Page 16 of The Dark Mage

T hat evening, Fael insisted they camp early to let Ren’wyn rest after using her magic. The fire he built crackled cheerily, but it couldn’t chase away her awareness of her atrophied sk ills.

Fael brought out a pot, filling it with water from the shrinking Mere. He added salt pork and a few potatoes from a cloth wrap at the bottom of his pack. Ren’wyn found some wild artichokes while washing herself at the stream, and Fael gladly added them to the mix.

“You are a talented herbalist,” he remarked as he stirred the soup. “I had a friend in my regiment who excelled with wild plants. He was overconfident, though, and died from hemlock poisoning during an assignment in Li buli.”

Ren’wyn shuddered. Hemlock poisoning was a danger for anyone foraging wild carrots; the plants were so easy to misidentify. It was a swift death, but brutal, and she imagined Fael had watched his friend vomit and suffocate, unable to inter vene.

“I’m so sorry,” she said softly. “That’s why I rarely forage wild carrots. They’re delicious, but the risk…”

Fael’s grave expression silenced her, but after a moment, she spoke again, trying to ease the weight in his eyes.

“My mother used to say that the wild called to me. I would bring home bouquets of wildflowers in the summer, and I spent hours reading about plants in my father’s library. He forbade me from working with the local healer after I snuck off to assist with a difficult birth at six teen.

“I think it was that episode that convinced him my mother was right—I needed to be sent away to school to become an acceptable ‘w oman.’”

Glancing over, she saw Fael’s expression encouraging her to cont inue.

“My father believed school tamed me. What he didn’t know was that embroidery and household management were the least of my interests.

I learned to control and channel my dark magic, to treasure and hide it.

My Masters taught me the history of magic and how it’s exhibited among the six powers.

I studied self-defense, plant identification, politics, geography, and mathema tics.

“School set me free, but after my third year, I came home to find my marriage arranged to that brute. And in my last year…” Her throat tightened, Esrin’s abandonment poisoning her thoughts. She redirected qui ckly.

“In my last year, I was offered a way out, but it fell through. My mother died not long after I returned home, and my father sent me to Erst’s estate. Erst made it clear he would enjoy making my life hell. I snapped and planned my es cape.”

An oversimplified explanation, but honest en ough.

“I’m impressed,” Fael said after a moment. He removed the pot from the fire and placed it between them, passing her two hard biscuits to dip into the broth. “Not everyone is clever enough to time a guard transition. Not everyone is brave enough to run.”

Ren’wyn scoffed inwardly. Brave? Every moment of the past months had been stained with cowardice.

Every minute of her life was stained with cowardice.

She had endured Vair’s manipulation and slaps, avoided Peria’s invitation to Anduan, and pinned all her hopes on Esrin’s empty promises. How pathetic was that?

The silence stretched, but Fael’s gaze was soft and knowing. That quiet understanding brought a tightness to her throat and a sting to her eyes.

“Something lighter?” Fael offered, his tone gentle. “I had a gray mare named Cloud when I was young. I’d ride her for hours to escape my father’s visits. She loved apples, and I brushed her down myself instead of leaving her to the grooms. I just enjoyed being with her.”

Ren’wyn smiled at the thought of him, high-born and wealthy, soothing and grooming a horse. The image and distraction softened her mood.

“I had a cat,” she replied. “Seffi. She was black with white paws and one white ear, and she loved catching mice in the pantry. She slept with me every night. I used to roll buttons and marbles for her. She was a friend when everyone else expected too much o f me.”

The next silence was companionable, filled with the shared love of their pets. The soup was simple but hot, and the fire’s glow and warm food added to the peaceful atmosp here.

Fael finished eating and stood to begin the Passage. “I think you should exercise your magic when you’re ready. You’re free now, and no one will stop you.”

Ren’wyn watched him move for a while, then took the pot to wash in the stream. She scoured the bottom with sand and stones before sitting beside the flowing w ater.

The stream rippled and eddied in endless patterns, and her mind wandered to death and its own similar movement. She let her eyes shutter, and the Void rose cold and heavy around her. Her fingers and feet crusted with frost, and her eyes s tung.

Looming dark under their cloaks, her siblings stood like sentinels on the opposite bank.

“What do you think of him?” she asked. “Is he good? Is he safe?”

Anxiety coiled in her chest, icy and sharp. What if their answer was no? Alone in the Dark Forest, she wouldn’t sur vive.

Aiden stepped forward, his voice soft in her ear. “Good, yes. Safe, no. He will protect with fire and strength. Stay close to him.”

The three ghosts shared a look but offered no further insight. She knew better than to press, fearing they might fade. Instead, she practiced weaving shadows into a net—a technique for masking and hi ding.

Under her siblings’ watch, her confidence grew. She could regain her strength. The intricate net-making required all her concentration, and she lost track of time until the snap of a twig behind her brought her back.

Swiveling, she summoned shadows that burst from the ground, ready to attack the unseen th reat.

Instead of danger, she found Fael standing on the ridge, his posture relaxed. Delight was evident in his gaze, and she saw no fear in him despite the shadows curling around his an kles.

She quieted the Void with a gesture. Looking down, she noticed her legs were blanketed in shadow, appearing like dappled patterns of leaves and bran ches.

Fael approached slowly, reaching toward her woven shadows. His hand disappeared into the dark web, and his eyes widened as he ga sped.

“That’s nothing I ever expected to see,” he whisp ered.

Ren’wyn released the net, the darkness filtering back into the forest floor. Fael watched it fade, his face lit with wo nder.

“It’s only fair that you see me practice,” she said lightly. “I’ve admired your strength and agility for two days now. You’re impressive. I’ve never seen a berserker train like that with a sword. Do you need to exercise every day?”

“Yes and no,” he replied, sitting beside her. “The routine keeps me focused. I can take a few days off before I get restless, but the exercises hone and expend my power so I can control it. Do you need to release y ours?”

“No, but like any other muscle, if I don’t practice, I lose precision. My power can overwhelm me, which is especially dangerous when it comes to playing with d eath.”

Fael’s eyes glimmered in the dark. “All I ever heard of dark mages was that they ate souls to fuel their power, but what you did was beautiful. Would you show me a gain?”

Ren’wyn glanced at her siblings standing across the Mere, their shadowy forms watching with interest. Moira almost smiled.

Stretching her fingers, Ren’wyn felt the shift in the world around her as darkness gathered.

Wisps of shadow fluttered between her frost-covered nails.

She bent her fingers, guiding the darkness together into a faint web.

Her strength faltered after a few moments, and the shadow dissip ated.

“Thank you,” Fael murmured, setting a hand on her arm in gratitude as she released the darkness. His magic seeped warmth into her skin, chasing the frost and lingering chill from the Void.

Ren’wyn smiled, unguarded and unreserved. It was a new feeling—sharing this part of herself with someone who neither retreated nor judged. She could see his opinion of her power had shi fted.

Fael kept his hand on her arm as he helped her stand. The movement made her ankle and head protest, but she pushed the discomfort aside, unwilling to regret using her p ower.

“I’m hunting tomorrow morning,” Fael remarked as he guided her back to her bedroll. “We won’t last much longer on my supplies—they weren’t meant for two. When I return, you’re welcome to watch or join me while I exercise. I’d be glad to show you the Pas sage.”

Ren’wyn eased onto the blanket, exhaustion pulling at her limbs. “I would like that very much, yes,” she replied so ftly.

Fael returned from hunting the next morning with a deer slung across his shoulders. The venison was a welcome addition to their provisions. Fael cooked and wrapped portions to last, and though the meat was a little gamey, Ren’wyn ate content edly.

Her ankle was improving. The swelling had decreased, though she declined Fael’s offer to help her train. He approved of her caution, encouraging her to give the injury time to heal.

After breakfast, Ren’wyn showed Fael how to prepare a mixture of boneset leaves and willow bark to ease pain and swelling as he rewrapped her ankle.

He watched intently as she crushed and mixed the plants before spreading them on the linen wrap; then, he asked to try himself.

His mixture was clumsy but effective, and he listened closely to her instructions as he wrapped her ankle a gain.

They moved quietly through the forest, their steps muffled by the thick mat of needles and dark soil. Ren’wyn managed to walk unsupported for the entire morning, though after lunch, she took Fael’s arm.

The Dark Forest’s oppressive twilight mirrored Ren’wyn’s heavy grief. The shady hollows in the trees echoed her exhaustion. Fael’s presence comforted her, but his strong touch and warm voice sometimes reminded her of Esrin, twisting the ache in her c hest.

After supper, Fael produced a small flask, his eyes revealing that he understood her mood. The liquor burned like fire, but she had done enough drinking at school to keep from embarrassing her self.

Fael stood and unsheathed his short sword, beginning his nightly routine. Ren’wyn glanced at the broadsword lying next to his bedroll. She wondered if he ever practiced with it and tried to imagine how he might adjust each position to accommodate the massive we apon.

When he finished, he turned, wearing a wide grin. “Enjoy the show?”

The warmth from the flask had loosened her mood. She smiled back, lifting a teasing brow. “I’m pretty sure you mixed up those last two posit ions.”

Fael laughed and offered her the short sword. “Go ahead and show me, then.”

Ren’wyn burst into laughter, snorting and covering her face with her hands as she dissolved into giggles. Crossing the distance, Fael flopped down beside her. He was close—close enough that she could have reached out to touch his hand if she d ared.

“What are we doing, Fael?” she asked softly, rubbing her face. “What happens next? Where are we g oing?”

Fael’s smile faded as he grew thoughtful. “I have an idea,” he started. “It’s not fully formed, but for now, we head into Terrepin and then south. We’ll look for others like us—people with magic. Together, we’ll right what wrongs we can for those harmed by the em pire.”

His voice carried both strength and sadness, and Ren’wyn wondered what burdens he carried. There was courage in his plan, and striving for justice resonated deeply in her sp irit.

Self-doubt clamored within her. Who was she to stand for justice? She hadn’t ever done anything right; she had spent her life submitting to cruelty, hiding in fear, and failing those who believed in her. Not even Esrin had been able to embrace her darkness or her insignific ance.

“I don’t know what I have to offer,” she admitted. “But I’ll travel with you and help where I can. I’d like to see people with power freed and educated. I’d like to help with that.”

“Then, it’s settled.” Fael’s voice cut into the endless loop of self-doubt, his unfettered confidence sweet as sunshine. “We head to Terrepin, make some money, and maybe even find you new clo thes.”

Ren’wyn looked down at her torn, filthy dress. They both smelled awful, and she sighed at the thought of hot water, pumice stone, and scented s oaps.

“Make money?” she asked with a wry quirk of her lips. “Are we mercenaries now?”

“I’d prefer ‘help-for-hire’ to ‘contract soldiers,’” Fael replied lig htly.

Ren’wyn felt her chest lighten with humor. She would be agreeing to an arrangement with a man she barely knew. She didn’t know his family name, and he didn’t know hers. But he trusted her, laughed with her, and shared his food, honesty, and magic. He had saved her life.

Her brother’s words echoed in her mind: Good, yes. Safe , no.

Fael was still smiling encouragingly. She returned it, feeling lighter than she had in mo nths.

“Would anyone believe I was a contract soldier?” she te ased.

“Going on smell alone, you might convince a few,” Fael qui pped.

She swiped at him playfully, and he caught her hand effortlessly, his grin wide ning.

“Get some rest, Ren’wyn,” he said gently. “The Dark Forest will only grow wilder, and I can feel there’s more to come.”