Page 23 of The Dark Mage
I n the end, they stayed in Delmor for three months.
Fael and Ren’wyn found a secluded spot in the forest to practice magic.
They woke early each morning and spent an hour exercising, with Ren’wyn adding a new movement to her routine at the start of each week.
As the weather cooled into autumn, the mornings became more enjoyable.
Starting the day flushed and sweating never felt good, and the cooler air was a welcome relief—especially since Fael never seemed to suffer from the heat the way she did.
After breakfast, Fael traveled to the farms and homesteads surrounding Delmor, while Ren’wyn worked at the apothecary. She and Axel dried and processed herbs and mushrooms, cleaned and sorted stock, and recorded sales and inven tory.
After supper, Ren’wyn and Fael returned to the forest, fueling rumors about their relationship while giving them a chance to practice magic in secret.
Ren’wyn honed her shadow-weaving skills and worked to settle the shades lingering in the area.
Fael practiced a deadly-looking routine that combined shield, spear, and sword in turn.
She loved watching him slice at trees and shrubs, leap over rocks, and let his berserker fire roll across his arms and sword.
When he finished his practice, he often watched quietly as she moved her hands and arms through intricate patterns to interact with the Void.
Slowly—but steadily—the shop became cleaner. Ren’wyn spent a few days during the second week resting through her period. Axel, thankfully open-minded and accommodating, didn’t mind. She felt a wave of gratitude that she hadn’t bled during her escape in the Dark Fo rest.
When she returned to the shop, Fael came along to help for a day.
He opened windows and worked hard enough to get sweaty and dirty, prompting her to shoo him off to rinse in the stream before supper; they couldn’t always afford the luxury of a hot bath.
Little bottles gleamed on the shelves, and sunlight streamed through newly clear windows as Ren’wyn worked her way from top to bottom.
She also took inventory, arranging with the dressmaker to send linen scraps in exchange for a liniment to ease the seamstress’s aching hands and shoul ders.
She convinced the butcher to give them leftover fat and grease after she brought his wife a tea that helped bring in milk for their newborn daughter after a difficult birth.
Ren’wyn wasn’t a healer, but her knowledge of herbs and their uses came easily.
The smells and sights of each plant—their flowers and leaves—felt like family: familiar, comforting, and va lued.
Three weeks in, a young woman named Sori came into the shop looking for help with her husband’s persistent headaches.
Axel and Ren’wyn worked together to prepare a treatment for him to try in varying strengths.
Sori’s sister-in-law became their next customer, seeking help for her oldest son’s fever.
Ren’wyn sent her home with ingredients for tea and instructions to send for the healer if the fever didn’t break within a day.
A week later, the woman returned when her two younger children also developed fevers. Axel and Ren’wyn quickly realized they were running low on figwort root as the illness spread through Delmor. Ren’wyn dragged Fael into the fields surrounding town to harvest mountain mint for more tea.
Fortunately, there were only two fatalities—both elderly men who had suffered from chronic coughs. The healer in town warmed quickly to Ren’wyn, who admired the woman’s practical approach of mixing medicine with good s ense.
Every person who came into the apothecary felt like a gift.
Ren’wyn relished every moment, listening to their concerns and needs.
She shared her patients’ stories only with Axel—to ensure accurate treatment—and with Fael.
Fael listened well, asking thoughtful questions or laughing along with her anecdotes.
She trusted him completely, and from time to time, he even offered advice on the personal issues that often accompanied medical conc erns.
She refused to let Axel peddle “nonsense” during her hours at the shop. The man ran a sly side business at night for customers who wanted love potions, good-luck charms, and hex bags, but fake medicine was strictly forbidden during what Axel came to call “Ren’wyn’s h ours.”
More of the community began frequenting the shop, and soon people started asking Fael for help with odd jobs.
Ren’wyn secretly loved hearing them call him “Calora’s man,” as though she was the powerful one in their relationship.
Fael joked that she was his patroness and character reference, which made her laugh—but their assumed relationship kept the few unattached men in town from harassing her.
He gave her a sense of security, and she didn’t mind when Fael slipped an arm around her waist on their way back to the inn after work.
In their free time, Fael often snagged a bottle of wine, and they shared it in one of their rooms. He told her everything about his visits and work. Ren’wyn sent him out with remedies to deliver to distant homesteads, and he returned with sto ries.
They learned about the rebellion that had been quelled in Kareht and that some forces had escaped.
Brigands were active along the border of Loringa, and pirates had grown more numerous along the trade routes in the Serath Sea—but even with their magic and visits to the surrounding countryside, they found no one else with po wers.
“The empire has been brutal here,” Fael said one night.
“There are so many abandoned homes in the countryside, and the farmers all say the same thing: the families left to ‘find more profitable locations.’ Everyone uses the exact same phrase, Ren’wyn.
It’s code—they mean people left to escape persecu tion. ”
Feeling his distress, Ren’wyn took his hand, hoping to dispel his haunted expres sion.
“I remember so much, Ren’wyn. So many horrible things.” For a moment, he looked torn about continuing, but his mouth kept moving. “Torture. Murder. Maiming. The horrific things we did to those with magic and to those who loved or protected them. My nightmares are...”
Silence fell between them. Nightmares she could understand. Murder? She understood that now too.
“Hold on to the good, Fael,” she whispered, and his breath caught as he pressed his fist to his mouth. “And when you can’t, hold on t o me.”
By the second month, the apothecary became, if not busy, at least regularly attended.
It was clean and bright, and Ren’wyn began making regular trips—often accompanied by Fael—into the woods, wetlands, and fields to collect local plants.
He listened attentively as she showed him how to harvest certain herbs in the early morning, while they were still covered in dew, or others at night under the moon and stars.
She explained why lilies were never gathered after a rain and insisted he carry her mushrooms in a beechwood c rate.
The plant world was a realm of happiness and familiarity.
It didn’t matter where they trudged—her love of botany knew no bounds.
Waist-deep in muddy water for cattail flowers?
Knee-deep in muck for sweet flag? Scrambling up a small rocky waterfall for liverwort spotted mid-trek? Every moment was pure del ight.
Each time she caught Fael’s gaze, she swore he had never seen anything like her. She tried to ignore the pride and confidence his open admiration stirred—the strange swirl of desire deep inside her as he watched her wild pursuit of her leafy treas ures.
Eight weeks in, Axel pointed out new customers from the neighboring village of Trisin, a day’s travel away.
The apothecary from Trisin paid them a visit, arriving in a carriage filled with medicines.
Ren’wyn bought a new dress for the occasion—green with slit panels of white in the loose skirt.
Fael told her she looked like summer reborn in the fall, and she tucked the compliment into a secret corner of her h eart.
The Trisin apothecary, Axel, and Ren’wyn spent the day chatting and trading preparations for various illnesses.
When Axel presented Ren’wyn’s ghost pipes, she beamed with pride, and the Trisin apothecary’s eyes widened.
He purchased three of the small bottles for an astonishing thirty gold marks, which Axel insisted they s plit.
Meanwhile, Fael had borrowed the innkeeper’s horse to deliver a remedy to a family suffering from chronic cough. He promised Ren’wyn he would return before su pper.
As supper approached, the Trisin apothecary kept Axel and Ren’wyn busy with questions about their inventory and remedies. Finally, they paused to relax with chamomile tea on the front step when the sound of hooves reached Ren’wyn’s ears.
Looking up from where she sat between the two older men, she saw Fael perched like a prince in disguise on the large black cha rger.
“Hello, Tern,” she said, smiling wa rmly.
Fael dismounted in one smooth motion, holding the reins in one hand and reaching for her with the o ther.
“Calora,” he greeted her with a smile. “Did you forget su pper?”
“No,” she countered. “Though I thought you had, as late as you are.”
“I smelled chicken as I passed the inn,” he teased, stretching his hand a little farther. “I think we won’t be disappoi nted.”
The movement caught her attention, and she finally met his gaze. Fire burned intensely in his hazel eyes. Anger radiated off him in waves, and the echoes of his magic stirred her own.
Suddenly, a thousand tiny shards of glass seemed to slip from within her shadows, slicing against her will.
Broken magic sang like discordant music against her own—an intense, searing pain that triggered a visceral reaction.
She recoiled within her own power and reached desperately for Fael’s outstretched hand.