Page 31 of The Dark Mage

W arm spring air followed them south the next week. Ren’wyn spotted liverleaf three days into their journey on the cart—a sure sign of the changing season. She gasped, wide-eyed and smiling, and gently tapped the driver’s shou lder.

Fael followed her as she leapt down. She blew a kiss to the first cluster of flowers she found, then traipsed to the next patch of small purple blooms a little farther into the trees. There, she harvested the leaves into the small pouches she carried in her pack.

Her collection kit was a prized set designed by an herbalist in Orr, containing a variety of pouch sizes and parchment packets for pressing leaves or flowers or collecting pollen.

It was her pride and joy—a luxury she’d never possessed before, due to Vair’s belief that plants were a waste of time.

When she’d purchased it, Fael had said he’d never seen money better spent, and she practically swooned with plea sure.

Liverleaf gathered, Ren’wyn placed a sprig of lavender in front of the plants as an offering to the woods—a gift of gratitude, something she could otherwise use, to show her respect for the earth’s c ycle.

Finished, she stood and brushed the dirt from her skirts, meeting Fael’s warm smile. Taking his hand, she walked back to the cart.

Ren’wyn had come to enjoy their slow travel—a night or two in a town followed by a day or two on the road.

Each village and town was unique, and the style of dress evolved as they drew closer to Luremala.

Dresses became more conservative, with detachable sleeves and high collars rising close to the collar bone.

The houses changed too—slate roofs and larger windows designed to catch the br eeze.

In the next town, they traded their Terrepinian clothing for local outfits. Ren’wyn chose a frivolously pink dress for special occasions, as well as practical tan and gray dresses for everyday use.

Fael selected light, flowing shirts with deep V-necks and the region’s signature tight leggings. Ren’wyn worked very hard not to stare at his backside in those leggings and knee-high boots—failing miserably and blushing when Fael caught her in the mi rror.

“How do they look?” he asked, turning toward her in the back of the small shop.

“You look fine,” she replied, annoyed at how breathless she sounded. “It’ll do, I sup pose.”

“I think you more than suppose,” he grinned wickedly and prowled toward her.

Ren’wyn retreated. The chest-high rack of hanging shirts behind her pressed into her shoulder blades, halting further movement.

Fael took another slow step, like an animal stalking prey.

Electricity coursed through her veins. She struggled to breathe evenly and failed.

Fael’s gaze slid to her mouth as her ragged breath esc aped.

His lips parted, and she bit her own in resp onse.

Just when she thought he would dip his head to kiss her, her back arched slightly, head tilting up. Fael’s eyes traced the line of her chin, drifting toward her shoulder. An emotion she couldn’t name flickered in his eyes. Then, he stepped back, the fire in his eyes gutte ring.

“You should buy an extra two dresses for travel,” he remarked, his voice neu tral.

Ren’wyn, flushed and stunned, burned with embarrass ment.

“Good idea,” she snapped and stalked off across the shop.

She didn’t see the look of self-hatred that passed over Fael’s face as he watched he r go.

As spring deepened, farmers began planting in their fields, and it became harder to find carts willing to take travelers. Ren’wyn and Fael took to walking, moving slowly along the road through endless, warm grassl ands.

They stayed extra nights in towns—Ren’wyn selling her stock to local herbalists, healers, and apothecaries, while Fael helped patch roofs, build stone walls, and repair weapons at smithies.

They continued their cover as siblings—it was an easier explanation for a people uncomfortable with unwed traveling compan ions.

“We have one week left before Amoya,” Fael estimated one evening as they pa cked.

Their journey had already stretched to four weeks, delayed by an extended stay to accommodate Ren’wyn’s period. When they were on the road again, the weather had grown hot.

At night, the biting flies and mosquitoes became unbearable, so they purchased a strange netted tent. Ren’wyn marveled at the bamboo skeleton over which they draped the fine netting that kept the insects out. They could only carry one, but it was large enough to fit both their bedr olls.

During the day, Ren’wyn prepared a mixture of olive oil, lemon verbena, and citronella, which they applied liberally to keep the bugs away.

After a night of crisp, fresh weather, Ren’wyn and Fael rose early to the sound of distant thunder. Ren’wyn made a note to keep her cloak at the top of her pack.

The small stream near their campsite was delightfully cool, and Ren’wyn stripped down to rinse off, relishing the chance to get clean. She hummed as she dunked herself, wetting down her frizzy mane, her feet padding pleasantly over slippery peb bles.

When she emerged, a splash around the curve of the stream made her choke back a scream. The next sound was Fael’s pleased groan as he surfaced. Ren’wyn caught a glimpse of his dark hair through the raspberry brambles along the bank.

She couldn’t take her eyes off where he bathed. He was so close—yet excruciatingly far away. That confusing mixture of deep affection and heated attraction boiled in her chest. The cold of the stream helped, and she dipped under the water again before climbing onto the bank to d ress.

A light rain began to fall, tapping gently on the leaves and her damp hair. She sighed, hoping they’d reach the next town soon so she could dry off indoors rather than in a cave or under their canvas blanket. Fishing around, she pulled her cloak free of her pack.

The rain picked up as she cleaned their cookware, rolled up their sleeping gear, and packed the tent.

She didn’t hear the muted press of boots on the wet e arth.

Bent over the packs, placing everything in its spot, Ren’wyn felt a hand clamp down on her upper arm and yank her upr ight.

A tall imperial soldier leered at her.

“What have we here?” he sne ered.

Her stomach churned as his gaze lingered on her c hest.

She needed Fael—now. Ren’wyn sucked in a breath and scre amed.

The soldier backhanded her. Her voice cracked as pain bloomed across her face, her eyes filling with t ears.

A savage punch to the gut stole her breath. She doubled over as the soldier fisted her arm and hair, dragging her toward the road through shrubs that whipped her face. Choking on sobs, pain stabbed in her ribs, her face, her s calp.

Her power—she needed her power. But she couldn’t catch her br eath.

A regiment crowded the road ahead. The soldier flung her onto the muddy ground in front of them.

Rain pounded in the open clearing, cold and hard. Breath misted in front of the soldiers—a cruel mockery of the power her fear and pain had chased away.

“A little fun?” her captor suggested, grinning. Dark laughter rippled through the men—fifteen, maybe twenty of them.

Fael, where are you? Where is my m agic?

A booted kick to her side sent a searing jolt of pain through her ribs, and she shrieked. The soldier’s cruel laugh echoed in her ears as he yanked her head back by her hair, her neck exposed. Rocks dug into her knees through her d ress.

“What’re you doing out here, little whore?” he asked, his breath hot against her face.

Sobs paralyzed her as he pulled harder, and she screamed again—her scalp felt like it was being torn away.

Through her tears, she saw another soldier approach, twirling a dagger between his fin gers.

“Who’s first?” he laughed, pressing the cold blade against the top of her d ress.

When she squirmed, he flicked the blade upward, cutting a thin, stinging line along her collar bone.

“Hold still and keep quiet,” he sneered. “We might not kill you when we’re done.”

Tears and raindrops blurred her vision as the second soldier shoved her face-first into the muddy road. Her hands slipped in the muck as she tried to push hersel f up.

“Hold her arms!” he ba rked.

Two men grabbed her, yanking her arms out and pressing her face into the road. Mud filled her mouth and nose until she turned her head to the side, coughing on sand and silt.

Pressure in her c hest.

The rasp of a blade slicing fa bric.

A burst of cold air on her exposed th ighs.

Her mind went quiet as she retreated deep into herself, a fragile barrier against the growing ho rror.

Fael. Fael!

Her mind screamed his name, but her body stayed silent. Rain traced her cheeks, soaked her back, and ran in cold lines over her bare skin.

She braced for the worst, fighting the urge to scream, beg for mercy—or d eath.

And then the world fell si lent.

The men holding her arms froze, their grip slackening. She couldn’t twist to see what had drawn their attention without pressing her face into the pu ddle.

An explosion of heat and flame shattered the sil ence.

Hot blood splashed against her legs, thick and scalding where it mixed with the rain and mud.

The soldiers released her to draw their sw ords.

Ren’wyn gagged, trying to drag herself away on trembling arms. She managed to roll onto her side and cover her legs with her arms, her head spin ning.

Fael stood at the roadside, framed by the shrubs and glowing with magic. Fire licked up his arms and legs, his broadsword angled across his body. A bow was slung over his back.

The corpse of the soldier who had slit her skirt lay at her feet, an arrow buried deep in his throat. His blood and the mud from his falling body coated her legs.

But Fael captured Ren’wyn’s attention: glorious, powerful, beautiful. His eyes shone red with inner fire.