Sorcerybound (World's First Wizard Book 2) by Aaron Schneider (ready player one ebook .TXT) 📕

but he’d found an audience with the Bashlek of Ifreedahm was no proof against the nervous energy that made his legs tremble and his mouth run dry. He felt the eyes of the creatures reclining around him pressing dully, slowly turning screws. More than once, a flash of magic sparked across his supernatural awareness, heightening his discomfort. He wanted to demand an answer or at least a response, but he knew that wasn’t likely to produce the results he wanted.

He stood waiting and tried to silence the hammering of his heart in his ears as he forced himself to draw one breath after another.

Milo became aware of that ancient, ponderous presence whose slumber he’d interrupted, and again he felt himself in danger of collapsing under its scrutiny. He wanted to run away mentally as well as physically, but he knew to do that would be to forfeit any hope of saving Rihyani, and that was something he could not, would not accept. He’d come this far; he would not turn aside now.

Thus, he stood and bore the oppressive observation, upright and square-shouldered in both mind and body.

The haze of perfumed smoke stirred, and Milo heard Ambrose shuffle forward a little. Whatever the bodyguard thought was about to happen or what he could do about it, Milo appreciated the reminder that he wasn’t alone, whatever was about to happen.

“What is it that you wish of me then?” came a deep, rippling voice from the pavilion.

Milo gaped for a second, not understanding how it could be unclear what he wanted, but certain that pointing such a thing out could only be construed as an insult.

“I want your help in breaking the hex so that the contessa may be healed,” Milo said, his tongue sticking a bit at first.

Again, Ambrose gave the gentlest of coughs.

“Please,” Milo said. “I want your help, please.”

There was another long silence, then the marquis’ fingers flexed around his goblet, producing a soft but distinct sound of bone grating against stone.

“If you wish for me to break the curse upon Ezekiel Boucher, I will not, despite how much I should like to,” the marquis declared in a tone that brooked no contest or question. “But I can teach you how to loosen the bonds of the hex that has gripped the contessa so she may be healed.”

Milo, whose heart had stopped beating when the marquis said he wouldn’t break the curse, nearly collapsed with relief.

“Thank you, good Marquis,” Milo said with a deep bow. “Thank you.”

A single long finger rose, the hooked point of the nail aimed at Milo’s heart.

“Yet, though the contessa is distant kin to us, we cannot grant this boon free of cost,” the fey said. Milo wondered if the tingle he felt was the slip of the noose around his neck.

“I will do what I can,” Milo said carefully, uncertain of what such a powerful being as the marquis could want from him.

“You are the first of your kind who has ever been taught the Art, and even in these dire times, I’d be a fool if I did not extract a geas from you.”

Milo frowned but kept his eyes upon the marquis.

“I am not refusing, but I have to admit I do not know what a geas is,” he confessed. “I do not want to swear to something I’m not capable of doing. That would dishonor you and put the life of the contessa at risk, both of which I don’t want to do.”

“Well spoken,” the marquis said, and to Milo’s surprise, there was genuine warmth in his tone. “I will instruct you on what a geas requires, and then you may give me your answer, though if your intentions are as noble as you claim, I’m certain there will be no contest to the matter. For now, though, I’d have you take your ease and dine with me, as I have other questions to ask you of a less immediate but no less serious nature.”

Milo felt his muscles tighten across his whole body, and it was all he could do to keep from shouting “NO!” at the mention of dinner and conversation. It seemed to Milo that the marquis, like so many other petty tyrants, could not imagine a world where their timetable was not the single deciding factor.

“Thank you, and I mean no disrespect, but I’m afraid time is an issue,” Milo said, trying to keep the anxiety in his voice in check even as the sincerity of it spilled out. “It took us almost two days to reach your domain, and it will take just as long to return. I’m afraid if things go on much longer, we may lose her.”

For the first time since coming before the marquis, the assemblage of fey responded to Milo’s words. At first, it was a soft giggle behind Milo, then some heartier chuckles, and then laughter swelled around him, echoing from every direction. He felt his cheeks burn, and a potent if juvenile anger swelled up in him at each wave of laughter that rolled over him.

“I don’t understand,” Milo said, struggling to keep his tone even. “What is so amusing?”

The marquis, whose voice had not joined the chorus, silenced them all with a wave of this hand.

“Fear not, Magus,” the marquis began, his tone warm and sympathetic. “Some forget that the ways and realities of humans are not the ways and realities of our kind. All these things I will explain soon, but first, we must dine. To the manor, my guests.”

A cheer went up from the assembled fey, and the murmur of conversation and the sound of music returned as they rose and began to move toward the manor in cliques and coveys.

Milo turned to Ambrose, anger and despair wrestling for control of his tongue.

“What do we do?”

Ambrose looked around, eyes narrowed.

“Go to dinner, I guess,” Ambrose said after a moment’s consideration. “He said he wanted to talk to you. Maybe you can convince him that you’ll be a lot more fun