Sustaining The King's Life 20 Tell Me What You Know

The king stared for a second in sheer wonder, and then he smiled warmly. "Then who am I right now?"

"The ninth king of Feuersturm." Faustina says. "Noah."

The king sighed tiredly, "it's been years since they called me that name. Noah. My dear mother called me that in secret, without my father knowing. She was very clever."

Faustina continued to stare, weighing the words of the king. She was sitting beside him, as moonlight illuminated his beautiful and chiseled body. He looked weak and strong at the same time, like a mix of black and white. Herb and vial. Yin and yang. She could not tell what could be the perfect comparison to the king.

"Noah... huh." The king mumbled.

Faustina tilted her head.

"Dietrich did mention I have something to say, didn't he?" The king says. "I believe he already told you some details about it. Your mana is overflowing and powerful, I can feel it as well, my fair maiden. Your mana is concealed by a certain spell, ancient and strong. Sheila cannot identify it, but we will have the highest clairvoyant to check scriptures of the markings similar to your seal."

Faustina blinked, "I don't... get anything from this... my king."

"I know."

"I'm sorry."

The king patted the top of Faustina's head, "why are you apologizing? There is no need. I understand what you are feeling. However..." His hand slowly traveled towards Faustina's, gently locking his palms to the back of her hand, delicately caressing his thumb in circles to her skin.

"You must move forward. I know you seek for answers. We too, seek for answers. Riddles and fables are our only guide; myths and legends are our only hope. We do not know everything, Faustina."

Faustina stared at their hand locked together, and then her gaze slowly shifted to the king's eyes, bright with the moonlight, soft like a blur and sharp as intricate lines.

"What must I do?" She asks.

"Train." The king replies. "Although we cannot remove the seal yet, we can make use of the leaking mana. The mana can serve as a stable amount of magic which you can use for a while, hone it until you reach your full potential."

"Train... how?"
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"Body strength, magic, and of course we need to give you a lesson in etiquette as well as music and philosophy."

Faustina tilted her head, "Etiquette and music?"

The king smiled. "You are going to attend Magierstadt, a school of magicians. This is located in the middle of Zuerst and Zweite, meaning you will be meeting not only n.o.bles of Feuersturm, but a diversity of people a lot different from you. You will need basic etiquette and few lessons in music and philosophy because we will have you pretend to be a lady from a n.o.ble family."

Faustina thinned her lips. "I'm not going as a Heilen..."

"Yes." The king says. "You are going as Faustina Feuerlon."

"Feuerlon?" Faustina blinked in surprise. "The king's cousin. The duke's surname..."

"Yes, you will attend as the youngest daughter of Duke Feuerlon,"

"What about my hair?" Faustina asks, "surely they will be suspicious. I will attract attention of the slave traders..."

"Your hair will stay as it is." The king says. "We will have to see what Magierstadt will do about this. We have been in suspicion that they are in an allegiance with the Forsaken, Jonathan Unsterblich. Magierstadt does not have any slave traders—although there are slaves in this school. You are safe there Faustina, my fair maiden, I guarantee you."

Faustina reached her hand towards the king's forehead, "your fever is down."

The king blinked. "Oh." He exclaims, looking surprised. "It is. Now that you've mentioned it, I'm... feeling light?"

"The medicine must be taking its effect." Faustina says, smiling. She felt a sense of triumph, thinking that Eula's teachings had paid off—big time. To the king. She wanted to tell this to her master, tell her she finally made someone better.

But there was no Eula to praise her anymore.

Faustina snapped back to reality as she felt a warm hand ruffling her hair. She stared at the king's eyes, who seemed to be reading her emotions—she saw how his blue eyes turned sad—a display of sympathy for her.

"You did a good job." The king says calmly, "my doctor."

Faustina found herself blushing. "I-it's a witch's apprentice's job. It is my duty, my king." She grinned, "After all, I am here to sustain the king's life."

The king chuckled, but then his face turned stoic. He withdrew his hand from Faustina's head, and then he straightened himself. His face was still kind, and his eyes were the same as before, but his air has changed—as if he has something important to convey.

"I have something far more important to ask you." The king says. "Answer the questions with all the details that you remember."

Faustina nodded.

"Sheila showed you a fragment of her memory, is that correct? Sharing a memory is as hard as removing an ancient seal. Sharing a memory is a very convenient way to transfer information, although it is not perfect. You cannot give a concrete event or interpretation of what it is."

Faustina thinned her lips. "So that's why..."

"What did you see, Faustina?" The king asks.

"I saw... a young... Jonathan." Faustina says. "And..."

"You must not speak."

"You must not tell."

"Faustina, don't ever tell them."

"Not my name. Not a word."

Faustina shook her head. "I saw my master."

The king narrowed his eyes. "Your master is Eulalia Fortunatorum?"

"Eula." Faustina says. "She's my master. She... doesn't do magic. She taught me how to create medicine, she took me in to her house, and took care of me. She's like... my mother."

The king stared, observant of every word.

"She took you in? How?"

"Back when I was nine," Faustina says. "She took me in from the slave traders, in the slums, and we escaped to the forest."

"Where is it?"

"I... don't know. I was very young." Faustina exclaims, "Most of my memories revolves around the time I was with Eula."

The king frowned. "That is very odd."

"I know... I mean... she's my only family, and so I don't remember being in the slums much because it's traumatizing for the young me, I think."

"No, no. I meant the slave traders, and you being taken away from them." The king says, his voice laced with doubt and confusion. "Faustina, there hasn't been a real Heilen in the records. Every 'Heilen' that are here are for front, for a n.o.ble's display of power."

"But this is what I remember, my king." Faustina says with all honesty. "I remember my master rescuing me away from the bad people."

"Faustina," says the king, "are you certain your memories are real?"