Page 60 of The Dark Mage

T he headache remained when Fael touched her cheek to wake her. He carried a full water skin, and Ren’wyn sighed with pleasure as the cool drink soothed her parched th roat.

“Would you come to supper?” he asked, genuine concern softening his voice as he rubbed the back of her hand. “What are you thin king?”

“Does it hurt much?” Ren’wyn asked sleepily, her words slurring slig htly.

“What?” Fael’s eyebrows rose in confu sion.

“Your stab wound,” she giggled, her lips twitching into a grin.

His brows drew together in mock severity as he leaned in and kissed her until she couldn’t t hink.

“Someone should teach you some manners,” he murmured, a smirk on his lips.

Ren’wyn smiled lazily, her lips swollen and wet from their kiss. Whatever uncertainty had lingered earlier was now banished. She took his hand and s tood.

Outside, everyone was gathered, seated for supper.

Ren’wyn’s gaze softened as she noticed Lia and Avonlee sitting together.

Avonlee’s arm curled protectively around Lia’s waist, and Lia’s head rested on Avonlee’s shoulder.

To see what these two women had found with each other despite the pain they had endured filled Ren’wyn with joy.

She squeezed Fael’s arm, and he followed her gaze, a soft smile spreading across his face as Avonlee planted a tender kiss on top of Lia’s head.

Fael hummed happily, leaning down to press his own kiss to Ren’wyn’s hair—but he recoiled slightly, wrinkling his nose. “Goodness, Ren, you smell atrocious. Don’t tell me you slept in the cot without bathing. We’ll never get the stench out.”

Ren’wyn scowled, swatting his shoulder with her free hand, though she betrayed herself by keeping her other arm tucked firmly into his.

“You’re awful,” she teased. “I suppose you would know how bad I smell. I’ve certainly seen and smelled you in worse st ates.”

His delighted laugh sent a flutter through her stomach. “Tell me, Ren,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “After supper, would you like me to bathe you in the moonl ight?”

Her head grew light as all the blood rushed to her pounding heart. “I could certainly use the extra attention if I smell as bad as you claim,” she replied, her hand tightening in the fold of his sl eeve.

Someone cleared their throat, breaking the mo ment.

“Are you coming to supper, or are you going to eat each other?” Miguel’s honeyed accent rang out, and Leta burst into laughter, smacking him across the c hest.

“Either way,” Miguel continued with a grin, “you’re making my stomach queasy with all the gazing, and I rather like the stew ton ight.”

The group’s laughter rippled around them as Ren’wyn’s cheeks burned. Fael, ever shameless, grinned wickedly and led her forward to sit down. He walked a few spots over and grabbed a plate from Zev’s outstretched hand before settling beside her.

The conversation was pleasant as the sun sank into the western horizon, painting the sky in deep oranges and purples.

Night birds called, and cicadas sang in the twilight.

Ren’wyn realized it had been since being with her dearest friend at Spyre that she’d felt this at ease.

She hoped Peria was healthy and happy in An duan.

Miguel, however, was restless. “Esrin, I need some excitement,” he groaned, fingers twitching. “Let’s rob some imperials before I die of bor edom.”

Ren’wyn nearly laughed at the childish whine in his voice. Sorya did laugh, and Leta rolled her eyes.

“You’re always bored, Miguel. Go spar with Fael,” Leta suggested d ryly.

“I’ve already sparred with him every day. I’m never going to win,” Miguel retorted, shooting a pointed look at Fael.

Fael chuckled, shrugging. “I’m a berserker. You’ll beat me when I’m dead.”

Leta laughed then, and Ren’wyn thought she looked like she was up for that chall enge.

Esrin sighed dramatically. “Why is your answer for boredom always robbing the imperials, Mi guel?”

“It’s satisfying,” Miguel replied with a mischievous grin.

Ren’wyn couldn’t help but agree. “I’m in,” she said casually, earning a surprised look from E srin.

“Me too,” Leta chimed in, her tone enthusia stic.

Irik and Fael quickly added their support, and Esrin threw up his hands in mock surrender, though his eyes gleamed with amusement and p ride.

“Then what’s the plan, Miguel?” Esrin asked, leaning forward. “When and where are we going to give the imperials tro uble?”

“The road into the Capital is a two-and-a-half-day ride from here,” Miguel said, leaning back lazily in his seat.

“If we plan our attack at the crossroads, we’ll be far enough from any notable villages.

I’ve been listening in the bar in Lipo, and a regiment is scheduled to pass through with supplies five days from now.

They’ll be carrying fabric, nonperishable food, and crafted bows and arrows.

Since our last attack was in Terrepin, I don’t think they’ll expect us here. ”

“How in the hell did you learn all of this?” Irik asked, intri gued.

Miguel smiled broadly. “Zev taught me some preliminary tactics. It pays to play cards, enjoy a few beers, and chat with the locals as a traveling merce nary.”

Zev offered a faint smile, acknowledging the compli ment.

“Will they connect the activity and anticipate our movements?” Fael asked, his tone measured. “How have your attacks gone so far?”

Wilenrut jumped in. “We’re always careful, wearing face coverings and regional clothing. So far, our attacks have been successful, with clean getaways every time.”

“What about locations? Have you mapped them?” Fael asked, glancing at E srin.

Esrin brought out a map of southwestern Aridryn, marked with red for attacks and blue for campsites. Fael took it with a nod of approval and sat beside Esrin. Together, they traced arrows connecting attack sites and camps, building a network of movem ents.

“Impressive and well thought out,” Fael remarked. “You’ve deliberately struck in different directions from focal camps to avoid creating a pattern. This will be your first Luremalan attack, then?”

“I love a good first time,” Miguel quipped with a grin.

Leta rolled her eyes, and Ren’wyn lau ghed.

“Oh please,” Leta sighed. “What woman would let you be her first? You’re clearly a scoun drel.”

Miguel’s laugh was rich and full, as sweet and rolling as his accent. “Don’t be jealous, Leta,” he purred, earning another eye roll.

“Luremalan regiments are better guarded than those in Terrepin,” Fael explained. “They know there are more mercenaries here and are more cautious. More night guards, better weaponry, and experienced soldiers.” He turned to Leta. “Does that sound r ight?”

She nodded. “I only trained in the Capital and ran once I was dispatched, but that sounds right, yes.”

“The crossroads I’m thinking of is here,” Miguel said, pointing to a spot north and east of camp. “They won’t expect us this close to the border with Terr epin.”

Fael leaned back, considering the location, before turning to Esrin. “What do you think? Are you comfortable with the location and ti ming?”

Esrin studied him thoughtfully. “This is my band, but I value their input. We’re a team first. Miguel, though regularly bored, always plans ahead—a surprising mix of traits,” he added w ryly.

Miguel gri nned.

“Would you like to take the lead together?” Esrin asked, addressing both Fael and Mi guel.

The smallest gust of wind might have knocked Ren’wyn over in that moment. For Esrin to offer this to Fael was a huge gesture of trust. Glancing around, she saw she wasn’t the only one surprised. Leta’s confident smile at Fael reassured her slig htly.

“Sounds excellent,” Miguel said. “Come to my tent. We can plan the attack, contingencies, and exit strate gies.”

As Fael headed off with Miguel, Ren’wyn turned to E srin.

“Thank you,” she said qui etly.

“He had a good vision for it,” Esrin replied with feigned indiffer ence.

But Ren’wyn knew what it had taken for him to offer this, and she was proud of his stre ngth.

Over the next two days, Fael and Miguel worked tirelessly, planning every detail of the attack. They discussed potential complications, escape routes, and contingencies. Ren’wyn watched as Fael absorbed the group’s input, earning their respect with his thoughtful appr oach.

Esrin observed from the sidelines, hesitant but silently impre ssed.

Fael was designed to lead. Their companions gravitated toward him naturally, offering ideas and concerns, which he addressed with calm confidence.

He drafted plans, discussed strengths and weaknesses, and played devil’s advocate when needed.

His gratitude for their honesty and willingness to listen made him a magnetic pres ence.

Late into the night, Fael stayed up working on the plans.

Ren’wyn fell asleep before he returned to their tent.

She moved her bedroll next to his the night after, wanting to share the space with him.

In the morning, they rose together, and Fael covered her with kisses until she was breathless, rolling from the bed in laughter as she tried to compose herself.

He wasn’t much better—splashing himself with cold water to cool down before break fast.

During the day, Ren’wyn gathered herbs she recognized in the forest, practiced the Passage and defensive maneuvers, and honed her magic.

A flicker of pride filled her as she considered her increased strength and control, her sharpened will.

She was equally pleased with her skill using her small dagger, knowing she was far more capable of defending herself now than when she had been at sc hool.

On the second afternoon, Fael found her across the stream, trailing smoke and shadow through her fingers as a small pile of greens sat beside her.

“You’re sunburned,” he noted, gently tapping her neck and upper shoulders. “Been out all day?”

“I forgot my scarf for collecting,” she admitted. “It’ll be alr ight.”

“Show me what you found,” he said, crouching beside her.