Page 49 of The Dark Mage
He saw her as enough.
He delighted in her dark power.
He had reawakened her heart.
In his sleep, Fael moaned, repeating, “No.”He whimpered and thrashed weakly.
Ren’wyn took his hand and wiped his brow.He trembled, and she began to hum—soft and steady.
She hummed and remembered nights withIla.
Fael calmed beneath her touch.
Ren’wyn pressed her head against his shoulder and continued to hum until his breathing slowed, his body relaxing.
Grounded by his presence, she finally fell asleep.
“Holy shit” was the first thing she heard in the morning.
Fael was sitting up, holding hishead.
“How long have I been out?”he asked, his voice ragged.“I feel like thedead.”
“Three days,” she replied, counting in hermind.
“Where are we?”His gaze was foggy.
“Sicen,” she responded.“You are Seth, and I’m Lassa from Laran.We’re on our way to Ishvaen to work with our aunt.There are soldiers intown.”
Fael reclined against the pillows, staring at his hands before coughing deeply and groaning.
“Shit,” he said again.
“You already said that.”Ren’wyn gave him a look of false exasperation and was rewarded with a wheezy laugh.
After a brief hesitation, she clambered out of bed and hauled her dress over her smallclothes.She needn’t have worried—Fael was himself again and looked away through the curtains.She poured him a drink and put on the kettle.
“Drink all of that.It’s tea to keep fighting your fever.Our hostess, Mari, has chicken broth made.I bought a chicken for the inn yesterday with the agreement they’d turn the carcass into broth foryou.”
“You think of everything, don’t you, Ren’wyn?”he sighed affectionately.
She slipped from the room, content with his recovery and warm from his praise.
Downstairs, Mari stood at the front counter, wiping it down.Ren’wyn asked for the broth.
“He’s awake, then?”Mari asked, clearly pleased.
“Yes,” Ren’wyn replied, grateful to share her relief.
“I’ll be up as soon as I can,” Mari promised.
Ren’wyn returned to the room to find Fael tugging on his tunic.His skin was ashen, and he gasped as a wicked cough racked his chest.
“What the hell are you doing?”she demanded.
“Getting decent,” he replied through gritted teeth.“I imagine you’ve seen more of me the past few days than you ever thought you would, and I’d like to preserve whatever shred of dignity I have left—real or imagined.”
She had seen all of him, bedridden as he’d been, but she wouldn’t tell him.It would only embarrass him.Instead, she waved a hand dismissively and stepped in to finish straightening his shirt.Slowly, they worked together to get his breeches on, taking a break at his knees when he grew tired.
