Page 59 of The Dark Mage
Fael sucked in a sharp breath, pressing his fingers to his brow. Then, with a heavy sigh, he dropped to his knees. “I’m so glad you’re all right. I was worried.” His hand hovered uncertainly. “Can I hold you?”
Seeing him kneeling there, so vulnerable, she reached for him without hesita tion.
Fael exhaled long and low as he moved between her knees, resting his head gently over her h eart.
“Are you angry with me?” he asked so ftly.
“No, Fael,” she said, her voice soothing. “I’m not angry with you.”
“Will you talk to me, Ren’wyn?” he asked. “Will you tell me what you’re fee ling?”
She nodded, leaning forward to press a kiss to his hair. The familiar scent of stone and smoke grounded her, though her words trembled when she finally s poke.
“I’m small, Fael. I’ve never felt like I’m anything special. To have so much pressure, so many expectations—it’s overwhelming. I don’t see how I can do this right. I can’t lead people or make things better. I’m not en ough.”
His fingers danced over her spine, slow and soft. If only the two of them could stay here, in this moment, with no expectations or responsibilities. But the world surged in, and weariness crept over her.
“I don’t think there is a right way, Ren’wyn,” Fael murmured at last. “And I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. I don’t know what you’ve been told, but I am amazed by you.”
His left hand caught a stray lock of her hair that had slipped free in the humid air, tucking it carefully behind her ear.
“No one can force you to be something you’re not. They can try, but you won’t change for anyone but yourself. And I won’t stand for it, ei ther.”
He paused, his voice steady and full of conviction.
“I think you might be exactly what this world needs. You’re not grasping for power.
You care for others. Your heart is full of respect and kindness.
You think you’re not good enough—that you’re not enough—but no one is perfect, Ren’wyn. No one does everything r ight.
“If I promise to walk with you and carry this with you, would you try? Could we try together? I won’t force you,” Fael said softly, devotion glinting in his eyes as he held her face.
Her tears began to fall, and she bowed forward until their foreheads touched. As she wept harder, Fael pulled her into his lap. He didn’t speak or ask anything of her, simply letting her cry as she sorted through her emot ions.
“Fael,” she groaned when the tears finally subsided.
Her head ached fiercely from the heat, the long walk, too little water, and too many tears.
“I’ve only ever felt like I’m not enough.
The only place I’ve never been a disappointment is in my magic, and I pressed that down deep so no one would see it.
I’m afraid to walk a path where so much is expected of me. I’m afraid to fail.”
“You will fail,” Fael said with a shrug. “I’ve failed. Goodness knows I’ve failed. Look at Esrin—he couldn’t save you, but you understand why now. His failure brought us together, and I wouldn’t change that for anyt hing.
“I failed to save Lia and Sorya on my own, and they’ll bear those scars for the rest of their lives because of it. You can’t expect yourself to never fail, my love.”
His words soothed her as he held her face, his thumb brushing back and forth against her damp cheek, wiping away the last of her t ears.
She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. His arms wrapped around her securely, and she slid her hands along his shoulders and into his hair, curling her fingers into its softness. He had called her my love , and her heart ached with plea sure.
“I’m so tired,” she admitted. “But if you walk beside me, I’ll try to be open to what all of this could mean.”
He kissed her forehead and helped her stand, squeezing her hands ge ntly.
“You look like you could use a rest,” he whispered. “Before we get into any tro uble.”
The word hit her like a bolt. Trouble. Tro uble.
His mother’s s hade.
“Fael,” she began hesitantly, “I saw your mother in the Void. She asked me to bring you to her so she could tell you something. She was worried—worried about where you were, if your father had you. And… you never told me she was a berse rker.”
Fael’s expression turned stony, not with anger but with reluctance.
“She was,” he said finally, his tone quiet.
“And she was beautiful and strong. My father was cruel and terrible. She shielded me from him at every turn, but I was always part of his plan. When he realized I carried her magic, he took me away to train and murdered her not long a fter.”
“She told me, ‘Not here, not now,’ but she needs to tell you something,” Ren’wyn explained. “I don’t know how she found me here. Her shade was unlike any I’ve encountered—strong-willed and talkative. It was as though she was stuck seeing you as a little boy, but she also understood you’re g rown.”
Fael’s eyes widened. “What are they usually like?”
“Some speak a little, most not at all. I usually have to compel their stories or touch them to experience their memories. They almost never understand the passage of time, and none of them have ever resisted me when I work to compel them. She did. She was so… lifelike. Pale and thin, but not hooded or reduced to sh adow.”
Fael nodded slowly, considering her description. “That sounds like my mother. She was kind, but she wasn’t quiet. Strength and fire shone in everything she did. I imagine even death would struggle to tame her. When can you take me to her, Ren ’wyn?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted, shaking her head as Fael gently pushed her back onto the cot. “She said not now, and I don’t think she’ll be easy to su mmon.”
Fael swung her legs onto the mattress, smoothing the blanket over her. “Then rest,” he said with a soft smile, though she could see the ache in his eyes. “I promised to work with Sorya and Relya on their dagger techniques, but I’ll check on you after ward.”
“Don’t get stabbed,” Ren’wyn teased with a sly grin. “Relya’s quite the violent fighter, and I’m not sure you’d survive her stabbing you any more.”
Fael chuckled and tucked her roughly under the blanket, trapping her arms. He kissed her firmly, and she huffed a pro test.
“Have a little faith in me, Ren,” he laughed. “I’m not dying before I get another night tangled up with you.”
Ren’wyn giggled, thrashing against the blanket in indignation. “ Fael!”
He laughed again, leaning down to press his mouth close to her ear. “Later,” he rumbled, then strode out of the tent.
Ren’wyn sat in stunned silence, her cheeks burning. She didn’t know if she could sleep now—not with the thought of him lingering so vividly. But as she rolled onto her side, exhaustion overtook her, and she promptly lost conscious ness.