Leander’s vulnerabilities were beginning to break through his façade. Leía knew that, as a demigod, Leander found it challenging to belong fully to either world. She could see the storm brewing inside him. It was as if his insecurities had driven him to do this heinous act, and now he was trying to manage it in the only way he knew how: with casually cavalier aloofness.
A murmur spread around the room. Taskevi’s bang of her hand on the table silenced the whispering from the large audience. She was annoyed, but not by the audience of divinity watching the spectacle.
Taskevi turned to look down the row and, meeting the God of War’s gaze, she spoke. “Machus, can you tell us any more about the brewing dispute between Vyrica and Desanne?”
Machus, who had eyes only for Leander, shook his headonce. “There will be war, no doubt about it. I have spoken with Desanne’s new king. It is not the king’s death that is the problem. It is that the crown prince fled and has taken refuge in Vyrica. King Nevari wants his brother’s head. Vyrica, it seems, is bringing about their own doom.”
Leía kept her gaze on Leander as Machus spoke, watchful for any sign of recognition. Leander was an excellent liar, but she knew him best. As Machus spoke, she saw a flicker of emotion pass over his face, too quick for her to be sure, but there was something more to it. Leander hadn’t acted alone. He was covering up for someone.
“I counselled Prince Jarryn to seek sanctuary in Vyrica,” Ilyn, God of Peace, said, his expression one of deep concern. “If war is to happen, I am equally culpable with my involvement.”
“Any of us would have done the same, brother,” Machus had a strange expression on his face, as if he had not fully come to terms with what was happening. “An innocent man does not deserve to die.”
“And how many other innocents will die because of this war? For the sake of this one man?” Ilyn asked quietly.
“We must watch this inevitable doom play out, just as Leander wanted,” was all the reply Machus gave, still staring down at Leander, as if he could see into his very soul.
Leander seemed like he was barely listening to a word being said… though Leía knew, as only a mother can, that his façade of disinterest was just that: an illusion.
“Yes, but you benefit more than anyone else. Maybe even more than Leander here,” Vatram intoned, contempt colouring his tone.
Machus turned to the God of Fire with a raised brow. “And the fury of Nevari does nothing to stoke your own domains, Vatram? It seems that Leander’s lie has far reaching consequences. It is not just me, nor you, who will see this bolster our domains. How many of our kin? Or our sons and daughters?” He gestured to the amphitheatre of witnesses to Leander’s trial. “Too many are set to profit from Leander’s lie. The inevitability of this must be killing Tychi.” The God of War glanced over to the Goddess of Hope, smiling inanely.
Tychi herself was, it seemed, emotionally removed from the proceedings, leaning back in her chair with crossed arms. She did not respond.
Leía watched her son with no small amount of trepidation as Taskevi continued to speak. “Why, Leander?”
Full of passion and charisma that commanded influence, Leander had the potential to make almost anyone do his bidding. He would start with one person, then move on to the next, sharing his ideas with the masses one by one until they all agreed with him.
At any time in conversation with him, Leander radiated authenticity… ironic really, given his domain, but maybe it was necessary for his unhindered success in spreading lies. Listening to him speak could be nothing short of spellbinding: people who met him found him intriguing; his confidence engendered a reputation that he was to be trusted without question.
It was probably why his very nature lent itself to being the God of Lies: he told one and he was believed. He helped others, mortals, to tell them and they would be believed. It was both mesmerising and terrifying to watchhim work. And now they all knew how easily susceptible to his machinations they were. He was dangerous.
Once again, Leander shrugged. “Do I need a reason?” Leander spoke with such confidence, but there was an undercurrent Leía could not quite place.
Cysan breathed out a long sigh and shook his head as he sat back in his chair. Leander’s gaze flickered over to Cysan, and something that looked a lot like resentment flashed across Leander’s face. He felt the rejection from Cysan, Leía knew it.
“I don’t know why you’re so aggravated, brother,” Machus said with a sly grin. It was an expression that gave Leía the distinct impression of duplicity. It didn’t surprise her in the slightest, given Machus’ own power and domains. “King Rasily was a servant to his people… surely you could have protected him.”
“You know that’s not how it works, Machus,” Cysan replied coldly.
“Why not?”
“I would be remiss in my duty if I deliberately meddled. We came to that accord long ago, the nine of us, didn’t we? Your lust for war may inflame your loins but I sincerely hope that you did nothing to excite Leander’s mind with such folly.” Cysan sounded tired, sad even. His heart wasn’t in it, and Leía knew it was because Leander had broken it.
“People die every day. A single man meets his end and I am somehow in the line of fire? You dare to blame me for the idiocy of a boy given power when he is too careless to respect its raw potential?”
“It’s an awfully big coincidence.”
There was a shout from the back of the room, agreeingwith Cysan’s statement. This was enough to have Taskevi shut down her brothers’ argument and gain control back with a few sharp words.
The large amphitheatre went silent again.
“Why did you whisper the lie into a mortal’s ear, Leander?” Taskevi asked again.
Leander said nothing.
The silence dragged on, until murmuring started up again.
