Page 2 of The Dark Mage
“R en’wyn!” Peria’s delighted squeal carried down the front steps of the women’s dormitory to the carriage door as it opened. Shoving the footman aside, Peria pulled Ren’wyn down the steep steps into the dirt drive and held her tightly.
Ren’wyn felt the comfort of Peria’s frank assessment—a pulse of magic twining around her heart, lungs, and soul.
Not only was Peria the best friend she could ask for—an excellent roommate and a devourer of men—but Peria was also an empath.
She commanded emotional magic, capable of influencing and altering feelings.
Peria was exceptional, understanding the importance of nuances in her magic: when hope was better than comfort, or determination more useful than p eace.
Ren’wyn’s tears flowed hot and thick under Peria’s unflappable emb race.
“There now, Ren, I’ve got you. You’re safe here,” she whisp ered.
“But I’m not,” Ren’wyn so bbed.
The tale spilled like poison from Ren’wyn’s soul.
Peria already knew the basics of Lord Vair’s emotional and verbal abuse, having rebuilt Ren’wyn into a workable state after every summer break.
But now, as they climbed the stairs to their dorm, Ren’wyn recounted the pinching and groping, Vair’s purposeful ignorance, and the shame and depression that coated her inside and out.
The rush of memories felt as vivid as reliving each moment.
She let Peria shoulder the burden, leaning into her friend’s compassion and stre ngth.
Once the door was shut, Peria rolled up Ren’wyn’s sleeves and studied the fading bruises along her arms. Peria’s ebony skin paled at the sight of the remaining marks, and she clenched her jaw, fighting t ears.
“Your father is allowing this?” Peria a sked.
“What other life could I have, Peria?” Ren’wyn replied.
The number of times they’d had this conversation had turned it into a rehearsed script.
Peria opposed Ren’wyn’s return to the Territories every year, and Ren’wyn couldn’t help but feel the distance between them in these moments.
While Peria loved her deeply, she couldn’t understand Ren’wyn’s decisions.
The miles separating Peria’s island home of Anduan would only isolate Ren’wyn more when school fini shed.
“I am guaranteed a future if I keep the peace. All I have to do is marry and make my father happy, and I can live safely. That’s my goal. The Empire isn’t worried about a Territorian lord’s demure wife. I can keep hi ding.”
“Your father’s goal, Ren’wyn,” Peria said, hands on her hips, bristling with indignation and sparking Ren’wyn’s a nger.
“Peria, please. Where would I go? What would I do? I have nothing to offer but my ability to settle. I’m not strong like you. There’s no Council in the Territories to aim for, no acceptance of my magic,” Ren’wyn ar gued.
Peria gave a frustrated sigh, choosing to flood Ren’wyn with peace and comfort to defuse the conflict. Still, Ren’wyn heard the unspoken words: You are worth more, Ren. You could be free on Anduan wit h me.
Ren’wyn settled on her bed, staring out the window at the lawn separating the classroom buildings and apartments.
Spyre was her only refuge—a fragile, temporary one.
She memorized its safety like an incantation, knowing it would one day vanish like morning mist. She would stay and learn, then she would marry and protect her mother and herself. Peria would never unders tand.
Spyre Academy, this beautiful, cloistered world, kept her steady.
Here, Ren’wyn perfected embroidery, painting, and household management to impress her father.
More importantly, it was here she learned to wield her magic of death alongside hundreds of other students in the six magical disciplines.
Spyre Academy, though masquerading as a school for wealthy children of nobles, was a hidden haven for Aridrans born with elemental power.
Respectably ordinary at first glance, Spyre could fool even the Imperial Guard during their regular inspections.
For those enrolled, it was a rare taste of blessed, protected fre edom.
With clenched fists, she reminded herself of her safety and the delight of learning and growing.
Ren’wyn had spent three years discovering the deepest recesses of herself alongside Peria.
She learned that herbalism and plant identification came naturally to her and leaned into the instruction of the dark mage Masters.
No one could take her knowledge or power.
With her connection to the Void alive and strong, she felt complete in a singular way.
The days at Spyre were endlessly enjoyable, and Ren’wyn soaked them in to fortify herself for the long dark of the Territories.
For the blissful months of school, she could forget how much she hated the reflection of a weak, broken woman staring back at her in the mi rror.
One day, these would be memories. That day would bring marriage, children, and a slow, quiet descent into empti ness…
Don’t go there. Don’t let the memorie s in.
Like an iron bar, she closed off thoughts of abuse and danger and focused on the other arriving students.
No one revealed the hints of power within them as they unloaded, conscious of watchful, unfriendly eyes, but magic clung to every person like a living, breathing aura.
To Ren’wyn, they appeared as colored mist hanging around each stu dent.
An acquaintance from magic history unloaded his bags into the men’s dormitory.
Dynor, a druid, commanded the physical elements of water, wind, and earth, which he readily used to impress women on campus.
Dynor had been the first to show Ren’wyn how a druid could form a whirlwind and move soil and stone, enchanting her with his tricks, but his romantic advances had kept them from becoming closer fri ends.
A group of berserkers stalked the main lawn, their power bridled but barely contained.
Even from here, Ren’wyn noticed their muscular forms as they jostled and goaded one another.
Berserkers wielded fire and strength—devastating, violent, and wild.
They laughed during brawls, and Ren’wyn wondered how they could enjoy beating the hell out of one another.
She shivered at the memory of being shaken by Vair.
Don’t think about it. Ren’wyn turned away from the rowdy young men.
Two quiet wights lingered in the shadows of the farthest building as though only half-present.
Wights could become invisible, shapeshift, and blur the boundaries of the physical world.
Spies and assassins of ages past, wights were almost always quiet and reserved.
Even at this distance, their auras felt like cold, dark sinkholes.
Ren’wyn wished she, too, could fade from exist ence.
The noise of a trunk thumping on the floor jolted Ren’wyn back to the room.
“My lady.” Her servant bowed. “We will be here to collect you when summer be gins.”
“Thank you,” Ren’wyn said, smiling as Peria’s arm settled around her shou lder.
The two women met each other’s eyes as the door cl osed.
“Come back to me, Ren?” Peria asked, her aura sending out gentle waves of com fort.
“I’m here,” Ren’wyn replied. In the grip of her friend, she was finally ready to live.
Life at Spyre bustled with activity, pulling Ren’wyn into the tide of lessons, papers, and practical magic until fear, pain, and shame were drowned beneath purpose.
Peria and Ren’wyn sparred with the berserkers, learning physical and magical self-defense.
Ren’wyn hid the nightmares she battled after these classes, though she suspected Peria felt her terrified spirit in the n ight.
Ren’wyn returned to private tutoring with the dark mage Masters, while Peria spent Wednesdays in politics.
In advanced magics, students displayed their magical capabilities, discovering the strengths and weaknesses of all six powers.
Best of all were Monday mornings, when Spyre’s herbalist, Master Lori, led Ren’wyn through field and forest to collect medicines and identify plants.
Nothing compared to botany for Ren’wyn, to the happiness she found among the ferns, reeds, and pine t rees.
Herbalism was both a highly practical skill and Ren’wyn’s greatest joy.
Lori invited her to the medic’s wing, where they poulticed, powdered, dried, and mixed herbs.
Ren’wyn stole every extra minute she could from these meetings.
Finding something to love and master filled her with purpose, and she was thrilled to mix and dispense medicines to students and Masters a like.
Some days, she woke early to slip alone into the greenhouses.
One in particular, a humid enclosure filled with carnivorous plants, overlooked the lawn to the east, where the sun rose pink above the forest edge.
Among the silent lives of pitcher plants and sundew, Ren’wyn let herself free.
No responsibilities, no magic, no one to go home to, just the tiny, colorful leaves among heated pools and manufactured waterf alls.
She would stay here if she could, fingers dirty and wet while moss and humus caught in her unbound hair.
The water would speak its unknown language over the landscape rocks, and she would gently tend the bladderwort floating in the small pond.
When the apples ripened, she could bring them to the stables and treat the horses.
As the dwarf willows grew strong, Ren’wyn could collect bark for the injuries in the medical ward, watching the students heal. Her heart could find reason every day.
Then the bell would toll across the lawn, and another day began, the illusion slipping away until the next moment alone in the greenho uses.