Page 69 of The Dark Mage
The dagger fell from her grasp, clattering to the ground, and she yelled in frustration.
Grabbing his arm, she pulled with all her strength, but Fael didn’t budge.
His solid weight and berserker strength grounded him like an immovable force.
He swept his other arm around her, gripping her waist in a hold as strong as iron.
His heat rolled over her, and something inside her sna pped .
She would not be powerless again. She would not be a victim a gain.
Ren’wyn screamed into the night, thrashing against Fael’s hold.
“I am my own!” she yelled, her voice raw and pitched high as the wave of emotion crested, and all the old hurt and fear exploded out of her.
Her power surged in resp onse.
A frozen wind howled across the campsite, roaring like a tempest. It drained the life from the undergrowth, bursting forth like black water from her hands and chest. Black veins crept up the tree trunks, curling and twisting. The leaves shriveled and dried, disintegrating into the wind.
The magic rose higher, unstoppable and wild, frost spreading over the fire and extinguishing it, coating their blankets in a thin, glistening l ayer.
Fael didn’t fl inch.
He didn’t release her.
His arms remained locked around her, his warmth a steady an chor.
Ren’wyn’s heart pounded as she became aware of the shades creeping closer. They emerged from the darkest center of her unleashed power, their clawed hands reaching for Fael. Their jagged forms pulsed with malevolence, intent on tearing her from him.
Realizing her magic was still fighting, Ren’wyn gritted her teeth and tightened her fists. She swung one arm out as far as Fael’s grip allowed, her fingers splaying wide.
The Void obeyed her will.
Death recoiled, collapsing inward. The shades dissolved into nothing, frost melted, and the shadows around them softened, returning to the natural darkness of the n ight.
Fael didn’t release her, his body still flickering with fire. His skin glowed golden, flames licking along his arms and shoulders. He was a mountain of heat and strength, unyielding behind her.
She let herself relax into him.
Fire trickled down her skin, the flames recognizing her, caressing her like a lover. Sweat prickled at her hairline from his heat, but her cool skin soothed him in return. Slowly, his flames ebbed, and the tension in his body eased as his power subs ided.
His voice was a low murmur against her ear, as warm as his skin. “You are strong, Ren’wyn, and you are more ,” he said, echoing her own earlier words. “And you’re faster. More adept with that blade. Good work.”
He said nothing about the destruction she had caused, his tone casual as though nothing extraordinary had happ ened.
Walking to the blankets, he brushed off the remaining frost, the flakes steaming against his golden skin. Ren’wyn smiled faintly despite herself as he relit the fire with a flick of his magic, winking at her over the crackling logs.
But guilt clung to her like a second skin.
She walked to the nearest tree, a massive oak, and pressed her hand against its trunk. Bark crumbled under her fingers, flaking away in dry sheets to reveal the cambium beneath. Black veins ran through the wood like dark tattoos, deep and unyiel ding.
Above her, leaves fell, each one disintegrating into dust before it hit the ground. One drifted onto her arm, crumbling into black ash against her skin.
She shiv ered.
The asters and goldenrod that had once brightened the clearing were now skeletal remains, fragile and lifeless. Guilt and sorrow burned behind her eyes, the destruction she caused sinking heavily into her chest until she dropped to her knees, staring at the devasta tion.
What if I hurt my friends like this? What if I lose control and destroy everything I love?
Her throat tightened, and she swallowed hard.
Fael’s steps were soft but deliberate as he crossed the clearing. His hands rested firmly on her shoulders, hot and steady, grounding her once a gain.
“Breathe, Ren’wyn,” he said.
His voice was a dark command, and she was powerless to resist. She drew a shuddering breath and opened her eyes to a swirl of mist. Black and blue tongues of fire licked at her shoulders where their powers met.
“I’m a monster,” she groaned, hands covering her face. “A monster that steals lives to feed my rage.”
Fael’s hot anger rose, flames flickering farther down her torso.
“No, Ren’wyn,” he replied, his tone hard.
“You are not a monster. You were abused and torn down your entire life. You are good and gentle, but now you are stronger. You have to fight those memories, but you can do it. I believe in you.”
Her body shook as he gripped her, brushing her braid over her shoulder onto her collar bone.
“Feel your magic, Ren,” he whispered, his voice coiling around her skin and slithering over her bones. “Feel your goodness and your strength. Hold it. Wiel d it.”
Shadows spiraled up the dead oak’s trunk, shaking loose the crumbling leaves. Ash fell on them like black snow, and she summoned a cold wind to blow it away. Drawing on the red heat of Fael’s magic, Ren’wyn let the shades awaken again. They approached her silently, watching and wai ting.
Fael’s words tickled her ear. “They respect and trust you, like I do. You are free, my love— free —and no one will control you again. Vair and Erst are not here, but even if they were, you are strong enough now to stop them.”
She beckoned the shades closer, opening her hands to feel their spirits. Some were tired and sad, others older than she could fathom, and a few were wild and angry. They reached for her, seeking solace in her care.
It was suddenly so much, and exhaustion slammed into her. Fael’s warmth enveloped her, and she motioned the shades to rest. Darkness and shadow melted, mist and smoke turning to nothing, and Ren’wyn buckled for ward.
For a moment, she was back under the pines in the Dark Forest—but this time, Fael was neither desperate nor afraid. Instead, he lowered her gently, pulling her head to his c hest.
The two of them moved slowly to the bedroll, curling up beneath their strange, small net.
“I love this,” she whispered, running her hands over the rough netting hanging less than a foot above them. “I love you,” she continued, her fingers threading through Fael’s soft c urls.
A quiet breeze brushed through the clearing, and the dead plants crumbled in its wake.
“I love you too,” Fael whispered back, pulling her into the security of their love.
In the morning, she made a small, quiet offering to the lives she had taken in the glade. She set juniper, liverleaf, and velvetleaf on the ground and closed her eyes. Tears slipped down her cheeks, dripping onto the dirt and a shes.
Fael said nothing, giving her space to gr ieve.
Within twenty feet of where she stood, every plant had blackened to ash, every tree wrapped with black veins.
The bark was crumbling, leaves nearly gone, and the ground cover had vanished in a semicircle born of her rage.
It was as though every moment of abuse haunting her had risen and demanded justice from their surroundings.
The death triggered her grief, and she didn’t feel embarrassed as she wept, aware of Fael’s steady presence ne arby.
“I’m ready,” Ren’wyn finally said, wiping the last tears from her ch eeks.
She reached out to take Fael’s hand, and he lifted her onto Pa tina.
The road grew wilder through this unsettled area. She knew the trees and most of the ground cover here, marveling at the way it mimicked northern plant species. Goldenrod and aster were in full bloom, but many plants were beginning to senesce as the season progressed into au tumn.
They stopped in a town on the edge of the foothills.
The buildings bore scars from past attacks, and the innkeeper explained that Loringan bands often came here in difficult years.
It had been seven years without an attack, and the community had found healing in hospitality.
Ren’wyn and Fael reveled in it, paying a little extra for wine and chocolate after their meal.
The innkeeper’s two children played music during supper. The lively crowd was a sign they were nearing the end of the wild and approaching Riva.
“Dance with me,” Fael said, standing and reaching for her with a sweet s mile.
“No,” she responded quickly, surprising even herself. “I… no. I can’t d ance.”
Not exactly the t ruth.
She had years of private dance lessons as well as training at Spyre.
At Esrin’s parties, she had danced, and her father had even thrown an engagement ball for her and Erst. But she had always been clumsy and a little heavy-footed, and despite everything they had shared, she did not want to step on Fael’s feet.
He leaned across the table with a dark smile. “Dance with me, or I’ll ask the bar maid.”
“You wouldn’t,” she hissed back, and his eyes gli nted.
He was baiting her, but when he turned toward the kitchen, where the barmaid ogled him while fixing her hair, Ren’wyn s tood.
“Fine,” she relented through gritted t eeth.
Then, Fael’s arms were around her, and she stopped thin king.
Every ounce of grace he possessed with sword, bow, and fists, he carried onto the dance floor.
His strength and skill made her feel weightless and free.
Ren’wyn let him spin and dip her, stepping through a pattern she knew well before Fael added a new sequence, leading her with ease.
She wondered if her past partners had always been lacking or if Fael was unusually gifted.
For the first time, she enjoyed dan cing.
Fael grinned as they moved together. His laughter skated over her skin and landed in her stomach, and Ren’wyn decided dancing wasn’t so bad. When she stumbled, he held her steady—and he didn’t laugh at her mis step .
She stared openly, unashamed to admire him.