Chapter Nineteen
The hunt had gone on for days: the king and his court tracking and eventually dispatching the white hart and then returning to the palace victorious with a great feast of celebration.
Neither Leander nor Jarryn, both of whom had returned to the city in the late morning after the storm had passed, attended the feast. Jarryn didn’t because—Leo assumed—he was still healing from his injuries after his fall. And Leander because he had prioritised a night in Talia’s arms over a stuffy evening where his father would be watching him like a fucking hawk. He could no longer get away with his debauched behaviours, so when he could avoid an event, he would.
It wasn’t so much that Leander hated carrying out the aristocratic duties his father bade him do. As a member of the divine courts, he had done similar, he had often gone above and beyond to see mortals in their prayers and libations.
Leander’s domain did not discriminate: all people, rich and poor, happy and melancholic, good and bad… they all told lies. Those lies fed Leander’s influence and power and that, in turn, allowed him to breathe life into select lies that were told.
Leander himself hadn’t discriminated either. He did not favour the wealthy over the poor, or the good over the bad, or any combination therein. He did not pick favourites, something he had learnt from his mother.
The result of this was occasionally doing things he did not want to do.
Sometimes he viewed his divine life as a constant effort to market himself—presenting himself and working on a significant amount of self-promotion. His domain, much like those of the whole of the divine court, even death, was not intrinsically good or evil. He thought of himself in the same way. He had been little more than an enabler, a conduit through which lies could be told. He didn’t need loyal followers to draw his power from, he only needed desperate people to call on his aid and he would answer their call.
In the mortal world, or at least what he was coming to understand about it, the life of an aristocrat was in many ways not so far removed from living as a divine being. He was selling a product, selling himself. It was all about the reputation of the family name and, despite his dislike of his father, Leander could at least agree with Flavian that he needed to maintain his reputation.
If that reputation was Leander’s proclivity for drinking, gambling and prostitution, Leo was fine by that. But he needed money to fund his life of debauchery. To havemoney, he needed his father to keep providing him with a stipend. To keep getting his stipend, he needed to play by Flavian’s rules.
Which found him rolling up to Saeren’s largest hospital in a horse drawn carriage, there to meet both staff and patients. It was a part of his father’s political machinations following his lucrative donation to the hospital. This was an opportunity for the Talius family to command more love and respect from the common folk. Free healthcare for all was welcomed by everyone, from king to pauper. It was Leander’s fortunate task to run publicity for the donation.
Exiting the carriage, Leander was immediately met by Caelum, the Chairman of the hospital’s board. Leander gripped the proffered hand with a smile plastered onto his face. “Chairman, thank you for inviting me today. I have been looking forward to this for weeks.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Lord Leander. Everyone is very excited to welcome you to Saeren’s Infirmary.”
Nodding, Leander glanced over Caelum’s shoulder to see what looked very much like an honour guard of doctors, nurses, and custodial staff lining the path all the way up to the front entrance of the hospital. There must have been at least thirty people standing there. It took some effort on Leander’s part not to groan at the thought of shaking hands with every single person.
Luckily, Caelum waved towards the entrance of the hospital and the pair headed directly in. All Leander had to do was nod, wave, and smile at the people lining the path. There would be plenty of time to talk when they were inside.
“Is there anything in particular you would like to see during your visit with us today, my lord?”
Leander didn’t even need to think about his answer to that question. “The paediatric ward if you would be so kind, Chairman,” he replied as he stepped through the door held open for him by yet another member of staff. “I have always had a soft spot for children.”
It was the gods honest truth. A lie told by a child was sometimes hilarious and oftentimes adorable. They were not skilled in the art of lying and often made a complete dog’s dinner of it, but it was cute to let them try. Their lies were often harmless: ‘no, I didn’t steal the chocolate’ or ‘it was like that when I got here.’ They were low stakes lies in comparison to, say, that of a politician, but to a child it was just as important to make them believable.
“That is certainly something we can arrange,” Caelum said with a clap of his hands. “What a lovely idea, the children will love it.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. I am not an entertainer, whom I am sure they would much prefer. But I know a few good stories I am sure I can regale them with,” Leander replied with a rueful smile.
“How delightful, my lord. I look forward to hearing one.” The chairman escorted Leander down a corridor and through a door to the right.
Inside the large space was a carefully selected contingent of hospital staff. He knew this because all of them exuded tendrils of pleasure at the opportunity to meet him. There was no one present with any resentment towards either House Talius or the God of Lies.
After a brief announcement of Leander’s arrival, thechairman took a step back while Leander drifted into the room. Set loose, he began to socialise. The benefit being that everyone was here to talk to him, so he could interject into any of the conversations happening around him.
He did just that, choosing a small group of pretty, young women to join their conversation. Their looks were irrelevant, of course, but it did make Leander’s job easier if the view was a pleasant one.
“Tell me what you do here, ladies?” he asked, attention briefly distracted by a passing slave carrying a tray of drinks.
Each of them selected a sparkling wine from the tray before one woman, a short brunette with a delightfully curvaceous figure, answered Leander’s question. “We work in the surgical unit, my lord”—she indicated to herself and the girl next to her, then waved towards the other two women—“while they are based behind the scenes in the pharmacy.”
“Oh, really?” Leander’s voice had just enough inflection in it to appear interested in what they had to say. “I would imagine that working in the surgical unit requires a stomach of steel. You must come across some very unwell patients with interesting stories of how they gained their injuries. Even embarrassing ones. My own brothers, when they were infants, one slammed the other’s finger in the door. He now has one finger shorter than all the others!”
The group laughed and the two surgical staff shared a few of their own stories from patients they had come across.
Ensuring he did not ignore the other two women, he waited for a lull in the conversation to then include them. “So do you both work in the manufacturing of medicines to give to the patients?”
They both nodded eagerly.
