Page 62 of The Dark Mage

T he raiding party rode north the next day, saddling up before dawn.

Ren’wyn was impressed by the thorough plans Miguel and Fael had presented the evening before.

They would wait among the rocky cliffs a mile east of the crossroads.

Fael had prepared them for the possibility of facing twenty to twenty-five imperial soldiers, all trained to fight and kill.

Miguel packed slow-burning charges to set the carts aflame once they were done, and the group agreed to prioritize nonperishable foods, blankets, rope, and bows or arrows as their target goods.

Ren’wyn would cloak them in darkness, though she warned that with their group spread out, the veil would be slight rather than a full shadow cloak.

Still, the others had nodded in amazement, grateful for even a shred of extra c over.

Fael took on the role of lookout, ready to incapacitate anyone who might spot them.

He spent hours practicing his stealth, asking permission beforehand to sneak up on their campmates.

Ren’wyn enjoyed watching him work—the way his movements were fluid and silent as he emerged from the trees or slipped between tents to grab his ta rget.

That was, until it was her turn.

On her way back from sparring, Fael clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her behind a tent. Her scream was muffled by his callused palm, and adrenaline surged through her v eins.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered huskily, releasing her.

Ren’wyn turned to him with a scowl, shoving his chest. “You scared the shit out of me,” she hissed, her disapproval s harp.

Fael’s chuckle only made her angrier. “Don’t do that a gain.”

But instead of backing off, he pulled her close, the heat of his body burning against her skin. Her breath caught as his head tilted toward hers.

“I’m sorry,” he said, though his wry smile gave away the lie.

The earlier rush of fear transformed into something else entirely. Fael’s smiling lips hovered a breath away before his mouth crashed into hers. The kiss was hard and wild, stoking the flames of her desire. His touch scalded every inch of skin his fingers bru shed.

Ren’wyn grabbed the front of his tunic, wrenching him closer, a deep rumble vibrating in his chest. He reached down, his hands firm on her backside, lifting her off her feet and backing into the shrubs lining the camp site.

“How quiet can you be, Ren?” Fael whispered, his voice rough and teasing all at once.

She barely had time to breathe before he carried her deeper into the cover of the trees. There, hidden by the branches, they made love furiously and silently, releasing their passion in hushed gasps and shuddering bre aths.

The memory warmed Ren’wyn’s cheeks as they rode through the fading light of their first day’s jou rney.

Miguel found a grassy clearing to camp for the night. There wasn’t much concern about being caught, as they passed easily for a traveling band of mercenaries. Irik lit a fire while Miguel threw beans, peas, and salt pork into a pot.

Ren’wyn helped Leta remove a splinter, applying a poultice to fight infection. Leta kept her laughing with stories of Miguel’s worst travel meals, though she made sure to thank him and admit to her own inability to cook.

Nearby, Fael sat sharpening his sword, looking so much like that first night by the Farro River.

Ren’wyn’s gaze lingered on his graceful hands as he ran the whetstone along the razor-sharp blade.

The fluid motions of metal, stone, and fingers created a mesmerizing rhythm in the flickering firelight.

When his eyes rose and caught hers watching him, Fael smiled sweetly, sending a flutter through her sto mach.

“Sharpen mine next, Fael,” Irik called, tossing him a sheathed sword. The interruption shook them from their longing look. “And save those looks for the privacy of your tent,” he added, rolling his eyes.

Fael laughed hard, shaking his head as he sheathed his blade and reached for Irik’s.

“You’re going to have to keep a close watch on Ren’wyn,” Fael chuckled.

“She’s the one starting all the bedroom glances, and I can’t help it if she cuts such an attractive figure in the firelight. Can you really blam e me?”

His eyes were full of mock innocence until Ren’wyn’s bedroll hit him square in the c hest.

Everyone erupted into laughter at Fael’s fake gasp. They enjoyed a hearty supper, curling up afterward to share stories of their lives before joining Esrin’s g roup.

When it came time to settle for the night, Fael threw his bedroll down directly beside Ren’wyn’s, wrapping her in his arms under his blanket. No one commented, and Ren’wyn melted into his touch, delighting in his warmth and the quiet intimacy they shared beneath the s tars.

“Tell us how you met,” Leta prompted, her eyes sparkling with curiosity as she looked between Fael and Ren ’wyn.

“You or me?” Fael asked, a grin tugging at his lips as he glanced at Ren ’wyn.

“I want to hear you tell it,” she replied, her voice warm with amuse ment.

Fael chuckled, propping himself up on an elbow to look at the group.

“All right. I was taking a lovely stroll along the banks of the Farro River when a blonde minx tumbled over the bank and landed at my feet,” he started, only to receive a sharp elbow to the stomach from Ren’wyn.

He groaned dramatically, clutching his side, and the group broke into laug hter.

“All right, all right,” he relented, still grinning as he straightened up. “Let me tell the real s tory.”

As Fael spoke, Ren’wyn found herself spellbound.

He painted the scene vividly, sprinkling in extra details as he recounted carrying her to the cave, checking her injuries, and the strange yet undeniable pull of their magic recognizing each other.

His voice softened as he described her strength and courage, and warmth bloomed through Ren’wyn, filling her from head to toe.

“It took her about a week to walk normally again,” Fael continued. “But she taught me which herbs to use for swelling and pain and helped keep us fed. Of course, the best part was the distracting—and, might I add, dangerous—tears in her gown from running through the fo rest.”

The raw heat in his voice caused her heart to stutter. Ren’wyn’s mind raced. Had he wanted her from the start, or was it love flooding backward into those memo ries?

“The rest of our journey would take too long for one night,” Fael concluded, his voice full of good humor, “and I’m afraid it might scald all your tender ears.”

A quiet contentment settled over the group as their shared laughter faded. Miguel took first watch, and they drifted off, bracing themselves for the days a head.

The next two days of travel to the cliffs passed uneventf ully.

Ren’wyn rode beside Irik, but her attention kept wandering to Fael.

She loved the view of his strong back and thighs, the steady rhythm he kept with his horse.

When they stopped for lunch, she leaned close and whispered her admiration into his ear.

His grip on her hip tightened in response, his lips brushing her cheek with a s mile.

Irik hadn’t attended Spyre, but he was familiar with the grounds and the buildings. Riding beside him sparked an interesting conversation about the Masters they had known during their respective times t here.

By the third day, the rocky cliffs came into view. After lunch, Ren’wyn found a place along the slopes where she would wait for the regiment to pass. Snuggling into Fael’s side, she let his warmth and courage seep into her b ones.

Shortly before sunset, Fael pressed a firm but tender kiss to her lips, readying himself to ride off with the others. “Be careful, my heart,” he whispered against her fore head.

She gripped his shoulders, returning his gaze with equal fervor. “And you too,” she murm ured.

Fael rode off, and Ren’wyn prepared herself for the long, silent wait in the growing dark ness.

The chill wind picked up as the sun dipped below the horizon, howling between the rocks. She was grateful for her cloak, though her hands grew stiff in the cold.

Soon, the creaking and clattering of wagon wheels reached her ears, accompanied by the muffled sound of hoofbeats on the rocky road. Murmured voices and the occasional cough echoed faintly in the gloom. Shadows cast by the lanterns hanging on the carts danced eerily against the rocky ter rain.

Her heart seized as she felt the hum of auras within the group—a faint, weak pulse of blue and red. An empath and a berse rker.

Shit, shit, shit, she thought, her pulse quickening. Fael is standing guard. He won’t feel anything until it’s too late.

Her mind raced as frustration boiled up inside her. How could she alert the others? Should she stay hidden as planned or follow and raise the alarm? Fael would surely notice eventually, but by then it might be too late.

Pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, she fought to steady herself. The wind roared louder, drowning out all other sounds. All Ren’wyn could feel was the cold and the faint, injured auras tugging at her aware ness.

The Void stirred restlessly, echoing the call of the two faint lights in her mind. Goosebumps prickled along her arms. The undeniable pull to help them grew stro nger.

Her resolve hardened. She couldn’t stay hidden—not with lives hanging in the balance. Standing slowly, she made her way down the slope, her steps careful to avoid dislodging loose st ones.

The last of the horses was rounding the bend, heading toward a clearing perfect for the ambush. Ren’wyn knew she was supposed to stay hidden longer in case the scouting group checked farther afield, but the call of the two auras was overwhel ming.

The Void pulsed insistently, raising the hairs on her neck. She could feel its silent plea, an aching pull toward the injured. Tightening her grip on her resolve, she continued down the hill, shadows gathering faintly at her h eels.