Page 34 of The Dark Mage

Fael grimaced. “I hate killing—and it’s my gift. I wouldn’t trade how I was trained or who I am. But I wish… I wish there were no need for kil ling.”

Ren’wyn nodded solemnly. “I wish there was no need for d eath.”

They regarded each other in silence before returning to their supper.

Ren’wyn felt the strangeness of sharing this: the respect and joy of their magics, and their discomfort with the power itself.

The chicken was smoky, and the flatbread was soft and fragrant with onion and garlic.

The kitchen staff brought out a dish of tomato and cilantro salsa, which they heaped onto their pl ates.

“Do you remember traveling between Orr and Umber?” Fael a sked.

Ren’wyn knew where he was going as his smile grew. “I remember lovely weather,” she he dged.

“Wasn’t there a small stream along the way?”

“You know very well there was,” she grumbled. “Don’t even go t here.”

But Fael couldn’t help himself. “You thought the weather warm enough for swimming.” He stuffed his mouth with chicken, snicke ring.

The day had been beautiful but far too chilly for swimming. They’d been following a rough forest track when Fael offered to help Ren’wyn cross a stream on a fallen log. She’d refused, eager to practice her bal ance.

At first, she’d done beautifully, relying on the strength and coordination she’d built through training. When the log wobbled, she recovered easily—until a large, loud bumblebee careened into her cheek. Startled, she shrieked, overcorrected, and tumbled into the c reek.

The water was only waist-deep, and Fael had rushed in to make sure she was all right.

Drenched and embarrassed, Ren’wyn’s only injury was to her pride.

When Fael asked what happened, she mumbled about the log tipping—but he’d seen everything.

He started laughing and said, “You can never bee too sure.”

She’d caught him off guard, grabbing his knee and pulling with all her might. His legs buckled, and he splashed headfirst into the stream. Coughing and sputtering, he surfaced, his powerful arms sending a huge wave her way. Seeing him, drenched and ridiculous, had her giggling too.

When she shivered, Fael threw her over his shoulder and carried her out.

They’d been soaked and freezing. He’d found a spot to light a fire and pitch their tent, where they’d changed into dry clothes with their backs turned.

Then, they’d shared a sip from Fael’s flask, laughing as they settled in for the eve ning.

Now, her arms crossed and eyes rolling, Ren’wyn gave in and laughed with him.

A light white wine followed supper, served with a plate of cheese and berries. Ren’wyn sank into her chair, happiness softening her e dges.

Fael’s contentment was obvious, his features rel axed.

“Tropical fruit is good,” he said, rolling a berry between his fingers. “Exotic and wild—but nothing beats the taste of a strawb erry.”

Ren’wyn’s face lit up. “Strawberries are my favorite!” she exclaimed, and Fael laughed at her enthus iasm.

He knew they were her weakness. With a mischievous grin, he leaned in, holding the last berry between his fingers and offering it to her. The laughter between them quieted as Ren’wyn met his gaze—dark with emotion and in tent.

She bent toward his outstretched hand. His eyes strayed to her mouth as her lips parted, releasing a soft br eath.

Fael leaned a little closer, lids lowering over his hazel eyes as he pressed the bright red strawberry to her lips. She opened just enough to grasp the berry in her teeth, closing her eyes at the burst of sweet and tart. Fael shudd ered.

“I figured you should have the last one,” he said, his voice husky and r ough.

Ren’wyn felt the flavor bloom on her tongue as her toes curled in her soft leather s hoes.

“Thank you,” she whisp ered.

Their eyes remained locked as she leaned in a fraction more, her head til ting.

“More wine?” the bored serving girl asked, shattering the mo ment.

Ren’wyn jumped back in her chair. What was she d oing?

Fael’s eyes widened as he leaned back too.

“No, thank you,” Ren’wyn said, rising abruptly. “I really should get to bed.”

“Of course.” Fael pressed the rest of the strawberry slowly into his mouth, his grin wicked as Ren’wyn shivered. He rose with her. “Let me walk you.”

He offered her his arm. How could she touch him when all she could think about was the taste of that strawberry—and how his mouth would taste now? Still, she slipped her hand through his elbow, and he guided her upst airs.

As her arm rested against his, she wondered if he could feel her frantic heartbeat. She fought to control the desperate heat curling in her stomach as they climbed. His touch seared her, sending swirls of warmth through every inch of her body.

At the landing, Fael’s hand rested gently at her hip—and her control wav ered.

He guided her to her door, right next to his. When she reached for the handle, his hand covered hers.

He was so close, she could feel his breath on her neck. Slowly, she turned to face him.

Fael’s arm rested against her hip as he grasped the doorknob. When her breath hitched at the heat of him, her rising chest brushed against his. Ren’wyn looked into his eyes—green, brown, and gold flickering like tongues of f lame.

She licked her parted lips as she tilted her chin up, still tasting the last of the strawberry. The sweetness only tightened the clench in her stomach. His gaze was just as intense as when he’d leaned in with the b erry.

He’d stared at her this way so many times: in the Dark Forest after the dead army fell, at the apothecary in Delmor, after the regiment’s attack. And she remembered the banks of the Farro River that first night—when her heart had whispered: home.

How long had she been falling? Months and months of shared days—secrets, laughter, magic. Supporting each other when they faltered. Lending strength when they b roke.

She was sinking into warm, deep water, afraid she would never surface for air. Did she even want to breathe a gain?

Fael dipped his head, leaning closer—so close to her mouth. Ren’wyn rose onto her toes, and pressed her lips gently against his.

An electric, fiery pulse shot through her, spreading from her stomach to every part of her body.

She dragged her hands up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heart—beating as wildly as hers.

His skin burned through his shirt, and she wanted him to burn her, to set her alight with his magic until nothing of her rema ined.

A stair cre aked.

Fael jerked back. No one could see them here, but his eyes filled with sudden awareness of where they s tood.

Behind her, the door clicked as it swung inward. The cool air tugged at the light fabric of her p ants.

“Goodnight, Mari,” Fael said in a low voice as one of the tenants pa ssed.

“Goodnight, Axel,” she nodded back, stepping into the room and closing the door against the heat of Fael.

It took a long time to fall as leep.

Ren’wyn lay still, imagining Fael’s eyes, his hands, and that damned strawberry.

She finally drifted off after flinging open the window, letting in the cool night breeze.

The air was filled with the hum of singing insects and the calls of exotic night birds.

Her last thought was of stolen nights on the road—cradled in Fael’s strong arms.