Page 41 of The Dark Mage

A sweet ache filled her ribcage at the sight of him. He must have felt the pulse of her power all the way from camp.

Her shadows quivered, their claws inches from Esrin’s skin—but Fael’s protective anger rooted her in place, his fury crackling through the air.

In slow motion, Fael raised his fist and slammed it into Esrin’s face.

The punch was a mercy—it kept her shadows from tearing Esrin apart with cruel c laws.

Esrin crumpled to the ground, dragging her down with him. She let out an embarrassing squeal as she fell beneath his we ight.

Fael raised his fist again, ready to pummel Esrin into the dirt, flames flickering along his forearms. Ren’wyn slipped a frosted hand over his wrist, and shadows cooled his fire. He turned to her, his expression softening as their eyes met.

He shoved Esrin off her roughly and hauled her into his arms, holding her tight before claiming her lips in a possessive kiss.

Ren’wyn tangled her fingers in his hair, his hands sliding firmly to her hips as if to anchor her there, pressed against him.

When she looked back, Esrin wiped the blood from his mouth, his eyes blazing with fury. Water curled up from the stream’s surface, and the wind stirred violently. Then he turned his gaze to Ren’wyn, and she saw it—his pain, raw and ungua rded.

The wind died. The water splashed back into the st ream.

Esrin stood and brushed himself off, regaining his composure like armor. The confidence returned to his posture, though the gleam in his eyes was sharp and c ruel.

“Couldn’t wait to find someone else to warm your bed?” he hi ssed.

The cruel words hit like a slap, and Ren’wyn recoiled as though physically st ruck.

Fael’s hand moved to the hilt of his short sword, and the ripple of his power through the clearing made Esrin blanch. Without another word, Esrin turned and stalked off.

“Don’t forget to bring back the laundry,” he called over his shou lder.

Ren’wyn’s knees buckled, and Fael caught her, lowering them both gently to the ground. He knelt behind her and tucked her gently into his body.

She covered her face with her hands and wept—for her mother, for Esrin’s father, for his sister, Rena. She cried for the love she’d once believed could save her.

Fael held her close, his strong chest and warm arms a steady, unyielding she lter.

He didn’t try to soothe her with words or stop her tears. He let her feel everything— everything —until it was all poured out.

When her sobs subsided into quiet tears, Fael gently turned her, spreading his knees to surround hers and tucking her face against his chest. He smoothed her hair, resting his chin on the top of her head.

She took a deep breath and let it out in a long, weary sigh.

Fael tipped her face up, his hands cupping her cheeks as their eyes met.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked so ftly.

Her voice was a whisper, raw and filled with the pain she had carried for so long.

“I believed he would save me,” she said.

“When I told Esrin my father had arranged my marriage to Erst, he promised to save me. We fell in love. He was everything to me.” Her eyes shimmered with tears.

“He said he would come. But he never did—and I hated him for it. I hated him and longed for him. When my father finally sent me away, the betrayal brok e me.”

She wished her voice wouldn’t waver, but Fael’s warm palms kept her from crumb ling.

“And now he’s told me why he didn’t come. He was discovered by the imperial army. They murdered his father. They forced his sister into marriage. They took everything from him.” She blinked, as though trying to clear the memories. “It wasn’t his fault—but it still brok e me.”

“And now?” Fael asked, his voice tight with fear and hope.

“I meant what I said in your tent, Fael,” she answered, her gaze steady and true. “You are my truth and my shield. And I am y ours.”

Their lives were bound together as surely as the sun rose, as inevitably as the pull of the tide.

Fael’s grip tightened. “I meant what I said too. I’m yours—fully y ours.”

Their lips met again, soft and warm. They held each other beneath the trees, and Ren’wyn knew no moment had ever compared with this as she soaked in the peace of Fael’s kiss under dappled sunlight and the scent of leaves and honeysuckle on the warm br eeze.

Despite the tension with Esrin, Fael and Ren’wyn found a rhythm in the camp.

Fael bonded with Leta—they exchanged stories of their tattoos, laughing over how thick their hair had grown. They shared fighting stances and techniques, and Fael was quick to join the other fighters during trai ning.

Ren’wyn felt a quiet pride watching him as he led lessons in basic self-defense. He taught their new companions how to disarm an opponent, throw an effective punch, break a nose—and when to run.

She trained alongside him, calling on what she’d learned at the Academy and the skills she’d honed over the past few months. Her movements had improved, though combat would never be her stre ngth.

One afternoon, Relya accidentally punched Fael square in the nose during a drill.

His shocked expression was so comical that Ren’wyn couldn’t hold back her laughter.

The sound rippled through the group, and she laughed even harder when Fael—eyes wide and nose bleeding—tried to glare but failed miser ably.

She retrieved her medicine bag and returned to him, wiping her eyes.

Before she could start, Sorya pou nced.

Sorya, an aspiring herbalist, had minimal training but endless enthusiasm. Ren’wyn applied a poultice to Fael’s bruised nose, explaining the herbs and their mixture ratios. Sorya recited the instructions back to her three times—her preferred method of memoriza tion.

The camp had its own routines, and everyone took on afternoon duties. Ren’wyn offered to organize and catalog the medicinal supplies in the camp’s stores. As she rounded the tents toward the supply cart, an arm slipped around her waist and lifted her off her feet.

Fael’s breath was hot against her ear as he swung her behind a honeysuckle s hrub.

“You laughed when Relya punched me,” he said with mock severity. “Not very s weet.”

She grinned as he pressed her back against a tree. His hands slid up under her top, brushing her bare skin.

When his fingers skimmed the undersides of her breasts, all the air in the world suddenly disappeared. A familiar swirl of desire bloomed in her sto mach.

“Damn these undergarments,” he gro aned.

She chuckled, low and dark, against his mouth as he kissed her again—hungry, unrestrained. The bark was rough against her exposed back, Fael hard and warm along the length of her body. His hips moved, pressing insistently—but then he broke away, breathing hard.

“You should watch your tongue,” he whispered, voice husky, as he reached for the branches and held them open so she could slip past.

“You should watch your face,” she shot back, grinning over her shoulder. She gave her skirt a lazy swish and winked at him.

His answering chuckle was strained, followed by a heavy exhale. When she glanced back, his eyes were trailing her backside as she swung her favorite skirt back and f orth.

After six days, Ren’wyn had opened and identified every pot, jar, and satchel of herbs in the camp.

Adding her own stores, she created a detailed catalog of what they had—and what they needed.

She knew how quickly illness could spread in a small camp, especially when living outdoors.

They were short on fever-reducing herbs but had an excellent supply for treating coughs and stomach ailments.

She also noted the absence of ingredients for easing menstrual cramps—something she was sure the women in camp would apprec iate.

Some of the herbs had been stored incorrectly, their seals broken.

Ren’wyn had to discard several spoiled batches.

The hardest was an expensive bottle of feverfew that had changed color—a sure sign it was no longer effective.

She poured the contents out and took the empty bottles to the river, scrubbing them clean with scouring rush she’d found along the b anks.

Fael, meanwhile, continued to work with the camp’s fighters—everyone except the silent Avonlee.

He was especially pleased with Sorya and Relya’s progress, and Relya managed to refrain from punching him in the face again.

The rest of the group was at various stages of training, and Fael and Leta had started identifying each member’s strengths and weakne sses.

Ren’wyn couldn’t help but admire Fael as he worked, his hair curling in the breeze as he assessed his companions with calm precision. Like during the Passage, he could hold his focus indefinitely, absorbing details even Leta mi ssed.

“Too much weight on your front foot,” Fael called to Alen, who was swinging at Miguel with all his stre ngth.

Miguel dodged easily and didn’t counter, instead bringing his arm down on Alen’s back and sending him sprawling. He immediately reached down, clapping Alen on the back as he helped him up. Fael stepped forward, launching into an explanation of balance and demonstrating alongside Leta.

They moved in slow motion, showing how to exploit a poorly placed stance. Ren’wyn’s hands stilled as she watched them. Leta was impressive, precise, and efficient—but Fael? Fael was grace and murder woven into human form.

She admired him as he shifted into a difficult defensive stance, his breeches taut over powerful legs, his shirt open enough to reveal the corded muscles of his t orso.

Am I even breat hing?

Fael leaned into a position that would have had her arms pinwheeling. Leta extended her foot, sweeping his legs out from under him.

Ren’wyn gasped, her lungs finally remembering how to work. She turned back to the small bottles of lavender, chamomile, and tansy, inhaling their soothing scent to clear her dizzy thou ghts.

When she glanced up again, the fighters were scattering to their assigned du ties.

Fael hadn’t m oved.

He was watching her.

Power rolled off him in waves, rich and heady. Ren’wyn shivered, unable to look away. A cold, dark wind rose in answer, wrapping itself around Fael. His jaw flexed, his fists clenched—and his sharp, unsteady breath told her everyt hing.

The next wave of power from Fael hit like desert wind against her skin.

Ren’wyn’s heart pounded in time with it—until she realized they had an audi ence.

Sorya and Relya stood nearby, giggling behind their hands until they noticed Esrin. The moment they saw his expression, they bo lted.

Esrin’s eyes burned with anger, his power wrapping her like the scent of rain-soaked e arth.

“What the hell are you two doing?” he snarled, hands on his hips, every inch the outraged noble. “Stop displaying your power so freely—or do you want someone to fin d us?”

“Isn’t that what we’re trying to do, Esrin?” Ren’wyn snapped, surprising even herself with her sharp tone. “Find more people with power? Help them?”

Esrin’s hands curled into fists, and she braced for his anger—until Fael’s voice cu t in.

“He’s right, Ren ’wyn.”

She stared at Fael, stu nned.

“Not everyone with magic is good,” Fael continued quietly. “Some people seek us out only to turn us over to the empire—to keep themselves a live.”

Ren’wyn took a slow breath, pressing down her anger, forcing the Void to settle where it simmered in her blood. She exhaled through her teeth. “Fine.” She turned her back on both of them, setting her shoulders straight as she faced the vials of herbs—a dignified lady to the last.

Esrin’s gaze shifted to Fael.

“You were assigned to weaponry,” he barked. “Get to work.”

Ren’wyn saw Fael’s shadow pause before moving toward the weapons storage. She hated the way Esrin spoke to Fael—he never used that tone with anyone else.

Esrin stayed behind, watching her for what felt like an eternity. Slowly, his aura softened, anger giving way to something calmer. A soft breeze stirred, brushing the hair off her neck.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” she asked harshly as he took a tentative step toward her.

Esrin stiffened, his expression hardening again. Without another word, he turned and stalked back to his tent.