Page 24 of The Dark Mage

“Gentlemen.” She turned and smiled at each of them in turn, though her mind raced in terror. She gripped Fael like a lifeline. “It has truly been a plea sure.”

He wrapped his arm possessively around her waist and pulled her close. She let him lead them away quickly, relaxing into his hold. His anger radiated as physical heat, thawing the icy fear coursing through her v eins.

“That’s a man in a hurry for a bedding before dinner,” the Trisin apothecary chuc kled.

The comment only coaxed her to lean further into Fael’s embrace. He was her refuge, her protection from whatever still grated against her.

The broken, twisted magic swirled around them, and as it peaked, she finally located the source: the Trisin apothecary’s cart. Never before had anything disturbed her like this disembodied magic, which twisted and licked at their heels as they hurried away.

During their tense, quiet supper, the apothecary’s carriage passed by the inn on its way out of town.

Ren’wyn felt as though broken glass scraped against her power as its presence lingered.

Across from her, Fael stiffened, his jaw tightening, until the grating sensation disappeared into the gathering dark.

Fael offered her a false smile as he finished his chicken and potatoes. He had been right about the smell—it was an excellent dish—but she had barely touched her food. She simply wasn’t hu ngry.

Ren’wyn didn’t know what felt worse: that she had failed to notice the thread of broken magic earlier, or the way it clawed at her once she finally recognized it.

She berated herself silently. Stupid. A worthless addition to this team.

Her primary purpose was to notice magic, and she had failed.

She had chosen to work with Axel to observe the community, and at her first opportunity, she’d fallen short.

The oppressive magic pressed against her in the same way as her father’s sharp words, Erst’s abuse, and Esrin’s betr ayal.

Pushing her dish away, she rose abruptly. Fael immediately foll owed.

“I’m fine,” she lied, plastering a smile on her face. “I’m just tired. Don’t get up on my part.”

She didn’t want to talk about the magic—or the pain it had unearthed. Not wanting Fael to pry or reprimand her for her ignorance, she headed to her room.

At the door, she breathed a sigh of relief and reached for the knob, only for Fael’s arm to slip under hers and push the door open. He followed her in, and she turned to face him, hands on her hips.

“You aren’t fine, and stop trying to lie to me,” he said, cutting her off before she could order him out. “I thought we knew each other better than that. I feel your distress like a stomachache. I see it in your eyes.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest. He saw her—and he stayed. Her angry words dissolved, replaced by sadness and embarrass ment.

“Please,” she said bitterly. “Please, I know how stupid I am. How foolish I must look. I’m not worth anything to you if I can’t notice magic right under my nose. Shit, I’m such an i diot.”

She covered her face, crumpling inward. Now came the moment when he would mock her or tell her how disappointed he was that she could never do anything r ight.

But instead, he pulled her hands away from her brimming eyes. All she saw in his gaze was concern—and something she couldn’t, wouldn’t try to name.

“Are you hurt?” he asked gently. “Did it hurt you, Ren ’wyn?”

“What was it?” she whispered, fear tightening her grip around his fin gers.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident. “I don’t know, but it felt wrong. Like…”

“Broken glass,” she finished for him, and he no dded.

“I would have investigated, but…” Now it was his turn to look embarrassed. “I was afraid I was going to boil over wanting to protect you. I thought you might be in danger, and I had to get you away. Then it left, and now… I’m not sure what to do any more.”

“Travel to Trisin?” she suggested, though all of her protested the tho ught.

“I won’t leave you alone after that,” he replied with enough venom to make her heart thump. “What if it isn’t attached to that apothecary? What if he did something to Axel? I can’t take that risk, and I don’t want you to face anything a lone.”

She was stunned. Leaving her was a risk? That meant she was worth something to him. She was worth somet hing.

“Aren’t you going to scold me for being distracted?” she a sked.

“It was hiding, Ren’wyn,” he said, tipping his face toward hers, his familiar heat a balm to her lingering fear.

“I felt it beneath your shadows, masking itself from you with your own power. You did nothing wrong. I’m glad I was there.

Even if you had missed it, why would I scold you?

You’ve done so much for us, and everyone misses things.

That doesn’t mean you deserve a scolding like a c hild. ”

She looked away. If he really knew her, he would never say that. She was a mess, a wreck—and she was lucky he hadn’t not iced.

“What do we do, then?” she asked, crossing to the window, craving the sight of the open night sky. A headache throbbed behind her eyes, and she wanted to curl up under the covers to es cape.

“We wait,” he responded, walking up behind her.

“I think we should see what happens. We don’t know if the magic was tied to a person—and if it was, whether they noticed us.

I can’t be sure that following it won’t end in disaster or if the apothecary will take it back to Trisin. Or if he even knows abou t it.”

Ren’wyn nodded absently. Fael approached her, close enough that his breath fanned across the back of her head.

“I promise to stay by you and protect you,” he said.

A beat of silence followed, the promise making her shoulders drop in re lief.

“That maid is watching,” he whispered in her ear, the scent of him all around her—stone and smoke and something entirely, undeniably Fael.

Through the window, a maid’s silhouette was visible in the darkness outside. But Ren’wyn’s mind blanked. Every part of her came alive as Fael’s heat soaked into her back, chasing away her fatigue. Her stomach clenched, warmth spread through her limbs, and her fingertips tingled. He was everyw here.

“No one needs to expect anything out of the usual. We had a lovely supper, and I came upstairs to join you after being gone for two days. A perfect excuse for some gossip,” he whisp ered.

His voice brushed the skin between her neck and shoulder. She knew the light behind them illuminated everything for the maid, so she turned and pulled his arms around her waist. His eyes had darkened, but he kept their bodies apart as he threaded one hand into her hair.

Now it was her turn to worry she might unravel—splinter into a thousand wisps of darkness and float into the night. She pressed against his chest and backed them away from the window, reaching to draw the curtain against their audi ence.

And just like that, he let go, opened her door, and walked swiftly to his room—leaving Ren’wyn’s arms empty and cold as she stared at the space he had burned with his pres ence.