Faust took another slow breath. Was anyone close enough to help him? He closed his eyes and concentrated on the natural magic of Alimphis, ignoring the rising burn in his lungs from the incense.
The High King drifted along the magic flow, seeking Konrad out of habit, but nothing tapped back at him. Faust pursed his lips and kept moving, letting his consciousness sink farther and farther into the flow.
Heat brushed against his magic, beckoning Faust in a questioning way. If he could get that person to come closer, he could have a chance. It reminded Faust of Ignas. Heat coiled and danced around his magic, settling around Faust as a shield. This person was an ally.
Wind screeched with a warning of Aris’s peril.
Faust dragged the heated magic to him with a harsh command. They would come. He would not take no for an answer. Those with power failed him once when Konrad fell, he wouldn’t let them do it again. Aris needed him, and he would save Aris.
The wind threw him off track, and he groaned, coming back to his senses. His chest flared with pain as if someone had stabbed him multiple times and forced his breaths into short gasps. He was going to pass out.
Heat coiled with his magic in a fiery tidal wave, dulling the ache. A promise lay within the magic, the same surety he’d felt from Aris. Faust cracked a weak smile, his sight growing blurry. He couldn’t catch his breath and slipped into darkness.
Faust stood in the middle of a battlefield surrounded by the putrid smell of burning flesh. He glanced down at his palms and sucked in a breath. Blood coated his hands, and the same red clouded his left eye.
Faust’s breathing quickened.
Thunder clapped above, loud and angry.
Faust ripped his gaze to the sky.
Red and blue streaks of light clashed with green.
The blue took a sharp dive—hit.
A shout tore from Faust’s throat into the air.
Faust snapped awake, wind magic coursing through his veins. Sky-blue light flickered beneath his bloodied and tattered tunic.
Aris.
Aris was in danger.
He needed to save Aris.
Now!
The High King bit back bile. He would not be contained here. New magic surged through his veins mixing with his own and demanded he use it. Natural magic swirled with Aris’s wind around Faust and he grasped it. He yelled at the top of his lungs, sending Aris’s wind magic into the air.
Wind billowed out with the hectic command. The tent shredded, and the chains broke. Faust fell forward, scrambling to his feet, his eyes wild and wide when the night sky and shouts from the camp greeted him.
This was his chance.
Faust ran into the snow, hissing at the biting sensation racing up his legs on contact.
“After him!”
“Ready the Volar!”
Hooves thundered against the ground.
Faust’s breathing hitched. He could not outrun horses. He grasped at the wind, surprised at the blue light that sparked back against him.
The wind whistled a command, and Faust flung his arm back.
Blue blades whipped behind him, some hitting walls of dirt and vines.
Faust stumbled but reached out with the wind again, propelling himself upright and into a faster sprint. He felt wild and powerful, the wind at his core. It was as if the wind was at his beck and call. Was this how Aris felt?
Heat surged in the distance, charging in his direction. A magic user was making their presence known.
Faust tugged the heated magic hard once more. They needed to hurry; he couldn’t keep this up for long. He wasn’t even certain how long he was out. The incense would only spread faster with each movement he made. He already felt sick to his stomach.
Earth magic snapped at Faust’s magic, signaling Relan’s emergence.
Faust slipped in the snow, catching himself on a fallen tree trunk. The broken shackles dug into his skin again. He bit his lip, clawing at the bark.
Guns clicked in the distance.
The High King threw himself behind the trunk.
Bullets struck the bark.
“Aim to immobilize him! We still need him!”
Faust swallowed. He took off running, the end of the shackles clanking in the frigid night air. Faust sucked in air, his lungs burning. He had to keep going.
Sky-blue flickered in his sight and he glanced down, his eyes wide. The Mark of Linos sat upon his chest, pulsing with an overwhelming amount of magic. It meant he was finally Aris’s consort, but why had it appeared now?
Howls pierced the air.
Faust startled. Relan was desperate to send wolves. He lunged into a step and hissed when the broken shackle on his ankle tore into his skin, but he had little time to nurse it. Faust pushed through the pain, sliding down a hill of snow, his teeth chattering.
The wind whistled.
Faust jerked to his right—arrows sunk into the tree next to him. He whirled, moved his hand horizontally, and grasped the wind again. Blades of blue flickered bright and intercepted more arrows. Several arrows grazed the trees, and snow fell into a giant cloud, masking his location.
Faust launched himself over a tree trunk with a little help from the wind. He ducked down another hill, the wind strong at his back, propelling him into faster, longer strides. He was going too fast.
Faust tumbled and rolled down the rest of the way, the momentum taking him flying to the bottom of the hill.
Faust landed on his back with a shout and slammed into a tree. Snow loosened from the canopy and covered him with unreasonable weight. Faust struggled to move it with shivering hands. He coughed and wheezed, air leaving his lungs in a burst of pain. Faust grasped wind, shoved the snow off, and stood.
Metal skidding against the ground caught his attention. Mercenaries slid down the hill on their shields while wolves weaved in and out of the mercenaries, gaining speed.
The High King cursed under his breath and attempted to grab at his other magic, but all Faust could focus on was the wind. He was barely tapping into it. Something changed, something was different within him. The Mark of Linos shouldn’t have propelled his magic this much. Being Aris’s consort had its perks!
Faust stumbled into another run, the wind guiding him closer to the explosive heat.
Snarls and yips echoed.
Faust glanced back, and his heart leaped to his throat. Four wolves gained on him a few yards away. He threw the wind into the trees.
Snow fell and billowed out as powdered smoke, but two wolves persisted through it, chomping at the air.
Faust’s muscles seized, fear grabbing hold. He tripped over a rock and tumbled. He clawed at the ground to slow himself and raised his head.
A wolf leaped with its jaw open wide.
The High King yelled, his hair rising with chills, and the natural magic swirled in his panic. He slammed magic into the ground. Blades of blue sliced the air coupled with vines.
A vine skewered the wolves, and the blades hacked them to pieces. Blood rained.
Faust trembled, his eyes wide. He pushed off the ground, staggering into a run.
Faust burst into a clearing and dug his heels into the dirt, skidding to a halt at the edge of a cliff. Snow and small rocks scattered before falling to the river below. He took a weak breath, his sight blurring with all the white around him. The faint rush of water hit his ears, and he peeked over the staggering height. Ice covered most of the river.
Snow crunched behind him. Faust stilled.
“You need the antidote, Your Majesty. Stop running,” Relan said.
Faust knew that. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking and he wasn’t certain how much longer his legs would support him. He was out of time. Faust turned slowly, the shackles clanking.