Everyone looked in his direction. The Saerian members of the group looked shocked by Jarryn’s blatant and unapologetic blasphemy. Even the Desannian soldiers wore uncomfortable expressions.
“Your Highness, this is a place of worship for many, hallowed ground if you will. It is not a place to insult?—”
“Then Leía may strike me down in one of her lightning storms if she so pleases. And in doing so prove me right in my assessment of the lot of them.”
“Do you mistrust all gods, or only those you haven’t met?” Leander asked quietly.
Jarryn’s eyes flashed as his gaze landed on the demigod. “Oh, I trust those I’ve met even less.”
“Why?”
Jarryn’s eyes were hard, a gaze that spoke of pain turned into armour. “The gods are nothing but manipulative beings, toying with mortals for their own amusement.Their actions despoil our lives, and they are not deserving of our trust.”
“But... have you not considered the possibility that the gods have reasons for their actions beyond our understanding?” Lucien said slowly, carefully.
Thiete nodded his agreement. “Yes. Perhaps they allow hardship to teach us valuable lessons.”
“Or test our resilience,” a soldier piped up, before hastily respectfully adding, “Your Highness.”
“Just because we don’t always see their intentions, it doesn’t mean they are malevolent. Maybe through their actions they’re guiding us towards a greater purpose,” Lucien finished.
Leander didn’t voice his inner musings, but he thought they all sounded a little indoctrinated into a philosophy passed down by their forefathers. In his experience, the gods didn’t measure the worth of individual mortal lives so much as looking at the collective.
“I find it hard to believe in the greater purpose of the gods when all I see is suffering and chaos caused by the whims of them,” Jarryn said confidently. “How can we trust beings who actively cause suffering like Leía did in the story we just heard? If they truly cared for us, they would prevent such tragedies in the first place.”
Lucien, devout as he was, had a look of revulsion on his face for all of two seconds before he remembered himself and schooled it into something more neutral. When he spoke, his words were measured and calm. “Maybe our limited perspective blinds us to the bigger picture.”
“We must have faith and trust that the gods have a plan, even if we cannot comprehend it,” said Thiete.
Jarryn shook his head, an ugly smile marring what was otherwise a beautiful face. “Faith is a luxury for those who haven’t suffered as deeply. I’ve seen too much pain to believe in your so-called benevolence of the gods.”
“But if you?—”
“Until they prove otherwise, I will continue to question their motives and hold them accountable for the suffering they allow to exist in the world,” Jarryn interrupted, and Leander could sense that he so very vehemently believed what he was saying.
There was a murmur of dissension through the group, and it was clear most disagreed but, with the exception of Lucien, no-one could justifiably argue with the prince of Desanne.
“And what of you, Lord Leander?” Jarryn turned on him at last. “You who have divine blood running through your veins. Are you going to defend their actions, are you going to justify their indifference to our suffering? Or are you also nothing but a callous being, manipulating us for your own amusement?”
Leander, visibly uncomfortable at the accusation, said, “I have no puppets or pawns, Your Highness. And I am certainly not indifferent.” He lied without thought.
“But you, by your very nature, are tainted by their influence. Your newfound mortality does not automatically absolve you of your divine blood, nor does it make you stand alongside humanity willingly. What self-serving crime did you commit to have you cast out of your realm and abandoned in ours, your family saddled with a bastard no one wants? I would put good money on it being anoffence against us mortals. You suffer here because you caused us pain?”
Vitriol dripped from Jarryn’s every word and their stunned audience was forgotten for the moment.
Leander’s patience was wearing thin. “You speak from a place of anger and pain, but your accusations will stay as just that: unfounded, until such a time as when the Nine deign to bring you into their confidences, you can go on believing what you want to about me.” Leander took a step forward and raised his chin to meet Jarryn’s hard gaze. “I don’t give a shit what you think.”
Undeterred, Jarryn lashed out with greater intensity: “But you care deeply about your lot in life. You are wasted as a mortal. I canstillfeel your aversion for your mortality rolling off you in waves. Is that the reason for your drinking? The gambling and prostitutes?”
“Jarryn…” Someone, Leander wasn’t sure who, tried to stop the verbal lashing. They were unsuccessful.
Jarryn’s eyes, like daggers, spoke of untold scars, of some terrible tragedy, but there was not a flicker of weakness as he spoke. It was a hardness born from too many battles, too many losses. “You hate us all with such a passion that you now hate yourself and you will seek any outlet you can just to escape your growing self-awareness. You cannot hide from it though. It’s pathetic to watch.”
As if physically struck by Jarryn’s harsh words, Leander took a step back, his expression a mixture of sadness and resolve. “You’ve told me once before that you refuse to define me, or anyone else, by our actions, and by the choices we make. Yet… here you are, passing judgement on me for something you have decided isless. You havedecided this in a few short meetings and I will not argue against your judgement of my character.”
Leander glanced around at Lucien, Thiete and the soldiers, all of whom waited expectantly for wisdom to be woven by his tongue.
They would be disappointed.
