Faust swept the journals into the bag with the others and made one more glance over to make certain he didn’t miss any. He locked the door with sure movements, hoping Alimphis would protect everything else.
Cian flicked a hand, the water stone on his hip sparking. A water veil slipped over the pair, strong and unwavering. Cian motioned for Faust to follow his lead.
Faust kept on Cian’s heels as they traversed down the hallway toward Cian’s room, careful of the weight he put on his leg. They waited for the hall to clear in silence before entering the room and locking the door behind them. Faust found it odd Cian’s room only held simple essentials—a bed, a trunk, and a wardrobe, but no personal effects.
Cian waved his right hand and a hard thunk resounded in the space with the flash of Cian’s fire stone. A panel in the floor popped up and Cian pulled it back to reveal a ladder. “Follow me.”
Faust took a shaky breath. He wouldn’t be alone this time at least. He climbed down into a small room, lanterns flickering with a steady flame at the sound of Cian’s fingers snapping—a very Vasil move—and revealed a single Volar, prepped and ready for flight. Faust caught sight of a large panel on the far wall. It must have been the hatch, but they’d be seen once it opened.
Cian flicked a hand and the fire stone flashed again. A rod shifted and thunked into place, a water veil crawling along the far side of the space as the hatch slid to the side. Cian gestured to the Volar before hopping into the pilot seat.
Faust slid into the second seat behind Cian, snapping goggles in place over a helmet. He secured the bag at his feet in a net hanging from the back of Cian’s seat and snapped it closed.
Cian notched the fire stone in a small slot and called back, “Hold on. Takeoffs like this are rocky.”
Faust gripped the side handles as the engine roared and a water veil shimmered over the fighter.
The Volar lurched and rocketed out of the Volliare’s hatch, passing enemy Volar in a swift glide. Faust peeked back when Cian careened the Volar into a dive, the wings clanking into place. The fabric pieces billowed into a gust of wind, and the hatch of the Volliare closed, reappearing as if it’d never opened.
Faust’s stomach caught in his throat when the Volar caught more lift, settling into a smooth flight path.
“You okay back there?” Cian asked.
“Yes!”
“We’ll be heading to the next town to retrieve more journals and hopefully get some clues on the chest’s location. I want to see your map, too.” Cian called back. “It’ll be a few hours from here, so hang on tight.”
More fire magic hit the air, and the Volar sped up, far faster than Faust liked.
“Sleeping is going to be the best option for you right now, Rath. I’ll fly as smoothly as possible,” Cian said. “If you wake and get hungry, there should be some rations of bread and cheese in the compartment under your seat.”
Faust sank back, his stomach in knots. He wondered if he’d made the right decision leaving his life in Cian’s hands. Cian carried many weapons and he almost shot Gawain earlier. It was as if it was a natural reaction to protect himself from others.
The wind caressed Faust’s face, propelling the Volar without a hint of distress. Faust relaxed. He could trust the wind. If Cian meant to harm him, then Faust would use anything he could against him. He would never be a pawn again. Faust feared he’d break.
Chapter Nine
Qinn looked left and right as he ran through a crowd of warriors, searching for someone, annoyance drifting through Faust the longer Qinn ran.
Faust hadn’t wandered through this memory yet.
Gunshots echoed, and Qinn’s head shot up and to the right, rounding into a sprint. Vasil stood among a group of warriors, but another man about Faust’s height caught Faust’s attention more.
The man had dark hair, pale skin, and grey eyes, close to Ignas’s in color. He fired off two guns. Bright red bullets blazed with Vasil’s magic at a pair of rowdy warriors, breaking up whatever fight had started. The man twirled the guns and made the motion again, fluid and unbothered by Vasil’s wandering hand on his hip. Each bullet contained an explosive amount of fire magic, sending flames bursting around its target. The fight halted as the warriors jumped around to avoid the flames, howling in anger.
Faust felt a strange sense of longing pass through Qinn, like Qinn wanted what he saw in some form. Faust focused on the man’s guns again, shock rippling through him. Those were Ignas’s guns. This man was Lars Chevaliar.
Lars holstered the guns, and Vasil turned Lars’s head to kiss the man. It was slow and deliberate, as if Vasil was showing others his claim on Lars.
Qinn walked forward, and Vasil flashed the High King a haughty grin. The annoyance moved through Faust again. Oh. This was before Qinn and Vasil were together.
“Vas,” Lars clipped.
The deity held Lars close, but the grin disappeared. Vasil kissed Lars’s temple and set the man free.
Lars tipped a respectful nod at Qinn, to which Qinn did the same. Qinn held Lars in high regard. Lars disappeared into the throng of warriors, and Faust saw him hug and kiss a woman. How curious.
Faust stared at Vasil afterward. The deity seemed pleased, but the scene warped, twisting Vasil’s face into an angry snarl Faust recognized far too well.
Fire crackled and simmered in the aftermath of the fight. Raging bloodlust thickened the air, and Faust stumbled into the memory where Qinn died again.
Red swirled in vortexes and the smoke rose, cutting off breathable air.
Faust twisted, but no one was there. Qinn looked over his shoulder again and again, running through the smoke. Someone must have followed Qinn into the fire.
Pain radiated from Faust’s leg, and Qinn limped as his leg wound festered with poison. The scene blurred to Vasil reaching forward with one hand.
“Wake up!” Cian’s distant voice shouted.
Faust gasped. Air rushed by him and the helmet dug into his skull where it had cracked, the goggles long gone. A water veil clung to his body, Cian’s magic keeping him out of sight.
Faust shoved the helmet off, cold realization chilling his bones—he was falling! The wind billowed against his cloak and hair, and a yell caught in his throat.
Mika wasn’t here to catch him this time.
Gunfire fueled by Cian’s fire magic struck the Volar closest to Faust’s free fall. He covered his eyes, wincing under the heat from the ore shaft exploding.
Faust jerked his attention to Cian. The man fell like a dead weight, not seeming to even care he was falling. Cian continued to shoot the Volar swarming their position like an expert marksman.
More bullets whizzed by Faust and he swallowed. He had nothing to knock his boot against to activate his Volant armor, but he had something no one here did—wings—and he refused to die today.
Faust focused on the approaching ground still a good distance away. Cian must’ve flown them high enough for this kind of drop. How Cian knew to do that was beyond him, but he would find out later.
Faust closed his eyes. He concentrated on his magic, letting it rise to the surface. He stretched it behind him, forcing his wings to appear. The water veil ripped off Faust under the explosion of his magic. He sensed every speck of magic around him and the power within his grasp; it surpassed what any four-stone users could contain.