Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
T he 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 be fore, 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.
“Your Highness, Myracle,” the man said, his voice raw, barely a whisper. “I—I don’t know what else to do. She’s dying. I’m frightened. She’s frightened.”
Leander nodded, stepping towards the man and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
He used what Aesthesia he understood to emotionally subdue the man from his frightful state.
When he spoke, his tone was calm, measured, hoping it offered quiet resolve and comfort to the old man. “I understand your wife is unwell?”
The man swallowed hard, glancing back toward the small room where the coughing continued, weaker now.
“Yes. She’s… she doesn’t have long. But she’s scared.
She hasn’t seen our granddaughter since the attack and I haven’t the heart to admit I buried her this morning.
” His voice broke as he choked back a sob.
“She’s begging me to tell her Tilly’s okay. ”
Leander’s stomach tightened. He could already see where this was headed, and it made him uneasy. He glanced at Jarryn, wondering how he would respond.
The prince’s face was indecipherable as he looked to Leander.
He didn’t so much as shrug. There was no permission given—how could he when he had spent so long voicing his displeasure over Leander’s domain—but there was something in his face…
something like recognition, consent for what was about to happen.
“You want me to tell her your granddaughter is okay,” Leander said, more of a statement than a question, a knowing look in his eyes like he had done this a thousand times before.
The man nodded frantically, wringing his hands. “Please. I know it’s wrong, but she’s suffering so much. If she believes Tilly is okay, maybe she’ll pass… peacefully.”
Leander’s throat tightened. Without his divine gifts, there was little he could do, save incurring the wrath of the gods by pretending. “I have no guarantee that this will work in the way you want it to. I cannot insist on this lie, and she may grow more upset if she realises our duplicity.”
The man nodded ardently. “Yes, I know. I understand. But I must give her this chance of peace.”
Jarryn stepped forward. “This isn’t right,” he said quietly, his voice rough with the emotions he refused to reveal on his face.
Leander closed his eyes for a moment, counting to five, before opening them again and looking over to his companion.
Jarryn swallowed before continuing, his words halting. “Lying to her… it won’t change the truth. She deserves to know.”
The old man’s eyes snapped to Jarryn, desperation etched into every line of his face.
“Please, Your Highness,” he pleaded. “I can’t let her leave this world heartsick.
She may meet Tilly in the underworld, but she will at least draw her last breath in Cariun peacefully.
That’s all I want for her. Can’t you understand that? ”
Jarryn’s hands clenched at his sides. Leander knew that he could understand it, even if he would never be willing to admit it, especially in front of Leander.
Leander knew something inside Jarryn rebelled at the idea of lying, of offering false hope in a moment when honesty should matter most. He glanced at Leander, waiting for him to make his choice.
Leander was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the old man before him. Then, he spoke, his voice low. “If you think that telling her this lie will bring her peace, I’ll do it for you. For her.”
Jarryn’s jaw tightened. “Leander?— ”
Leander slowly turned on his to heel to face the prince, his expression unreadable, as it could only be when faced with an impossible decision.
Jarryn had wanted him to decide, but only choose what he thought was acceptable.
He had wanted Leander to refuse… something Leo couldn’t do, not when faced with such improbable odds of any chance of survival.
The coughs, frail and gasping, could still be heard, more infrequent, less productive. She didn’t have long.
“This isn’t about right or wrong, Ja—Your Highness. It’s about easing someone’s suffering. Sometimes, the truth isn’t what people need.”
It was clear that Jarryn wanted to argue, to insist that lies—even well-meaning ones—were wrong.
But then the sound of a weak murmur—an old woman calling for her husband—could be heard faintly, and Leander’s heart twisted in his chest. He imagined the woman, alone in that room, terrified of what was coming, clinging to the last thread of hope she could find.
Was the truth really worth her fear?
Leander moved past the old man, stepping into the small room, where his dying wife lay in a bed in the corner.
Jarryn followed into the house, but did not approach. He stayed by the door, watching as Leander knelt beside the old woman’s bed.
The woman’s face was pale, her skin paper-thin, almost translucent, and her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. Her eyes fluttered open, searching the room in confusion before settling on Leander.
“Doctor…?” she rasped, her voice barely more than a wh isper. Could she get the words out? Did she have the energy? The breath? “Where’s Tilly…”
Leander took her hand in his gently. This was where he was most at home.
The words came to him naturally, ready and as genuine as they could ever sound.
His voice was calm, steady. “You’re going to be alright,” he said, his tone soft but certain.
“Tilly is right here, holding your hand. Rest now. You’re safe.
We’re with you… I’m here, your husband is here. We will not leave. Rest.”
The woman’s crystalline blue eyes—so like Jarryn’s it made Leander’s heart hurt—filled with tears, and her body seemed to relax, the tension easing from her frail limbs. She squeezed Leander’s hand weakly, her lips trembling as she murmured, “Thank you…”
Leander felt his chest tighten, torn between conflicting emotions.
It didn’t help that Jarryn was making no effort to hide his own distaste for what was happening. He hated the lie, hated that they had to pretend—yet seeing the woman’s relief, seeing the fear leave her face, Leander knew it was making Jarryn question everything he believed.
It was distracting, feeling Jarryn’s own moral compass at war within him.
It was distracting because, try as he might, Leander couldn’t escape the very visceral need to have Jarryn respect him. Their time together, especially recently, had done nothing to dispel the images of that breathtakingly attractive man he had insulted in Jasmine’s brothel all those months ago.
Now they were… friends of a sort, that irresistible charm was something Leander could not escape .
He could sense Serai lingering not far from the house, though, and he wanted to be gone before the woman passed and the Goddess of Death came to guide her on.
Gently, slowly, he manoeuvred so that the old man could sit by his wife, giving him her hand to hold. “She hasn’t long now,” he murmured. “Stay with her.”
As Leander stood and turned back toward the door, Jarryn stepped aside.
When they were outside, the rain had started to fall lightly, tapping against the roofs of the houses in a steady rhythm.
Leander didn’t speak immediately, his expression making it clear he was waiting for Jarryn to lay into him.
“You didn’t even hesitate,” Jarryn finally said, his voice low, though not as accusatory as it had been in Leander’s head.
Leander met his gaze as the rain cooled his skin, his tone unyielding in his confidence that what he did was right. “I gave her peace.”
Jarryn looked away as he tried to make sense of his own thoughts. “But it wasn’t the truth.”
“No,” Leander replied. “Sometimes, the truth only brings more pain. You saw how scared she was. Do you think telling her that her granddaughter was dead would have eased that?”
Jarryn swallowed. “I don’t know.”
Leander stared at the prince with a hard expression, tired from the emotional expense of the trip to this ravaged village. “Some people cope well with the inevitability of death, but only for themselves. They don’t manage when it is a loved one who has died, and that woman was such a person. ”
“I know that but…” Jarryn trailed off, perhaps unable to find the words he was looking for.
Leander sighed softly. “Not every situation is as simple as truth and lies, Jarryn. Sometimes kindness is more important than honesty.”
Jarryn didn’t respond immediately, his mind evidently still warring with itself.
Leander didn’t have the same compunctions. He had always believed in the value of truth—had been raised to hold it above all else, for how could he appreciate the strength of a lie if the truth was all but meaningless.
He watched as Jarryn looked back into the house, where they could see the old man’s shoulders were shaking with the effort to keep his tears from falling as his wife breathed her last. Seeing the woman’s peaceful expression in her final moments, he knew from Jarryn’s own expression that he wasn’t so sure what to believe anymore.
“Maybe it was the right thing.” Jarryn said after a moment, his voice softer, unsure.
Leander looked at him, his gaze steady. “I think it was what she needed. And sometimes, that’s the best we can do.” He spoke with a wisdom beyond his twenty-eight years, the wisdom of a seasoned god, used to dealing with the suffering of mortals.
He glanced around as he dragged a hand through his hair and huffed out a breath. “Let’s go, I’m not in the mood to run into my aunt, and I can sense her very essence lurking on the periphery of this village… so much death.”
Mounting their horses, Leander and Jarryn joined their soldiers.
The rain now fell steadily, saturating the world around them into a grey blur. Leander was silent beside Jarryn, his expression one of serenity as they sat atop their horses, and the demigod was reminded of their evening not long ago where they had been forced to seek shelter in an abandoned barn.
Jarryn looked at him, his mind still tangled in conflicting thoughts that he didn’t know how to express but allowed his feelings to do the talking for him. “You risked the wrath of the gods by pretending to use divine powers you no longer possess,” he said quietly.
“Yes, I did.”
“Most people wouldn’t have.”
Leander’s gaze shifted to him, something softer in his eyes now. His hair now stuck to his forehead, he wiped it out of his eyes. “Maybe. But I couldn’t let her suffer, not when I could help.”
Jarryn hesitated, then added, his voice barely above a whisper, “You always do that—help, even when you don’t have to. Even with me.”
Leander raised an eyebrow. “Is that your way of saying ‘thank you’?”
Jarryn laughed softly, shaking his head. “No. But… maybe it’s my way of saying I get it now. Why you do what you do.”
They started moving, following behind the now empty cart. They did so in silence for a moment, the rain somehow not as much of a bother as it had been the night of the hunt. It was like it washed away the discomfort of their visit to the debilitated village.
Jarryn shifted awkwardly. “I never said it,” he muttered, his voice tight with unspoken emotions. He paused and Leander waited patiently. “But… I don’t hate you, Leander. I never really did.”
Leander’s lips twitched into a small smile. “That’s good to know.”
“I mean…. I value you.”
Glancing to his side, Leander enjoyed the fact that Jarryn was stumbling over his words. This was a new experience, and he wished there was more of an audience to watch it happen.
“I am grateful to have you in my life.”
Facing forward again, Leander let the smile grow uninhibited. “That’s good to know too.”