Disciple of War Disciple of War (Art of the Adept #4) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,99

he made do with letting Lieutenant Renly know he wasn’t to be disturbed and setting an extra guard outside his tent.

Then he settled comfortably onto his field cot and closed off his senses. He was steadily improving, and it took him only a minute or so before he felt his spirit come free from his body. As was often the case, he found himself hovering beside Selene, though she wasn’t the target for his activity. The heart wants what it wants, he thought.

She was sitting at the dressing table in their bedroom, combing out her hair. Will allowed himself a moment to watch her, but before he could focus his attention on his actual target, Selene glanced up with a curious expression.

“I shouldn’t,” she said aloud, her hand stopping over her heart. “But what if something’s happened?”

Curious, Will continued to watch, and after a second, he realized what she was doing, for he felt a sudden warmth in the region he would normally associate with his chest. She’s trying to talk to me through the heart-stone enchantment, he realized. Did she sense me somehow? Did my presence make her think of me?

He didn’t think he could talk to her while away from his body, so he returned and forced himself back into his numb flesh. A second later he saw his wife’s face appear in front of him. “Are you all right?” she asked. “It took you a long time to respond.”

“I’m fine,” he told her. “We had some excitement today, but I’m none the worse for wear.”

“What happened?”

Will could already see perspiration beginning to appear on her forehead, and he debated leaving her in the dark. She would want a full explanation, and he didn’t like to think about how exhausted she would be afterward. Then again, he had promised to keep her up to date. “I’ll be quick, because I know this wears you down.” Talking rapidly, he launched into an abbreviated account of the explosive traps and their losses. He left out the specifics regarding Laina and himself. Selene would have insisted on extensive details if she found out they’d been wounded.

In the end we suffered no lasting harm, he told himself. It had taken him just two or three minutes to give her all the important details, and yet he could see Selene was breathing hard. “That’s enough for now,” Will finished. “I love you. Get some rest.”

She nodded tiredly. “Love you too.” Selene released the connection immediately after, a sure sign she was pushing her limits.

Curious, Will returned to the astral plane and went to check on her. Selene was slumped over the dressing table, clearly exhausted. He watched for a minute or so, until she rose unsteadily from her seat and turned toward the bed. She’d forgotten to put down the brush, which fell limply to the floor as she shuffled toward her rest. Her complexion was pallid, and she appeared completely done in.

Just a few more steps, he cheered her on silently. You’re almost to the bed.

Then her foot caught on the rug and she fell. He heard her moan, but she didn’t attempt to rise. A few seconds later, she rolled onto her back and he could see her chest rising and falling. At a guess, he thought she was unconscious, and probably suffering a severe case of turyn depletion.

It was something he’d experienced a few times, but the only time he’d been close to suffering as badly as what he’d just witnessed was his first time, when he’d worn himself out trying to heal a little boy in his village. Selene’s already finished the third compression and she’s had months to adapt. She isn’t getting better.

He would have grimaced, if he hadn’t been a disembodied spirit just then. Feeling helpless, he watched her for half an hour, until he had convinced himself that she wouldn’t stop breathing. Reluctantly, he forced himself to change focus and imagined the face of the man he wanted to see. It wasn’t as easy as finding someone he wanted to see, someone he liked, but the personal connection didn’t necessarily require affection. Any emotion would do. Irritation and annoyance filled him, and after a moment he saw the inside of Field Marshal Lustral’s tent appeared in his vision.

Like Will, the duke looked to be working late. The nobleman sat at a portable table with some sort of writing implement in his hand, though it didn’t look like a regular pen or quill. After watching for a