Roe chuckled. “We will send word we have you, Lord Arcus. Rest easy. It may take a few hours for the antidote to take effect. Your fever is not making it any easier. I must treat your wounds now before the frost gets to them. Are you all right with that, Lord Arcus?”
Faust’s head fell against Vas’s chest when he attempted to raise it. His body ached. “Y-Yes,” he finally managed, his breathing labored.
“Help me undress him, Vas,” Roe said. “We need to get him in warmer clothes.”
Vas moved Faust upright so he could grasp the end of Faust’s tunic. The mercenary tugged it over Faust’s head, and a growl left Vas’s throat.
Vas swore.
Faust assumed he looked horrible from that reaction. Scars, welts, bruises, and cuts covered his body from his time with Relan.
“I should have murdered them all,” Vasil growled.
“Don’t get angry,” Roe snapped. “Help me.”
Faust nodded in and out of sleep, waking at slight jostles while being clothed again. They gave him a longer, warm tunic and pants at least. The smell of salve wafted through the air, signaling he must have fallen asleep during his bandaging. He felt bandages along his wrists and ankles, chest, stomach, legs and arms. A few smaller bandages sat on his face. He hoped he didn’t scar. Lined gloves and socks were the last things given to him.
“One last thing, Lord Arcus, since you’re awake again,” Roe said. The healer placed a glass of red medicine in front of Faust. “It is a small dose, but strong.”
Faust scowled.
Vas chuckled, a low rumble in his chest.
The High King took the red medicine, downing it with Vas’s help. He grimaced, unable to hide his displeasure.
Roe patted Faust’s knee. “Now you must rest, Lord Arcus.”
“There is nothing else you can do?” Vas asked.
“He needs plenty of rest. I won’t know if the antidote worked until he is more coherent,” Roe admitted. “I can’t promise he won’t have any ill effects. For now, he shouldn’t move. In a few hours, we can take him into the Volliare.”
Faust blinked slowly. He hoped nothing lingered. He’d taken a large gamble during his escape.
The wind howled again, carrying Vas’s angry reply to the healer away. Faust drifted into the natural magic, slumping into Vas’s warmth. He didn’t understand. At times Vas’s warmth felt like Ignas, where at others, it felt like the raging heat of a forge.
The natural magic tapped at him, and Faust grasped it, holding tight. His magic settled, and he drifted along it in search of Aris.
“You are safe,” Vas’s voice cut through the magic. “I will protect you. Sleep. We will go where you wish when you wake.”
Faust frowned. Vas knew he had been searching. The wind was restless and beckoning. Aris was looking for him too. He needed to rest and return Aris’s calling soon. The warmth returned, and Faust sighed, falling prey to the darkness beckoning him.
Pressure rested on Faust’s chest, and he struggled to open his eyes. When he did, red assaulted his vision.
Fire raged around him and red whipped and swirled in the vortex of air created in the vacuums of space. Sweat dripped down his face and his hair stuck to his skin.
A jumble of emotions hit him all at once—fear, anger, doubt, longing, desire. The feelings hung in the vision as if they were his last thoughts.
Faust grasped for anything to hold onto as the heat rose to alarming heights, cutting off breathable air. He glanced up and froze.
Red wings, larger than Aris’s had ever been, raised high to the sky.
A bellow of sorrow cut through the roar of the flames.
Vasil!
The deity was high in the sky, his wings smaller once more, but the anguish and rage emanated from Vasil’s posture. Faust shouted for him, but he didn’t recognize his own voice.
The deity jerked to him with his face twisted in anger and snarled.
Pain pierced Faust’s chest.
A strange light flickered behind him.
Faust turned and froze.
A vortex of red and fire blew his direction.
“Wake up!”
Faust jolted awake, a shout caught in his throat with tears prickling at the edge of his eyes. He froze under Vas’s gaze.
Vas remained silent, holding Faust still.
Faust heaved, wheezed, and pushed against Vas’s strength.
“It is all right,” Vas said. “I am here for you.” A crimson aura flared around Vas, bright and angry compared to Ignas’s more calming aura.
A slow chill traveled down Faust’s spine.
Heat, not warmth.
Fire magic that far exceeded a Blessed and Ignas.
Vas suppressed his magic, but he felt it briefly enough.
This man was Commandant Vasil, Deity of Carnage and true ruler of the Kingdom of Windilum.
Three
Faust remained silent, caught in Vasil’s red-brown gaze. Dark hair replaced the dirty blond he’d seen in his visions. Aris appeared different too, but Aris hadn’t been able to hide from Faust. Aris’s aura blazed a bright sky-blue the second he laid eyes on him. The red deity had far more control than Aris. He took far too long to realize Vas was actually Vasil.
Faust needed to ensure that no one spilled his identity to Vasil. There was no telling what Vasil would do to him once he realized Faust led the war against Windilum.
Roe barged inside throwing the tent flap with a scowl on his lips. “I leave for one second and you’re on top of him.” The healer glared at Vasil. “Get off him this second.”
Vasil jumped back with his hands up in surrender. “He was having a nightmare. Thrashing around was not something you wanted, correct?”
Roe scoffed and pushed Vasil farther away from Faust. “Stand over there, off with you.”
Vasil gave the healer a flat expression, unmoving.
Faust pushed up on his forearms with a ragged breath. He stared at Roe. The healer was by far the youngest healer to treat him, but Roe’s hazel eyes bore into him with the experience of a castle healer. Roe must have been close to Ignas’s age, and the man’s hair was short but longer in the front. Most healers had long hair.
“Don’t push yourself,” Roe chided and helped Faust into a sitting position.
“I…need a moment. I am fine,” Faust said, hunching. He couldn’t stop shaking. That vision had been far too real, as if he were there.
“You are far from fine, Lord Arcus,” Roe said and knelt by Faust. He checked Faust’s temperature, frowning. “You are still too warm. Your fever should have gone down by now.”
Faust glanced at Vasil. He still had not moved. He was too close.
“Do you wish I move farther away?” Vasil asked.
The High King blinked, closing his eyes a moment. High King Faust had the right to order him, but did Vasil realize who he was? That was the real question.
He took a slow breath. “Yes.”
Vasil moved back without protest to guard the canvas doorway.
Roe stared wide-eyed.
A strange feeling bubbled within Faust. He had commanded an all-powerful deity with a simple order. It was thrilling.
Vasil smirked.
Faust averted his gaze, aggravated by Vasil’s ego.
“I do not understand why he listens to you,” Roe huffed. “I’m going to check your wounds. The cold was not kind to your skin, but I was able to treat it before it was out of our hands. I apologize that we have little to meet your usual standard of care. We haven’t been able to restock in the last few months.”