Page 72 of The Dark Mage

“No,” Fael said immediately. “No, I’ve only ever been myself with you. And I want to be honest, though telling you this h urts.”

Ren’wyn nodded thoughtfully. “I didn’t think it was an act.

“Fael, we all have darkness haunting us—even shades are haunted by their past lives. I don’t for one second believe you’re anything but a good man.

“This part of your journey is awful,” she admitted, voice faltering briefly, “but I know who you are. I’m not afraid, nor do I hate you.

I forgive you for what you clearly regret.

I forgive you, and I love you. You can tell me about the dark parts, Fael.

I can help you carry them—just as you’ve helped carr y me. ”

She took his h ands.

Tears spilled from his eyes.

“Gods, Ren, I don’t deserve that.”

“Forgiveness is a gift, Fael,” she whispered. “It’s free. Forgiving yourself will be harder.” She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his. “I’m not afraid to travel that path with you.”

Tears streamed down his face as he grabbed the base of her head, tilting her face up so he could kiss her. It was long, deep, and slow—an exhale of grief, relief, and need. His other hand found the small of her back, anchoring her to him.

Ren’wyn wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer, her fingers curling into his s hirt.

When he finally stopped, gasping and wiping his tears, he gave a rough l augh.

“I can’t breathe with my damned stuffed nose,” he mutt ered.

She rested her face against his chest, smiling despite her self.

Fael took a moment to gather himself while Ren’wyn nestled deeper, relishing his wa rmth.

She ached from what he had been and the pain he carried from his choices. What he had done made her stomach turn, but his honesty—his deep, soul-deep regret—only reinforced the man he was striving to be come.

Her chest ached with love and hope.

Eventually, she sat up. Their eyes met.

Fael’s gaze brimmed with sadness and pain—but also love.

Her heart sque ezed.

There was so much hope and possibility in their fu ture.

His expression softened, and he refilled their wine gla sses.

“You’ve told me so much about Peria,” he said, voice lighter now. “Is there anything else interesting you’ve heard about An duan?”

“There are a number of rare flowers I’d love to see or collect,” she said, smiling as she sipped her wine, grateful for the shift in conversation—the reminder that all could be well .

“Would you like to see something?” she asked suddenly, feeling inexplicably shy.

“Always,” he rep lied.

Rooting through the top of her pack, she pulled out a worn, leather-bound jou rnal.

Ren’wyn opened it on her lap, and Fael leaned in close, peering over her shou lder.

Each page contained precise, detailed illustrations of plants.

Some leaves or flowers were drawn separately on the following pages, rendered with careful strokes.

Tiny, meticulous handwriting filled the margins, noting habitats and instructions for use.

The parchment had been oiled for water resist ance.

She handed him the journal, and he leafed through it with wide-eyed wo nder.

A quiet, reverent sound escaped him, making her heart stu tter .

“It’s not much,” she murmured. “I’d love to add more, and I wish I was better at drawing, but I’m not much of an ar tist—”

“This is beautiful, Ren’wyn,” Fael interrupted, his voice soft with awe. “You are a wonder. You never give yourself enough cr edit.”

The compliment teased a heated blush to her ch eeks.

“I started it at Spyre,” she explained, smoothing a hand over the worn leather cover. “All those years, I hoped for a different future—one where I’d get the chance to travel and learn, to see new places. Maybe even find love.” She looked up at him as she spoke, filled with unspoken emo tion.

Understanding flickered in Fael’s hazel eyes. He pulled her close, setting the journal carefully on the side table beside the oil lamp. Then, after a moment, he picked it back up and carried it to her pack.

She chuckled, and he frowned in confu sion.

“Worried you’ll set it on fire?” she te ased.

“This journal is very important,” he groused. “I’m treating it with respect. I don’t think I deserve your tea sing.”

He made a face of exaggerated indignation, which only made Ren’wyn laugh ha rder.

Fael leapt onto the bed and grabbed her around the waist, drawing a surprised squeal from her before she dissolved into breathless laug hter.

“Your laugh is its own kind of magic,” he murmured, pressing her back against the mattress. “Like rushing water, birdsong, and sunlight through le aves.”

Ren’wyn’s laughter softened into a wide, astonished smile. Fael kissed her, his lips warm and soft, his touch reverent. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. His surprised chuckle deepened into a rough, yearning sound as he touched her, and she melted beneath him.

“Make love to me, Fael,” she whispered, her voice full of need.

“Ren’wyn,” he groaned, his voice rough with restr aint.

She laughed, hands clasping his back side.

“Make love to me,” she repeated, husky and sure.

Fael’s restraint shattered. He pressed a kiss to her neck, fingers trailing over the bodice of her dress, rasping against the fabric before tugging at the l aces.

Her hands roamed over his back and thighs as he loved her—slowly, gently, thoroughly. Together, they unraveled, their breaths mingling as they held one another in the quiet after ward.

When Fael snuffed the lamp, they lay close, their hands and lips exploring in the dark. He whispered his love to her again and again, kissing her cheeks, her lips, her throat, until sleep claimed them both, their love warding off the fears of the coming mor ning.

In the last stretch of night before dawn, the four of them swept through the cobbled streets, cloaks drawn tight and hoods pulled low.

Fael held Ren’wyn’s hand, his short sword drawn as they wove between carts laden with cheese, vegetables, and fruit bound for the seaside market.

The air hung thick with mist from the Serath Sea, a damp shroud clinging to the road.

Muffled shouts and oaths echoed from everywhere and nowhere as they followed Zev toward the d ocks.

Ren’wyn glimpsed the boat through the shifting fog. It was what she imagined might be classified as medium-sized, with a single mast rising from its center. It looked sturdy and well-trimmed, but she immediately realized she had no idea what she was d oing.

As they neared the water, her spirit dimmed .

Her connection to the Void thinned to a flicker, almost imperceptible .

The hollow echo of lapping waves along the docks only deepened the hollowness inside her.

She had never found the moment to tell Fael, and now she felt deep unease as her magic grew distant within her own body.

Zev climbed aboard first, disappearing unnervingly as the mist thickened, obscuring the boat. Anxious minutes stretched on. Fael slipped an arm beneath Ren’wyn’s cloak, drawing her close. He pressed a swift kiss to her forehead, offering her a worried s mile.

She needed to tell him now. To let him know what was happening to her magic. The desire for reassurance swelled inside her, almost overwhel ming.

“Fae l, I—”

He shook his head gently, silencing her. She settled instead into his warmth, seeking protection, seeking comfort, as her power was slowly, inexorably smoth ered.

Zev reappeared and gestured for them to board.

Fael lifted Ren’wyn easily onto the gangway’s wooden planks.

Esrin took her hand, his other twitching, as if suppressing some instinct.

The mist parted slightly, revealing the stairway, and Ren’wyn felt a flicker of gratitude for the fleeting visibi lity.

Then, her back stiffened. Something was w rong.

She felt it—felt strains of broken music, discordant and jagged. Like Zev’s claws, it grated against her spirit. The wrongness burned through her, an open wound radiating pain into her head, prickling her fin gers.

Esrin’s hands clen ched.

Zev’s jaw tight ened.

Ren’wyn tu rned—

And saw Fael, still on the w harf.

“Fael…” she called, her voice tremb ling.

Broken magic seared through her se nses.

“ Fael!”

He turned to look at her, determined—but there was something in his expression that made the fear in her chest plummet like a stone into her b elly.

Then—

A silky voice cut through the mist.

“Well, well, well…”

Out of the fog stepped a beautiful w oman.

Slender and poised, her platinum blonde hair was twisted into an elegant knot. A shocking pink dress hugged her figure indecently, dipping low over her chest, its trailing sleeves draping off bare shoul ders.

Her pale skin glowed faintly in the mist—ethereal, otherwor ldly.

But when Ren’wyn met her eyes, she saw only d eath .

The woman’s lips curved into a delighted s mirk.

“What a surprise,” she drawled, her high-pitched voice laced with amuse ment.

Her gaze flicked to Fael, and Ren’wyn’s breath caught in her th roat.

“Of all people,” the woman purred, “I never expected to find you here, Prince Falorian Grey wood . ”