Cian holstered his guns in a manner Faust recognized. The surety and authority in Cian’s stance overlapped with the form of Lars Chevaliar. Faust swallowed, unable to shake the resemblance. “Lars?”
Chapter Ten
Cian regarded Faust with a cautious glance. “Why do you think my name is Lars?”
Faust pursed his lips. “I—” Howls interrupted him, and Faust clawed at the ground.
Cian offered a hand to Faust. “We can discuss this once we get close to the city. We overshot the town, but it might benefit us.” Cian ignored the howls coming closer. “I’m sure we can find the Volar that knight came from since his canopy drop was intact. The sooner we get to safety, the better. Wolves aren’t very nice here in Drokan.”
Faust took Cian’s hand, their magic sparking. Cian carried no warmth, but many of his movements aligned well with Lars’s. If Cian was Lars, it explained why the man knew so much about Qinn.
Faust tested the weight on his leg, wincing. He missed the cane Roe had given him.
Cian offered Faust his back. “We must hurry.”
Faust hesitated. It was one thing for Mika or Ignas to carry him, but Cian? He barely knew him.
Cian turned back to Faust, standing. He lent his arm instead. “We’ll go slow, but we need to hurry.”
Faust clenched his hand and released it slowly, nodding. At least Cian was good at reading body language. He put his arm around Cian and walked with his help. Faust had more to worry about than his pride. If one of those Drokan Knights reported his wings, they could destroy his gate if they knew where it was before he even laid eyes on it.
Another howl echoed, and Faust searched his immediate surroundings.
“I will protect you. I promise,” Cian said. “Once we get in the Volar, you must sleep. It will relieve your desire for a consort.”
Faust clenched his hand, cursing that he had grabbed Cian with the hand that had his bracelet. Faust sighed. If sleep would help, then they needed to find the Volar fast.
Faust reached out with his senses but halted. He shouldn’t. If he lost control of his magic, it’d give their position away. “Can you sense ore?”
Cian shot Faust a look of disbelief. “Ore can be sensed now?”
Faust bit his lip. Well, that solved that question. Faust seemed to be the only one who could, but his small question at least confirmed Cian was likely someone of the past—of Qinn’s past even if he wasn’t Lars.
Cian continued to stare. “You know someone who can?”
“I do,” Faust said, gesturing to himself.
“That is quite helpful,” Cian said. “But dangerous in your condition.”
Faust nodded. He’d concluded that on his own.
“Ask Alimphis,” Cian said, taking a sweep of the area.
Faust blinked. “Ask…Alimphis?”
“Yes. Ask and it will answer you, but only you,” Cian replied.
The wind jostled with excitement near Faust as if Alimphis found Cian’s statement amusing. Faust supposed he could try, but he thought he shouldn’t listen to Alimphis. He steeled himself, took a deep breath, and asked. “Well, uh, Alimphis, can you lead us to the ore near us?”
Wind rushed around Faust and Cian and spiraled off to their left. Faust shook the breeze off only to see Cian grinning at him. “What?”
“Ah.” Cian cleared his throat. “You are just a lot nicer in asking than he was. It is interesting. Alimphis must not know what to do with you.”
Faust raised his eyebrows. Being rude to Alimphis didn’t seem like a good idea. Qinn had guts. Wind pushed at their backs, and Faust stumbled, a grumble on his lips.
Cian chuckled. “I’ll explain once we secure an inn in the city.”
Faust walked with care, directing Cian which way to go until they came across an abandoned Volar nestled between some trees. He’d half expected Alimphis to lead them to one with pilots still.
Cian checked the surroundings before stepping toward the Volar. “It should take us a few hours to find a suitable place to hide out for a bit. I’ll fly in a veil to avoid any more fights.”
“Will you be all right maintaining one that long?”
“Yes,” Cian said. “I have trained even as I am now.”
Faust supposed he would accept that answer. He hobbled into the back seat of the Volar. It lacked a helmet and goggles, but this scouting fighter had glass panes to keep the wind out.
Cian shuffled into the pilot’s seat and ignited the engine with a fire stone. “Sleep.”
Faust sighed, settling in. He curled against the side that didn’t open and unhooked the gem on his bracelet, clenching it tight as Cian took to the sky.
Chapter Eleven
Faust stared at an open journal. He sat against a tree with a small sack next to him. He looked around, surprised to see Qinn was in the middle of a forest alone, but he recognized the pillared structure as the ruins near Whitrose in Roltan.
Wind rustled and bristled through the trees. “What, Alimphis?” Qinn asked. “I am waiting for Lin here.”
Faust blinked. Qinn’s tone bordered on annoyance and exhaustion.
The wind rocked through the bushes with even more urgency. Dread passed through Faust—something was amiss, and Qinn knew it, too.
Fire magic hurtled from above as red Volant armor sailed down with a strong whoosh. Faust thought a Volant of Vasil’s wouldn’t have been in Roltan.
“Qinn!” Lars exclaimed.
Lars had a frantic expression, dirt covered his face, and he wore blood-covered armor.
“What happened, Lars?” Qinn asked. “How’d you get past the Knights of Linos?”
“Carefully.” Lars walked forward, stopping an arm’s length away, panic dancing in the man’s eyes. “Please stop Vas.”
Qinn scoffed. “And why do I need to do that? He wouldn’t hurt anyone that didn’t deserve it. I have no reason to save the lives of—”
“They killed Photis.”
Qinn’s body tensed. “They…did what?”
“They killed Photis,” Lars repeated, his voice laced with anguish. “Vas has lost it. I tried to calm him, but…” Lars gestured to his battered form.
Faust had never felt such hot anger boil under his skin. Photis was alive in Faust’s time. This was the incident Vasil had spoken of—the deity had witnessed Alimphis bring someone back before.
“Explain,” Qinn ordered, gathering his things. “Which village am I desecrating?”
Faust shuddered. It didn’t sound like Qinn would spare anyone.
“They killed Photis in place of Vas,” Lars said. “You know they’ve hated us for a while, but they’ve done nothing. One of them took Yanna, so Photis followed. Vas sensed something was amiss and left when Ilse thought something was wrong, too, but when we arrived, Vas felt Photis’s death and he saw the aftermath. There was so much blood, High King.” Lars’s hands shook. Hopelessness reflected in his eyes.
Faust reeled. This whole memory was too clear.
“How did they provoke Vasil into action?” Qinn asked.
“They explained how they ripped Photis apart in front of Yanna.” Lars clenched his fists. “She saw it all—begged Vas to punish them.”