Page 15 of The Dark Mage
Ren’wyn exhaled deeply, the sound of distant nighthawks and the gurgling Mere easing her tension.
His words conjured memories of the Spyre catacombs, filled with the screams of broken berserkers.
Fire had sometimes licked under their doorframes, a reminder of the madness that often claimed them before d eath.
The sharpness of her dream dissolved. Fael crossed back to his side of the campsite, leaving her to se ttle.
“Thank you,” she whispered into the quiet, lying down once more.
It reminded her of the worst nights at Spyre, lying across from Peria in their dorm, tethered to reality by her friend’s quiet empathy. She relaxed with the thought of her beautiful fr iend.
A faint shimmer of power pulsed between her and Fael—a gentle reply. It calmed her further until she drifted into sleep without fear.
Ren’wyn managed a full mile on her own the next day, walking gingerly. The poultice had worked, reducing the swelling and easing the pain. Fael declared her well enough to remove the sp lint.
He unwrapped the linen deftly, pulling the sturdy sticks free before rewrapping her ankle snugly. His soft, careful touch was a stark contrast to the brutal strength he had displayed in his morning exerc ises.
Where did he learn field surgery? she wondered. His practiced ease suggested extensive experience or thorough trai ning.
Later, she caught her reflection in the Mere and noticed the bruises on her face had deepened in color, and the cut on her cheek had scabbed over. She assumed the bruises along her abdomen looked similarly, though she hadn’t checked during her brief moments of pri vacy.
They stopped for lunch along the Mere, as they had the day before. Ren’wyn soaked her ankle in the cool water while Fael removed his boots, cooling his own feet in the st ream.
When he gave her the same meal—hard roll, dried pork, and water—she gave him a small smile. He returned it, his toes playfully splashing near curious trout that swa m by.
As they ate, she spotted willow, boneset, and green amaranth nearby. She scooted closer to gather the plants, carefully plucking leaves for sto rage.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Fael asked, watching her with interest. “And what are you gathe ring?”
She smiled at his curiosity, pleased to share one of her favorite things with someone. Touching each plant as she expla ined:
“This is willow bark. It can be powdered, boiled, or poulticed for pain and fever. It tastes bitter as hell in tea, so I prefer to use it in wraps, though that’s less effec tive.
“This one with the white flowers is boneset. The leaves reduce inflammation when pressed and spread onto injuries, but also work well in tea, especially during flu outbr eaks.
“Green amaranth has these green, bushy flowers. I use it to make tea during my period. I learned how to identify and use wild plants at school, where I also studied m agic.”
Curiosity lit his face. “There’s a school for magical instruction? I thought the empire destroyed them all.”
“They did,” she replied. “The school I attended focused on ‘acceptable’ studies but secretly taught us about our magic. My father allowed me to attend because Erst was studying in the Capital. My mother convinced him by reminding him how useless I was on the estate when I wasn’t impressing my future hus band. ”
She kept her voice light, but Fael’s expression darkened. Sensing her discomfort, he drew his feet from the water and shook them dry.
“So, those classes included herbalism?” he a sked.
“Yes,” Ren’wyn replied, pulling her unwrapped foot from the water and setting it on the bank. “I have a natural affinity with plants, which surprised my Masters. I lov e it.”
Fael leaned back slightly, watching the leaves flutter in the ca nopy.
“I never attended school for my power. I had private tutors for formal education and for magic—my father’s idea. He wanted my identity hidden. His plan was for me to learn to be brutal and efficient so I could one day command the imperial army.”
Ren’wyn’s eyes widened. “Your father must have really believed in your power, and your ability to hide too.”
“He did,” Fael confirmed, pulling on his socks and b oots.
When she reached for his hand to help her stand, he steadied her with his firm grip. The cold water had eased the pressure in her ankle enough that she could bear weight on it again, and she grinned with plea sure.
The banks of the Mere became more densely vegetated as the afternoon wore on. Old trees rose around them, and unfamiliar birds called from the branches a bove.
Their entry into the Dark Forest in mid-afternoon brought a palpable change. Hemlocks lined their path, the evergreen scent filling the air as the forest floor grew springy with needles under foot.
The birdsong faded into an eerie silence. Fael’s fingers tightened on her waist, his hand steadying her as the other rested on the hilt of his short s word.
Ren’wyn, however, felt nothing but calm.
The forest, more a home than her father’s estate had ever been, welcomed her back. Its quiet gloom and the interwoven branches of cedar, hemlock, and fir trees soothed her, grounding her in a way nothing else c ould.
Fael, by contrast, was uneasy. His hazel eyes darted to every shadow, his movements sharp and alert. She sought to reassure him, summoning a cool, dark breeze to dry the sweat on his brow.
His sharp intake of breath confirmed he felt her m agic.
“Don’t tempt it,” he warned, his voice low and wary.
“Tempt what?” she asked, curiosity pi qued.
“Death,” he hissed, his gaze assessing the shadows pooling in the late afternoon l ight.
Ren’wyn smiled—a sure, firm expression devoid of fear. Death was no stranger to her. It calmed her, filling her lungs with the forest’s pungent scent of decaying nee dles.
She stopped walking, lifting a hand to still Fael. Closing her eyes, she reached for her magic. Her hand trailed up her thigh to her hip, then swept toward the sky.
When she opened her eyes, her pupils had dilated, and frost coated her fingers and feet. Shadows leaked out of the ground, coiling around her legs, rising from the forest floor and twisting through her hair. Silent, cold shades emerged from the earth to stand behind her.
Ren’wyn stood solid and commanding, her power swelling as her smile spread—not cruel but free.
Fael stiffened, stepping back as he regarded the ring of shades surrounding them. His breath hitched, his body tense as he realized the dead had gathered at her call.
She swept her arms open and down, fingers splayed. The shadows melted away, and the shades dissolved into the earth. Keeping their gazes locked, she watched his fear transform into cautious admira tion.
They stared at each other as Ren’wyn blinked. Her pupils constricted to reveal the gray of her irises. Her hair tickled her neck as it settled, and frost melted from her skin.
Fael’s magic responded, heat rolling off him like a tangible force. Black shadow and red fire met between them, intertwining in a glorious, chaotic d ance.
When the connection broke, a warm breeze carried the lingering fire and shadow away. Ren’wyn stood in her dirty gown, hair disheveled, and Fael smiled as he watched the frost melt from his b oots.
Friendship bloomed in his eyes, and his acceptance chased away the fear of Vair and Erst, the pain of losing Esrin and Lyr’ren, and the loneliness and darkness always on the hor izon.
“You don’t have to fear death with me,” she said softly, almost shyly. “This forest is full of death, its heart teeming with shades both good and evil. They don’t scare me. I will hold us st eady.”
When his hand slipped into hers, trust cemented their growing friendship. Suddenly worn, she leaned against a hemlock, exhaustion pressing her shoulders back.
“I haven’t worked with my power in months,” she admitted. “Not at Erst’s manor, and not before that at my father’s estate—for many rea sons.”
Fael’s warmth settled beside her, and she instinctively straightened her posture, Vair’s chiding voice invading her mind. Back straight, Ren’wyn. You’re not a maid with bucket and mop.
“That was exciting,” she chuckled, a hint of embarrassment in her v oice.
Fael squeezed her shoulder affectionately. They were stuck together now, an unspoken bond forged by their shared p ower.
And for the first time in months, Ren’wyn felt less a lone.