Page 11 of The Dark Mage

At eight weeks, despair crushed her. Fifty-six days since Bier had walked away.

The belief that Esrin would come crumbled into dust. Even tears refused to come.

Ren’wyn lay in bed, unmoving, barely breathing.

The vibrant world outside turned gray and lifeless, and even food and water were just too much to bear.

Finally, Lyr’ren b roke.

“Please, Ren’wyn, please,” she begged from the other side of the locked door. “Your father is threatening to have you whipped. I’m fright ened.”

The words pricked the last fragile piece of Ren’wyn’s compassion. Wearily, she crawled out from under the blankets, unlocking the l atch.

“Ren’wyn,” Lyr’ren sobbed, wrapping Ren’wyn tightly in the rose-scented embrace she knew so well. “Please come to supper. Pl ease.”

Ren’wyn let her mother guide her to the vanity, where Lyr’ren brushed her tangled hair and helped her into a dress. The gray fabric, once her favorite, felt rough and heavy against her skin.

At the table, Vair sneered at her. “When did you become so mopey?” he mocked. “I’m glad you’re Erst’s problem now. There’s no way for him to back out, not with the agreement set tled!”

Lyr’ren’s fist tightened on her fork, her knuckles white, but she stayed silent. Vair’s cruel laughter echoed around the room, stripping away what little appetite Ren’wyn had managed to mu ster.

Supper was mercifully short, and Ren’wyn bolted from the dining hall as soon as was acceptable. Lyr’ren knocked insistently, but Ren’wyn couldn’t answer. Instead, she opened the window, clutching the sill as though it were her only anchor. Her breath came fast and shallow, panic ri sing.

A vivid vision overtook her: Esrin, slumped over his horse, an arrow piercing his th roat.

“Oh gods,” she whimpered, her fingers digging into the wood. The vision didn’t fade but grew until a scream tore from her th roat.

Lyr’ren’s voice came urgently from outside the door. Then, she called for the key, breaking her long-held promise of pri vacy.

The door burst open, and Lyr’ren rushed to her side, arms strong and steady in the dark room. “Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe,” she u rged.

The cadence of Lyr’ren’s strong, steady heartbeat anchored Ren’wyn.

Gradually, her breath slowed, her muscles relaxing one by one.

She slumped onto the window seat, clinging to Lyr’ren and the comforting scent of roses, and her mother hummed.

Trailing her fingers through Ren’wyn’s hair, Lyr’ren hummed until Ren’wyn could picture the birds soaring free.

She finally calmed, and Lyr’ren pulled her to her feet.

“This is important, my darling, so listen carefully,” she whispered, brushing the remaining tears away.

“I know what it is to be engaged to a cruel man, to live and serve a husband who cares nothing for me. Don’t lose hope, Ren’wyn.

I have one last contact—my uncle, Lord Allwen.

He might yet take us in and help us find safety.

Tomorrow morning, I will ride to him. Please, I’m begging you, hold on until I re turn. ”

The woman who had so often stood silent in the face of Vair’s cruelty was fighting for freedom, and the disbelief shocked Ren’wyn out of her ap athy.

“I promise, Mother,” Ren’wyn whispered, drawing on that flicker of strength. “I’ll wait for you.”

Lyr’ren kissed her forehead firmly, the first sign of her strength in years. “I will be back in three days.”

Ren’wyn woke in the early afternoon to a furious pounding at her door.

“My Lady Ren ’wyn?”

It was Heren, the steward. Why would he bother her of all people? Ignoring the ache in her limbs, she slipped out of bed and pulled on her robe.

“Yes?” she responded, cracking the door open.

“It’s your mother, Lady Ren’wyn,” he said breathlessly. “I cannot find your father, and she… she…”

A vice of terror gripped her chest. “Tell me, H eren.”

“Her horse spooked on the road and threw her. She is dead, my lady.”

Her knees buckled, and a horrible sound filled the room—raw and anguished. It was a moment before Ren’wyn realized the screams were her own. Then, the world went b lack.

When Ren’wyn awoke, she was in the parlor. Vair stood over her, listening as Heren gave the report. A freak accident. A cruel twist of fate. For a brief moment, something flickered in Vair’s eyes—regret, anger, or perhaps nothing at all. Then his mask retu rned.

“Tell the staff to make preparations for Lyr’ren’s funeral,” he ord ered.

Turning to Ren’wyn, still struggling to consciousness, he snarled, “Take today to pack your things. Tomorrow will be your mother’s funeral. The morning after, I’m sending you to Erst to wait for your wed ding.”

His words ground her spirit down. This couldn’t be happening. Esrin was gone. Her mother was gone. How could all of this happen to one pe rson?

A maidservant gently lifted her and carried her upstairs.

Her room, once a safe haven, now felt suffocating.

She let the servants pack her belongings, answering their questions in a daze from her bed.

Both lunch and supper were refused. When the door finally closed behind those carrying her suitcases, Ren’wyn surrendered to the darkness, letting it consume her.

Three days later, the carriage pulled up to Erst’s manor. A day of packing. A day of weeping over her mother’s still form. A day of lonely travel. The silence of the carriage felt like an extension of her own empti ness.

Erst and his mother, Lady Anit, waited on the front steps as the carriage came to a stop. In that moment, Ren’wyn’s last fragile hope was snuffed out like a candle in the n ight.

The crack that had been forming in her soul since Bier’s banishment widened, and a jolt of pain pierced her chest. It pressed against her ribs, her heart, her lungs, stealing her br eath.

The footman handed her down, directing the servants as they unloaded the luggage. Lady Anit greeted her warmly, oblivious—or unwilling to believe—the truth of her son’s cru elty.

“You’ll make a lovely wife for my Erst,” Anit said, patting Ren’wyn’s hips. “I’m sure you’ll bear him plenty of boys.”

Ren’wyn’s stomach recoiled at the implication. She would never truly be Erst’s. Part of her had already been given to Esrin. That piece, too, was gone now, stolen along with her hope. She swallowed down a wave of na usea.

In the solitude of her room, Ren’wyn locked the door and collapsed onto the bed, still in her riding clothes. Alone. Completely alone. The creeping darkness slithered over her, a cold, coiling thing made of icy hatred. Esrin had abandoned her. Her mother had abandoned her.

For a week, Erst prowled after her, seeking her out whenever she was alone. Ren’wyn buried herself in wedding preparations with Anit, spending time in the kitchen overseeing the cake and feast. When alone, she asked the maids to alter her clothing or took long tours of the estate with the ste ward.

On the eighth night, Erst tried to enter her room. She had braced the door with a chair, and though he had a key, the knob stuck on the furniture. Trembling beneath her covers, Ren’wyn felt something shift inside her.

He will never take me without a f ight.

The darkness within her hardened, forming a jagged, writhing snake of anger. Hatred, bitterness, and defiance coiled together, writhing and hissing in her soul, a sharp contrast to her former blank des pair.

Run, the snake hi ssed.

And so she began to plan.

Ren’wyn learned the names and routines of the servants, listening attentively as they spoke of their duties.

She observed the guards, noting their rotations and the timing of their meals.

During a tour of the estate, she discovered a crumbling section of the outer wall hidden from view during the guard cha nges.

One night, she tested her plan. Keeping to the shadows, she reached for the Void for the first time since school.

Her will was weak, her power diminished from neglect, but she summoned the shadows to cloak her movements.

They came reluctantly, sluggish and faint, but enough to mask her as she crept along the edge of the es tate.

Ren’wyn reached the corner of the crumbling wall before releasing the shadows and walking casually back to the house, her pulse racing. No alarm sounded, and no one noticed her abs ence.

The next night, she prepared to es cape.

After supper, while Erst smoked and checked on his hunting dogs, Ren’wyn returned to her room.

She changed into a dark blue dress suitable for travel and packed a stolen satchel with bread, cheese, hair ties, and a thin blanket.

The River Farro was a mile away through the woods.

If she could cross it, she would seek refuge with her great-uncle, Lord Al lwen.

Allwen had a history of taking in Erst’s cast-offs—maids discarded after bearing bastards and servants driven out by cruelty. If she could reach him, she might find sanct uary.

Ren’wyn descended the front steps as though she had not a care in the world, though her heart thundered like a drum. Sweat beaded on her brow despite the cool night air.

The estate was quiet, the windows dark. The guards’ footsteps echoed faintly in the distance, but their rhythm gave her confidence. She reached the crumbling corner of the wall without incident and crouched low, pressing her hand to the cool s tone.

Summoning every ounce of hatred and defiance within her, Ren’wyn reached for her magic. The Void answered slowly, reluctant at first, but her desperation fueled its pull. Shadows curled around her, thin and flickering, shrouding her movements as she cli mbed.

The rough stone scraped her hands, and she gasped sharply, but she didn’t stop. At the top, she swung her legs over and landed on the other side in a heap, dirt staining her d ress.

For a heartbeat, she froze, listening for shouts or the sound of pursuit. Not hing.

Without looking back, Ren’wyn ran into the forest, the snake of anger hissing triumphantly in her c hest.