasn’t working under my instruction. I don’t know if you knew, but the crew broke up after you left. You know how it is, too much success and too many secrets. Anyways, Jules was picked up a few weeks after I left the crew. He was never especially useful without someone holding his leash.”

Seeing Milo’s empty glass, he went to the desk and fetched the brandy

“He saw you and must have gotten the idea that he could connect himself to me if he brought your head back on a stick. You know how he was. I never encouraged that hope.”

Milo rolled the last traces of amber liquor around his glass before raising his eyes to look at Roland, frowning.

“But you didn’t discourage it,” he said as he allowed his tumbler to be refilled. “Everyone knew he’d reached out to you.”

Roland’s mask threatened to come up again, but instead, he grumbled out a string of curses before taking another sip from his glass. He set the bottle down on a side table next to Milo’s chair.

“No, no, I didn’t,” he said, staring past the magus out the window at the seething square before the palace. “To be honest, that had nothing to do with our former business and everything to do with our current impasse. I know it probably sounds trite, but coming back here was nothing like what I thought it’d be. The word from Jules came when I was