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“Answer me! Damn you!”
The punch to Aurelius’s face damn near knocked him out.
The group moved, although Aurelius didn’t know where. The cart or Corvo’s house was his world now. Corvo kept cutting him and collecting his blood or lapping at the cut every night. It wasn’t working, but he was too bent on his goal and greed.
In their new location, Corvo had a tent instead of a house. It didn’t matter because the routine remained. He said he’d start selling Aurelius’s ass to the men since he was worthless, and the soldiers were restless with so little to do after two years.
One night, a soldier who must have bought him dragged Aurelius to his tent near the edge of the encampment.
“I thought we’d get to go fight and get some real loot. I don't know what the fuck the King is waiting for. I don't think your Daddy wants you anymore since we've barely done shit besides wait. He’s certainly not coming to get you.”
The man threw Aurelius down on the floor of his tent where some blankets had been dumped.
“Elira, you’re pathetic. I’d rather have someone with some meat on their bones.” He straddled his silent victim. “Did Corvo fuck your brains out? Is that why you’re so silent? You're like a doll. I wonder if a little game would liven you up.”
If only Aurelius could turn this man into gold, kill the whole camp, and make them all shiny in their death. Corvo especially deserved to be what he wanted so badly. Afterward, Aurelius would use his power to fill his chest just like the King in the story and find release.
Hands tightened around his neck just above the lirek collar that hadn’t been removed in two years and suppressed Aurelius’s fairy magic. For a moment, it meant nothing. Theurge to breathe grew too intense, and he jerked without meaning. The man’s grip tightened.
“See? I knew a game would perk you up. You can’t play dead forever.”
Aurelius’s lungs begged for air, and he weakly shoved at the man. He couldn’t help it. The suffocating weight in his chest brought panic to his gut, and even though he wouldn’t dare to speak, a part of his mind wanted to beg.
“Getting to the edge is the best part.”
Everything grew fuzzy as Aurelius wished he could gild the man only to get him off so he couldfucking breathe.The top of the tent and the soldier's leering face grew blurry. One fucking breath…
The man gasped as if he was choking himself. His fingers loosened, and he grew so heavy when he fell forward, Aurelius still couldn’t get air in. He shoved at the weight, and it tipped off, allowing him to suck in a breath. His surroundings came flooding back, and his pulse pounded in his ears.
A gilded statue lay in the blankets by him as he kept gasping.
The soldier’s face was frozen in a grimace, and each little strand of hair could be made out. Everything from his eyes to the tips of his boots was gold.
Aurelius blinked at him, expecting to return to normal and get back on him. He didn’t. He wasn’t hallucinating. The soldier remained cold and still as Aurelius’s mind spun, and the urge to do it again tugged on him.
He’d grown used to that in a way while growing up, except he could give in to it now if he wanted.
He could finally gild, and the soldier couldn’t hurt him anymore, but the others would. Corvo would stay out of reach and never permit himself to be touched. Or Aurelius would be kept bound more securely so he couldn’t touch anyone with hishands, and new tortures would be devised to make him gild items.
King David would never give up on the Crown Prince with the Golden Touch.
Some forgotten part that wanted to live reared itself up from the depths of where it had been buried. He had to get away.
With the man’s dagger, he was able to cut the side of the tent near the base and shimmy out into the cool night air. The men must have grown lax with little to do, and nobody saw a pale, starved figure running in the dark.
Nobody would even realize he was missing for hours.
He made it to the river by dawn. The border was just beyond it, and if he made it to the vacation home and kept north, he’d reach the spot where the family had intended to cross. Except…he wasn’t entirely sure where he was at the moment. He probably wasn't in the right spot to simply go straight, and if the current pushed him, he might end up too far east which meant he’d be in Wockston.
Still, if he walked, he’d find people who weren’t Zorians. They’d help him.
Two years had passed. Maybe his family had forgotten him since nobody ever came to save him. Mother was dead and gone, so why return to a Father who had cut out his eye, brothers who hated him, and an empty life full of everything and nothing?
It was the right thing, and that little sliver that wanted to live told him to get in the water. It was either that or be found at some point because the Zorians would search for him. He didn’t have time to walk along the edge and hope he found a bridge which would mean he was near the Long Road. The Zorians would be on horseback, and if they spotted him, he’d never outrun them on foot.
The river was lazy there. The current still shoved him against the rocks as he struggled to make his weak arms and legs workso he could stay afloat and swim. Rough edges scraped him, but it was better than what he’d dealt with for two years. He dropped the dagger at some point. With a combination of swimming, clinging to rocks, and letting the current have its way with him in certain spots, he was able to cross.
The sun was hot when he finally crawled up the bank on the other side and collapsed. Scrapes covered him, his body ached, and he wanted to lay in the mud forever. He had to get away or those men would find him, and they’d use him over and over as punishment for killing someone and escaping.
