Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
T he 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 his own 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.
“Leo?”
The demigod turned to Jarryn’s call. “Sorry.”
“You can stay if you want to.”
“No, I don’t,” he replied. He enjoyed it, but he didn’t feel like sitting alone for the rest of the day. He spied Lucien sitting not far away. “Actually… I’ll see you a little later. We’re still on for the White Fox tonight?” he asked the prince.
Jarryn nodded and threw Leander a small smile of farewell before he turned and disappeared into the crowd.
After watching him go, Leander shifted his path and headed over to where Lucien was sitting, surrounded by courtiers. “Your Highness,” he greeted amiably.
“Ah, Lord Leander. I didn’t realise you enjoyed the races. Are you here alone? Please, join us.” Lucien indicated to a seat nearby and Leander sat near to the prince, surrounded by men currying for favour from the future king.
Lucien turned to him. “Are you a betting man, Leo?”
“I am quickly discovering that I’m not very good at making bets, but yes. I am.”
“Who are you hoping to win?”
“I didn’t bet on this race, Your Highness. Last race, my horse fell at the first hedge.”
“What a shame. I’ve been quite lucky today, all things considered.”
Leander hid his smile. So this prince was not above gambling.
People around jumped out of their seats, screaming at the horses to ride harder, faster. Leander’s attention was momentarily drawn to the race, where there was a clear winner who passed the finish line with no competition at all.
Lucien had a small smile playing on his lips, evidently he was pleased with the outcome. His own horse, Leander thought, if he remembered right. “Not disappointing at all, wouldn’t you agree, Lord Haldon?”
“Well done, Your Highness,” Lord Haldon, a man easily entering his golden years, said to the prince. He was not smiling, clearly he had bet on a different horse. “A good showing. Onwards.”
“Oh, I wasn’t the one to train that horse, the congratulations must go to my stable master.
But I will pass your praise for his hard work and diligent care on to him.
” The prince stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another horse in the next race.
She is sure to win, and I would be remiss if I didn’t show my unwavering support in the form of some gold sovereigns. ”
Leander nodded, deciding to stay put and not waste any more of his father’s money. Jarryn was right: there were better ways to spend his coin.
“Not spending your hard-earned coin on supporting the prince?” Haldon asked as Lucien and a few other nobles worked their way through the crowd of people. “He seemed so sure. What a show of faith it would be were the God of Lies to back the future king of Vyrica in such a way.”
Leander tore his gaze away from Lucien’s retreating back and glanced over to the other man. Haldon was in the process of lighting a cigarillo, which he inhaled and blew out through his nose as he turned to face Leander, the sulphuric blue smoke causing Leander’s eyes to water something fierce.
Leander coughed once. “Though I have every faith in Lucien’s prize mare winning the race, unfortunately, I do not have the coin to spend on more races today. ”
“You spent it all on your first race?” Haldon asked, with no small amount of incredulity as he pulled out his box of cigarillos and offered one to the demigod, who silently but politely declined. “Bold of you. Or incredibly na?ve.”
Leander shrugged. “I didn’t realise there would be multiple races,” he admitted with a rueful smile.
Haldon was leaning just a little too close for comfort. His breath stank of stale alcohol and smoke. “What a shame.”
“Yes. It is.” Leander would have shifted away but he was keen not to appear rude. Haldon was one of King Caisa’s most trusted advisors, not someone he wanted to piss off.
“I would be happy to show you how it’s done. Lend you some coin. When you win, you can pay me back. And only if you win, mind.”
Leander continued to stare forward, his back rigid in its chair. He wished he had left with Jarryn and not come to join the prince now. Being left with a leering old man was not how he wanted to spend his afternoon. “Thank you for the generous offer, but I will pass.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Haldon said again, leaning back into his seat and taking a long drag of his cigarillo, the smoke flowing in ethereal plumes away from him when he breathed out. “I could have shown you a thing or two.”
Leander said nothing in response.
Where was Lucien?
He glanced over his shoulder, willing the prince to return. He didn’t trust himself with the man. He didn’t trust the man with him.
“I met with your brother the other day.”
“Which one?” Leander asked monotonously .
“Venser. He’s a good lad, always willing to engage in social pursuits. In fact, I had hoped to see him here today.”
“He must be busy training his recruits,” Leander made his brother’s excuses for him. Venser might be willing to come here, but he was far too diligent a Commander to abandon work in favour of frivolities when he was so indispensable.
“Must be,” Haldon agreed. “He mentions you often, says you have become close with the prince. Prince Jarryn, that is. You spend a lot of time together. Tell me… God of Lies… is Prince Jarryn lying?”
“About what?”
“His involvement in his father’s death.”
Leander fought the urge to squirm in his seat, uncomfortable as he was with the nature of this conversation. “As you well know, my lord, I do not hold power over my domain and could no more easily identify a lie than you could. Unfortunately, I can be no help in this matter.”
Wester Haldon opened his mouth to speak.
“However,” Leander continued, “I believe Jarryn’s claim of innocence. In fact, I know it in my heart to be true.” That was about as close to the truth as he could get without revealing his involvement.
Haldon was a shrewd man, however, and he immediately regretted his words.
“Oh?” His lips formed a perfect circle as he enunciated the word, another wave of smoke escaping the other lord’s mouth.
“Yet war sits on our doorstep, a very real, very palpable threat, all because the king had decided to give Prince Jarryn asylum.”