Leanderhatedthe tea his father kept in the house—the same weak pisswater as was found in the palace—and Flavian was well aware of that. It left a horrible aftertaste in his mouth, and he swore it made his breath smell worse than stale alcohol.
“I am… well aware of the expectations placed upon me as a member of this family, Father,” Leander replied, his tone a careful blend of remorse and sincerity as he stood, putting on an air of resignation to his fate and hoping he wouldn’t be as painful as he had always imagined.
“Do you really think the Nine will ever accept you back into their divine court when you are doing such a dismal attempt an assimilating into King Caisa’s court?” Flavian asked coolly as he sipped at his tea, watching Leander shed layers.
“You have no idea, as a mere mortal, what the Nine are looking for. You cannot even fathom my world. A human with limited experiences, stunted by your own ridiculous world views just like all aristocrats in this contemptible country.”
There was no thunderous expression on his father’s face, so he continued. “You’re guided in your lives by gods and goddesses you have never met. Who are you to challenge my experience, Father?”
“If you believe that you have greater guidance from your mother, or any other god, then you are more foolish than I gave you credit for.” There was a dangerous edge to Flavian’s voice as his gaze fixed Leander in place. “I do not presume to know the workings of the gods. It is why I dread to think of your incompetent mind set loose in the city. At least mylimited experienceas a human has taught me humility and piety. You, in comparison, despite your privilege, despite all the advantages in your thus far short existence, still succeed in being such a colossal disappointment,” Flavian remarked as he finished his cup of tea and returned it to the table.
Leander looked at his father, a man he had idolised from a distance his entire life. Knowing him now, Leander couldn’t fathom why he had set his expectations so high.His father spoke of his disappointment, but what about Leander’s own?
Flavian approached a small desk in the corner of the room and his rummaged through it for a moment before retrieving a long, thin, wooden cane. Leander’s breathing hitched. This was going to happen. What would Flavian do if he fled? Would he chase him down, have him tied to a post and enact a far worst punishment on him? Would he even let people watch?
Leander’s tea had gone untouched and was probably cold by now. He glanced at it as he wet his lips, wishing he had had a drink because his mouth was uncomfortably dry. “And what business is it of yours is it, ultimately, how I use my time? It is clear to me that you have already washed your hands of me.”
“It is my business to know this family’s dealings, and its potential for far-reaching consequences. Look at the damage you have inflicted that led you to being condemned to this mortal life. Your incompetence isn’t just foolish misacting. And I told you some weeks ago I would impose sanctions if you did not reach par. People talk and your reputation is more important than you give it credit for. Bottom line? You are dangerous not just to me, but to this whole kingdom. And you don’t care.”
Leander refused to allow himself to wither under his father’s icy stare. “Vyrica didn’t become what it is now overnight. Furthermore, I certainly doubt a few whispered words from little incompetent me can raze it to the ground,” he bit out. He wanted to be calm but that didn’t seem like a possibility right now.
“The world is a very fragile thing.”
“Clearly,” Leander whispered, a small smirk curling the corners of his lips upwards.
The Talius Lord remained quiet for a few moments before sighing heavily. “If you are a lost cause, I will take solace in the knowledge that you were probably lost long ago. Had you always been mortal, I would have spent years providing you with the best I could give. I would have ensured your loyalty just as I have that of Verin and Venser. Your brothers know their place. It is a shame your mother decided to keep you from me all these years.”
Tapping the edge of the cane with his fingers, Flavian’s face was half bathed in light from the flickering fire beside him. It made it challenging for Leander to fully determine his expression. “If you wish to squander your opportunity to make something of yourself in Cariun, I will not hesitate to let my disgust be known publicly.”
When Leander spoke, he did so in a clipped manner, refusing to let his emotions get the better of him. “Lies have always come naturally to you. It is no wonder I came upon that as my domain. There isn’t a chance, had I been dropped on your doorstep as an infant, that you would have provided for me like you did Verin and Venser. My loyalty willneverbe yours. You burnt that bridge the day you rejected me without ever even knowing me.”
A sense of calm settled over the demigod as he realised he still had influence of his own. He met his father’s gaze, levelling his own cool stare.“I haveheardyour lies, Father. I even breathed life into one or two, in the hopes you might one day thank me. I see now what a foolishchildI was to think that. Know this: if I ever come to earn the right to my domain, your lies will never again land.”
Flavian smiled, and Leander’s skin temperature dropped a few degrees. It was an insipid smile that did nothing to convince Leander he had won. “I was going to give you five lashes. But I think ten might just be what you need to respect the mortal realm around you. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The village was quiet, unusually so. A thick mist clung to the ground, which some would claim to be an omen, as Leander and Jarryn dismounted from their horses. All around them, they were once again faced with destruction left by the elusive, terrible winged creature attacking Vyrican towns and villages.
Trusting in their sudden shift from enmity to something akin to an unstable friendship, King Caisa had decided to rely on the two aristocrats alone on their first diplomatic mission together to bring food and water to a village ravaged by another wyvern.
The attack had not been quite as devastating as the one in Green Tryst, but that would not be a comfort to those who were now homeless, or had lost their families.
They had agreed to Caisa’s request… somewhat reluctantly on Leander’s part, simply because he didn’t quite trust that they could pull it off without a mediator. His back still ached from his father’s ministrations the week before, a constant reminder of what he should be doing, and in the past week he had rebelled in every way possible.
The king was having none of it, however.
They found themselves in the heart of the village, with soldiers who had already dismounted and were busy sharing out the bountiful food, water, and medicine they had brought with them on carts.
The small house in front of them was run-down, its roof sagging with age, and it appeared abandoned, if not for the faint flicker of candlelight that could be seen through the cracks in the shutters.
From inside the house, the sound of coughing—a shallow, rattling sound—was just barely heard over the soldiers handing out goods to the villagers. It was a ghastly noise, one that didn’t sound, to Leander’s ear, recoverable. He had been around the sick and dying before, when he had been divine, because even the dying had secrets to share or keep.
Leander stepped forward, with every intention of going into the house to offer what comfort he could to whomever was inside. But Jarryn hesitated, hanging back by the cart.
“Jarryn?” Leander prompted quietly, causing the prince to move closer, though clearly unwillingly.
An old man appeared, his face pale and lined with worry. His hands shook as he clasped them in front of him, his eyes darting between Leander and Jarryn.
