Page 47 of The Dark Mage
A t breakfast, Sorya handed Ren’wyn a plate and offered a seat between herself and Relya.
Sitting between the twins always felt unique; their intertwined druidic powers created a comforting duality.
Sorya’s power had the solid, grounding presence of a mountain, leaning into earth, while Relya’s was fluid and dynamic, favoring water.
It was pleasantly like sitting on a beach, waves lapping at her feet, each one touching back and forth.
She wondered how they endured being apart—if they felt the absence of each other like a missing limb.
Esrin was the last to join the circle, his plate piled with fresh mangoes and rice cooked with chicken.
Avonlee, as usual, was absent. Esrin filled a second plate and carried it to her tent before returning for his own.
Ren’wyn’s thoughts lingered on the quiet young woman, wondering what burden she carried and how she could be he lped.
Esrin cleared his throat, drawing attention.
“I think it’s time we moved,” he said, his tone resolute.
“We’ve been here long enough without any headway in finding more allies.
Three weeks is plenty. Staying risks discovery, and we’ve done what we can to provide for our people.
The routes left to attack imperials are limited, and any further action here could draw suspi cion. ”
He glanced around the circle. “I suggest we head south, traveling in three groups along different routes. That way, one or more of the groups can resupply from a passing regiment. What does everyone t hink?”
“What about our usual approach? A scouting party first,” Wilenrut suggested, rubbing his stubbly chin. “Three scouts, one for each route. If they encounter trouble, they return to camp, and we ad just.”
Esrin nodded. “The usual plan it is. Miguel, Leta, and Fael should scout ahead. Leta knows how to find a good campsite, and we can meet her in Lipo if all goes well.”
Approval rippled through the group in nods and quiet conversa tion.
“Who travels together, then?” Alen a sked.
“At least one mage and one fighter per group,” Esrin suggested. “Alen, Irik, and Wilenrut in separate teams. Sorya, Relya, and I will each lead a group. Avonlee, Lia, and Ren’wyn are left. Wilenrut and Relya, will you take Avonlee? She trusts you. Ren’wyn, you are welcome to join Irik an d me.”
Ren’wyn blinked, surprised by the suggestion and unable to disguise her dist rust.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Fael interjected before she could res pond.
Her head whipped in his direction, disbelief mounting into a churning a nger.
“Ren’wyn is unfamiliar with the territory,” Fael continued, “and you know where we’re headed, Esrin. She’d benefit from your experi ence.”
Fisting her hands in her skirts, Ren’wyn fought the building rage as her pounding pulse drowned out all other sound. She stood, her appetite gone, unable to look at Fael.
“Thank you both for deciding for me,” she hissed.
“It’s been so long since I’ve had such devoted parents.
Esrin, I’ll travel with your group if you think I’d be most useful there.
Perhaps I can reassess before we leave and switch groups if someone gets sick or injured?
If that’s not too inconvenient for everyone else’s expectat ions? ”
Even as the last sarcastic words left her lips, she saw fear blossom in her companions’ eyes. Glancing down, she found webs of ice on her skirts, and the shadows of the dead lurked restlessly between the tents. Esrin leaned away, his jaw clen ched.
Satisfied that she had made her point, she tossed her plate into the wash bucket with a sharp, satisfying clatter. Then, she stalked to her tent, whipping it open and rushing in side.
Safely hidden beneath the canvas, she massaged her temples, frustration burning under her ribs.
What has gotten int o me?
She had always followed along with others without fuss. She kept the peace, remained easygoing. This outburst wasn’t like her, and the visible fear in her companions’ eyes made her stomach twist with re gret.
She should apologize. Make amends. Work harder to control her temper. Nothing was gained from an outb urst.
But that stupid, small internal voice told her she was lying to her self.
Why shouldn’t you get a say? Why shouldn’t you decide what you want?
The flap rustled, and Fael stepped inside, looking shee pish.
“I’m so sorry,” he said in a rush, stepping toward her hesitantly. “I’m an ass. An overprotective ass. You are more than capable of making your own decisions, and I trust you. I never should have acted like I knew best—especially in front of the ot hers.”
Stunned to silence, Ren’wyn stared at him, her anger floating away in the face of his apo logy.
“Can you forgive me?” he asked, searching her face.
A smile tugged at her lips. She took his hand, squeezing it lightly. He relaxed visibly at the touch, relief softening his brow.
Vair’s cruelty had been her standard for how men responded to confrontation. Men got angry. Men hit. Fael’s kindness was unexpected—and beaut iful.
“I’m sorry too,” she said, and when she saw him about to protest, she kept going. “No, really. I don’t like talking to you that way.”
“I deserved it,” he said, brushing a kiss to her hair. He pulled her closer, the tension dissolving entirely. “Come back out. I agreed to scout ahead, and I want you in on the rest of the discus sion.”
Her chest tightened. “You’re leaving t oday?”
He nodded, resting his forehead against hers.
Reluctantly, she let him lead her back to the group, already feeling the vacant spot in her heart his absence would create.
Taking her seat between Sorya and Relya, she tried to calm her thoughts.
Esrin eyed her warily, and she realized no one saw her as a dramatic child—they saw her as something far more dange rous.
A coiled snake, she thought grimly, waiting to st rike.
“When lunch is finished, we’ll begin packing camp,” Esrin announced.
“Fael, Leta, and Miguel, I expect you saddled before supper. You know the plan: if you encounter trouble on the road, turn back and warn the group following you. If you’re attacked and unable to return, leave your token behind as a ma rker. ”
The group focused on Esrin, tense but intent on his instructions. Fluffy clouds passed lazily overhead, casting the group in alternating shadow and warm sunshine. Esrin produced a set of notes and began rea ding.
“As for identities,” he recited, “Wilenrut, Relya, and Avonlee—you’re a smith and two seamstresses traveling to Riva to establish a new shop. Lia will draw up counterfeit purchase papers. You’ll be in charge of a supply cart, ostensibly carrying goods for your tr ades.
“Alen, Lia, and Sorya—you’re a mother and her children traveling to family in Lipo. Sorya, your husband died of a heart ailment last fall. Alen, you’re apprenticing under your uncle, a cobbler in Lipo.
“Ren’wyn and I will pose as husband and wife,” Esrin said, eyes remaining fixed on the page.
“We’re traveling to Berua to live with my family after our marriage.
Irik will be our hired guard. With our highborn mannerisms, we’ll pass easily as lord and lady, which should ensure safe passage with the weapons cart. Nobility are rarely sear ched.”
Ren’wyn kept her expression neutral, though she wanted to jump out of her skin at being paired with E srin.
“Everyone, discuss cover names and stories,” Esrin finished. “It’s best if we don’t know the details of the other gr oups.”
As the camp dispersed, Fael, Leta, and Miguel’s departure became the immediate focus. Tents were broken down, weapons carefully concealed within canvas folds, and supplies packed efficiently. Each group murmured among themselves, solidifying their cover sto ries.
As the others moved out of earshot, Ren’wyn grabbed Esrin by the front of his tunic. Irik tactfully looked away, his face impas sive.
“If you so much as try to touch me, I’ll use my dagger to remove your favorite part while you sleep,” Ren’wyn gritted through her teeth, her voice mena cing.
Esrin’s eyes widened before he broke into a loud laugh. “This is a side I never saw of the sweet Ren’wyn at school! Look how dangerous you’ve become!” His laughter sounded brittle, and he watched her nervously for the rest of the afternoon, maintaining a sizeable distance as they wo rked.
Fael packed his bags and strapped on his swords, looking entirely the mercenary.
His tight brown leggings were tucked neatly into knee-high calfskin boots.
A loose white tunic hung over his torso, complemented by leather greaves strapped to both forearms. His broadsword lay diagonally across his back, and his bow rested on the left side of his saddle, a quiver cleverly attached on the right.
She knew his pack was filled with enough food and money to last a few weeks, clothing, papers proving Luremalan citizenship (courtesy of a surprisingly talented forger in Lia), and all the small essentials for his trip.
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He exuded strength and capability—a warrior through and through—yet his furrowed brow and tight shoulders betrayed his own un ease.
They hadn’t been apart since Erst’s estate, and the thought of him leaving made her feel as if she had swallowed a s tone.
She would wonder every moment if he was safe.
She would hope to see him, touch him, and hold him a gain.
“For you,” she said softly, holding out a small pac kage.
Fael’s brow softened as he unwrapped it. Inside, he found a small bundle of headache medicine and her favorite handkerchief—the one embroidered with delicate forget-me- nots.
“In case you get a headache from the heat or hard travel,” she explained, her voice barely above a whi sper.
He ran his calloused fingers lightly over the fabric, his gaze lingering on the embroidery before he looked back at her. Tucking the package into his belt, he stepped cl oser.