Damn it.
“Truth be told, I don’t know,” Leander muttered quietly. “I suppose it’s been ingrained into my very existence. People aren’t interested in what I have to say and, if theyare, it is because they probably assume either ill-intent… or an untruth is about to fall from my lips.”
Leander swirled his finger around the rim of his teacup. “Only my mother gave me a real chance. And now she will have nothing to do with me. So perhaps it is better this way. It’s best not to be disappointed,” he said to Jarryn with a one-shouldered shrug.
Jarryn remained silent for a long time and Leander half expected him not to reply.
“I will not insult your intelligence—you are likely not wrong, given the nature of your… immortal gifts,” the prince acquiesced with an incline of his head. “And it would be entirely fair, I’m sure you will agree, for you to pass judgement on me based on the first few encounters we had. Despite my level of stress, I handled them poorly.”
Leander glanced up, wetting his lips as Jarryn spoke.
“But I certainly dislike your proclivity for thinking your words aren’t worthy of being heard.” The prince’s eyes were unwavering in their intensity, wanting to impress his point upon Leander. “You are an enigma, Myracle, and I look forward to the privilege of getting to know you better.”
Part Three
RECKONING OF MIDNIGHT
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The horses pounded the track, twenty of them, less the three who had already fallen, racing around the oval-shaped track. There were four at the front, neck and neck, each vying for the winning position, each corner leaving a different horse and jockey in the lead, each straight having the ridiculously fast creatures pull out in front momentarily, only to be caught up by their competitors.
Leander held his betting slip in hand watching with an engrossed expression. His horse had been the second to stumble, only seconds into the race. He had lost a sizeable chunk of money already because of it. But it did not stop him from watching the conclusion of the race with avid interest.
When Vyrica’s finest, a horse whose name should have been memorable but was lost on Leander’s tongue, crossed the finish line, he cheered with the other fans, caught up in the atmosphere and excitement of the races.
“It’s not even your horse,” Jarryn said, standing beside him and clapping politely. He hadn’t bet. Princes didn’t bet on horse races, according to Jarryn. It was beneath them, especially when their money could be put to better uses such as helping those less fortunate than he was.
He made a valid point: how would the people of Vyrica react if they saw, truly saw, how the other half lived? Probably not well. But it was their way of life, and though Desanne was different in their moralistic outlook on how to raise up all citizens of the city, Jarryn sometimes had to be reminded that he was no longer in Eslirie. Saeren was different in so many ways, and the city didn’t suffer from the same poverty that Eslirie had rife throughout.
“No, but I can be pleased all the same.”
“You just burned through what would buy you a month’s worth of nights with Talia… you know that, right?”
Leander glanced down at his betting slip and considered how much he had bet (and lost). “True. It’s still good fun.” He shrugged.
“Sure.”
Leander cast Jarryn a sideways glance. “Why did you come if you knew you would disapprove anyway?”
“I wanted to experience it to say I’ve done it and be genuine in my understanding as to why I disapprove,” the prince responded, staring straight forward, irritation etched into the lines of his face.
“Of course.”
“I don’t like the abuse of the animals,” Jarryn explained as the applause around them died down and he stopped hisown polite clapping. “They run them into the ground for the sake of sport and entertainment.”
Leander nodded slowly, having never really thought about it.
“Only in the necessity of war is it honourable to push an animal—or a man, for that matter—to its limits. This is injustice. The same applies to the ridiculous notion that this kingdom holds that somehow slaves deserve their situation in life. It’s abominable. Needless cruelty when there are other ways to safeguard the country and keep it flourishing. Building the largest statue to honour a king on the backs of slaves is not grander than one built by free men.”
“Would you like to leave?”
Jarryn hesitated, then nodded.
“Okay.” Leander glanced around and picked up his cloak, and Jarryn did the same. Placing them around their shoulders, Leander left his losing betting slip on the chair he had been sitting on, worthless as it was.
Following Jarryn along the row of seats, Leander slid past the other people watching the races as the next lot of horses lined up, ready to begin the next race. There was a bell sounded, signalling the start of the next race, and the audience started becoming animated once more as they watched the race unfold.
Caught up in the moment, Leander turned and watched the race with interest and excitement bubbling inside him. Despite what Jarryn said, it was an event, a spectacle.
