Page 19 of The Dark Mage

H and in hand, Ren’wyn and Fael returned to the edge of the pines. She could feel his nerves—and honestly, she shared them. That glade had demanded so much from them, and the dregs of her spirit were all that was left.

But this time, she would be the strong one; if not with magic, with courage. She led the way, heartened by the light air, birdsong, and the absence of the Void’s whispers. Her fingers tightened briefly around Fael’s. His power unfurled like tongues of fire, searching the space for da nger.

The grove of pines lay still in the afternoon light.

She released Fael’s hand to step into the clearing.

Memories from the previous day rushed back in, stealing her breath.

Thankfully, nothing brushed against her senses today.

Where had the shades gone? Were they a part of her now? Or were they waiting in d eath?

Ren’wyn stood quietly as the breeze coaxed wisps of hair free around her ears. The stillness reassured her, sand he gave Fael an encouraging smile. She didn’t pull him into the glade; this moment was his—taking the first step for himself in a solitary vic tory.

Turning away to give him privacy, she bent and touched the luminescent plants scattered across the forest floor.

The ghost pipes were as delicate and pale as wisps of moonlight.

Knowing their value, she dredged her memory for how to collect them.

First, the lesson Master Lori had emphasized: never take from the first patch you find.

Blowing a kiss to the tiny blooms, Ren’wyn passed the first g roup.

At the second group, she knelt and removed the small, bloodstained knife from her hip and drove it into the soil to clean it, shuddering at the memory of her vow.

Then, she carefully sliced the stems of four flowers at the ground.

Traveling through the clearing, she gathered a handful of fragile stems and flowers, marveling at their eerie beauty.

She finally laid out a handkerchief embroidered with blue forget-me-nots—her mother’s handiwork—and gently wrapped the stems. Ghost pipes needed drying before they could be powdered, and she could start the process near the fire that eve ning.

Ren’wyn smoothed the soil over the cut stems and whispered a soft thank-you, breathing gently over the remaining flowers as though giving them back a fragment of life. When she rose, Fael was standing behind her, watching clo sely.

“Tell me about them,” he said, his voice full of inte rest.

“Ghost pipes,” she replied. “They’re rare. They parasitize tree roots and need no sunlight to grow. When powdered, they can neutralize many poisons. A jarful sells for ten gold marks at most apothecaries, and I have to try to prepare them.”

Fael’s expression held genuine respect. “I’m impressed. You might be quite the force to be reckoned with.”

“Might be?” she teased, a playful lilt in her w ords.

Fael laughed and winked, giving her arm a quick, reassuring squ eeze.

Ren’wyn led the way for the rest of the day, grateful Fael trusted her to take charge. Tall pines loomed over them, shadows lengthening as the sun dipped lower. When they crossed a small creek with marshy edges, Fael stopped and stret ched.

“Let’s rest here,” he suggested. “I’m not too proud to admit I’m still exhausted. I’m amazed we made it this far.”

Ren’wyn gathered firewood, and Fael worked quickly with flint and tinder to start a small fire. She noticed a pile of watercress near his pack. He must have grabbed it from the riverbank. Pride bubbled in her chest—he was learning from her.

By the time Fael returned from hunting with two rabbits, Ren’wyn had spread the ghost pipes across a large, flat stone near the fire to dry.

He roasted a rabbit with the watercress and some cattail roots Ren’wyn had foraged while choosing her drying rock.

Still famished from the exhausting magic in the glade, the meal was one of the most fulfilling she’d ever enj oyed.

Ren’wyn couldn’t help feeling how unevenly matched they were.

Fael was singularly strong and intelligent, while she was a young, untested woman.

He carried the weight of battles and loss with ease.

She was the forgotten fiancée whose father had sold her like a problem to be discarded.

Ren’wyn felt it keenly as the setting sun filtered orange through the branches of pine, eating Fael’s rabbit in Fael’s camp under Fael’s protec tion.

Lost in thought, Fael’s hand on her wrist was a gentle surprise. Did he feel her sadness? He broke into the internal darkness where she had fallen with a quiet smile. He pulled her up, guiding her into the clearing next to their camp.

“Work through the Passage with me,” he off ered.

Slow and steady, Fael guided her through the first five movements. He taught her how to breathe: in to draw strength and out to move energy. Her dress wasn’t made for it, but she did her best, shifting her weight through a slow lunge from side to side.

“You’re a natural,” Fael said gently, bumping her shou lder.

She huffed a laugh, breathless but pleased.

Maybe it was more praise than she deserved, but she took the compliment.

She repeated the movements until her legs burned from exertion, then stopped to tend the fire while Fael went through the rest of his routine.

He was so fluid, like water cutting a familiar path within a riverbed.

How long had it taken him to reach that kind of mas tery?

Fael finished his exercises as she pulled the fully roasted second rabbit out of the fire.

He glistened with sweat in the firelight, his features softened by the glow.

He smiled before heading to the stream to rinse off.

Ren’wyn watched the fire, stifling the ache in her chest at the thought of Esrin—his joy when exercising with wind and water, his quiet laugh during prac tice.

She laid out their bedrolls, but the heavy melancholy ruined her mood, stripping her of any desire for conversation. Curling up on her blanket, back to the fire, she watched the silent ghost pipes where they laid safely out of the fire’s reach until her lids dro pped.

Fael returned from the stream, and his magic flickered over her in a gentle assessment. His boots whispered across the pine needles as he circled the campfire. Leather creaked as he knelt behind her, and then—light as a breath—a callused finger brushed her curls over her shou lder.

“What is it about you?” Fael whispered, more thought than question.

“I thought you might die in the clearing. I thought I would break, and yet…” His voice caught on the last words.

“Your power called mine, made it sing. How are you so soft and sweet… and still a dark queen? How is it that I already feel my destiny tangled with y ours?”

Silence descended, broken only by the crackle of logs and the call of a barred owl. Fael didn’t move, and Ren’wyn let herself roll forward onto the blanket that smelled like sweat, stone, and smoke—a scent that already spoke of home.

“I will die for you, Ren’wyn,” Fael said, his voice even quieter, as though he couldn’t believe he was admitting it to himself. “Sleep soundly tonight, no nightmares, and we will face tomorrow toge ther.”

She thought he might touch her, caress her, and a desire she had believed was lost burned deep in her stomach. But then he moved away, leaving the fire to warm the empty space left behind, and Ren’wyn took that uncomfortable yearning and smothered it with s leep.

After a day, Ren’wyn recovered enough to reach the Void without getting lightheaded. She resumed stilling her mind, opening herself to death. The forest was empty; the shades here were settled. She wondered if none had come here out of fear of the host that haunte d it.

Fael had estimated well; the forest thinned three days later.

It grew steadily warmer, a sure sign that their time among the conifers was ending.

On the fourth day, they entered a savanna, its scattered trees allowing the bright blue sky to shine above them, and Fael found them a well-tended path as they continued s outh.

Ren’wyn had only been to Terrepin once before, but she knew it boasted diverse habitats, warm and friendly people, and villages dotted along the shoreline and inland.

Each village and town sent a representative to the nearest city, and these groups elected someone from their city to travel to Ishvaen.

Twelve representatives from the twelve major cities advised the governor.

Ren’wyn’s heart tightened at the thought of Ishvaen, the governor, and most of all, Esrin.

How she missed him, and how she hated him—for how he had abandoned her like she meant not hing.

“There’s a village called Delmor near here,” Fael said, interrupting her thoughts. “They should have an inn and a clothing shop. It’s a day’s walk east. Does that sound good to you?”

She nodded, and they conti nued.

They passed the first farm less than an hour later, and it was strange to see other people again.

Ren’wyn tried finger-combing her hair to make herself look remotely presentable, but the mess hadn’t been washed for two weeks.

She patted her skirts and sleeves but only succeeded in creating clouds of dust while lengthening a rather scandalous tear along her t high.

Reaching a paved road, Fael set his pack on a low stone wall, unabashedly removing his shirt and pulling out a cleaner one.

The muscles in his upper body flexed as he stretched his arms up, and Ren’wyn’s eyes dipped to avoid staring too long.

Not that she minded, but she didn’t want him to feel self-conscious.

His new shirt was decidedly cleaner, and it would only help them if at least one of them looked de cent.