Breathing in a haggard breath, Leander realised that his cheeks were wet with tears. He remained silent as Machus’ heavy words settled around him.
Within this cell, Machus was amplifying feelings of guilt and shame within Leander. He truly believed that any attempt to defy him would result in further anguish and regret.
He continued to look at the God of War as his expression morphed into a sinister glower, his eyes smouldering with something best described as a palpable lethality.
For a long time, the God of War’s analytical gaze was fixed on Leander, but he said nothing. Just a silent, discomforting observation of the boy crumpled on the floor in front of him.
Finally, he spoke a warning. “If you ever do anything like the little stunt you pulled the other day, you will pay for it dearly. Do I make myself clear?” Machus seethed, his cold breath dancing across the demigod’s face. “Resistance is futile. Surrender to me and I will grant you a semblance of peace.”
Leander nodded once as he wiped his cheeks and wet eyes with the filth-covered back of his hand.
He now understood that Machus viewed him as a threat of sorts. But there was no tangible way in which Leander could create some convoluted plan to undo what he had done. Not now that he was not only powerless, but he had also lost all his influence as a noble. Nine above, he had lost his rights as a free citizen of Saeren.
Leander felt Machus’ fingers trace his jaw line before coming to rest under his chin. The finger applied pressure, forcing his head upwards to meet the god’s penetrating gaze.
“Good.” Machus smiled. “You’re useless to me as you are, so find a way out of this, Leo. I meant what I said all those months ago: I want you at my side.”
Had Leander the full use of his faculties, he might have realised just how void of warmth the gaze was. Machus’ expression was no longer hostile, though he was hardly one to offer comfort to the wretched prisoner.
“A child born to live and breathe deception… so full of fire, aren’t you?” Machus murmured. A small smile flickered in the corners of his mouth. “It’s going to be glorious, watching that kindling burn up.”
Chapter Thirty-One
It had been two days, he estimated, since Leander had been visited by Machus… and he honestly wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had first been incarcerated by the king. Five days? Six? It didn’t really matter.
There was nothing to do to pass the time, save watch the ball of fire Machus left behind bob up and down in the nothingness. He couldn’t even watch the sun to mark the passage of time. All he had were walls and a door with a small, barred window which looked out into a darkened corridor.
And, of course, that gave Leander ample time to marinate over the words of Machus, God offuckingDeception. He had recovered, mostly, from the god’s violent entry into his mind. He felt better put together at least. But he had not the slightest inclination of how to process the knowledge that Machus had been using him for his own nefarious purposes.
Leander was pulled out of his silent reverie by the sound of footsteps heading along the corridor towards his cell. The demigod knew he was the only occupant of the cells in this corridor because no sound came out of the others and the prison guards did not linger anywhere in the corridor.
Whoever was approaching was coming for him but, from a quick calculation, it didn’t feel like it had been long enough for a slave to be returning with his next meal. If anything, it was like they were trying to starve him, given how infrequently he was fed.
Sitting on the filthy floor with his knees dragged up to his chest, Leander did not move as a tall and imposing man appeared on the other side the bars and came to a stop in front of them.
“Hello, Father.” Leander’s voice was scratchy from lack of use and he coughed, trying to clear it, before speaking again. “Good to see you.”
“Would that I could express the same sentiment.” Flavian Talius’ clipped tone never failed to penetrate through to the bone, and Leander fought the urge to wince at his father’s vitriolic expression as he stared down at what Leander knew was his biggest disappointment.
Unlike when faced against Machus, Leander was not overcome with the urge to hold his tongue for fear of the repercussions.
“Well no one is forcing you to visit. You could have wiped your hands of me without the need to come and gloat about it to my face.”
Flavian gazed down at his son. “I did not come here togloat. I didn’t even come here to, ah, wipe my hands of you, as you so delicately put it.”
Leander laughed and dipped his head, bringing his hands up to scrape his fingers through his knotted hair once more. Like the rest of him, it felt disgusting. He was in desperate need of a bath. “Really? Then why have you come?”
“As a high ranking member of the ruling caste, and a son of our patron goddess no less, the pleasure of informing you of the outcome of your trial?—”
“—Trial?” Leander said sharply. “I wasn’t brought to trial!”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did the middle of my sentence interrupt the beginning of yours?” Flavian glared down at his son, waiting for a quick-witted response. When none came, he continued. “You are the God of Lies, Leander. You have no business being present in a mortal trial. Divine powers or no, your word cannot be trusted. The trial took place yesterday with the relevant witnesses giving their testimony. I am here to inform you of the sentence ordered by the King’s Justice.”
Leander was unable to move his mind away from the utter injustice of what he was hearing. “You held… a trial… Father you can’t be serious!”
“What else did you expect? I have given you the justification for your absence. There will be no appeal. Your mother was even present and has given no objections to the decision.” Flavian, mercifully, fell silent and watched as Leander’s mouth opened and closed like a fish as he tried to formulate his racing thoughts into a coherent verbal response.
“So the circumstances of my supposed crime don’t matter? I did nothing wrong!”
