Page 58 of The Dark Mage
“Until I faced the shades in the Dark Forest and saw the ghost pipes,” she admitted, her voice soft.She lifted her clear gray eyes, feeling full to bursting.“I came alive again that day—as though part of me had been buried inside myself.So I suppose the ghost pipes are my favorite plantsnow.”
She pictured the small, sculpted one on her cloak.The plant meant more than botany.It symbolized what passed between her and Fael—the power they shared, the gift of his friendship.She offered him the bowl of fruit, and his hand brushedhers.
“Soft and delicate.Rare and beautiful.And full of a strength you might not guess by looking,” Fael said, his eyes locked on hers.Ren’wyn was no longer sure he was talking about plants.
“Tell me about your favorite weapon,” Ren’wyn said quickly, shifting the subject to dampen the tension building betweenthem.
Fael grew thoughtful as he spooned fruit onto his plate.“I’ve trained with so many over the years.My first lessons began when I was four.I was handed a wooden training sword and shield and learned the Passage.
“When I was seven, I shot my first bow.By ten, I was handling two swords as well as an axe.Mace, scimitar, spear, halberd—I can kill with all of them like second nature.The sergeant-at-arms who trained me, Dirne, was strict but kind.He corrected my mistakes but knew how to offer encouragement—something my father neverdid.
“My favorite weapon was the one I shared with Dirne: small daggers.When you fight hand-to-hand, you have to look your opponent in the eye—touch them, share their breath.It requires intimacy and respect.If you’re going to kill someone, you must acknowledge their existence and their hopes and dreams.You have to let them see you as their killer.”
Fael grimaced.“I hate killing—and it’s my gift.I wouldn’t trade how I was trained or who I am.But I wish… I wish there were no need for killing.”
Ren’wyn nodded solemnly.“I wish there was no need for death.”
They regarded each other in silence before returning to their supper.Ren’wyn felt the strangeness of sharing this: the respect and joy of their magics, and their discomfort with the power itself.The chicken was smoky, and the flatbread was soft and fragrant with onion and garlic.The kitchen staff brought out a dish of tomato and cilantro salsa, which they heaped onto their plates.
“Do you remember traveling between Orr and Umber?”Fael asked.
Ren’wyn knew where he was going as his smile grew.“I remember lovely weather,” she hedged.
“Wasn’t there a small stream along theway?”
“You know very well there was,” she grumbled.“Don’t even go there.”
But Fael couldn’t help himself.“You thought the weather warm enough for swimming.”He stuffed his mouth with chicken, snickering.
The day had been beautiful but far too chilly for swimming.They’d been following a rough forest track when Fael offered to help Ren’wyn cross a stream on a fallen log.She’d refused, eager to practice her balance.
At first, she’d done beautifully, relying on the strength and coordination she’d built through training.When the log wobbled, she recovered easily—until a large, loud bumblebee careened into her cheek.Startled, she shrieked, overcorrected, and tumbled into the creek.
The water was only waist-deep, and Fael had rushed in to make sure she was all right.Drenched and embarrassed, Ren’wyn’s only injury was to her pride.When Fael asked what happened, she mumbled about the log tipping—but he’d seen everything.He started laughing and said, “You can neverbeetoosure.”
She’d caught him off guard, grabbing his knee and pulling with all her might.His legs buckled, and he splashed headfirst into the stream.Coughing and sputtering, he surfaced, his powerful arms sending a huge wave her way.Seeing him, drenched and ridiculous, had her gigglingtoo.
When she shivered, Fael threw her over his shoulder and carried her out.They’d been soaked and freezing.He’d found a spot to light a fire and pitch their tent, where they’d changed into dry clothes with their backs turned.Then, they’d shared a sip from Fael’s flask, laughing as they settled in for the evening.
Now, her arms crossed and eyes rolling, Ren’wyn gave in and laughed withhim.
A light white wine followed supper, served with a plate of cheese and berries.Ren’wyn sank into her chair, happiness softening her edges.
Fael’s contentment was obvious, his features relaxed.
“Tropical fruit is good,” he said, rolling a berry between his fingers.“Exotic and wild—but nothing beats the taste of a strawberry.”
Ren’wyn’s face lit up.“Strawberries are my favorite!”she exclaimed, and Fael laughed at her enthusiasm.
He knew they were her weakness.With a mischievous grin, he leaned in, holding the last berry between his fingers and offering it to her.The laughter between them quieted as Ren’wyn met his gaze—dark with emotion and intent.
She bent toward his outstretched hand.His eyes strayed to her mouth as her lips parted, releasing a soft breath.
Fael leaned a little closer, lids lowering over his hazel eyes as he pressed the bright red strawberry to her lips.She opened just enough to grasp the berry in her teeth, closing her eyes at the burst of sweet and tart.Fael shuddered.
“I figured you should have the last one,” he said, his voice husky and rough.
Ren’wyn felt the flavor bloom on her tongue as her toes curled in her soft leather shoes.
