Page 58 of The Dark Mage

R en’wyn didn’t slow her charge through the trees until sweat poured down her back, dripping into her eyes and stinging them.

Heaving a sigh, she stopped to catch her breath, brushing damp strands of hair from her face.

Her dress clung to her, sticky and uncomfortable. She’d be washing it again ton ight.

“What the hell am I supposed to do now?” she yelled desperately into the trees. “This is not what I want. This is not who I am!”

Silence descended—thick, oppressive, and unrelenting.

Alone, with no answers and no understanding of what was happening to her, Ren’wyn dropped to her knees in the soft ferns.

She screamed, the sound ripping from her throat—raw and wild, stretching into the stillness.

Her voice burned as tears streaked her face, but she didn’t stop until the fury in her chest began to ebb.

Pressing her open hands into the earth, the cold ground stood firm beneath her palms. She drew in deep, deliberate breaths, letting her anger and fear drain into the soil. The air seemed to grow heavier, more solid, and the crushing weight around her chest loos ened.

Ren’wyn allowed her magic to rise, unbidden and familiar.

Safety lived here, in the fabric of her own being.

The Void opened like the embrace of an old friend.

Black shadow and cold frost crept out around her, wrapping her in their comfort.

When she looked up, her siblings stood before her.

Their cold presence was as familiar as ever, but today, she was angry with them too.

“You have found the flame,” Moira whispered, her voice faint and flickering, like a candle’s glow behind a blowing curtain. “You are stronger, sister.” Aiden and Daren stood silent beside her, nodding in agree ment.

Ren’wyn glared at them, her frustration boiling over.

“None of you ever told me about any foresight concerning me,” she accused.

“Instead, I learn what I might be from a stranger! I am not this. I don’t want this.

I want quiet, peace, and safety. I want someone else to lead and make the choices.

There is no way I can do this right. I c an’t. ”

They remained silent, as they always did, their expressions invisible beneath their hoods.

Ren’wyn clenched her fists in her lap, her frustration mounting.

She wanted to scream again, to demand answers, but the blank faces of her siblings only deepened her confusion.

This was no way to prepare herself to deal with shades, whose tempers were fickle and easily unset tled.

“The darkness and the living flame,” Aiden rasped. The sound of his voice startled her—he so rarely spoke. Ren’wyn flinched as he continued, “You have the tree, sister, and the open sky. You must find silver and hope. Then, the six will bring fre edom.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Ren’wyn cried, fisting her hands in her hair. Her anger churned the shadows around her, and her siblings’ spirits retreated, drifting away like smoke, leaving her alone once more.

“Damn it!” she shouted, fury flaring hot and wild—at herself, at them, at the entire stupid, incomprehensible day.

“Have you seen my son?”

Ren’wyn whirled in surp rise.

Standing in the clearing behind her was a young woman with loose brown waves falling over her shoulders. She was fresh-faced and pretty, with large brown eyes and a slender, athletic frame. Ren’wyn’s gaze swept over her, noting the strength in her posture—a fig hter?

“Have you seen my son?” the woman asked again, sweetly this time, though worry threaded through the words. “I’m not sure which way he ran.”

Her son? Here?

Ren’wyn’s mind stumbled over the impossibility of it. This was unsettled terri tory.

Then she noticed the details she had missed in her anger. The woman’s skin was far too pale. Dark circles shadowed her eyes. Her skirts faded into mist at the edges, dissolving into shadow in the presence of the Void.

A s hade.

Only her distraction and exhaustion could have delayed her recognition for so long. She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and stilled her mind.

“I haven’t,” Ren’wyn replied with a gentle smile. The shade felt flighty, but hope glowed in her gaze as she scanned the clearing. “He hasn’t been here, milady. Can I ask where you last saw him? Or what you were hoping to tell him?”

Questions were the best way to engage a shade, especially one with a gentle nature. The young woman smiled prettily, and for a fleeting moment, Ren’wyn thought she recognized her.

“I think you have,” the shade whispered, stepping cl oser.

Ren’wyn’s hands instinctively curved, ready to banish her if things went awry.

“I see his light on you.”

The shade’s eyes glimmered or ange.

A female berse rker.

Ren’wyn’s breath caught as the pieces fell toge ther.

“What did you want to tell your son?” Ren’wyn asked again, her voice calm but firm, curving a finger slightly to help compel a response with her m agic.

The shade laughed softly, the sound both sweet and unsettling. “I’ll tell him myself when you bring him to me,” she said. “Your magic won’t compel me yet, dark mage.” Her eyes gleamed with something unreadable. Then, she asked again, softer this time: “Have you seen my son?”

Ren’wyn took an instinctive step back, startled. This was not what she expected. Shades with magic were always more complicated to settle, more resistant—but never before had one acknowledged what she was or pushed back against her magic. Curiosity flared despite her un ease.

“Tell me about your son,” Ren’wyn said, testing the shade’s perception, knowing many carried only fragmented impressions of those they’d left be hind.

The shade’s mouth twisted into a wry grin, and the movement of her lips was so achingly familiar it sent a chill down Ren’wyn’s s pine.

“Fael is a good boy,” the shade said, her tone laced with amusement, as though she knew exactly how those words would affect Ren’wyn.

“Beautiful and strong and powerful. He takes after me. He loves his Cloud. They ride every day, and he brushes her down because love matters more to him than st atus.”

Ren’wyn clutched at the bodice of her dress in surprise. A female berserker. Fael’s mother? What in the name of all that was good was happening here?

“Fael is a good boy,” Ren’wyn agreed quietly, unsettled by the shade’s intuition and ease of sp eech.

The shade giggled, a lilting sound that quickly darkened. “But trouble, dear. Always trouble, which makes his father angry.” Her smile faded, her expression shifting to something brittle and full of pain. “But he is not with his father now, right?” she asked, her voice trembling with fear.

“No,” Ren’wyn said soothingly. “No, he’s with friends who value him.”

“Good,” the shade whispered, her shoulders relaxing slig htly.

Suddenly, she jerked forward, materializing mere inches from Ren’wyn. Frost formed at the tips of Ren’wyn’s hair and along the shoulders of her sleeves from the shade’s proximity. Ren’wyn fought back a shudder, the intensity of sharing space with the dead causing her stomach to drop.

“Not here, not now, but you must find a way to bring him to me, mage,” the shade begged, her words urgent. “You love him, don’t you? Find a way, pl ease.”

Before Ren’wyn could respond, the shade flickered—then snuffed out comple tely.

Ren’wyn stood frozen in the middle of the clearing, more stunned and confused than when she’d left camp.

Fael’s mother? A prophecy about her that no one had bothered to men tion?

And Fael—uncertain at the revelation. The memory made her feel terribly fra gile.

Her stomach growled loudly, interrupting her swirling thou ghts.

Damn it , I stormed out of camp without food or water like a complete fool.

Groaning at her anger-induced stupidity, she pressed her palms against her eyes.

Where even was she?

Throwing her hands up in frustration, Ren’wyn turned and headed back the way she had come.

An hour later, she was sure she was lost.

She was definitely an idiot—and now she was a scared i diot.

Stopping to drink at a small stream she thought she recognized, she tried to calm the tight panic growing in her chest. Keeping the sun on her left shoulder, she continued west toward camp.

But the whole stupid forest looked the same.

The hot, humid air clung to her, and the waist-high ferns made every step feel like a struggle. She kept moving, praying for something—anything—to look familiar. Another hour passed, then two, and desperation began to cree p in.

Then she stumbled into a small clearing filled with drying clo thes.

Relief flooded her.

She could have cried on the spot and silently vowed never to be so reckless a gain.

Dropping into the river fully clothed, Ren’wyn sank into the cool water. Embarrassment prickled her skin. If only she had twisted an ankle or sprained a wrist—at least then she’d have an excuse for her foolish ness.

Eventually, she hauled herself out of the stream and changed into the spare gray clothes from her pack. Quickly scrubbing her purple dress, she wrung it out and hung it to dry with the ot hers.

She twisted her thick hair into a loose knot, tying it with a strip of linen, and walked back into camp.

Avoiding everyone’s eyes, she slipped into her tent.

Sitting on the edge of her cot with her head in her hands, she took stock of herself. Her head ached, her stomach growled, and her thoughts were so jumbled she feared she might still come a part.

The cot’s welcome embrace pulled her down, and she stretched out, closing her eyes.

“Ren’wyn?” Fael’s strangled voice broke through the sil ence.

She sat up as he rushed in, stopping just short of touching her, concern etched into every line of his face.

“Are you all right? You’ve been gone half the day, and no one knew where you were.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, staring at her hands. “I got lost on the way back. I’m an idiot. I walked without thinking because I was a ngry.”