Page 28 of The Dark Mage

Fael was told, under no circumstances, could he help with the new roof on the butcher’s shop—the butcher muttering about “falling” and “providing adequately with a broken leg.” Fael threw up his hands and happily assisted by gathering and distributing supplies from the gr ound.

When her bleeding started during the second week, she had a frank and open conversation with Fael, who, surprisingly, was neither squeamish nor embarrassed. They decided to keep up the ruse, and Ren’wyn spent two days in bed with cramping and nausea, Fael bringing her food and tea from Axel.

By the third day, she returned to the apothecary, well enough to handle the necessary tasks. Axel was sweet, insisting she rest and eat frequently. Fael hovered like a concerned father-to-be until Axel shooed him out, saying he and Ren’wyn had work t o do.

They spent the afternoon cleaning glassware from a shipment of different shapes and sizes. Ren’wyn loved how the bottles glittered in the afternoon sun, already picturing the perfect use for each one.

Axel sent her home early to rest, and Ren’wyn appreciated it—the fatigue from her period still lingering. Fael checked in after returning from the roofing project, and she let him know she’d be down for su pper.

The next day, she resumed training, muttering darkly about “womanhood,” which made Fael snicker.

He didn’t remind her to take it easy—as though he trusted her to know her limits without being told.

Ren’wyn froze, then embraced the independence with fervor, digging deep into herself to learn her own stre ngth.

They talked about how long they could stay before things got complicated and agreed on another month at most. Fael was growing more confident about moving west and south, away from the Cap ital.

It was two nights later that Ren’wyn woke to strains of silent, discordant music raking across her magic.

She broke out in a cold sweat as the creeping sensation she’d felt at the Trisin apothecary weeks ago returned.

It crawled over her like shards of glass, pressing her with a horrible still ness.

Fael slipped through her door silently, sword drawn, power crackling in the air as he looked her over.

“Get dressed,” he commanded. “We need to run.”

She nodded and motioned for him to turn around. Stripping down, she pulled on a dark blue dress, pinned up her hair, and tucked her nightclothes into her pack. She had bought a larger bag recently and kept it ready for a moment like this.

Finally, she pulled a letter from the dresser and slipped it under the apothecary door. Fael had read and approved the mes sage.

Dear Axel,

Thank you for the job, but I have to say goodbye.

I know you won’t understand, but I wanted to offer a small honesty in return for the work you’ve given me.

My name is not Calora, and Tern and I are moving on.

We have magic, and we’ve been discovered.

I’m sorry for any trouble this may cause you with the shop, and I’m sorry I never told you.

We will head into the forest to find safety. Goodbye, and good luck.

Inside, she slipped another note:

Axel,

Burn this note and keep the letter hidden somewhere the imperials will find it when they search the shop, as though you wanted it kept secret.

It will help clear your name when they come looking for us.

You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a father in a long time, and I hope you find peace and happiness in every way.

With affec tion,

Ca lora

The broken magic intensified as they adjusted their packs and slipped out the back window onto the roof. Fael leapt down, landing softly like a cat. Ren’wyn couldn’t help but admire him. She shuffled out over the eave, and Fael gripped her waist, lowering her gently to the gr ound.

She was thankful her bleeding was over as they set off into the crisp night. Fael had her wait between two carts while he slipped the notes underneath Axel’s door. Then, they turned south and headed into the vast farmland and grasslands loosely tied to De lmor.

As they fled, they missed the arrival of the imperial regiment, who began knocking on doors. At the back of the soldiers was a familiar cart—the one from the Trisin apothecary—its foul presence flooding the streets with broken, dark p ower.

Ren’wyn bit her lip to stop the tears as they left the dark village behind, moving quietly through alternating fields of tall grass and harvested wheat. With every mile, the horrible magic grew quieter, and relief became a powerful antidote to g rief.

They crouched and ran through open areas, the clouds masking their figures.

Fael had recently surprised Ren’wyn with a new cloak—a twin to his own, dark gray and hooded.

Its clasp was shaped like delicate silver ghost pipes—a custom touch he must have ordered just for her.

She fingered it with gratitude—and with a growing awareness that what she felt for him was love.

She followed Fael closely as they swept like shadows through the night. Hours passed in silence, their pace steady but desperate, knowing that by morning, they would need to assume new identities before entering another town.

When the birds sang before sunrise and her adrenaline gave way to stumbling exhaustion, Fael found a hedgerow and tucked them int o it.

They lay back-to-back—her face pressed into the privet’s trunks, his toward the broad, empty grassland. When the sun rose fully, they woke and followed the west road.

The first three days they spent in the open, including a miserable night when cold, steady rain soaked them both through until they managed to drape a blanket over a hastily constructed lean-to.

It was so cold they lay in each other’s arms under Ren’wyn’s blanket after changing, shivering through a night of broken s leep.

On the fourth day, a village appeared on the horizon. Fael left Ren’wyn in a small copse of trees, and she waited with a lump in her throat for him to return. An hour had never passed so slowly. Blood pounded through her limbs, and her breakfast sat like a stone in her sto mach.

He’s not coming back. He’s realized you’re worthless and abandoned you.

No, he left his pack here. He’s coming back.

He died on the side of the road. The imperials will come for you next.

Fael’s broken form played over her vision, cycling with the cold voice of panic until half-formed shades pulled themselves from the dirt. Frost spread in a circle around her hiding place in the hollow oak.

When Fael appeared through the trees, she wept with relief.

He sat beside her and pulled her against his solid frame.

The angry shades hissed and melted away with the frost as Ren’wyn’s panic subsided into embarrassment.

Fael didn’t seem to mind—he stroked her hair and tucked her cloak tighter around her shoulders until she was calm and st eady.

“More travel, I’m afraid,” he said, his expression grim. “The village was full of imperial soldiers. They’re looking fo r us.”

Ren’wyn sighed but nodded. “Do we turn s outh?”

“I think so,” Fael replied. “Another two or three days should get us to the next village. We can try a gain.”

Frost set in that night, and Ren’wyn asked Fael to share her bedroll. He obliged, and they fought off the chill under both blankets, sleeping curled into one another. Fael rose swiftly the next morning to exercise before Ren’wyn had even brushed the sleep from her eyes.

The mornings stayed bitterly cold, and she could barely stand to wash her face when they crossed streams. They couldn’t light fires for fear of disco very.

Over the next two weeks, the weather grew worse, and town after town was occupied by imperial sold iers.

When they found a cave in a woodlot near an abandoned farm, they threw caution to the wind and set up camp. Together, they decided to wait out the regiment in the nearby town.

After three days in the cave, Ren’wyn was sure she would never be warm again.

She exercised with Fael regularly to ward off the cold and was thankful for the boots and extra socks she’d packed.

Despite curling together at night, they were miserable—ill-prepared for such a long stay in the elem ents.

Fael woke one morning with a cough. Ren’wyn was concerned, but he insisted he was only chilled. By evening, he had a fever, and the cough had deepened. Ren’wyn mixed dried sunflower leaves into tea for him.

He shivered and sweated through the night, and Ren’wyn couldn’t sleep—her hand stayed anxiously on his burning fore head.

Morning dawned cold and bright, and she had to fight to get Fael to wake. He murmured incoherently but drank some water and the simple broth Ren’wyn prepared using salt pork.

As the day progressed, Fael grew worse, and Ren’wyn’s concern became a larm.

She watched him mutter and shake beneath both blankets and made up her mind, holding tightly to the confidence Fael had been encouraging her to b uild.

To hell with the regiment. I’m getting him to sa fety.

“Fael.” She shook his shoulders, but he didn’t respond. “ Fael!”

She grabbed a linen cloth, wet it, and pressed it to his neck. His lids fluttered open, and he made bleary, unfocused eye contact, groaning with ef fort.

“Fael,” she pleaded, leaning closer. “Fael, I have to get you somewhere warm. I’m taking you to town. We’re brother and sister heading to family in Ishvaen. Fael, I don’t remember the map—where are we coming from? Help me be believ able!”

He was fading, and she hated shaking him and yelling. His face was flushed with heat. She gripped his shoulders hard enough to hurt her fingers—it must have hurt him too.

“Lanar.” He coughed, deep and ragged, then groaned. “Lanar lies east of here.”

Lanar. She repeated the name in her head as she stowed their gear and shouldered both p acks.

“Fael. Fael!” she yelled again into his half-conscious face. “You have to hel p me.”

It seemed to take every ounce of his will to stand. He wavered, fever gripping him hard, sweat beading on his forehead. Ren’wyn pulled his arm over her shoulder. Fael coughed again—deep and wet—it sounded like it tore his throat a part.

It took two hours to stagger into town. Sicen, she remembered, was the name. Her arms burned, her legs burned, and her head throbbed from the strain of carrying Fael’s heavy, muscular body. For the first time since meeting him, she cursed his relentless exerci sing.

She half-dragged Fael down the main street of this smaller, dirtier town than Delmor. A grubby tavern was their only option, but Ren’wyn had stopped caring about anything other than getting Fael indoors. She stumbled up the stairs with him staggering alongside her.

“Please,” she begged the man behind the counter. “Please, my brother is sick. We’ve been traveling from Lanar. Hel p me.”

“Of course,” a young woman said from behind her. Without missing a beat, she slipped under Fael’s other arm. “I have a single room upstairs. Will you and your brother be alright sharing a bed?”

“Yes,” Ren’wyn gasped, relieved for the help. “We’ll be fine. Is there a healer or an apothecary in town?”

“Two doors down,” the young woman answered. “What do you need?”

“Cloths and hot water,” Ren’wyn said, her voice tight. “And any food you have left from l unch.”

“Done,” said the young woman, and she turned to leave them at the door of the room.

“I’m good for payment,” Ren’wyn blurted. “Do you want an adv ance?”

“No,” smiled the woman. “This is my tavern, and I trust you.”

Ren’wyn surveyed the small, dingy room. At least the sheets were clean. The bed was narrow—it would be a tight squeeze. We’re siblings, she reminded herself. It’s not strange for siblings to share a bed.

She laid Fael down gently and removed his shoes and socks. Mari—the tavern owner—returned with linens, boiling water, and, bless her, cold chicken and rolls from l unch.

Fael’s dirty shirt stuck before peeling off. He relaxed as she passed the warm cloth over his skin. After wrapping his torso in a blanket, she struggled to pull his pants off. She rinsed his legs and feet, too worried about his fever to care about his lack of clot hing.

He was coughing and shaking, so she rolled him onto his side and pulled the blanket over him.

“I’ll be back soon,” she whispered. She snagged a roll and a piece of chicken and ran out the door.

At the apothecary, she found what she needed: purple avens root for wash, sweet goldenrod and stargrass for tea, and tobacco lobelia to burn. She also bought a small copper brazier and cloth bags for sto rage.

When Ren’wyn returned, she found the blankets tangled on the dusty floor. Sweat beaded on Fael’s chest. She used the cool water from the basin on the dresser to wipe his brow and neck, then covered him a gain.

She brewed tea and boiled the avens root. The lobelia leaves went into the copper bowl, and the room filled with the sulfur scent of the match as she lit the brazier. Lobelia smoke curled along the plain wooden walls, and Fael’s coughing and wheezing e ased.

He coughed through a few spoonfuls of tea, then Ren’wyn managed to wash his arms and torso with the boiled avens root. Mercifully, he lost consciousness under the threadbare blanket as she wiped down his legs.

Ren’wyn pulled off her dirty overdress before crawling into bed next to Fael. She tucked the blanket over their shoulders and pulled his fevered body into her emb race.

Exhaustion claimed her.