Chapter 9: Chapter 8 – The Escape

Raviel opened the villa door and rushed inside, dragging Aster inside. He only longed for a little calm to ward off the migraine that was lurking for him. His hopes disappeared when he came face to face with Magnus, apparently about to leave.

“Father.”

Magnus narrowed his eyes slightly, accusingly.

"May I know where you were? I was looking for you.”

Raviel suppressed an annoyed sigh. He wasn't in the mood.

"At the palace," he replied.

His father's gaze strayed to Aster, who was standing behind him, silent.

"So he's the gladiator you bought?"

His tone oozed contempt, as he glared at Aster with an evil eye. The latter tensed imperceptibly, but he didn't answer. He didn't want to put Raviel in an awkward position.

"Yes," the young man admitted in an icy voice.

Without further ado, he took off at a brisk pace, but Magnus grabbed his arm sharply to hold him back.

“I heard you made a scene with Rufus at the Grand Amphitheater the day I got back.”

Raviel tried to free himself, without success.

“Let go of me! You are hurting me.”

Aster tensed up more.

“Raviel!” Magnus thundered angrily.

"What do you want me to answer you? It's not like it's your habit to listen to your son,” Raviel quipped.

Magnus roughly tightened his grip on his son's arm, and a grimace of pain crept across his face.

"Let him go!" Aster exclaimed suddenly taking a step forward. “It is not by mistreating him that…”

Raviel turned his head towards him with a sudden movement.

“Aster! Shut your mouth!”

Magnus gave an annoying grin.

“Good grief, you never do anything right. You are not even capable of educating your slaves.”

Aster gritted his teeth but didn't add anything, conscious of having already exceeded the limits of his boundary. Magnus released Raviel.

“I’m letting it go this time because I'm in a hurry. But teach him good manners, because if it happens again, I will show no mercy.”

Raviel nodded curtly, and Magnus walked away without another look. The door closed behind him with a loud noise. Raviel then swiveled towards Aster, who was standing slightly behind.

"Don't you dare act like that again!" He growled.

Aster stiffened.

“Very well! I'll let him beat you up without flinching next time,” he hissed.

"My father is the master of this house! What he does has nothing to do with you!”

“Understood!”

Raviel ran a hand over his face.

“My apologies… He can make your life hell, and I don't want that. Be discreet in his presence, please.”

Aster nodded without a word. He couldn't stand Magnus' attitude, but he was just a slave. And this bitter observation was still just as painful.

***

Aster had lost track of time for ages. The minutes, the hours, then the days merged. Locked in a cage, tossed about on all sides because of the irregularities of the ground under the wheels of the cart, his thoughts escaped, and wandered towards misty shores. The chains rattled around his wrists and ankles; the iron collar around his neck suffocated him. His parched throat burned horribly, and his lips kept cracking. Every sound echoed painfully in his skull, and he could feel the dried blood sticking his brown hair to his tanned skin.

His stomach only bore a long scar. His wound had been taken care of so that he could stay alive. A life Aster no longer wanted. He longed to join the dead lost in the ashes of his village. His father. His mother. His sister. And everyone he would never see again. He ardently wished not to have to endure another day in this cage, which brought him closer every moment to a destiny that repelled him more than anything.

Slave.

The word refused to leave his already battered mind. He tormented him and gave him no respite. Aster had always known only freedom. He had grown up in a loving family, in a small isolated village at the edge of a forest. From an early age, he roamed the vast wooded areas, trying his hand at hunting and fishing, or quite simply in wild races in the trees. He couldn't bear to have the freedom he cherished so much taken away from him.

Suddenly the cart stopped. Aster slowly opened his eyes, but his vision remained blurry. He guessed that the soldiers were preparing the camp for the night from the noises which reached him, and which had now become his daily routine. The rustling of the tents being set up. The metallic sounds of weapons and armor clashing. Orders coming from all sides.

Heavy footsteps approached the cage. A soldier slid out several pieces of stale bread, and the other prisoners threw themselves on the food, hungry. Aster did not move. He wasn't hungry, didn't want to eat. It would only prolong his ordeal.

“You!”

Aster stifled a moan as a soldier roughly grabbed his hair and tugged on it to press his face to the bars of the cage.

"Do you really think we're going to let you starve yourself like this? We've been watching you for several days!”

You are reading story The King’s Gift at novel35.com

“It's true that with his physique and his good looks, he should sell for a lot. It would be a shame if he passed away before we reached Massallia,” a second voice commented, more withdrawn.

Aster shook his head in an attempt to free himself from the soldier's grasp. An amused sigh escaped him, and moments later the cage opened with a metallic clink. However, Aster was just at the level of the entrance. The iron collar around his neck fell with a crash when the man took it off and dragged him away.

Aster collapsed as soon as his feet hit the ground. His legs didn't have the strength to carry him. The soldier raised his head roughly and poured water into his mouth. Aster choked as the liquid ran down his throat. He was seized with a sudden fit of coughing, and a trickle rolled down his chin. He barely managed to swallow, but the burning in his dry throat eased slightly.

“Well, you see that you can when you want!”

Another soldier then approached, a bowl in his hand. He put it on the ground. It only contained a thick porridge. Aster looked briefly at the plate, before returning his contemptuous gaze to the two men.

“Eat,” one of them ordered.

Aster's lips curled slightly in a smirk as he remained still. A moment later, the soldier thrust his head roughly into the bowl.

“Dirty dog!”

The pressure on his head eased, and Aster was able to sit up. The food dripped from his dark locks and his face, but his eyes burned with hard-to-contain hatred.

***

Aster suddenly opened his eyes, short of breath. His gaze was still haunted by his dreams. He sat up on his bunk, struggling to regain his footing with reality. It had been over two years now, but his memories were still vivid.

He got up. He needed to get some fresh air. Raviel had made it clear to him that nocturnal walks were no longer appropriate, but the window in his bedroom had a sufficient opening. He leaned on it, offering his face to the breeze. It was much cooler than during the day. His gaze was lost in the immensity of the starry sky. The stars shone with a soft, distant light. Inaccessible.

Suddenly, a muffled sound brought him out of his contemplation. Was Raviel awake? Yet he heard no footsteps. He moved cautiously towards the thick curtain that separated their rooms, then silently pushed it aside. The light of the moon diffused throughout the room. A ray fell onto the bed, where Raviel seemed to have curled up in his sleep, his body shaking violently.

Aster frowned and approached. The silver hair stuck to his face, probably from sweat. He was clenching his fists so tight that his fingernails dug into the palm of his hand. A low groan could be heard. So Raviel also had nightmares? Was that why he slept so little?

Undecided on what to do, Aster remained motionless. He knew the pain the night could sometimes bring. He ended up approaching slowly. He reached out, and his fingers brushed Raviel's arm, trying to pull him out of his dreams.

A moment later, a dagger was pressing firmly against his throat. His brown gaze caught the strange grey eyes, but he could only make out deep confusion. Raviel jerked back, suddenly seeming to become aware of his surroundings. He let go of the dagger, and it fell on the bed without a sound, while Aster took a step back.

"My apologies," Raviel said in a low voice.

"Do you often want to cut someone's throat in your sleep?" Aster retorted in a bad mood.

A flicker of guilt crept across Raviel's face, and he looked away.

“I woke you up?” He asked in a low voice.

“No, you're not the only one having a restless sleep!”

He was careful not to raise his voice, but his harshness seemed to have the same effect on Raviel as if he had shouted.

“I’m sorry…” He whispered.

“Sorry? Why would you be sorry?”

Aster's bitterness spilled throughout the room.

"Are you really sorry that my village was burnt down by the soldiers of your people? Are you sorry that those same soldiers chose to keep me alive to sell me into slavery? It benefits you, doesn't it?”

Raviel took the man’s anger without batting an eyelid.

“I don't wish that on anyone.”

“Oh really?” Aster hissed. “What do you know anyway? Being raised the hard way does not give you divine knowledge! You have no idea what it is like to feel like you're dying, and losing everything!”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned away and went back to his own room, pulling the curtain back with a sharp gesture. Raviel watched him with a painful expression.

“You're wrong,” he whispered. “I know what it does.”

His breath was lost in space. He straightened up without a sound and approached the large opening in the wall, through which the light of the moon diffused. He leaned on it sadly and raised his face to the stars. Alone facing the night, he could finally drop his mask.

He understood Aster's anger and didn't hold it against him. It was legitimate. On the other hand, he dreaded the trouble he foresaw. That Helvia had bothered to come up to him and invite him to her home worried him. Raviel had kept his word and hadn't gone, but he couldn't help thinking that something was afoot in the shadows. Added to this was the image of the shroud, glimpsed through the snippets of his strange ability. He rarely believed in coincidences.

And then there was this vision, during which he had seen Aster. The one that had pushed him to buy the gladiator from Mordax and thus giving an additional reason to the patricians to hate him. Raviel sighed slightly, his gaze lost on the flashes of silver light dotting the grass. Why Aster? What was his mind still hiding from him? And what was this strange sensation he had felt several times lately, as oppressive as it was dangerous? Everything was mixed up in his head and induced in him a dull fear.

***

Aster closed his eyes and leaned back more comfortably against the wall of his small room. He knew that Raviel hadn't deserved this surge of anger, but he had been containing his fury for too long. His nightmare was the drop that had caused the ocean to overflow. And seeing Raviel so vulnerable brought to the surface emotions he thought were buried.

He couldn't afford to feel any compassion for him. Not when the young patrician had all the power over his life. Not if he wanted to protect his already bruised heart. He didn't question Raviel's pain, but it didn't concern him. To survive, to hope to regain his freedom, he had to be selfish. He couldn't feel any form of attachment to this place and its various inhabitants. He had no other choice: he had to flee. And the sooner the better.

***

Sitting on his couch, Aster silently observed the darkness hovering outside. He felt strangely calm, far from the feverishness he had imagined. He had made his decision, carefully considered it over the course of the past day, and was only waiting for the moment when the sky would slowly begin to clear. He had carefully observed the habits of each resident of the villa and knew this was the most auspicious time. Everyone would be sound asleep, but the streets would already be starting to come alive. He could then go unnoticed.

The moment didn't take long to arrive, and Aster got up without a sound. He discreetly parted the curtain that separated him from Raviel's room. The latter seemed immersed in a quieter sleep than the previous night if one disregards his frowning eyebrows. Aster briefly wondered how he had come to hide a dagger under his pillow, before banishing the thought from his mind. It was none of his business. He crept across the room, but Raviel didn't wake up.

Not a single noise came to break the tranquility of the villa. It seemed asleep, like each of its inhabitants, as Aster had anticipated. He wasted no time crossing the space that separated him from the outside. The cool air hit him like a real rush of hope. He was only a few meters away from freedom. He suddenly quickened his pace, kicking up little clouds of dust on the dirt road. Everything seemed almost too easy. Was there no one watching at night? Or was the master of the house convinced that no one would dare to run away? Aster was aware that many fleeing slaves were caught, and the punishments could then be terrible. The whip was probably the softest of them.

But he didn't care. He would blend in. He knew his appearance would help him. After all, his chestnut hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin were typical of the Massalians. What he had long considered a misfortune now became his chance. He would slip into the crowd that filled the streets at dawn, use it to leave the city, and begin his life again elsewhere.

No matter what he had been in the gladiator school, then in Raviel’s house, he would now be a free man.

You can find story with these keywords: The King’s Gift, Read The King’s Gift, The King’s Gift novel, The King’s Gift book, The King’s Gift story, The King’s Gift full, The King’s Gift Latest Chapter