Page 73 of The Dark Mage

P rince Falo rian?

Ren’wyn felt a rush of dizziness. Emperor Greywood’s son? The crown prince. What was going on? Shock overrode fear, and she stepped toward Fael, her hand still locked in Esr in’s.

“Fael?” she breathed, her voice trembling. He didn’t acknowledge her.

“Fael?” she repeated, her heart climbing into her throat, her arm stretching behind her as Esrin’s grip on her wrist tightened painf ully.

“What a delightful surprise to find you here of all places, my prince,” Lissea purred, her voice dripping with sensuality, though her eyes remained cold and e mpty.

Ren’wyn’s heart twisted and wrenched against her ribs. The Void was gone—her magic smothered to nothing—and Fael wouldn’t look at her.

Look at me, look at me, she begged silently. Let me help you. Tell me what’s happe ning.

Esrin’s grip was so firm it hurt, and tears spilled freely down her face, born of pain and confu sion.

“Hello, Lissea,” Fael replied coolly, his tone detached. “A pleasure as al ways.”

“I do remember quite a bit of pleasure, Lori,” she giggled. The sound made Ren’wyn’s skin crawl. “You made me a promise to visit, but I haven’t seen you in years, my dear.”

Fael’s sword remained unsheathed, ready to strike. “I’m actually on my way out, Liss, but maybe we can meet up when I get back?”

A high-pitched laugh escaped her, sharp and grating. “No, no, no, Lori. I’ve been so short on fun lately, and I hear you’ve brought fri ends.”

Her eyes flicked upward, landing on Ren’wyn, Esrin, and Zev on the gangway. Ren’wyn’s stomach twisted violently as Fael stepped forward to shield her from view.

“Remember your promise,” Fael called, his voice edged with urgency. “Take Ren’wyn aboard and cast off. Now.”

“What?” Ren’wyn shouted, anger surging within her even as her magic remained out of reach. Sweat beaded on her forehead. “Fael! What the hell are you d oing?”

“Such a pretty little thing,” Lissea drawled, her gaze fixed on Ren’wyn. “A lovely flower. Is this your latest toy, Lori?”

Lori. Ren’wyn hated it. Falorian. The name spun in her head, the world tilting around her. Small tendrils of water and air began circling her arms and legs like clutching fin gers.

“You must be the dark mage,” Lissea continued, her eyes glittering. “I’ve never had the pleasure of meeting one before. Would you like to come play with me, girl?”

Ren’wyn bared her teeth, tears streaking her face as Esrin’s grip and her breaking heart flooded her with emo tion.

“I heard there’s a druid and a wight as well,” Lissea mused, her lips curling into a predatory smile. “Quite the little treasure trove. And your little whore has some fight in her. What a surp rise.”

Ren’wyn sobbed openly now, her hands grasping at the air as she threw all her will toward the Void, only to feel nothing—absolutely nothing. At the same time, Esrin’s invisible bonds of water and air tightened around her, forcing her up the gangway against her will.

“Cast off!” Fael commanded, his voice burning with rage and power. The air around them seemed to ignite, crackling with en ergy.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Lissea trilled, her tone laced with menace. “I think you should invite them to stay.”

Her voice carried no warmth, only hard edges and the promise of violence. She pointed toward the rooftops. Through the wafting mist, Ren’wyn could just make out archers, their crossbows tipped with flaming arrows aimed directly at the ship.

“Damn it,” Esrin cursed darkly. The pressure of wind and water around Ren’wyn grew harsher as he hooked an arm around her waist, hauling her over the rai ling.

“Let go of me!” she screamed, thrashing violently. “Let go of me, you ass hole!”

Esrin dropped the bonds of air and water to direct them toward the archers, but Zev’s voice cut through the c haos.

“Don’t,” Zev warned. “Don’t. They’re crossbow bolts, Esrin. Even without fire, they’ll rip through the hull and tear us a part.”

Zev joined Esrin, holding Ren’wyn down as she fought desperately, writhing in an attempt to break free.

“Fael!” she screamed, her voice tearing against her throat like shards of g lass.

He stood with his sword angled across his chest, power radiating from him like a storm barely contained. Fire ran along the blade, his skin glowing as every muscle tensed with fury. Beautiful and angry. He was so beautiful—and he was slipping away.

“Here’s how this is going to go, Lissea,” he said, his tone laced with the raw warning of his power.

“This boat is going to cast off, and I’m going to come with you willingly to Ma-Lortil.

Or you can try to stop them, and I’ll let my power free.

While I will eventually die, I’ll be glad to burn through as many of your men as possible—and you. Your play, Li ssea.”

Her expression was as cold and cruel as her eyes. She crossed her arms, gaze sharp as she considered him. A few times, she opened her mouth as if to speak, only to close it again, calculating her resp onse.

“Very well, Fael,” she hissed, her earlier, sunny tone gone. “I accept your offer. Cast off your ship and come wit h me.”

Something deep and cold stirred in the pit of Ren’wyn’s stomach. It was dark and hungry, and at Lissea’s words, it surged upward like a tidal wave, crashing through her and choking her th roat.

“Fael!” she roared, her voice tearing through the night as the boat, already untied, drifted lazily away from the dock. “ Fael!”

Her screams turned to raw, incoherent cries as he walked toward Lissea, his power dimming, flames receding as he sheathed his sword. The shards of broken music clawed at her senses, sharp and discordant. Lissea gestured, and soldiers spilled from the buildings, swarming the w harf.

At the last moment, Fael turned, his gaze locking with Ren’wyn’s. A flicker of fire seemed to dance along her cold, damp skin. His eyes were filled with pain, longing, and unbearable so rrow.

The soldiers were on him in an instant. One punched him across the face; another dropped him with the hilt of a sword slammed into his shoulder. Ren’wyn caught a glimpse of chains being dragged from a doorway before Esrin waved his hand, thick fog swallowing the wharf from view.

“No! You bastard!” Ren’wyn shrieked, her voice ripping painfully in her throat. “Let me go! Let me go to him! You bast ards!”

Zev and Esrin wrestled her to the deck as the crew looked on warily.

Their hands bruised her arms, the roughened boards beneath her stinging her skin as she thrashed.

The pain was her anchor, keeping her from dissolving into the nothingness clawing at her mind.

They dragged her into the cabin, but she fought them every step, her screams splintered and incohe rent.

“Stop fighting,” Esrin said gently, almost pleading. “It’s over, Ren’wyn. Stop fightin g us.”

She couldn’t. The pain and the fight were all that remained. Her mind replayed the images—Fael being beaten, Fael walking toward Li ssea.

Zev closed his eyes, his expression shifting to deep focus.

It started with his palms and fingers, where they pressed against Ren’wyn’s legs, holding her down.

Slowly, his form began to change, merging into the wool of the blanket beneath her.

The fabric came alive, spreading over her from toe to neck, binding her in place.

Zev’s magic intertwined with the blanket, his very essence pressing down—unyielding and firm.

Ren’wyn shuddered and groaned, tears streaming freely down her face. She could feel the blanket pinning her, a suffocating stillness. There was no more moving fr eely.

“No,” she wept, then whimpered it again. “No.”

Between the waves of pain and grief, a surge of anger burned. “Falorian,” she croaked, her voice cracking as she turned toward Esrin. He dropped to his knees beside her, smoothing his hand gently over her hair, his face streaked with t ears.

“I know, Ren,” he rasped, his pain mirroring her own as he touched her with heartbreaking tender ness.

“He’s the crown prince,” she said in disbelief. “The emperor’s son.”

“You didn’t know?” Zev asked so ftly.

Ren’wyn’s head snapped toward him, her face twisting with sudden fury. “No, I didn’t,” she bit out, her anger returning like a lightning strike. “That somehow escaped him during our months together—and his time in my bed.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and she dissolved into bitter sobs. She couldn’t bear their pity. Couldn’t bear their understanding. She turned toward the wall, hiding herself from their g azes.

Esrin’s hand never left her hair.

“Let her go, Zev,” he murmured. His voice was low with compas sion.

The magic that had bound her unraveled as Zev released it, leaving only the blanket itself, which she gripped tightly as though it were a life line.

Fael was the emperor’s son. He had been raised and trained in the imperial guard to hunt and kill people with magic.

He had helped Lissea—and who knew how many others—trap and slaughter powered people, even though he himself was one.

That had supposedly changed after his mother’s assassination and the murder of a lover.

He had spent the last five years helping people. Or so he had told her.

Fael. His solid heart. His gentle encouragement and quiet strength. His kiss, his touch, his fire that ignited something within her own power. Did it matter who he was? Could she set aside his name and what it meant? Or did it change everything between them?

Oh, gods, Fael . Had it all been a lie? No. He wouldn’t have protected them on the wharf if it were a lie. Or woul d he?

Her thoughts spiraled—a storm of bitter tears, anger, and deep, unending pain.

Dimly, she became aware that Esrin and Zev had moved to the window seat. Their voices drifted through her haze.

“What was that horrible feeling earlier?” Esrin asked, his tone low and strained. “It almost severed my link to my magic. It felt… wrong. Like broken trees or dried-up river beds.”

“I’ve felt it before,” Zev replied, his voice weighted with memory.

“Though I’ve never been able to identify it.

It always comes from non-magical humans.

I once saw a regiment reeking of it as they dragged two druids from hiding and executed them.

But I couldn’t pinpoint the source among the li ving. ”

Esrin sighed heavily. “Another complication. Hiding from non-magical people has always been one of the few ways we’ve survived. If they can sense our auras, what then?”

There was a pause, then Esrin muttered, “And shit, Zev, what about Fael? The crown prince? How did we not know?”

“A more difficult question, my friend,” Zev admitted.

“But I’ve sensed nothing amiss with him in all the time we’ve traveled together.

I never detected deceit—only a deep desire to be honest. And you know I’m not incapable of picking up on lies.

His love for Ren’wyn is real. That much is certain.

But this revelation hurts, and it has hurt her more deeply, which is what concerns me most.” He hesitated.

“His capture or death is a loss I don’t think we can af ford. ”

“What do you mean?” Esrin asked, frow ning.

“He is the flame to our dark shadow. Without him, I’m not sure we’ll succeed,” Zev said quietly. “Ren’wyn is tied to him in a way none of us can replicate. As much as it pains me, we cannot support her the way he can.”

A long silence followed. Then Esrin said firmly, “We have to save him, then.”

“I believe we do,” Zev ag reed.

As Ren’wyn drifted into an exhausted sleep, her tears still flowing and her muscles aching, her warring emotions settled uneasily within her.

She loved Fael. She was determined to save him and relieved she wouldn’t have to face that alone.

And yet, he had betrayed her by hiding the truth of who he was, and she dreaded what that betrayal might mean.

Letting go of it all for a moment, she let her mind wander.

She pictured returning to Delmor—a warm breeze blowing through the town as the sun set.

Fael’s hand cradled hers, a white stone house standing before them.

A well-tended garden bloomed out front, window boxes overflowing with herbs.

His hand slid to the small of her back as he whispered, “Welcome home.”

Then the ship rocked as the wind caught the sails, and Ren’wyn drifted into black ness.