Chapter 34
Chapter Thirty-Four
T hey had been travelling for five days.
Initially the entire group had been mounted, save Leander, who had been chained in a prone position to the horse-drawn cart.
After the first morning of travel, Leander’s left side had become numb, but it was the only position he could hold for any length of time without putting pressure on his very sore right thigh, where his slave brand was still raw and healing.
In the first few days of Leander’s new life as a slave, the subjectively large brand had been treated with a poultice by the king’s personal physician. Despite this careful attention, the skin around the wound was still an angry red, vivid and threatening infection with each passing hour.
Jarryn hadn’t wanted to risk Leander falling off his horse with a fever, which was why he found himself in the cart.
As well as mentioning something about ‘keeping up appearances’ and so had ordered that Leander rest and recover his strength while they were still within the boundaries of the lands governed by Vyrican Law.
By the fifth day, Leander felt recovered enough and had practically begged Jarryn to let him ride. His pride had been hit hard enough and, whilst no one had said anything within his hearing, Leander’s paranoia was such that he knew Jarryn’s surprisingly large retinue of soldiers were judging him.
Jarryn had acquiesced to his pleading request. Now, Leander was happy to find himself mounted and riding amidst the soldiers. It almost felt normal, except for the knowledge that he would remain under constant guard.
Not that Leander had any intention of fleeing. Jarryn was many things, but he was not a liar (and if anyone could judge that trait in a man’s character, it was Leo). Jarryn had said he would set Leander free, and the demigod whole-heartedly believed him.
All horses plodded along at a sedate pace as if they had nowhere in particular to be.
Leander wished they would move faster, but Jarryn kept insisting that their relaxed pace would deter any unfriendly eyes from coming to the wrong conclusion.
Leander accepted this eventually and, as they grew closer to the nation’s eastern borders, his mood improved significantly.
They were not far from Eamore and his freedom.
The soldiers in Jarryn’s retinue, which numbered thirty odd, were good company too.
After living in Saeren for the best part of a year, they all spoke the local language passably.
Though this didn’t matter much—as a demigod, Leander had been raised on multiple languages as the pantheon did not recognise mortal political borders to define their influence and power.
Still, it was the language that came most easily to Leander, so he didn’t mind when the soldiers insisted on practising that tongue.
The banter between the soldiers, who even had the audacity to involve their prince, reinforced to Leander just how different the cultures of Saeren and Eslirie were.
Jarryn allowed the rowdy talk and even encouraged it at times.
He threw in his own taunts at his men with an easy smile on his face.
He fit right in. And his men, it was becoming increasingly clear, were loyal out of love.
The sun was sinking on the horizon when the captain of Jarryn’s guard slowed to a halt. “I think it best if we camp here for tonight, My Prince. If I remember rightly, there is a clearing just a few hundred feet through those trees.”
Jarryn agreed with a nod of his head and a sergeant was sent forth to scout out the clearing.
While they waited, the conversation continued. “So you never did say, Jarryn”—it was not uncommon to informally address the prince as such—“what’s the first thing you will do when we return to Desanne?”
Leander glanced over at Jarryn, a sharp pang hitting his heart.
Jarryn would eventually return and step up to his rightful place as ruler—Leander would see it through.
But he found that he would miss the prince.
Because there was no way that Jarryn would tolerate his company when he learnt the truth of Leander’s involvement in his flight from Eslirie.
“Well, I’m sure you all want to hear about some concubine I left behind.” There were jeers from his men and Jarryn grinned. “But truth be told what I am missing most is a nice and juicy fresh mango. Saeren’s imports just don’t hit the same way.”
The jeers grew louder, some soldiers groaned before laughter broke out among the men.
“The mangoes aren’t as juicy, sure. But the boys, they just aren’t built the same way, wouldn’t you say, Your Highness?
” one of the men called over from his position at the rear of the formation.
Some branches of government and religion tended to imagine that the gods cared very much what went on in a mortal’s bedroom, but Desanne and Vyrica did not have this issue, embracing a variety to sexualities and identities in a way other nations across Cariun did not.
There were general nods of agreement and another soldier chimed in, saying, “Though the ladies... they know a thing or two and no mistake about that.”
“Yeah, but you think of women as disposable pleasures rather than meaningful pursuits, Grenn,” another thrust his thoughts into the mix.
“I can’t say I’ve tried that particular cuisine during the hospitality we’ve received from Saeren…” Jarryn intoned as he reigned his horse to turn and face his men. “None of them have sung to my heart.”
“It’s got nothing to do with the heart. Other organs care more, it’s those ones you need to exercise, back me up here, boys!”
More jeers and cheers from the group.
“And what of you, Leander?” asked the soldier from the back who had spoken earlier. “The gods like mortal delights, and you seem to have a proper predilection for... the finer things in life. Have you sampled the delights of many nations? Who does it best?”
Unsurprised to be brought into the conversation, Leander already had his answer prepared. “I am a fan of mangoes too, but I prefer apples, and I prefer when those apples are pressed into a decent cider.”
His eyes met the azure gaze of Jarryn, whose lips curled upwards in silent recognition.
A rustle through the trees signalled the return of the scout, who announced all clear to the group. Turning off the road, the soldiers, Jarryn, and Leo all made their way through the thicket to arrive at a small clearing.
Tents were erected, bedding put down. Most importantly, a fire was started for the men to warm themselves beside as a few soldiers headed out with bows to catch the evening meal.
Rations had stretched as far as day three on the road, but the soldiers of Desanne were fine hunters and, as Leander’s stomach grumbled, he was already hoping for venison for the second night running.
Leander, who wasn’t consistent when offered food by those around him, gave no explanation for his unpredictable appetite.
Lately, his meals had depended entirely on the generosity and whims of others.
He constantly wrestled with his body’s desperate instinct to avoid the starvation he had endured while incarcerated—when his negligent captors occasionally seemed to forget he existed—while also battling his long-standing tendency to forgo food in favour of drink…
when it became easier for him to fall into a bottle than to meet his nutritional needs.
“Cider, eh? ”
Leander turned his head away from the fire to look at Jarryn as the prince perched on the log beside him.
The demigod chuckled. “Yes, cider. That or mead.”
“I had you pegged for a whisky drinker.”
“There isn’t a drink I have come across that I would say ‘no’ to,” Leander admitted softly.
Jarryn inclined his head, his smile wavering a little at Leander’s serious tone.
The light-hearted jesting Jarryn no doubt expected when continuing their earlier conversation was not going to happen.
Not when Leander was so suddenly overcome with embarrassment at his hedonistic lifestyle choices—something that had only gotten worse since being made mortal.
What made it harder for Leander was the knowledge that Jarryn had wholly witnessed him during his chaotic path towards self-destruction.
“I don’t have any of that, but I do have some wine, if you feel like joining me,” Jarryn waggled said wine skin between them with a raised eyebrow and a suggestive expression. He uncorked the skin and took a swig before offering it to Leander.
The demigod took the wine skin and drank his own, slightly longer, swig of the wine before making an appreciative noise that was somewhere between a hum and a groan.
Jarryn grinned. “That good, eh?”
“It’s been a while, even this pig’s shit tastes good.”
“I’ll have you know this is Saeren’s finest. You won’t find better outside of the king’s own cellars.”
Leander’s own eyebrow shot up. “Then how do you have a skin full of it? ”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Well… yes. I asked the question fully expecting to get a truthful answer. It wasn’t rhetorical.”
“I am not a thief,” Jarryn said lightly. “The barrel was an early birthday present from the king. This wine skin is but a fraction of what I have left to consume.”
“And you brought the whole barrel with you?”
“Of course. I was not about to leave one of my most prized possessions in Saeren as I ride away with my other most prized possession.”
That, for some reason, gave Leander a thrill of pleasure shooting away from his centre. “Then we’d better get to it.”
Jarryn shook his head with a rueful smile. “Hold up. You have no respect for alcohol. You drink it only for how it makes you feel in the end, not to savour it. I am not wasting my priceless barrel of wine on the likes of you.”
“Oh really? You’re telling a demigod what he can and cannot do? Brave of you.”