“They want Jarryn returned to Nevari?” Verin asked softly.
Flavian nodded. “The general consensus is that, if Jarryn is innocent, he will be exonerated. Some of the lords are arguing that it is not our place to be involved and there is nothing to gain from harbouring him here.”
“Except that he is innocent,” Leander blurted out.
“The idea didn’t spring into Nevari’s mind of its own accord,” Verin said quietly.
Leander fell silent, having nothing to say to that. He took a moment to insure he had strongly erected mental barriers. This was one of those times his thoughts might betray his secret, one only Flavian was aware of.
“Be that as it may, King Caisa obviously heard a compelling argument from Prince Jarryn,” Flavian continued. “He spoke very well before us and it is not Vyrica’s policy to condemn an innocent man to die. He even provided us with unfettered access to his mind. There were no memories of plotting, conspiracy, premeditation, or even in meditated actions. We even called in Venser, our most powerful Aesthesic, to determine Prince Jarryn’s innocence.”
“But... why does the new Desannian king think otherwise?” Kira asked.
Without missing a beat, Flavian answered his granddaughter. “That much is unclear to the king.”
It wasn’t a lie exactly, just a veiled truth. Leander was impressed with how easily Flavian did so, though it made sense: his domain of lies had to come from somewhere and it wasn’t his mother.
But Flavian’s answer didn’t satisfy the curious mind of Kira. “Did he do it, then? And then blame Prince Jarryn? Is it because he wanted to be king?”
Flavian smiled indulgently. “Perhaps. However King Nevari seems to have tunnel vision where Prince Jarryn is concerned. Something tells me that he genuinely believes Prince Jarryn to be responsible for their father’s death.”
“How do we help Prince Jarryn, then?”
There was a pause in the conversation as the main course of duck was brought out.
They all began to eat, except Flavian, who was considering how to respond to Kira. “Prince Jarryn was accused of a terrible crime, one he did not commit, and many people believe he did. But, you see, accusations with no proof can lead to great harm... not just to the innocent accused. That is the problem the king is currently managing with his disgruntled lords. It is important to always speak the truth, even when it is difficult. We should all strive to be like Prince Jarryn, standing firm in the face of falsehoods, and always choosing the truth.”
Chapter Seventeen
The forest was alive with the sound of hooves pounding against the soft earth, the crack of branches breaking, of leaves being thrown up into the air, and the breathless laughter coming from members of the king’s obscenely large hunting party. Prince Jarryn and Leander rode at the front, their horses neck-and-neck, as it had been since the white hart had been spotted. The competition between them had turned the event from a ceremonial hunt into a personal battle.
Both were desperate to win this sudden competition. A competition between just the two of them, it seemed to become. Not only for the king’s favour, but also because both refused to be bested by the other.
Leander was not a strong rider, but he had developed a bond with the horse given to him by Prince Lucien all those months back, and the palfrey seemed to understand innately how to keep her rider atop her.
Jarryn grinned as he urged his stallion forward,weaving expertly through the thick underbrush. He had a distinct advantage over Leander, having been put on a horse’s back the moment he had been old enough to take his first few steps.
Leander slipped behind, momentarily, pulling his horse left and onto a slightly more beaten path which would give him an advantage. The thrill of the chase pulsed through his veins. He glanced to his left, where Lucien also kept pace. And, to his right, Jarryn rode on, his jaw set in determination, not willing to yield even an inch.
“You look like you’re struggling to keep up,” Jarryn called to him over the wind.
Leander shot him a withering look, not that Jarryn would see it, and spoke sharply in response. “I’d be more worried about your horse. Can it handle the pressure you’re putting it under?”
Jarryn laughed, the sound carrying, loud and bold, as he urged his horse onwards, determined to be the one to dispatch the stag himself.
Suddenly, the white hart burst from the underbrush, dashing through the clearing ahead. Leander spurred his horse, resolved in his tenaciousness to be the one to land the kill. He sent a silent prayer up to Arran that he would be the one to succeed.
But Jarryn wasn’t going to go down so easily. Leander watched, a pace behind, as the prince drew his bow with the fluid ease of countless hours of practice, then notched and released the arrow, just as his horse’s hooves hit uneven ground.
The shot went wide.
Before he could recover, his horse stumbled, its legcatching in the gnarled roots of a tree that Jarryn would later say shouldn’t have been there. Jarryn barely had time to react, his dominant hand caught behind his back as he had been seeking another arrow. His horse buckled, sending the prince flying through the air at a frightening speed.
Leander, previously intent on the hart, heard, rather than saw, the prince’s fall with his downed horse.
Leander immediately halted his own horse, pulling tightly on the reins, and turned his horse around, his gaze following the prince’s body as it was flung from the stallion.
The impact with the ground was brutal. Pain flared through his mind as if he had been the one to fall, and he turned and watched as Jarryn tumbled down a small, yet steep, hill, the trees and bushes hiding him in the undergrowth. Jarryn landed with a harsh thud at the bottom, and Leander was relieved to hear signs of life, gasping as the air was knocked from his lungs.
