Relan was arrogant, loved to hear himself talk, was obsessed with Faust’s whereabouts, and was nothing more than a thorn in his side since he’d been brought back to the castle. Everything about Relan made sense now. He worked his way up to this position, and there was no telling when he would strike.
The sharp pain hit Faust again, and he stumbled into a step with a wince. The tug of magic was strongest right here. Linos could be close. His heart raced at the thought. Would Linos pass judgment on him?
“Are you listening, Your Majesty?” Relan asked, leaning down.
“No.” Faust gripped at his chest in an attempt to alleviate the pain.
Relan seemed ready to give Faust a good scolding when his gaze fell on Faust’s clenched hand. “What’s wrong? Are your injuries bothering you? We should return to the castle if you are feeling unwell.” He touched Faust’s shoulder.
Faust smacked Relan’s hand away. “Do. Not. Touch. Me.”
“My apologies.” Relan bowed.
Faust grimaced as another wave of pain assaulted him. Why did the medicine not work against this pain? What did it mean?
“Your Majesty, we should—”
Faust’s ears picked up on the distinct sound of the wind as if he were out in the middle of the forest. It should have been impossible through the commotion of the market, the skid and roll of the wooden carts and rattle of armor. Relan’s voice faded even farther as the noise of the wind roared through his ears.
Faust lifted his gaze, and his jaw slackened.
Vivid blue eyes met Faust’s—a blue so bright, he was reminded of the sky itself. The wind tousled the young man’s long, dark brown hair and simple dark shirt, his attire that of a hunter with the bow and arrows and small knives at his thigh. Magic rolled over the young man, and the sky blue that surrounded him was brighter than he’d ever seen. Though, it felt like it was being repressed. He was powerful, an easy match for Relan.
Faust couldn’t shake the feeling that bubbled up as he met the young man’s sky-blue gaze again. He was left without words, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. A pleasant tingle curled through him as if his magic sought the other out. It longed to be closer, to touch, to soar as high as the sky and beyond. The wind swept their magic together, and the natural magic of Alimphis embraced the young man in it.
The young man’s sky-blue eyes flickered over Faust’s body in a shy pass before he turned away and mingled back into the crowd, disappearing from sight.
Faust’s muscles seized, sound rushing back to him, throwing blue-tinted magic against his senses. His knees buckled, and he caught himself on a passing cart. If that young man wasn’t Linos, then he was most certainly the mysterious knight Terrence hired in Akarvine. Faust looked around. He needed to ditch Relan—now! Relan fretted over him, but he paid the Blessed no mind, still formulating his plan. He had to be quick.
Loud footsteps raced at Faust from behind, and a strong fire user slammed into Faust’s back. He gritted his teeth, his vision blurring with the explosion of pain that came from his wounds. He stumbled forward only to be yanked along and over his attacker’s shoulder. The man was dressed in a cloak and covered his face, but Faust recognized the outfit. This man was from Windilum, most likely one of Relan’s lackeys.
“Wait,” Relan shouted.
Faust grunted and glanced at a few stall owners as the man dashed past and wove through the people, a commotion rising.
“Guards,” Relan bellowed. “Capture that man! He has the king,” Relan yelled as he pushed through the crowd.
The people parted for the Blessed, but Relan didn’t move any faster. Faust was going to use that to his advantage. He grasped for the wind magic around him and shoved it backward, knocking Relan over. He gripped at his kidnapper next and surveyed his surroundings, pleased that Relan was utterly bewildered.
The man ran without a word over some crates and to a new part of the market.
More fire stones sifted into the air. Faust needed to get away while Relan couldn’t see him. The man was running past quite a bit of usable wood. The fool. Faust reached out with his magic and pushed earth magic into the wood. It whipped forward, smacking the man in the face. Faust fell and landed on his hands and knees with a groan, but he pushed himself up.
Faust ignored the heavy footsteps of Kingsley Knights rushing his way and slid under a merchant’s pole of trinkets, veering to his left. He skidded on the slick cobblestone until he changed direction enough to duck into an alleyway. A cart fell into place behind him, blocking any pursuers.
Faust smirked at his people’s resourcefulness. He hustled down another alleyway, his hand on the wall and his breathing quick. He couldn’t move too fast, but he had to keep going until Relan’s magic was far enough away.
Faust leaned against the cold stone wall and took a much-needed break, catching his breath. Guards would converge on him soon, and he refused to go back until he at least learned the blue-eyed man’s name.
Faust glanced around and cursed. The participants of the Knight’s Challenge were centered here, and the Kingsley Knights were in abundance. He reached out with his magic first, but there were no sky stone users among them—just earth and fire.
Wind magic pulsed a distance away. It whirled around him as if it were curious and drifted back into the market. Faust smiled. This time it didn’t cause him pain.
Faust stepped out in the walkway and wove his way into the crowd. He moved his hood down and kept his gaze level. As long as he didn’t meet eyes with the guards, they would be none the wiser.
The wind brushed against his cheek and led him farther away from the market. This would be easier if the young man entered the Knight’s Challenge, but he didn’t even have decent armor. Anyone taking the challenge had finished their preparations and were feeling out the competition.
Faust obeyed the wind as it directed him farther and farther away from the castle. He hadn’t been this far in a long time. He checked faces and carts as he went, but no one had those same vibrant blue eyes.
A chill ran down his spine, and the wind whistled in his ears—someone was following him. Faust froze. Fire brushed against his magic. He moved a few feet and darted into an alleyway. The bang of heavy footsteps followed.
Faust’s stomach sank as he sprinted, the noise of his heels echoing far too loud. He glanced ahead, and his breathing hitched—a dead end.
Faust whirled to face his assailants, dragging out a small polished dagger. His eyes widened at the sight of three Windilum mercenaries. Faust took a steady breath. He grabbed at the fire magic of one stone user and made flames dance as a distraction.
He launched himself at the closest one and blocked one strike of a short sword, kicked the man in the gut, and thrust his arm up with a burst of wind magic, slicing his attacker’s eye. Blood splattered on Faust’s cloak as the man howled in pain, covering his bleeding eye.
Faust faltered, sick to his stomach, and swallowed thickly. His side throbbed, but he couldn’t stop now. He raised the blade, sunk it into the mercenary’s chest, and kicked him away. He flicked the blood off the blade, raising it again, but a flash of sky blue crossed Faust’s vision, and he faltered. He grasped at his chest and looked around. This happened just before—
One mercenary bellowed, and Faust caught sight of a throwing knife protruding from the man’s back. A slender young man kicked the mercenary down, rammed the bloodied weapon through him and readied a second one, his eyes dark and focused on the last mercenary standing.