Page 30 of The Dark Mage

She sat next to him and touched his arm. “I promise we’ll get past this. Soon enough, you’ll hardly remember being stuck in here.”

By the fourth day, Fael was doing slow stretches alongside Ren’wyn in the cramped room.

On the fifth day, he stretched a little longer.

On the sixth day, she walked him downstairs to breakfast. He sat heavily at the first table, and Mari merrily brought over milk, eggs, oatmeal with raisins, and b read.

“You’re looking much better, Seth.” She smiled pret tily.

“My sister is practically unbelievable,” he returned, pouring milk into his oat meal.

Ren’wyn grinned to herself as he ate.

Fael followed the walk back up the creaky stairs with a nap but made it downstairs for both lunch and dinner.

The next day, they ventured outdoors, bundled in coats against the winter chill.

Ren’wyn described her childhood home, where snow often lay so deep this time of year that knee-high boots and carriage runners were a neces sity.

When his face paled, she took him inside, tucking him gently into bed and humming as she prepared tea. His cough was improving, but Ren’wyn couldn’t quite shake her fears of pneumonia or bronchitis. She plied him with every remedy in her ars enal.

Fael called her overbearing, but his teasing tone softened the words, and he drank her teas without compl aint.

By the time ten days had passed, Fael was itching to leave. Nowhere nearby was safe enough to practice magic, and his recovery came with the building of berserker energy he needed to vent.

They filled their packs with food, medicine, and warm layers before paying for a ride in a farmer’s wagon to the next town.

For two weeks, they traveled from village to village, sometimes walking and sometimes riding. Fael rebuilt his strength, and most days they found places to practice and exer cise.

In the small town of Orr, Ren’wyn found a job at the inn mending clothes and cleaning. Fael worked at the smithy, crafting and sharpening knives, daggers, and sw ords.

There were no Mari’s or Axel’s here for company. Fael and Ren’wyn’s routine revolved almost entirely around each o ther.

Winter set in, and snow fell steadily. Fael found an abandoned homestead—a dry and sheltered space where they could practice out of the elements, though they both wore extra layers to keep out the cold.

To maintain their cover as siblings, they took adjoining rooms at the inn, which was in better repair than Mari’s tavern.

Ren’wyn found her bed cold and lonely, wishing every night that Fael would ask her to join him.

He never did, though she could swear his eyes filled with longing when he thought she wasn’t loo king.

There were moments when she felt his power brush over her like a caress—warm and enti cing.

They spent four months in Orr, making a decent living, maintaining a quiet lifestyle, and strengthening their partner ship.

The snows passed, and the days lengthened. When Ren’wyn yearned for something different, she told Fael she was restless, struck by the realization that she could be honest with him about her w ants.

“I’m so glad,” he responded, making her gi ggle.

That night, he brought a bottle of wine upstairs and knocked on their adjoining door to invite her over.

Now, he flopped onto his straw mattress and reached for his g lass.

“I’m ready to go as well,” he said. “Let’s stay one last week, then head s outh.”

South again—Luremala, with its tropical climate and foreign customs. More to learn, more to see.

Ren’wyn waited for the familiar knot of anxiety to form in her stomach.

Instead, she caught Fael’s eye and realized she longed for adventure—with him.

With him. The thought made her shiver, but it wasn’t dread or fear that crept into her b ones.

“Amoya will be a good destination,” he continued. “Though from here, I imagine it’s a month of travel. The city sits on the outskirts of the jungle, and we can settle into the customs and culture of the area.”

Amoya, one of the five major cities of Luremala, was an oligarchy.

The outlying villages fell into the nearest city’s territory, paying taxes and receiving the protection of their ruling bodies.

Amoya was the most peaceful, led by a council of open-minded matriarchs.

Riva, their ultimate goal, was the worst—ruled by cutthroat gangs and smugg lers.

Fael noticed her considering, nervously twisting her gray s kirt.

“I’ll teach you the basics,” he said. “I was stationed there for a year—I learned their cultural norms mostly because I was so bad at following them.”

He winked, and she smiled. This blooming feeling was trust—she trusted him to guide her. She poured more wine from the bottle on the dre sser.

“I can’t imagine you misbehaving,” she teased. “What were you, a pirate or smug gler?”

He didn’t respond right away.

“I seduced the wrong women,” he finally admi tted.

Women. Plural. Ren’wyn’s throat went dry as she caught his gaze. She sipped more wine.

“Luremala encourages women to be independent and strong,” he told her. “But if you think Terrepin has strong opinions about marriage, you’ll be stunned by how intensely they treat unmarried sex in Lure mala.”

Shame darkened his face. Not a memory he relished, then.

“My father exiled me with a band of warriors to bring the imperial justice to Luremala after I displeased him. Amoya was beautiful, but I was there for a job. We were hunting a group of wights, trying to discover their leader. We failed—mostly because I worked against my troops covertly. Failing didn’t improve my stan ding. ”

He rubbed his temples. “I met a few young women along the way.” His voice grew quieter. “One became very important to me. When we were discovered, they made an example out of me—the imperial captain—by whipping me bloody. I held my power in check as I raged against the punish ment.”

Ren’wyn froze, the cold of the Void seeping into her blood as he conti nued.

“While I was in stocks, they executed her without warning. Right in front of me.” His hands clenched into fists, tiny flames flickering and extinguishing on his whitened knuckles.

“I broke, and my power raged. I shattered the stocks and tore through the guards, the executioner, anyone who stood in my way. I became a living flame—my sword burned against those who committed the injus tice.”

His voice wavered. “I was exposed in front of everyone: the townsfolk, my men, the captain of the guard. Everyone would report my magic, so I ran north. I ran until I found you.” His gaze softened. “And everything cha nged.”

He drained his glass and refilled it. The fire flickered and crackled in the hearth. Regret and shame chased themselves across his face like restless sha dows.

Ren’wyn crossed the room and sat beside him.

So much pain.

They had endured so much death, hiding, and misery in their own ways.

All for what? Their magic was a gift, not a curse.

Her fingers brushed his knuckles as she whispered, “Your power is a gift, Fael. You are a gift to this world—and to me. From the moment you saved me on the riverbank, I’ve been free. I’ve been... more.”

There was so much more—things she didn’t know how to put into words. Things she wouldn’t say here or now.

His voice was low and sweet. “You are the gift, Ren ’wyn.”

She stood abruptly—too much wine, too much said. Her control felt like a single thread ready to snap.

“Good night, Fael.”

“Good night, Ren ’wyn.”