Chapter 29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
T he hunt for Venser should not have taken long.
Leander had immediately made his way to the barracks, where his brother was usually occupied with his recruits.
But, after a few soldiers trying to stop him from reaching his quarry, Leander had had to throw the weight of his name around.
Demigod, lordling, it didn’t matter, one of them got him through the door and a step closer to the salvation he hoped he would find in his brother.
As the sun began to set, Venser was in the training ground, watching the footwork of one of his new recruits, and Leander skirted the edge of the yard to avoid being hit by a wayward wooden—fake yet still dangerous—sword.
“Venser!” Leander shouted as he neared, grabbing the Commander’s attention.
His brother frowned as he stepped away from the recruit to approach Leander. “What are you doing here? I’m busy and don’t have time to scoop you out of whatever shit-infested hole you have managed to find yourself stuck in.”
“You’ll want to hear this.”
“I’m busy,” Venser repeated.
“No!” Leander’s hysterical tone had Venser, who had turned away, halt and swivel on the balls of his feet, his expression stormy. “I—please, I just have to?—”
“My lord!” a voice called from a distance, and Leander turned, just as Venser did, to see a slave running across the training ground. The slave ducked and dodged weapons being flung this way and that by inexperienced recruits, though most had now stopped to see what all the fuss was about.
“What is it?” Venser asked as he took a moment to smooth down his clothing.
“My—Commander, my deepest apologies for interrupting,” the slave swallowed as he turned to look at Leander. “Myracle, you have been summoned by the king.”
Venser blinked and spoke before Leander could even open his mouth. “What? At this hour?”
The slave nodded dumbly, evidently not comfortable with his task. If Leander was nervous at the summons before, he was doubly ill at ease now. Something was afoot, and he didn’t think it was anything good.
He looked up to meet Venser’s gaze and found he had been staring at him the whole time. His brother raised a hand and waved it to dismiss the slave, who bowed and retreated quicker than Leander thought possible for a human. He might as well have evaporated into thin air.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” Venser asked softly .
Leander considered, hesitated.
Yes, he knew. It was why he had come here in the first place. Venser needed to know the truth, so that something could be done about it.
He had been ruminating over what had happened today with Wester Haldon, the conversation they had shared, the crime Leander had committed in the name of establishing the truth of Haldon’s words.
He wished that he didn’t have the faintest clue why he would be summoned to present himself before the king at such a late hour.
Venser continued to survey the demigod, as if examining him for any trace of deceitfulness.
He was the God of Lies, after all, and prone to such things. Defiant amber eyes stared back into the lordling’s blue ones. “Yes.” Leander finally whispered his admission, and he gave Venser unrestricted access to the memory of what had happened that afternoon.
Venser’s expression darkened as burning blue eyes stared into amber ones, watching the memory unfold in his own mind’s eye.
Leander couldn’t tell if the expression of displeasure was due to what Leander had done, or what he had discovered. Venser didn’t give any indication either way, but Leander felt small all the same, and he knew he had done wrong, but he had done so in the name of protecting those he loved.
“Okay,” Venser finally uttered, nodding his head and indicated towards the training yard’s gate. “Let’s go and see if that’s what Caisa wants from you, then.”
Leander gratefully nodded, feeling like the pair had reached an accord of sorts, a ceasefire to the animosity towards each other which had developed over the last few months.
They did not delay, taking a direct route to Caisa’s palace, from there directed by guards to the great hall, where they had been told King Caisa waited.
Before they entered, Venser paused in his steps and raised a hand to place on Leander’s shoulder before giving it a single, fortifying squeeze.
Leander entered first, then Venser, a good few steps behind. The soldier veered off to the side while the fallen demigod tracked his way through the centre of the room, the crowd of lords and ladies already parted for his convenience.
It transpired that half the court had turned out for this, for Leander doubted so many noblemen and women had been milling about at this time in the evening.
Leander was immediately reminded of another such experience of being completely exposed among the throngs of peers who had turned out to watch his utter disgrace.
Keeping his eyes trained forward, Leander did not look to see who was present, though he desperately wanted to know if he had any allies (besides Venser) in the large crowd.
The king, obviously, was waiting for him at the far end of the hall. Sat on his throne, beady eyes watched Leander’s advance. Queen Melanie, resplendent in a pale blue gown, was also present. Finally, the ruling couple’s children stood there, each one a pace behind a parent.
Leander met the gaze of Lucien, who did not smile at the demigod as he usually might. That didn’t bode well. Lucien did, however, raise his chin just slightly, a silent signal to Leander, telling him he had a friend in the room.
Reaching the dais, Leander halted and leant forward into a respectful bow. “My king,” he spoke loud enough for his voice to carry through the great hall, reaching every occupant. “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Caisa raised his fingers off the armrest and Leander took that as permission for him to stop bowing. He straightened his back and looked the king in the eye, waiting.
“I have, this night, been told a tale that troubles me deeply, Leander.”
Leander and the king were not on first name terms. To be called such in present company was disquieting, to say the least, especially when there was a myriad of options for nomenclature when being addressed.
“That is concerning, Your Majesty,” he replied, weighing every word before he said them. “How may I alleviate your troubles?”
The moment of the king staring down at him without speaking dragged for longer than was comfortable. There was the rustle of material behind him as courtiers moved, but he did not look around, knowing it would be a terrible faux pas to turn his back on the king of Vyrica.
“It seems you stand accused of a crime most flagrant and abominable. How do you plead?”
There was silence. The rustling of skirts behind him stopped and they could have heard a pin dropped. For his part, Leander opened his mouth before closing it, for he was worried that sarcasm would lace his response.
He had been here before .
A distant, yet still agonisingly familiar, memory.
“Well, Leander?”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty. It is impossible for me to enter a plea if I don’t know what I am accused of. Or even who my accuser is,” Leander ground out, each word still carefully measured, each syllable enunciated and his voice carrying through the large room.
Behind the king, Prince Lucien’s forehead creased into a frown and he shook his head imperceptibly. Leander knew from that simple movement that he would do well to guard his tongue while speaking to the king tonight.
He could have worked that out for himself: the king’s tone was silk, his expression thunder.
“Aesthesia, boy. You executed an illegal use of Aesthesia. Lord Haldon, step forth. He is your accuser.”
Leander’s gaze didn’t even flicker.
Turning his head, he watched as Wester Haldon detached himself from his hiding spot within the crowd and made himself known to Leander.
Haldon’s expression was not smug. There was no smirk on his lips as he looked at Leander. In all actuality, Leander had never seen a more sober expression than the one covering the lord’s face. That made it worse, in a way.
“Your Majesty?—”
“I am not in the mood for your silver tongue tonight, Leander,” the king interrupted him. “I want to hear your plea and nothing else from your lips the next time you open them.”
There was nothing for it. Reasoning for his use of Aesthesia would not defend the fact that he had done it.
Providing evidence of the lord’s illicit arms dealing would not protect Leander.
He had committed, as Lucien had phrased it earlier that day, espionage against the king’s own advisor.
It was a crime punishable by death. Oh, how satisfied Serai would be to finally get what she had wanted all along.
He was already condemned. He could not lie his way out of this one.
“Guilty.”
The room erupted. There were shouts, exclamations of shock. There were mutters and whispers. There was movement.
All the while, Leander’s eyes never left the king’s face, which had not even twitched at his proclamation.
“Your Majesty, I demand swift and immediate action be taken against this admitted criminal.” It was not Haldon who spoke who spoke over the din of the crowd, but another.
Someone Leander had only met in passing, but he was very good at names and faces and remembered him to be Lord Gothenfield: another of the king’s advisors.
“Let it be known that no one is above the law. Not even the divine.”
What Gothenfield said was toeing the line of blasphemy and Leander’s eyes flickered. He wondered if his mother was watching. Or Taskevi.
He expected no help from them, but he still wondered.
“You speak well, Lord Gothenfield,” the king responded. He spoke softly, but it was enough to quieten down the cacophony of lords and ladies in the hall. “What would you suggest?”
Leander did not dare look around to look at Gothenfield.
Nor did he seek comfort in searching out a friendly face in the crowd, though he desperately wanted to.
The peaceful time spent in the tearooms this morning was barely hours ago, but now he could scarcely remember it.
What had just been a moment of utter joy in the presence of the man he loved had been replaced with a feeling of blinding fear in his utter isolation.
Son of Saeren’s patron or not, he was a fallen, disgraced demigod who had enough black marks against his name. His word, hells, his worth, meant nothing to these people. They were frightened of him.
He could feel that.
And, justifiably so, in turn he was frightened of them.
“A severe crime deserves a severe punishment, Your Majesty.” There was a smug quality to Gothenfield’s tone, which Leander bristled at.
He instantly didn’t like the man, and not because of what he was proposing should happen to Leander.
“While execution may seem too extreme... it would send an appropriate message across the nation, and beyond, that you will not be cowed by even the most powerful.”
Leander swallowed, imagining what manner of death would be suitable for a disgraced demigod.
“Thank you, Lord Gothenfield. I am loathe, however, to use Leander as a… how did you so succinctly put it? A message . This is not a situation that meshes clearly with international political scheming.”
“But, Your Majes?—”
“Lord Talius. You have been uncharacteristically quiet. Have you nothing to say in the defence or condemnation of your son?”
More footsteps as presumably his father stepped forward. “No, Your Majesty. As with all things, I trust in, and defer to, your wisdom when it comes to this unpleasant matter.”
“And Lord Haldon, you are the victim of this dreadful attempt on your cerebral liberties. How would you see Lord Leander punished?”
Haldon stepped forward, face forward, he avoided making eye contact with Leander.
“I, too, defer to you, my king. I propose that no swift action is taken tonight, not when emotions run high in the heat of the moment. With time and a trial to ascertain the, ah, truth of the matter, an appropriate punishment will be clear in your mind.”
Leander’s hands were now fists at his side. A trial would not exist for the purpose of him to speak for himself, to mitigate what he did. It would be for the pure and simple purpose of deeply humiliating him one final time, before his end.
“Very well,” King Caisa said. He tapped his fingers against the arm of his throne while he regarded Leander for a few moments.
The seconds dragged into minutes. Everyone waited in quiet anticipation.
“Leander Talius will be remanded into the custody of the crown while I consider this case. I will deliberate tonight and announce my decision in the morning.”
“Father, surely Leander can return to his home with Lord Talius. He is no flight risk, and his father can keep him secure.”
The king did not immediately answer the Vyrican prince as he considered, or pretended to consider, his son’s suggestion. “I think not, Lucien. Flight risk though he might not be, I wish no harm to befall him tonight. He would be safer under the protection of my soldiers.”
Leander and Lucien shared a knowing glance. Protection had nothing to do with it, and Leander’s night was not going to be a pleasant one, regardless of how the king dressed it up with pretty words. Leander wasn’t under any delusions: he was in for a rough night.
Lucien was, in that moment, risen in Leander’s regard, as the only person willing, or brave enough, to speak up for him.
Wishing he could thank Lucien for at least trying, he bowed his head towards the king, Leander did not resist as two guards approached and each took an arm.
He was turned and marched down the remaining gap between the gathered nobles towards the doors.
His eyes darted left and right, seeking one face in particular.
When he found it, almost too late to look into it for any length of time as he tried to slow his pace, what he saw sent a cold chill down his spine. There he saw Jarryn’s expression, one of cold fury as his gaze followed Leander’s most recent, and possibly final, dishonour.