Page 33 of The Dark Mage

F ael began teaching Ren’wyn how to control her panic the next morning. They left town and traveled into the countryside, where a dark wall of forest loomed on the horizon. When they reached a secluded section of road, they wandered over a hill, the sun bright but not too hot.

Cushioned by the cool, soft grass, Fael showed Ren’wyn a breathing technique to use during panic attacks.

There was no room for embarrassment—he explained how battle-hardened soldiers used the same method and how he’d trained fighters coping with trauma, anxiety, and nightmares.

She absorbed his instructions, learning to ground herself by pressing her feet into the earth to feel anchored.

Afterward, he reviewed the self-defense techniques she’d learned at Spyre, helping her brush up on skills involving her hands, feet, and a small dagger.

They practiced six maneuvers as he pretended to attack from all direct ions.

Five more nights passed outdoors as they traveled and trained, practicing grounding and combat together twice a day.

Ren’wyn couldn’t let Fael out of her sight without panicking, though each day it grew a little easier.

Fael challenged her by making her stay at camp while he went to fetch water or firewood, asking her to practice grounding and breathing.

The first few times, she was shaking and drenched in sweat when he returned, but he held her hands as they breathed and calmed down toge ther.

At night, Fael held her close. He never repeated his words from the inn, but they lingered between them like lightning waiting to strike.

His gentle touch never demanded more than simple comfort, and Ren’wyn’s fear melted like ice beneath the warmth of Fael’s presence and her own flourishing inner strength.

She longed to thank him, but her emotions tumbled together in her heart and head.

She was afraid to burden him with feelings he might not share, so she stayed silent, savoring his embrace at night and his closeness by day.

At the end of the week, they entered a new world, stepping into the outskirts of a vast, unbroken forest. The strange, unfamiliar plants made Ren’wyn feel out of her depth—she hadn’t done any foraging since the at tack.

Ren’wyn stopped at the edge of a hill where the canopy broke, revealing Amoya spread out below.

It was larger than she’d expected, sprawling between rocky cliffs.

They would need to follow a long, switchback road to reach the valley, but from here, Ren’wyn marveled at the view.

She’d never seen a city of this size, and she swallowed a nervous gi ggle.

The money they’d carefully saved was enough for a longer stay at a nice inn.

Ren’wyn wanted a bath with hot water. She almost groaned at the thought of soaking, though she secretly enjoyed their dips in streams and ponds.

Fael’s tan skin always shone through the brush nearby, never far enough that she couldn’t call out if she needed him.

“Ready?” Fael asked as they reached the city gate.

It wasn’t a question of whether she could do this—it was confirmation.

Fael trusted her more than she trusted herself, and she worked to see herself through his eyes.

She smiled in response, straightened her hair and back, and stood taller, rising to the image of the aspiring lady she’d once imagined becoming in the Territories.

His smile spread in return, and her cheeks flu shed.

Was he flirting with her? She slipped her arm through his companionably, and he placed his hand over hers, sending a prickle across her skin. The day was growing hot, and Ren’wyn forced herself to focus on the thought of a bath and good food to distract from the shiver running down her s pine.

They rounded the first block, and a cozy-looking inn appeared a head.

Red brick steps led to a wooden building flanked by magenta bougainvillea bushes.

The front door was painted a cheery shade of blue.

Fael pushed it open, his arm still linked with Ren’wyn’s.

The clean entry smelled of lemon and sage.

Sunlight streamed in through clear windows.

A staircase led up to the guest rooms, and beneath the st airs—

Thank whatever goodness there was in the world—beneath the stairs was a dining room. The rich smell of bread and something savory cooking made Ren’wyn’s stomach growl loud enough for Fael and the innkeeper to hear.

Fael introduced them as Mari and Axel, siblings traveling to Riva in search of opportunity and fortune.

He wore his swords openly, pairing them with tight pants crossed with leather bindings and a sleeveless embroidered black shirt and red vest. Luremala wasn’t shy about bloodshed, so he could easily pass as a mercenary.

Ren’wyn introduced herself as an herbalist—a well-respected trade in the s outh.

The large inn stood near the edge of the city, catering to travelers.

They took two rooms on the upper level, where the bougainvillea brushed against Ren’wyn’s window.

Twenty minutes later, when the bath arrived, she relished every moment scrubbing and rinsing before climbing out and braiding her hair.

Her new Luremalan dresses weren’t dresses at all but sets of flowing pants resembling skirts, paired with matching halter tops: flexible, with the modesty of a skirt and the freedom of pants.

The maids delivered her clothing while she bathed—two serviceable sets in olive and tan, and one in a shade of aqua that made her gray eyes brighter and her light skin shimmer.

She pulled on the aqua set, tucked pink bougainvillea into her braid, and left her dirty clothes for the staff to c lean.

At the bottom of the stairs, Fael waited—free in a new way. His sword hung comfortably at his side, and he walked with the confidence of a man in his element. His hazel eyes glittered as they swept over her, and when she reached him, she broke eye con tact.

Something was changing. Something had been changing for a long time.

Ren’wyn wanted him, but she didn’t know how to begin.

Had they already begun? They’d been companions for so long—friends and partners.

He’d been different from the moment he grabbed her on the river’s edge months ago, when their powers mixed and he aided her rather than abandoned her.

At the table, bowls held sliced passion fruit, guava, and mango. Chicken and flatbread came on white plates, and Fael poured her a glass of water before serving himself. She glanced up from beneath her lashes and smiled, unable to contain the urge to play coy.

“Tell me about your favorite plant,” Fael said, breaking the sil ence.

She paused before answering. “Once during school, my friends and I traveled to a lake for a vacation. We spent our days along the shore, gathering white stones. My friend Esrin used druid magic to carve them: a little flame for Peria, who was always arguing and pushing others toward justice. Apparently, she was also quite fiery in bed.”

Fael chuc kled.

“For himself, Esrin carved a beech leaf. He loved the wind and the forest. If he could have, he’d have lived beneath the trees, playing an eternal breeze through their le aves.

“For me, he carved the flowers I found growing behind the first rise of sand. While he and Peria watched water birds and argued politics, I noticed the tiny blossoms sprouting in the damp earth. My favorite was a small purple lobelia, its delicate flowers spiraling up the stem.”

Fael’s head tilted, and something almost possessive flickered across his face.

The memory ached deep down, but a quiet contentment dulled the lingering sadness.

It was no longer a struggle to silence the old pain—just a scar from a time now past. Perhaps she could finally share that part of herself with Fael, the last secret she still car ried.

“Maybe it was the serenity of that place—the quiet and peace under the cloudy skies—but that tiny lobelia in its untouched haven stole my heart. Until…” She hesitated, sipping her water as Fael wa ited.

“Until I faced the shades in the Dark Forest and saw the ghost pipes,” she admitted, her voice soft. She lifted her clear gray eyes, feeling full to bursting. “I came alive again that day—as though part of me had been buried inside myself. So I suppose the ghost pipes are my favorite plants now.”

She pictured the small, sculpted one on her cloak. The plant meant more than botany. It symbolized what passed between her and Fael—the power they shared, the gift of his friendship. She offered him the bowl of fruit, and his hand brushed hers.

“Soft and delicate. Rare and beautiful. And full of a strength you might not guess by looking,” Fael said, his eyes locked on hers. Ren’wyn was no longer sure he was talking about pl ants.

“Tell me about your favorite weapon,” Ren’wyn said quickly, shifting the subject to dampen the tension building between them.

Fael grew thoughtful as he spooned fruit onto his plate. “I’ve trained with so many over the years. My first lessons began when I was four. I was handed a wooden training sword and shield and learned the Pas sage.

“When I was seven, I shot my first bow. By ten, I was handling two swords as well as an axe.

Mace, scimitar, spear, halberd—I can kill with all of them like second nature.

The sergeant-at-arms who trained me, Dirne, was strict but kind.

He corrected my mistakes but knew how to offer encouragement—something my father never did.

“My favorite weapon was the one I shared with Dirne: small daggers. When you fight hand-to-hand, you have to look your opponent in the eye—touch them, share their breath. It requires intimacy and respect. If you’re going to kill someone, you must acknowledge their existence and their hopes and dreams. You have to let them see you as their ki ller. ”