Page 39 of The Dark Mage

T heir pace was more relaxed the next day, but moving in the wrong direction felt str ange.

“How long until we return to camp?” Ren’wyn a sked.

Esrin glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll turn northeast after lunch. You and Fael will come with me along the road while the others finish their route through the woods. We’ve got a few errands to take car e of.”

Within an hour, the forest thinned, revealing small farms as they stepped onto the road. Lia, Miguel, and Alen handed over their coin bags and disappeared into the trees, heading back toward camp. Esrin beckoned to Ren’wyn and Fael, leading them west.

Twenty minutes later, a small village appeared—its houses weathered and worn. A group of children ran out to greet them, their eyes darting nervously to Ren’wyn and Fael but bright with affection for Esrin. One of the smallest boys, no older than five, sprinted forward and leapt into Esrin’s arms.

“Esrin! Esrin!” the boy cried, giggling as Esrin tickled him.

Parents peeked from their doorways, dressed simply and watching with hesitant eyes—some still clouded with fear. But when they saw Esrin, that fear melted into relief. Ren’wyn’s curiosity sparked at their resp onse.

Esrin shifted the boy in his arms and turned to her and Fael.

“This is Olir,” he explained. “These are our people. We provide for them, and in return, they distribute what we steal to the needy across western Luremala. We support two magical communities and several villages devastated by imperial t axes.”

He ran a hand over the boy’s hair, giving him an affectionate squeeze. “They keep up appearances—barely enough to pay their taxes—but each family is independently wealthy.” His grin was devilish, and Ren’wyn took a closer look.

The villagers’ clothing was simple but clean and well-maintained. To anyone without a keen eye, Olir would seem like just another struggling rural town.

“Esrin,” Ren’wyn rasped, wonder threading through her voice. “This is incred ible!”

Two of the men divided the coin under Esrin’s direction.

The largest pile was set aside for a magical refuge Esrin’s group had been supporting for months.

Ren’wyn and Fael observed quietly, and Fael’s approval radiated from him like heat from glowing coals.

His sharp eyes tracked every interaction, cataloging the details.

When Esrin began lining the villagers’ packs with small portions of profit, Fael joined in without needing to be a sked.

On the way out of town, Esrin checked in on a few pe ople.

First, an elderly woman whose raspy cough told Ren’wyn she was nearing the end of her life.

Esrin spoke quietly with her adult son while Ren’wyn explained a tea blend to the daughter-in-law.

Fael’s warmth enveloped her again, and when she glanced back, his small, approving smile made her pulse qui cken.

Esrin visited two children recovering from fever and hugged a family that had lost their father, ensuring they’d receive extra funds. Ren’wyn watched, fascinated by his ease with them.

When they finally left, the road stretched ahead, their pace slow and easy in the afternoon light. Ren’wyn could have done without the hot sun on her shoulders, her hair sticking to her sweaty neck, but she didn’t complain. At dusk, they stopped and finished off the last of their travel rat ions.

“This is my last visit,” Esrin said, his voice tinged with sadness. “We can’t keep taking from this area without drawing too much attention. I’ve made sure they know I’ll keep sending support through other chan nels.”

Ren’wyn and Fael nodded, understanding the wisdom in his words. The silence between them was thick, anticipation and dread coiling in Ren’wyn’s chest at the thought of the conversation she and Fael needed to have back at camp.

Almost two hours later, they reached familiar woods. Esrin subtly quickened his pace, eager to re turn.

The camp appeared through the trees, and Miguel was stationed near the fire, his cheerful shout drawing the others over to greet Esrin. After claps on the back and quick debriefs about the journey, Esrin turned to Ren’wyn and Fael, raising an eye brow.

“So,” he asked, tucking his black hair behind his ears, “have you dec ided?”

Ren’wyn met Fael’s gaze, and for a moment, the world fell away. A slow pulse of power brushed against her chest—warm and steady—while Fael received the cool, dark tether of her magic pressing against his own.

They nodded toge ther.

“We accept,” Fael said. “It’s an honor to fight alongside all of you.”

The group’s faces lit with quiet acceptance and open sm iles.

Relya stepped forward. “We’ve already set up tents for each of you. Get settled. Tonight, we r elax.”

The evening was lively and warm. The group passed around a flask of something strong that burned all the way down. Ren’wyn coughed and laughed as the heat spread through her.

She looked up—and met Fael’s gaze over the fire. His eyes shimmered with something that looked like w orry.

Esrin, on the other hand, took a seat beside her, his posture loose and companionable as he joined in the group’s banter with ease.

“What was the Academy like?” Miguel asked Esrin and Ren’wyn. “Was it as impressive as Alen descr ibes?”

“It was perfect,” Ren’wyn sighed, grateful to contribute to the conversation.

Memories of Peria, their classes, and even Esrin surfaced—bittersweet but undeniably real.

What she’d shared with Esrin back then, though painful now, had been true for her.

“The Masters there were experts. They had so much knowledge. I only wish more people coul d go.”

“I only wish there were more people left to attend,” Esrin murm ured.

A somber silence settled over the group. A few no dded.

“Instead, we’ve been broken and slaughtered in ignorance and fear,” Esrin added, his voice h eavy.

Ren’wyn shuddered. Dark mages like her were among the most hu nted.

“The Academy was one of the few places where we could be ourselves,” Esrin continued. “No hiding, no judgment. We lived and learned in p eace.”

Ren’wyn knew it had been different for him—surrounded by peers who shared his abilities. She, on the other hand, had been feared and judged by her classmates. Even Esrin had shrunk from her power as her lover. Perhaps fear had kept him from taking the final steps to save her after they pa rted.

The memory cut like broken glass in her heart, and she shifted to make some space between herself and Esrin. She remembered the numbness she’d felt—how it had shattered when she realized he had truly abandoned her.

Esrin noticed her movement and paused, his gaze lingering before flicking to Fael. Fael’s jaw was tight, his expression unreadable but t ense.

Esrin gave Ren’wyn a nudge with his shoulder—a familiar gesture meant to t ease.

She leaned farther away.

Fael’s face darkened, twisting with frustration as he caught the subtle exch ange.

“But Ren’wyn was always special,” Esrin continued. “She was unbelievably powerful, and she and I”—his voice softened—“were lucky enough to find each other. To love each o ther.”

His dark eyes were wistful, filled with echoes of the past. But Ren’wyn met his gaze with an unyielding calm. She felt nothing now. Only the distant ache of those long, empty days spent staring down a road where no one had come for her.

When she glanced up—Fael was gone.

She stormed into his tent, throwing the front flap aside. She was so angry—furious that he would wander off—and she wanted to hit him. Her control slipped, darkness seeping like smoke from beneath his cot. Inhaling deeply, she forced herself to calm, pressing the shadows back.

Fael didn’t turn.

Is he ignorin g me?

She had blown in, drawing death with her—and he was acting as though she didn’t ma tter.

So she released her control on her magic, and the darkness surged again, rushing toward Fael’s legs.

He turned, eyes alight with anger. The strength of his rage chased the shadows from his legs, and she almost gasped as his power met hers. He had never unleashed enough to overwhelm her magic. She could have sworn the tongues of flame along the floor nipped at her sha dows.

“Talk to me!” she demanded, her voice ragged as she pressed her anger and power forward, trying to keep the upper hand. “Look at me! Ask me what happened! Don’t let him write the story. Fight back!”

“I know what happened,” he snarled. “You were lovers. More.” His voice cracked. “Were you eng aged?”

Her miserable nod was all the answer he ne eded.

A guttural sound escaped Fael’s throat—a harsh, angry noise filled with pain.

“He loved you first. And now I’m left wondering if I mean anything to you at all.

Does he take my place? Retake his place?

” His fists clenched. “When he looks at you, I hear the earth breathing with his magic. He knows you from a lifetime I’ll never share.

And when you look at him…” His voice dropped.

“I remember I’m nothing but a brute born of rage and fire. ”

“You’re nothing? You could take him apart with your magic—piece by piece, or faster than a blink. You could destroy him with a twist of your hand. You are everything. Everything.” Her voice trembled. “Look at me, Fael!”

His eyes snapped to hers, and fire and death battered against each other between them. Red and black tendrils of magic warred along the ground, the air filled with a distant rumble—thunder, or maybe scr eams.

“What is he to you?” Fael whispered. The quiet in his voice was more dangerous than his snarl. “And what am I?”

Everyt hing.

Like the finality of death her power often brought, the truth was undeniable: Fael was home—life and breath. He was her anchor and her shield. And she was his ocean, his founda tion.

Ren’wyn stepped into the space between them, shattering the shadows with a sweep of her hand.

Fael gasped as his fury broke loose, stumbling forward as his power surged like wildfire around her—but it didn’t harm her. His magic recognized their bond. It always had. His shields had wrapped her; his hands had called her back from the Void. And the Void had always shown itself freely to him.

How strange, she thought, to see him so off-balance—this warrior who carries himself with such grace and stre ngth.

She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. He stared down at the flame encircling her wrist—a living bracelet of fire that traveled up her arm to the edge of her sleeve. Wonder filled his eyes.

“Fael.” Her voice broke. “I never thought I’d be free or trust myself again. I didn’t think I was strong enough. But I am strong—and I’m brave. You helped me see that.”

She paused, then continued, her voice st eady.

“You are my home, Fael. My t ruth.”

She pulled his hand and the fire toward her, sure and confident, and pressed her lips to his, claiming him.

His arms wrapped tightly around her back, one hand sliding down to grip her backside, curving beneath it.

Tighter, he gripped her, until she could barely tell where they each ended and the other began.

Their breaths came fast as the kiss deepened.

His tongue brushed gently against her lips, and she opened to him.

He was gentle but insistent, every sweep of his tongue a plea for more.

Ren’wyn didn’t want to breathe or think—she only wanted him.

Forget Esrin. Forget Erst. Forget fear and weakness. Fael blazed a path forward, and she chose to walk it with him—a path they would forge together in strength and hope.

She pressed harder into his chest, and he broke the kiss with a ragged breath, staring down at her swollen lips, still pa rted.

Fael groaned as he pressed her back gently. “We can’t. Not here. There’s no privacy.” His voice was strained, thick with frustration. “And I don’t think I can…” His eyes darkened with want. “I want to—but not like this.”

His words sent a thrill through her, and she blushed as he tilted her head and brushed his nose along her neck, up to her ear.

He stepped back, flushed and breathing heavily, and Ren’wyn almost begged him to forget the circumstances. They had certainly fought loudly enough for everyone to hear.

But she respected him and stayed a hand’s distance away.

A few deep breaths, and she could almost pretend she was calm a gain.

She turned and reached for the water flask resting on the travel box at the foot of his cot.

The movement hurt physically—an ache in her chest and a thrum between her legs that made her knees weak.

The feel of him clung to her—his eyes, his hands, his power.

She took a long drink, trying to cool the heat in her body before facing him a gain.

Fael had recovered. His breathing was even, his arms crossed over his broad chest. She wanted to touch him but clenched her hands in her skirt ins tead.

Dangerous. This closeness is dange rous.

“Goodnight, Fael,” she said, voice thick with raw vulnerability and de sire.

As she stepped toward the tent flap, his hand slid to her hip, and he pressed his solid chest against her back. Heat rushed through her as his lips brushed her ear.

“I made you a promise yesterday,” he whispered. She arched into him, and he smiled against the shell of her ear. “I’ll make it again. I will have you. The first moment we are truly alone—there will be no stopping us. Until then…”

He swept her hair aside and pressed a kiss to her neck.

“I am only yours,” he murmured, his voice a rich, velvety pro mise.

Ren’wyn fled from his tent, crossed the clearing, and climbed into her bedroll fully dressed and completely un done.