Page 22 of The Dark Mage
When they went upstairs after supper, the maid in the entrance watched them, but they separated at the top of the st airs.
Fael jumped when he heard Ren’wyn’s gasp and shriek through the wall. Then, the bed frame groaned loudly, and he burst into delighted laughter as he realized what she was doing. She was jumping on the bed. He rolled over, still chuckling, and fell asleep with a s mile.
The next morning, after breakfast, Ren’wyn returned to the apothecary. Where better to learn than a place that helped the community with health problems? Fael was spending the day canvassing the countryside, searching for signs of others like them.
As they walked after breakfast, Fael mentioned his hope of finding people with powers and winning their support for an eventual fight against the Capital.
He believed the greatest change would come from local people rather than those in power, especially here in Terrepin, where democracy was so highly va lued.
A small silver bell rang as Ren’wyn opened the apothecary door. The shop smelled of dust and mildew—not ideal for sensitive herbs and powders. She had tied her dark blonde hair back into a scarf and strode as confidently as she could to the cou nter.
“Back again?” the gruff older man rasped. “Perhaps for that love potion after all?”
Ren’wyn schooled her expression to suppress an eye roll. Using the skills she’d learned in management at Spyre, she straightened her spine, made direct eye contact, and offered a sweet smile to diffuse the ten sion.
I can do this. I have something to offer here.
“Actually,” she said, “when I stopped in yesterday, I noticed the excellent assortment of items you have. I’m staying in town for a while and looking for employment. I thought perhaps you would like an extra set of hands, Ma ster…?”
She trailed off, hoping the respectful address might encourage goodwill.
The man cocked his head, assessing her from head to toe.
Ren’wyn was glad her dress was simple and sturdy—it helped her appear like a tradeswoman.
Such things were acceptable here in Terrepin, and she leaned into her assumed iden tity.
“No Masters here,” he corrected. “I’m Axel, and this has been my shop my whole life. My father’s before me. An herbalist, eh, Miss Ca lora?”
She smiled prettily at the use of her alias, every inch a demure, thoughtful woman. “I trained in plant identification and use at Spyre Aca demy.”
“Just your knowledge of the ghost pipes tells me you’re more than an apprentice, Calora. It’s been years since someone recognized, harvested, and sold me those beau ties.”
Axel unwrapped a linen parcel on the back counter, revealing the four stems, then beckoned her over.
She rounded the counter, and he indicated the mortar and pestle, which she grabbed.
Meanwhile, he pressed the stems and flowers with the flat edge of a knife.
Though they appeared fresh, the stems disintegrated under pressure, and Axel let out a satisfied g runt.
He placed the ghost pipes into the mortar, and she ground them into powder as Axel watched over her shoulder. When the powder was fine and uniform, he reached for the mortar. Then, he tapped every last speck onto a flat metal p late.
Ten tiny glass bottles lined the shelf—what he had apparently been gathering while she worked. He divided the blue-green, luminescent powder, sweeping each portion into a metal scoop before carefully pouring it into the jars.
Ren’wyn warmed sealing wax over a candle. She dripped it onto a tiny cork Axel handed her, burning her fingertips slightly, then pressed the cork into the first jar.
They capped all ten jars, then Axel swept them into a lined wooden box before sliding it into the cupboard beneath the cou nter.
“You’ll do,” he said with a smile. “What’s next?”
Ren’wyn spent the rest of the morning cleaning. She found a broom and swept the shop thoroughly, wrapping a wet rag over her mouth to protect herself from the dust. Shelves, counters, even the window wells didn’t escape her eff orts.
At noon, Axel brought out a simple lunch. They shared it in the front window on an ancient window seat, watching two small boys play ball in the st reet.
Fael returned in the middle of her work reshelving bottles in the cubicles along the western wall of the shop, shortly before supper. Ren’wyn felt proud of the progress she had made, enjoying the task of painting the names of herbs and medicines onto the edges of the she lves.
At the sound of the bell, Axel appeared from the back. “Can I help you?” he asked gruffly, though not unpleasa ntly.
Fael grinned and pointed. “I’m here for Ca lora.”
When she capped the paint and turned, Fael’s cheeks reddened, his mouth tightening. For a moment, she wondered if he was still breathing. She touched the escaping curls that tickled her sweaty face, laughing at his odd expres sion.
Then, with a shake of his head, Fael regained his composure and leaned casually against the wall by the win dows.
He winked and said, “You’re disgusting. Did you roll in the corners to dust them?”
Behind him, Axel barked a laugh as he counted and sorted dried marigold le aves.
Her scowl was purely for show, and she stuck her tongue out at him, which only made him laugh again.
She untied her hair, and as she walked past, she flicked him with the end of the scarf.
Fael grabbed her wrist, and she turned halfway back, hair unbound, heart pounding with a mixture of amusement and defi ance.
“Come now,” she said playfully. “You can’t convince me I hurt you.”
He was definitely blushing this time, and a pulse of magic rushed from his hand to her wrist. This—this is what it feels like to live. She watched him work to steady his breathing as her own pulse ran rampant in her v eins.
“I refuse to eat within distance of a human dustpan,” he retorted. “I don’t want gritty b read.”
She giggled and waved at Axel.
“Tomorrow?” she asked, pushing down her anxiety. I am enough. I have something to o ffer.
“Yes, lass,” Axel grunted. “You’re helpful en ough.”
She practically skipped down the street at that.
At supper, she was still beaming with joy. Fael sat contentedly while she glanced around the small town square from their t able.
“I’ve never been so happy for fresh bread,” she said toward the end of the meal. “All that hard tack in the forest made me grateful for this.”
Fael nodded. “Hard tack will keep you alive, but bread made with love”—he glanced down at his plate—“that will feed your heart. Though pleasant company improves both.”
His compliment set her soaring, and heat blazed across her ch eeks.
“Tell me about your day,” she said, brushing past her flustered thoughts. “Since you know mine was spent dusting with my hair.”
“Nothing much to say,” he replied. “I spoke with some farmers who’d brought goods to sell in the village shops.
Some talked of trouble to the east near the Capital; others mentioned unrest west toward Ishvaen.
No talk of magic, though that was unsurprising, given I’m a stranger.
No mention of imperial forces, either. I didn’t… sense anything unusual as I ro amed.”
He wouldn’t put that last part into too many words, cautious of who might overhear. Ren’wyn tapped her fingers against the rough wooden t able.
“I’m going to work at the apothecary until we’re ready for whatever is next,” she said. “I’ll keep my eyes and ears open—if we even get any customers. I suppose we’ll see a way forward as time pa sses?”
“Yes,” Fael replied, and once again she was struck by his quiet conviction. “We’ll find our path.”