“I can tell His Excellency you are not well enough,” Relan suggested, walking a pace behind Faust.
“I have rested for a week,” Faust said. “I cannot put off meeting with His Excellency Lathil any longer.” He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. He’d been too weak to check with his magic, but Faust ached as if a part of him had been ripped out.
“He is willing to wait,” Relan said.
Faust ignored Relan. The faster this was over, the sooner he could rest. The door wasn’t much farther anyhow. He took a steady breath and straightened, staggering to the door.
Relan shook his head and opened the door.
Faust walked in and bowed the best he could.
“I did not expect you to show up so soon,” Lathil said without looking up from the letter in his hand. “Rise.” Lathil glanced to Mihail.
Mihail made a face, but the consort grabbed a chair for Faust. He set it by the war table and motioned to Faust, one hand on his hip.
Faust frowned. “You are too kind, Your Excellency.”
Lathil waved his hand in dismissal.
Faust stared at the letter in Lathil’s hand. It danced with white light, but no one in the room squinted from it, so it must have been an aura.
“Is it real?” Mihail asked, breaking the silence.
Lathil closed his eyes and set the paper down. “Yes.” Lathil looked to Mihail and caressed his cheek. “We need not worry.”
Mihail touched Lathil’s hand and nodded.
Faust glanced at the letter. It didn’t say much.
He is rising.
Whatever it meant, it had Lathil on edge and distracted. Faust looked at the map next. He supposed he would be arranging the fighting again.
“Is that from the Clairvoyant?” Relan asked.
Lathil shot the Blessed a glare. “It is.”
Faust paused. The Clairvoyant was Sortiris. The being in white flashed in his mind from the chest he’d opened in Terrence’s shop. Faust watched Lathil more closely. The deity’s aura flickered in a way that reminded Faust of fear. Lathil’s magic was unsettled, too. Sortiris must have meant Linos was rising. Emoris and Lathil feared him. Perhaps that made Aris a Blessed to Linos. Aris was strong enough to beat Relan. But then again, Aris had magic far stronger than that. Aris’s aura didn’t concentrate at his shoulders like a Blessed, and if he bore markings, someone would have outed him to Lathil already. If Faust could talk to Aris again, he would have to ask him about his magic.
Lathil covered the letter with a set of documents. “Faust,” Lathil called.
Faust raised his head.
“We have gained the upper hand, but Relan sent me an urgent message about Emoris, and I decided to come home,” Lathil said. “I will not be here much longer. I intend to return with more than a handful of strategies. What do you see now?”
Faust evaluated the map for several minutes. There was only one battle strategist now—and it was one he didn’t recognize. It was far more defensive in nature. Faust didn’t see any signs of Konrad on this map. His mind raced. Konrad wasn’t the type to rely on others. His brother took a situation by the reins and didn’t allow for deviations.
“There is no need to hold back,” Lathil said and rested a king piece on its side.
The pit in Faust’s stomach grew, his breathing quickened. He shuddered, and his heart raced, his magic sparking out of control. The table cracked, the walls groaned, and the flames billowed, roaring with a loud crackle as it grew large enough to lick the ceiling.
Mihail pushed a knife to Faust’s throat, his glare harsh. “Contain it.”
Faust heaved, shutting his eyes tightly. He grasped at the natural magic and squashed it, dragging it back into its settled state. Faust blew out a breath and stared at Lathil, his hands shaking in his lap, his stomach lurching to expel its contents as his mind refused to grasp what Faust thought Lathil had implied.
Mihail stepped away but kept his knife ready.
A glint of satisfaction flashed in Lathil’s eyes, and his lips curled into a wicked smile. “Konrad was valiant in battle, but no match for our combined strengths. Be proud. You have surpassed your brother.” Lathil tapped the map with his finger. “They are only operating on a ghost of a plan. You will tell me how to end this.”
Faust clenched his fists. “Is . . . Konrad . . . dead?”
“Yes.”
An icy chill rushed through Faust’s veins, his heart beating much too fast. This had to be a lie. He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it.
Lathil jerked Faust’s chin up to stare at him, his grip anything but gentle. “You have work to do.” Lathil tapped the map. “I will take Aris and Commander Frei with me for this last battle. The sooner I win this battle, the sooner I can remain in the castle to keep Emoris at bay. As much as you may hate me, I do not wish for your death.”
Faust struggled to keep his expression neutral, but he felt raw, his resolve cracking. He was going to lose everyone, and it would be by his own hand.
“If you are victorious, I will reconsider marrying you off to Kees,” Lathil said, and leaned closer to Faust’s face, his eyes clouding with a crueler darkness. “It would be a shame to let someone else have you. I will make you into someone even greater than a king.”
Faust swallowed, his mind racing. Lathil wanted to keep him for himself, and there was nothing Faust could do to stop him. If Konrad couldn’t stop Lathil, no one could.
Lathil slowly let Faust go, standing back. “Strategize, Faust.”
Faust sucked in a shaky breath, a heavy weight settling in his chest. “Yes, Your Excellency.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Faust didn’t say a word as Relan escorted him back to his room. He’d finished plotting out a sure victory for Lathil for several hours. Lathil didn’t let him stop a moment to think and process Konrad’s death, but he refused to break in front of Relan. Relan stopped in front of Faust’s door, hesitating. Faust waited, his eyes downcast, unable to stare the man in the eyes for he would surely crack.
“For what it’s worth, he was an excellent warrior,” Relan said.
Faust’s eyes watered, and he bit his lip.
The Blessed opened the door.
Faust didn’t look up and walked into his makeshift prison, his shoulders taut as the door closed behind him, the sound echoing distantly. He stared at his room, shuffling to the middle of it, the tightness in his chest threatening to cut off his air. Faust slumped on the floor, his knees too weak to support him. He couldn’t give up here. Lathil had to be lying to him.
Faust reached out with his magic into the natural flow of Alimphis’ magic, far and wide, searching for any sliver of Konrad’s magic, but nothing came back to him.
He tried again.
Nothing.
His magic swept along the wind, calling out to anyone that would listen.
Faust let his magic run rampant, ignoring the way his room twisted, creaked, and shifted into unrecognizable forms.
Still nothing.
This couldn’t be true.
Konrad was dead.
And he was the one who had killed him.
He’d never hear Konrad’s voice again, his scolding tone, his laughter—nothing.