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

“I’m fine,” Milo said with a gulping swallow as he watched his blood slide down his outstretched hand to Rihyani’s gray grip. “It’s going to be okay.”

Ambrose didn’t say anything, but Milo could feel his frown at his back.

“Please,” Milo said as gently as he could. “I need to focus.”

When Ambrose made no protest, Milo clamped his eyes shut and pressed outward.

I’m sorry, I was overwhelmed, Milo broadcasted to her as their wills connected. I am here now.

No, Milo, I’m sorry.

He felt waves of the fey’s regret, not overpowering but steady and sincere.

I am struggling to keep myself together. The hex and the wounds are taking their toll.

Milo felt a thrill of fear, which made his next thoughts sharper than he intended, but off they flew like arrows.

Which is why you need to forgive him. The longer you hold onto this, the harder it will be. Please, before it is too late!

A caustic film covered her next thoughts, and Milo had to harden himself to blunt the worst of their fury.

You talk as though it is easy! I watched that monster butcher two of my oldest friends, who I met when Latin was still a trade language! You speak of forgiveness like it is a flower to be plucked in a field!

Milo fought a rush of matching anger. He wanted to demand she stop being so proud, so stupid, but he beat the feelings down mercilessly. Pushing back wouldn’t help because he couldn’t drive her to forgiveness. He could only invite her, and with a start, he realized that the invitation could only come one way that would be understood.

You want revenge, he thought, pressing toward her with an understanding that mirrored his own experiences with the desire. But what if I showed you that revenge against Ezekiel is exactly what he wants, too?

What?

He felt her will rebel against the seeming contradiction, pulling away from him, but he remained open to her even as she came to the cusp of severing the connection. Milo wondered if that happened, would she have the strength to continue interacting? Her will was potent, but he sensed a brittleness that threw up more cracks after each outburst.

I don’t understand.

Milo squeezed her icy hand with his bloodied fingers.

Let me show you, he begged. Let me show you what I learned. Then make the decision for yourself.

Another aching pause followed, but finally, Rihyani called out to him from what seemed like a greater distance than before.

All right.

Milo felt invisible barriers falling and intangible wards coming undone, and he touched the fey’s raw, undiluted will with his own. It was beautiful, precious, and frightening both in power and fragility. Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes.

He is a monster, Milo said as he drew upon the jagged shards of memory still embedded from his encounter with Ezekiel. But even monsters can love in their own fashion, and that means they can hurt and regret and be given our pity.

With as much agonizing immediacy as before, Milo relived the sad tale of Ezekiel Boucher’s living damnation with Rihyani.

She saw and felt everything: the piercing of Ezekiel's child by the vengeful warriors, Ezekiel’s grief fueling the slaughtering of innocents, the coming of the curse, and him murdering the fey who cursed him.

Milo thought having seen it before would harden him against the experience, but he felt tears welling up, the blows to his heart penetrating even harder. Knowing what came did not make it better but only heightened his dread at each coming blow and his disgust at each predestined atrocity. Bound in will, he and Rihyani bore witness and felt what Ezekiel felt, and even amid the blood and hysterical laughter, it was an awful, gnawing agony.

The vigil completed and the smells of burning bodies and Ezekiel’s laughter fading, there was a stillness of body and mind so profound that Milo didn’t dare to disturb it. Eyes sealed, his will present but passive within the fey’s, there was a quiet closeness the likes of which he’d never known. In the fearful presence of that undiluted intimacy, he both basked and cringed.

When she finally reached out to him, a surprised, shuddering breath wracked his body.

He is like so many humans, worthy of hate and pity in his brokenness. I suppose I can tighten my grip and let his jagged edges cut me to the quick, but perhaps I’d rather let him go.

Like a skein unraveling, the hex became null.

“Thank you,” Rihyani breathed, and leaned in with a gentle kiss.

Brodden’s face was a comical explosion of wonder and anxiety, eyes bulging even as his lips met the fey’s. The kiss lasted barely more than a second, but the bedraggled medic emerged as though he were coming up from pearl diving.

“Nothing much,” he sputtered sheepishly as he stumbled back. “Just my duty.”

Rihyani was still sunken and gray from her ordeal, but her smile was a radiant thing.

“We both know that isn’t true,” she said softly, holding out one waifish hand that Brodden took between thick, shaking fingers. “You performed above and beyond, and for that, I will grant you a boon.”

Brodden looked nervously from Rihyani to Milo and Ambrose, who stood beside her chair by the fireplace.

“A boon from a fey,” Ambrose muttered out the side of his mouth in an overloud whisper. “Careful what you wish for, eh?”

Milo didn’t say anything, only nodded grimly, fighting to keep his dour expression as he watched the color drain from the medic’s blotchy face.

“W-what boon would that be, f-fräulein?” Brodden gasped, absentmindedly tucking his uniform back into place and doing a generally poor job of the business.

Rihyani’s smile slid away as her eyelids drooped to half-mast, and she gripped the medic’s meaty fingers in both of her delicate hands. She drew a deep breath and let it slide out in a misty, monotone voice that was quite unlike her usual lively tones.

“You will write to your sweetheart in the next week and ask for her hand in marriage,” she said, her