Qinn growled. “They used Photis’s own daughter to trigger him so they could claim Vasil is nothing but a monster.”
Lars nodded.
“Alimphis!” Qinn barked. “Where. Is. Photis?” Wind snaked through the air, saying something that appeased Qinn. “We need to hurry.”
“What of Photis?” Lars asked, taking to the sky again.
Qinn grunted. “I’ll tell you later. Saving Vas comes first. He hasn’t visited his gate in a while and from your state, he’s getting close to being drained. That’s not a good situation for any of us.”
“And what about the village?”
Faust felt the wild smirk fall over his lips.
“I’ll take care of it.”
The scene skipped about until it focused on Vasil surrounded by decaying and burned bodies, a village burning in the distance, and red blanketing the floating airships. Faust’s breath caught, remembering this scene from the chest he’d opened.
Vasil turned to him with a malice so thick, Qinn’s body shuddered under the pressure, but the High King drew his blades. Vasil charged.
Faust gasped awake, his arms up to defend himself. A weight fell against his chest, and he stared blearily at Cian’s cloak and the low wooden ceiling above his head. A lumpy bed rested underneath him, indicating he wasn’t in an inn.
“Are you all right, Rath?” Cian asked.
Faust blinked the sleep from his eyes, not feeling rested at all. Cian didn’t sound alarmed, but Faust needed a moment to gather himself from the deep memory. He glanced around, relieved they were in some kind of safe room, but that meant Cian had carried him in here without Faust noticing.
“We’re safe. I promise,” Cian said, as if to urge Faust to speak with him. “I’ve secured the area, and my contact brought us information and food.” Cian stepped away from a small table that had some papers and food laid out and joined Faust by the bed, sitting on the floor, his demeanor cautious.
Faust stared at Cian. “Who are you, really?”
Cian didn’t answer, as if he was contemplating whether to tell Faust the truth, but he straightened and looked Faust in the eyes. “In my former life, my name was Lars Chevaliar, High King.”
Faust swallowed the lump in his throat. “And you remember your past?”
“I am as I was before I was murdered, yes,” Lars replied. “I am here for a reason, and that reason is you and Sor. I must protect both of you in Vas’s stead.” He pulled a small folded piece of parchment from his pocket, flashing the note from Qinn Faust had found on the table in the inn. “I found this in your belongings. Where did you get it?”
Faust flicked the gemstone from his bracelet loose and rubbed at the gem. “I found it.”
“Where?”
Faust continued to mess with the gemstone in his hand. “Where I was staying before you rescued me from the Drokan Knights.”
“And you had the map as well?” Lars prompted farther.
Faust nodded.
Lars’s eyes clouded with worry as he stared at the small note again.
“I did find it.”
“I believe you,” Lars said.
Worry pulled at Faust’s gut. “When did you figure out I am the High King?” Faust asked, sitting up on shaky limbs.
“I knew at first glance. I have heard the rumors that graced the wind about you, Faust Kingsley.”
“Is that why you let me read Qinn’s journals in the hold?”
“Yes.” Lars chuckled. “You confirmed my suspicions when I showed you the history log. You may not be Qinn, but you have the right to go through anything that was once his. My High King’s orders were clear before our souls parted under Sor’s watch. ‘Make sure he survives. Do not let me rise again.’”
Faust held the gemstone tight in his palm. He didn’t know what to make of that. “Has he spoken to you?”
“Not yet,” Lars admitted, “but I’m sure he will soon. He’s trying to guide you. I know he doesn’t wish for you to become the lost. Lin must feel the same.”
Faust’s stomach twisted. “A-Aris,” he sucked in. “I can sense your Linos instead of mine.”
“I thought I felt Lin when you were in the hold on Gawain’s Volliare and again back in the forest,” Lars said, tilting his head. “Lin wishes the same as the High King. They don’t want to fully rise and only want to pass their knowledge and merge with you and your Linos.”
Faust blinked, unable to comprehend the idea. “Merge?”
Lars nodded. “It is part of the Festival of Life. Many lives are given a second chance. Mostly inseparable lovers or those with things left unfinished,” Lars explained. “When Sor danced regularly for the festival, souls weren’t lost, but now they are in masses. The Servants of Power in Drokan kill anyone with an old soul once they realize who they are. It is why I live with the guild. They can’t touch me without angering Koros’s Blessed.”
Faust leaned back on the wall behind him. Balance between the deities and Alimphis was missing and some kind of pecking order dissolved. “Restore order,” Qinn had said in a message from one chest. Sortiris must’ve helped maintain that order, but what did that mean for those who rose again?
“Should I call you Lars?” Faust finally asked.
Lars shook his head. “No one can know. I’ll be killed on sight, and so will you if they realize High King Qinn is close to the surface. They might even try to control you.”
“I will not be anyone’s pawn,” Faust sneered.
Lars’s posture grew taut. “I will not let that happen, High King. You are never to be controlled by anyone, and the deities are no exception. I am here for you, and I will protect you.”
Faust inhaled and exhaled slowly, burying his anger. “How do I know you will disregard Vas’s interests?”
“You don’t, but Vas made a vow, and that vow is to be respected by everyone, even me,” Lars said. “We must protect the High King and Lin. We must not persuade either to further our cause, and death awaits those who do. I honor that vow, even now.”
Faust stared into Lars’s eyes, watching the determination and surety pass through them. Lars was a man of his word, much like the others he’d befriended in Windilum. Those of Windilum harbored and protected him better than most, but Lars kept more distance than the others, as if Lars expected to be pushed away. Lars held information few had, and Faust intended to learn all he could from this man. The wind threw him in Lars’s path. He would figure out why. He also needed to know how close Vasil and Qinn were in the past before he encountered the deity again. “Do you believe Vasil killed Qinn?”
“He couldn’t have.”
The venom in Lars’s voice rolled through Faust. It echoed within him as if Qinn’s soul resonated the same, but the crushing doubt remained. “The rumor in the wind says he has.” Qinn’s memories pointed to the same.
“I cannot bring myself to believe such slander. Vas swore an oath to protect the High King. He would never break that vow. Rhys spread those lies with one purpose, to bring about hatred toward Windilum, the strongest kingdom that could make Rhys and Oran kneel.”