Page 57 of The Dark Mage

“She didn’t,” Fael corrected, his tone both reverent and possessive. “That wasn’t far at all.” His fingers still lingered at her wrist, warm even against the chill of her m agic.

Zev’s lips pressed together in a thin line before his expression smoothed into something unreadable.

“So,” he murmured, studying her with renewed interest, “that is the truth of you.” He didn’t bother hiding his intrigue.

“Death sings in your blood, but you walk the line between it and life.” His gaze flicked toward Fael. “And you hold her te ther.”

Fael tilted his head slightly, assessing Zev in turn. “I’m her balance,” he corrected. “Not her l eash.”

Zev gave a soft hum, something close to amusement touching the corners of his mouth. “Good,” he said. “She would break anyone who tried to hold her too tig htly.”

“You can think whatever you wish of me, Zev,” Ren’wyn said, her voice calm but unyielding as she stood tall.

“I am neither fully good nor fully bad. I have been abused, abandoned, hated, and injured, but I have also been loved, protected, supported, and known. Nothing you believe about me will change who I am or what I’m worth.

I am good and gentle and strong and vicious, and I will fight for this world until my last br eath. ”

She took a single step toward Zev, her movements deliberate and commanding. He blinked and shudd ered.

“But I am not a girl,” she said, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. “And I am not ineffec tive.”

Ren’wyn let out a slow breath, releasing the last of the Void’s pull, though it still whispered at the edges of her awareness. Zev’s claws no longer scratched at her magic. Instead, there was something else in his expression—acknowledgment, perhaps even understan ding.

“I meant no insult,” he said, voice quieter now, measured. “I test what I do not understand. You’ve given me my answer.” His dark eyes met hers, steady and unflinching. “And you, Lady Ren’wyn, are something I have never seen be fore.”

Her lips betrayed her with a smile. “ Good.”

Zev gave a short, sharp laugh, and Esrin groaned, rubbing his temples. “We’re doomed,” he mutt ered.

Fael grinned and squeezed Ren’wyn’s fingers. “We were doomed a long time ago, E srin.”

Zev inclined his head slightly. “I look forward to learning just how far your power reaches, dark one.”

Ren’wyn raised a brow. “And I look forward to seeing if you dare test it a gain.”

Zev’s smirk widened. “Wouldn’t dream o f it.”

“Liar.” Fael sno rted.

For the first time with her, Zev truly smiled, the barest hint of something akin to admiration glinting in his gaze.

The tension broke, and Esrin let out a long breath. “Enough theatrics. I need a drink.” He rubbed both hands over his face, muttering something about terrifying allies and bad life cho ices.

Fael shifted beside her, his hand warm in hers. “I don’t know whether to be amused or concerned that you just terrified one of the most dangerous people we know.”

Ren’wyn smirked. “Why not both?”

Fael grinned. “Gods, you’re ama zing.”

And just like that, the weight of all that had happened melted away. Ren’wyn’s heart softened, the fire inside her warming rather than bur ning.

“No, you are,” she murmured, pulling him down for a slow, lingering kiss.

But as their lips parted, Zev’s quiet voice cut through the moment. “Have you heard the rumors, dark one?”

Ren’wyn turned, catching the strange glint in his gaze. Fael tensed beside her, his hand flexing at her back.

“No,” she answered, her tone caut ious.

Zev studied her intently before speaking again. “My Master told me, as his Master told him, that a dark force would rise against the Empire,” he began. “It was foretold by an or acle:

The silver tree under empty sky

Hope in ash and fire’s br eath

Black feathers fall and smolder slow

Freedom lives in fire and d eath.

“I never thought I would meet a dark mage,” Zev admitted. “I believed you were all executed during the last imperial uprising. But now…” His voice trailed off, unreadable. “Now I wonder, Ren’wyn, if you are the dark one with the power to fre e us.”

Ren’wyn’s breath caught, his words a weight on her chest. She shook her head, retreating a step as the world tilted beneath her. “I’m not a savior. I’m nothing special,” she argued, her voice thin.

Fael’s hand flexed again, but when she turned to him for reassurance, she found something she had never seen before—uncertainty. His hazel eyes, usually so steady, flickered with something dangerously close to fear.

“Ren’wyn,” he murmured, his voice shaken. “My mother spoke those same words to me as a child. Told me to hide them away. I haven’t heard them s ince.”

The world blurred, Zev’s presence fading into the background. All she could see was Fael’s face, the way he was looking at her like she was suddenly something he didn’t understand. Like she was something else.

Her father’s voice twisted into the back of her mind: A worthless daughter from a worthless wife. You’re nothing. You’re no one.

She gasped, stumbling back another step. “I’m only Ren’wyn,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “A dark mage. Unusual, yes, but nothing more. I’m nothing more. I’m not hing.”

Fael reached for her, but she jerked away, the storm of memories and prophecy pressing against her l ungs.

“Ren’wyn,” Fael said again, softer, but she was already mo ving.

“I’m going to check on Lia and Sorya,” she choked out, turning sharply before anyone could stop her.

Esrin quietly held Fael back, his voice too low to make out the words, but she didn’t turn to look. She stormed through the camp, grabbing her pack and striding into the forest, the trees swallowing her w hole.

The words fit—fit with everything she had felt, everything she had learned about her self.

And yet, it couldn’t be poss ible.

It coul dn’t.