“No!” Faust yelled. He shook Mika, but he didn’t respond. A cry slipped from Faust’s throat, and he bowed his head, clutching Mika to him. No one else was supposed to die for him. By Alimphis, why?
Faust’s shoulders shook, and his magic flared with a loud crackle. The wood splintered, and the ground cracked with an ominous rumble as tears slipped over Faust’s cheeks. He was supposed to protect his subjects. “Mika . . .”
“Faust!” Ignas yelled. “You have to move, he’s coming back!”
Faust’s chest filled with anger, and he lifted his head, his water stone flaring. Ice crackled and crunched along the ground, spanning out into the battle with Panos. Faust set the commander down and picked up Mika’s swords. Wind billowed out with severe pressure, knocking Ignas to the ground. Natural magic centered around his blades, leeching all available wind magic in Faust’s vicinity. Sky blue ran across the swords and inscribed ancient words appeared along the blade in bright white as it settled.
Ignas grasped at the side of a wall. “Faust, calm down!”
Faust ignored Ignas and stepped forward, the ice cracking. He swung both swords, and sky-blue blades of magic pierced the air.
Panos dodged and danced among the shifting magic. Ice cracked over every surface, encasing every avenue of wood and dirt. Panos signaled to the air with a single green blade and turned his attention to Aris.
Aris gritted his teeth and parried with the Servant of Power. He skipped back and slashed, blades of sky-blue magic following the path. His magic raced with Faust’s and mixed them into a surge of bright light.
Faust sent out one more set of blades, but his knees buckled, his breathing labored. Earth magic barreled toward him, and he turned too late.
Relan smashed into Faust in a new Volant armor and plastered a rag to Faust’s face.
Faust inhaled with a shout, his blades flying from his grasp as his feet left the ground. His vision blurred and he cursed. He’d let his emotions get the better of him. He grasped desperately at his magic one last time.
Ignas yelled as Relan took to the sky with Faust. He fired at him, but Panos deflected the bullets with a sneer.
Faust’s stomach sank.
Aris ran for Panos again, wind swirling with violent intent.
“Relan, take him back to Limorous,” Panos bellowed and rushed at Aris. He clashed their blades again with a grin. “You’re too late. The High King is ours,” Panos said as Relan steadied in the air behind him. Panos knocked Aris away.
The Blessed landed in an open Volar on a roof.
Faust struggled to keep his consciousness. This time whatever was on the rag was meant to knock him out faster. His limbs grew weaker and weaker. He desperately tried to locate Aris, his gaze landing on him.
Panos laughed.
More explosions rocked the air and smoke billowed out through the city.
Aris covered his mouth, caught in a whirlwind of dust. He grasped at his blade, pulled his arm back, and threw it.
Panos’s laughter stopped.
Aris arched at the sharp pain that pierced his side and shoulder. Two vines rested in his body and were yanked out. He staggered but smiled as the dust cleared. Panos fell from the sky, Aris’s sword embedded in the man’s head.
Faust’s blood ran cold, and he frantically grasped at his water stone, despite his fading consciousness.
Relan ripped the crown off Faust’s head and threw it. “I don’t think so, Your Majesty.” Relan slammed Faust against the seat and strapped him in tight.
Faust’s crown landed feet away from Mika’s body, the water stone shattering on impact. Ice pulsed out in a wave and crawled along the ground and walls. The temperature took a dive, and the ice spread faster and faster, engulfing the city as Relan took to the sky.
Pain stabbed at Faust’s chest, but his body refused to move anymore. Aris. He needed to help Aris. Faust’s head flopped against the window, his eyes drooping. He caught sight of Ignas jumping inside a Volar with Aris’s limp body in his arms.
Faust got one last look below before they rushed into the clouds.
Shar was encased in ice.
Chapter Sixty
Faust cracked his eyes open. Chains twisted his arms back, and his legs were cuffed together. Where was he? He raised his head, but his vision blurred with black spots. There was some kind of incense in the air that messed with his concentration, but the sense of fire magic was strong. Faust stretched out his senses. All he could tell was that he was a distance from Shar, and the scent of blood drifted in the air.
Mika’s prone body flashed in his memory, and Faust hung his head, gritting his teeth. More people died because of him—Mika was dead because of him. He should have hidden. Perhaps then Mika would still be alive. He took a shaky breath. Some king he was—he’d been captured. Again.
Wind flowed around him in a hesitant pass.
“Aris,” Faust exhaled, his stomach coiled in knots. He had failed his brave knight, too.
The wind touched him again, and a sharp pain struck his chest. Faust hunched, gritting his teeth again. It felt like he’d been stabbed. This pain had to do with Aris. He didn’t even know if a deity could die from injuries. He prayed to Alimphis that Ignas could save Aris in his stead until he escaped.
Faust observed his prison, despite his pain. He was in a canvas tent stripped of everything but his tunic and pants. He didn’t feel Panos’s magic nor the magic of Emoris or Lathil. This camp wasn’t near Limorous. He was most likely near the Kingdom of Windilum.
His wounds had been treated, but he hadn’t been given any pain medicine from what he could tell. They didn’t want him to die from his injuries at least. The hit he’d taken from Panos tore at his wounds. If he hadn’t rested most of his way to Shar, he might not have survived the hit.
The flap of the tent opened, and Relan walked inside.
Faust struggled to compose himself. “Relan.”
The Blessed smirked. “I see you’re finally awake.”
Faust glared the best he could, but the ache of his wounds probably made him look miserable. Relan was smart to come inside with no stones, but that didn’t mean much. It just meant he didn’t know the extent of Faust’s magic.
Relan kneeled close and pulled out a knife.
Faust froze.
The Blessed cut the chain from Faust’s neck with a scowl. “A present from Ignas, I take it?” Relan laughed. “You won’t need this, Your Majesty.”
The mocking tone rubbed Faust the wrong way. “What do you want?”
“Information,” Relan said and pocketed the necklace. “You see, you were closer to the records in Limorous, and well, you’ve noticed Emoris and Lathil want to oppress you. Haven’t you wondered why?”
Faust didn’t. “I am the High King,” he said.
Relan stood. “Oh no, Your Majesty. You are more than that. Think hard. You’ve seen the history of the royal family in that library. When did the Kingsley reign start?”
Faust racked his brain. It wasn’t more than two generations ago as far as he knew.
“There is much you have to share with us. You belong in Windilum, and you will tell us about the other deities, Alios’s real plan, and your new role as a High King.”
“I will not tell you anything.”