Faust didn’t recognize the ceiling above him. He blinked a few times before he could focus. His chest felt warm. He touched it and the faint presence of fire magic mixed with his. The Mark of Linos pulsed once under his palm in response. His clothes and hair clung to his skin, drenched in sweat. He pursed his lips, displeased with the taste in his mouth and the cracks along his lips.
“You were out for days again. The healer demanded we stay here until you awoke,” Vasil said. “Forgive me. I did not think taking you inside would shock your body so much.”
Faust remembered now. Vasil had picked him up rather brashly while he was already feeling ill. Faust didn’t feel as nauseated anymore, but it signaled just how weak he was. Simple jostling was too much for his incense-riddled body.
“The healer is cross with me,” Vasil added. “Your healing will take longer than he is comfortable with.” The deity motioned to the bedside table. “He instructed that you take the red medicine if he was not here. He was making more of the antidote.”
Faust exhaled and pushed the pelts and blankets away, scrunching his nose. The blankets needed washing, and he needed to bathe.
Vasil got to his feet and helped the king sit up, fluffing pillows behind him.
Faust was thankful for his help, but it reminded him of how Lathil treated him. Perhaps this was how deities treated the High King when they hurt him. It was tough to say; he knew so little.
Faust took in his surroundings. The room was far fancier than any inn he’d stayed. It looked more like a noble’s room with the velvet drapes and ornate furniture. “Where are we?”
“I commandeered a noble’s home,” Vasil said. “You required more luxurious quarters.”
Faust pushed his hand against the plush bedding. It was certainly comfortable. A glimmer of silver caught his attention beyond Vasil.
A lavish outfit hung on the wall. Faust could only assume it was to be his. It was of fine purple silks and black and brown furs. Various silver jewelry hung on a hook, and a mixture of leather-guards and armor-guards rested on a seat beneath them. It was an outfit befitting Windilum royalty and it made little sense why he needed such an outfit.
The door creaked open. Roe peeked inside trying to remain quiet. His eyes lit up at the sight of Faust awake.
Faust waved with a weak smile.
Roe came in like a flurry of snow, closing the door hard in his haste. He held an intricately carved cane in his left hand but tossed it on the bed in favor of checking Faust. He moved the king’s bangs from his eyes and sighed in relief. “You are not feverish anymore.” He snatched the red medicine from the bedside stand and popped the cork. “You still need to take this.”
Faust frowned but did as Roe instructed. He grimaced at the taste and handed the bottle back to Roe.
Roe dangled a vial in front of the king. “If you’d please, Lord Arcus. You need to take two of these this time.”
The High King resigned himself to the horrible antidote and downed the first one but coughed through the second one. Roe shoved a glass of water into his hands, and Faust drank the crisp water, his eyebrows furrowed.
“Your grip has improved,” Roe said. “Let us test your leg next.”
Faust swung his legs over the side of the bed. He twisted his hands and checked the bandages there. Salve had been reapplied underneath, but they were loose from his sweat. Only his wrist and ankle bandages showed, but he felt the ones still around his chest.
Faust examined his legs again, unamused at the lines he saw. He had slept hard, but what bothered him was he was only in a long night-tunic. He glanced to Vasil. The deity averted his gaze, but Faust hadn’t missed the sly smile.
Roe checked Faust’s calf and tested the High King’s reflexes. It spasmed under his touch. “It will take longer for this one to fade.” He frowned. “I still do not believe you can wield a sword just yet either. I was unaware you didn’t like the sight of battle. I apologize. Earl informed us after the fact. I would have taken you to the inn right away.”
Faust shook his head. “It is not something I will ever get used to. I should have told you.”
“I will be more careful, Lord Arcus,” Vasil professed.
A smile graced Faust’s lips. Regret laced Vasil’s voice. It seemed Vasil held a much higher regard for him than Lathil as the High King. “I would appreciate it.”
“You have my word.”
Roe rolled his eyes. “You can’t keep that promise.” Roe picked up the cane and passed it to Faust. “I still do not want you walking on your own. You must take it easy. Thankfully, you can rest properly. Our forces will separate soon and we will head toward Walhaim.”
“What happened?” Faust asked.
“We received reports Nora Duchin overtook Cennon,” Roe said, his gaze dark. “Earl will take a different Volliare and a group to Cennon to help retake it. We’re not sure Duke Baldwin escaped either. He had a prestigious guest with him. If Duke Baldwin’s guest was harmed, we might have more to worry about.”
That didn’t sit well with Faust. Nora was Lathil’s surviving Servant of Power. Ignas had shown the guild could fight them, but if she was there, it was possible Lathil wouldn’t be far behind.
Roe sat beside Faust on the bed. “There is no need to worry. Earl will meet up with Lord Walder and retake the city with no problem. You must stay away from any danger.”
The High King wanted to protest, but the glare Roe gave him made him think twice. Faust needed to heed the healer’s warning. He would be little help to Aris and Ignas like this.
“Don’t look so down, my lord.” Roe smiled. He handed Faust the cane. “You’ll be reunited before you know it.”
Faust nodded. He inspected the cane, running his hands along the polished surface. It was smooth under his fingertips and magic coursed through the cane to the stones, pulsing in response. The cane held a strong, armored texture, and yet was elegant and suited for a royal.
“I requested the stones be embedded for you and it can become a blade if you need,” Roe said. “Tug the top.”
Faust examined the top of the cane. It held the shape of a hilt. He tugged, and the cane separated just after the stones to reveal a sharp blade underneath. He pulled it out and admired the sword. It was beautifully forged and light. “It is perfect, thank you.” He sheathed the blade once more.
Roe beamed. “Earl said it would be, but I am pleased it is to your liking.”
“I will ensure you do not have to use it,” Vasil voiced, his gaze intent on Faust.
Faust straightened his back as suffocating heat grasped him. Sortiris wanted him to trust Vasil, but the deity was only nice because he didn’t know his real name. Vasil wanted him dead, the deity just didn’t know it yet.
The High King let out a slow breath. He didn’t have a choice. He needed to rely on Vasil until Ignas arrived with Aris.
Wind burst through the room, banging the door against the wood with a loud thud.
Faust blinked when the wind settled around him, dispersing Vasil’s heat. A grin twitched at his lips and Faust raised his hand, letting his magic mingle with Aris’s. The wind encased him with a fierce promise, and in his next breath, Vasil slammed into the far wall; the chair he’d been sitting in collapsed on itself.