Scholar of Magic (Art of the Adept #3) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,93

with a series of gasps, followed by some ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’. Selene’s spell was not only effective, it was pleasant to experience firsthand, unlike most cleaning spells. Janice eyed him appreciatively. “You finally did it! When did that happen?”

“Yesterday,” said Will. “I’ve been trying for almost a year now.”

“I’m still struggling with fifth-order spells,” she said enviously.

He grinned. “You spend too much time in the library.”

She narrowed her eyes. “It also helps that you can waste turyn without worrying about your health, and that you train constantly.”

“Don’t let Sir Kyle find out about this,” cautioned Tiny with a chuckle. He was studying his armor closely. “He’ll convince them to conscript you again and you’ll spend the rest of your days cleaning and maintaining armor for the army.”

Blake was staring at the table. “Even the bowls are clean!”

“I did the whole room,” said Will. “It took more energy, but you’ll find that the floor is clean too and everything else has been dusted.”

“How about the rest of the house?” asked the manservant hopefully.

“I’m tired and you need a job. I’m headed to bed,” said Will with a tone of finality.

***

Selene fell into her bed, her nerves frayed, and her body exhausted. The skin of her hands felt raw from scrubbing floors. Floors she could have cleaned in seconds if she had been allowed to use her magic.

The room was dim, and she was alone, terribly alone, inside and out. Seeing Will had only reminded her of how miserable she was. The people she worked for treated her like garbage at the best of times, and the rest of the time they insulted her to her face, calling her a ‘drab.’

She had held up well for the first few months, but her emotional endurance was beginning to fail her. If it hadn’t been for Sylandrea, she would have cracked already. He was the only one who treated her with a modicum of respect.

As often happened, thinking of him brightened her mood for a moment, and she saw an image of him in her mind. Long, slender limbs with just the right amount of muscle, graceful shoulders that supported a face that any artist would kill to paint.

She could see him standing in the doorway, looking at her with concern as the light flooded in from behind him, illuminating his golden hair. I’m dreaming again, she reminded herself.

“Are you well?” came a distinctly masculine voice. The words were slow and stilted, spoken by lips that hadn’t yet mastered the intricacies of her tongue.

Selene sat up in alarm, realizing it wasn’t a dream. “Syl? Is that you?”

He closed the door and crossed the room quickly, seeming to glide across the floor. “I was worried about you. You seemed dispirited when I saw you earlier.”

She knew it was inappropriate, even in his culture, for a man to enter a woman’s room, even that of a drab, but in that moment she didn’t care. Something about his kindness coaxed a sob from her throat. Leaning forward, she threw her arms around his waist.

He stiffened for a moment, then embraced her shoulders. A moment later, she felt his delicate fingers running through her hair, and a shiver went up her spine. Her heartbeat quickened. She held on, not daring to look up, to meet his eyes. If she did, he would see the desire in them and that would be the end of their friendship. His kind didn’t associate with drabs, much less touch them. Then why is he touching me now? she wondered.

His fingers laced through the hair at the back of her head and tightened as he pulled her head back. She gasped at the sudden pain, and then their eyes locked. Leaning down, he crushed his mouth against hers, his tongue diving in. She fought him for a moment, but then he pulled away, leaving her gasping. “Wait,” she told him. “I’m confused.”

He watched her with burning eyes. “Tell me what you want.”

“I’m not sure,” she replied, but her hands were moving across his back. At some point she had slipped them under his shirt