ICARUS FAKED HIS DEATH. CRAWLED ONTO THE SHORE, SKIN SPARKLING GOLD AND REDDENED, AND APOLLO SAID, "YOUR FATHER WON'T FIND US HERE."
That morning Vercingtorix wakes in a stranger’s bed and leaves before the stallion awakes. Perhaps it is merely coincidence the stranger is such a bright chestnut he looks like copper; perhaps it is mere coincidence his eyes are red, and he is one of Denocte's soldiers. It is coincidence. Nothing else, Vercingtorix tells himself as he enters the cool morning streets, before the sun has risen to warm the cobblestone.
As he leaves, there is a thought that follows him. It is merciless; the equivalent of small birds frustrating an eagle. It picks at his hypothetical feathers; it pulls at his tail.
Coward, it breathes. You are a coward.
Unsurprisingly, it is his father’s voice, and it has followed him all the way across the sea. He would drink it away, perhaps, but he is not a drinker. He would fight it away, perhaps, but he cannot find anything to fight. Anything worth killing. There is a part him, small and satirical, that laughs at his struggles. Isn’t is so difficult, to live in a world where something is not trying to kill you? To walk on a land not inhabited by flesh-eating shapeshifters? To be cast out from your father’s shadow, and forced to become your own man
Isn’t it ironic, he wants nothing except to wake up and have the security of his old purpose? Vercingtorix wonders if it is sick, but his contemplations are cast aside when he very nearly collides with one of the Denocte citizens. The stallion snorts at him, “watch it,” but continues on his travels.
Vercingtorix decides, after a moment, to abandon the streets. He trails down to the infamous markets and, from there, attempts to see Locust’s ship. He cannot distinguish it among the throng of strange vessels, and abandons the effort. It does not matter, either way. There is too much keeping him in Novus for him to seek her passage elsewhere and with that he cannot help but think of copper skin and the way someone once, on an island with black cliffs and monsters, said I love you.
He purchases black tea and simple bread from one of the vendors, before stepping inside their establishment. But Vercingtorix is not so quick as to not notice the slender, palomino stallion behind him, browsing the wares. He stoops his mouth low toward the vendors ear and slides more coins onto the tabletop that separates them. “I’ll also purchase whatever that gentleman would like. You can keep the tip.” Vercingtorix seats himself by a burning fireplace and glances out the window, where it overlooks the sea.
He waits.
And waits.
And when he hears the sound of an approach, Vercingtorix offers his most charming smile.
