The corners of Haldon’s lips curled up into a smile. Leander instantly disliked the man as he felt contempt radiating away from him, clearly not a practiced Aesthesic… or perhaps he simply didn’t care.
But it wasn’t Haldon who spoke next, even though he looked like he wanted to say something.
“And what of your mother, Lord Leander?”
Leo turned to face the king. “You have probably spoken to her more recently than I have, Your Majesty,” he responded bluntly.
“Even she knows some silences are better left unbroken,” Jarryn muttered. “Seems the divine court thrust you out for a more emotive reason than the one you are letting on.”
“What, exactly, are you accusing me of?”
“Nothing good, I’d wager,” Jarryn shot back. “Your presence in this very room suggests malcontent amongst the Nine, a displeasure for something you have done.”
All the while Jarryn was verbally sparring with him, Leander couldn’t quite get over the fire in those cobalt eyes, so intense. “If the Nine wanted you to know, theywould have told you. As it is, your existence is insignificant enough for you not to top the list of those who deserve to know.”
Courtiers exchanged uneasy glances. Jarryn, a powerful Aesthesic and well-educated in royal ways, kept most of his emotions in check, or at least hid them to the degree that they were not radiating around the room. But the other members of the court were not so adept, and Leander could sense their excitability for the public argument he was having with Jarryn.
The disquiet radiating throughout the chambers was starting to have an impact on Leander’s own emotions. His own agitation was building, and not just because Prince Jarryn had sought him out as his prey.
Leander didn’t really understand how Prince Jarryn had recklessly and rapidly progressed from polite and demure to something best described as wildfire in the court meeting in all of three seconds, but here they were.
“If we are not to know their intentions,” Jarryn uttered, his voice quiet but carrying to all in the room in the uncomfortable silence. “Then telling us your own would be enough.”
“What would you like them to be, Your Highness?” Leander quipped back, throwing the phrase Jarryn had supplied to him in the brothel back at him. “Because, from where I stand, there is not a single thing I could say to make you give me the benefit of the doubt, let alone trust me.”
There was a vague attempt by one man—he thought it to be Lord Haldon, he could not be sure—to bring the conversation back to the purpose of the gathering, but hewas shot down by a single look from the Desannian prince.
Around the room, Leander could sense the threads of curiosity radiating off nigh on every person in the hall. They all wanted to know the same thing Jarryn did, but none had the courage to ask.
The only difference was that they all paid homage to his mother, Leía, and would all defer to her decision to leave Leander under their care and protection.
As an outsider, Jarryn had no such compunctions about questioning the Goddess of Art and her decisions.
Leander wondered, briefly, if Taskevi’skindnessin sentencing him to live out his punishment here among the people he was supposed to call his mortal kin was fair. Maybe it was a disservice. Maybe it was even cruel of her. He’d like to think the best of the benevolent goddess. But right now, in this ornate room, he wasn’t so sure.
“I refuse to allow our proud kingdoms to be destroyed by the whims of the gods. The rest of you might feel willing to show your bellies, but I won’t allow the gods to play puppeteer with our destiny. This war is of divine making, I am sure of it. Nevari is not a rash man. He would not sever ties with his strongest ally unless he was being guided to it.”
Leander leaned forward. “Your ignorance is astounding, prince.”
“Enough.”
Jarryn had opened his mouth to retort with undoubtedly scathing words, but he was stopped by King Caisa.
“You toe the line of blasphemy, Prince Jarryn,” Caisa said from his seat at the head of the table. “Lord Leander isa guest, welcomed into this city and this room by me, just the same as you. You would do well to remember it.”
Jarryn, evidently taken aback that someone, even a king, would give him such a public dressing down, had the good sense to retreat and sit down… but only after he had stared down the king, clearly debating whether he could get away with arguing his point further.
“And you,” Caisa addressed Leander. “Your mother might be a goddess, and your father my most decorated adviser, but you are here by my grace and goodwill. You would also do well to remember your place.”
Leander had been expecting that. He murmured a quick apology (to Caisa, not to Jarryn) and he also repositioned himself in his seat.
The room quietened and tensions dissipated as the conversation returned to the looming political threat to Vyrica. Everyone in the room was here with a purpose, their presence here to share insights and strategies to safeguard the nation from the shadows of impending danger.
Caisa brought the room back to the matter at hand. “Now, we cannot ignore the unrest any longer. War is more imminent than I am comfortable with, and not least because we have been in this state for weeks, with no sign of Nevari acting on his threats.”
Prince Lucien, the young, but seasoned, diplomat nodded in agreement. “Our alliances are fragile. And whilst Eamore is refusing to take sides, our list of allies is short. Ideally, we need a united front to face this threat. But Eamore is a republic and cannot quite appreciate the loss of a monarch.” Lucien glanced apologetically at Jarryn. “Patricide doesn’t justify a war, they say.”
“Unsurprising, really. Eamore has no love for your barbaric, slaving ways. But they are also not sad to see my father pass, given his refusal to enter negotiations for Nevari’s fostering in their country. You say they care not for our royal ways, Prince Lucien, but they have evidenced time and time again how they would benefit from a union of some kind with us.”
