Chapter 3: Part 6 - Bury Our Blades

It occurred to Jean, as he trekked across the Silverwastes, that he didn’t know his cousin Auri as well as he should. Her twin, Oska, was easier to read: he liked sharp knives and shadows, sweet foods and hot weather, girls who could match his wits. Auri was more inscrutable, though, always seen through the veil of her own vague, dreamy nature. Only now did Jean wonder if that was a shield against the world.

Marissa was unrepentant at having sent her to follow Yelazar the Carver. Oska, at the news, had wrinkled his nose and said, “We work better together, cousin. You should remember that.”

Marissa had merely raised an eyebrow. That was as close to a chastisement as either of the twins had ever given her.

There was nothing to be done about it now, though. Auri was gone, on the trail of the necromancer – who Jean had seen stab one of his own teammates in the back. Hopefully Auri would have the good sense not to get too close.

It was long hours before they saw her again. Occasionally, the sound of fighting would reach them, from the other forts, or somewhere off towards the west. Pact choppers thrummed overhead, but Jean paid them little heed, his attention turned elsewhere. The compass still weighed heavy in the satchel slung over his shoulder. Understanding tickled at the back of his conscious mind, as though he’d found the keyhole and now he only needed the right key–

“Auri!” Oska’s voice made Jean look up in surprise. Auri was indeed ahead of them, leaning against a rocky outcrop. Where before she’d had only a mild limp, now she looked dishevelled and bewildered, a streak of dried blood across her forehead.

“I saw him,” she said faintly, as they reached her. “The necromancer, he was…”

Oska gripped her arm, then let go again when she winced. “Did he do this to you?”

Auri shook her head. “He didn’t know I was there. The Mordrem, though…”

Oska knelt at her side, their voices so low only they could hear. Jean could see Marissa’s mouth opening, frustration at not hearing about Yelazar written across her face. Before she could speak, Jean grabbed her arm, pulling her away a few steps. The twins, as Oska had said, always worked better together. They needed space.

Trust Marissa not to see that, though – or to see it, but be too wrapped up in her own needs to care. She rounded on Jean, furious, but this time he possessed a fury to match hers. They were of the same blood, after all. There were times she needed to remember that.

“Now do you see how foolish it was to send her off alone?” he said, before Marissa could interrupt. “Even if Auri had training as a scout, we need to stick together, now more than ever.”

Marissa’s eyes narrowed. “If you wish to question my leadership, Jean, no-one’s stopping you. Let’s not pretend it’s Auri you’re worried about, though.”

He pulled back a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You care about Auri, I’m sure. She’s family. Your thoughts are a long way from here, though. Where do you think the Marauders have got to?”

It was a question that had been haunting Jean’s thoughts, exactly as Marissa had said. He wasn’t about to feel guilty over it, though – right now, he was on the attack.

“Fine, I’m worried about the Marauders.” Or worried about Vasha, anyway. “You’ve given me plenty of reason to be. If this is how you treat Auri, what are you going to do to our ‘allies’?”

“Nothing,” Marissa said, a touch too casually. “Or nothing personally, anyway.”

“But you don’t care what happens to them. This alliance is a sham.”

Marissa’s sigh was deep and world-weary. “My dear brother. Are you expecting me to protest my innocence? I’m willing to work with the Marauders–”

“As long as it benefits you,” Jean put in.

“As long as it benefits both teams,” Marissa corrected, “up to a point. There can be only one winner in this game. The Marauders know that as well as we do.”

“It’s not just about winning. If it comes to it, you’d betray them as easily as breathing, just like Yelazar.”

Marissa looked bemused. “Yelazar? I fail to see the connection.”

“Yes, because for once, you missed something,” Jean spat, the words tumbling out of him. “Do you know what I saw in that fight against the Mordrem? Yelazar, with that team of sylvari, the ones he must have picked up in The Grove. Four of them, or there used to be. I expect they held a funeral before they left the fort.”

“The Mordrem are fierce–” Marissa began, but Jean cut her off.

“And Yelazar the Carver is fiercer. He stabbed one of his own teammates in the back – and if he’s picking them off one by one, that will only be the start.”

For the first time, Marissa hesitated. She didn’t try to claim that Yelazar must have made a mistake, or that he’d had reasons they couldn’t know. Jean had said Yelazar was bad news and he wasn’t above forcing Marissa to admit he’d been right.

Nor was he finished. “Is that what we’re heading towards, Marissa? Do we ally ourselves with the Marauders, then bury our blades in their spines when they look the other way? Or will our betrayals be closer to home? By the time we reach the end of this game, will I be the one with your knife in my back?”

Marissa looked affronted, which Jean had expected. He was surprised she didn’t defend herself, though. Any other day, she would have brushed off his accusations with her usual self-confidence… But Auri was injured, and the necromancer Marissa had wanted to ally with had proved himself a traitor, and she seemed to have run out of arguments.

Jean let out the breath he’d been holding as he waited for her reply. “You’re better than this, Marissa. We all are.”

Marissa didn’t immediately speak. Her eyes, Jean realised, were no longer on his face. She was looking at the satchel over his shoulder – which was glowing.

A prickle of anticipation ran over Jean’s skin as he opened the satchel. It was the compass, of course, its face lit up as though the interior was full of fireflies. The hands spun languidly, casting shadows over the glowing dial – and suddenly Jean knew what he was looking at.

“I can read it,” he said, with a hint of wonder. “This hand indicates the direction of travel, this one altitude, whereas these two together detect any sources of magic in the area–”

“Jean.” Marissa’s voice cut through his excitement. “You’re not making any sense.”

“Aren’t I?” He felt somewhat dazed, as though the compass had flooded his mind with information he could barely make sense of. Perhaps it had. The twins had crowded closer, Marissa looking over their shoulders, and all of them were frowning. The workings of the compass felt so perfectly clear to him now – but they didn’t understand it at all.

“It’s because you’ve been carrying it,” Auri said faintly. Her wounds had faded under her carefully applied water magic, but she still looked pale. “The compass has attuned itself to you.”

Marissa looked like she’d swallowed a lemon. Jean had to bite his lip to stop himself laughing. He understood the puzzle now. The compass hadn’t required solving in the traditional sense, only the patience to carry it for so long. That was a patience the Valparis were sorely lacking, though; even the twins had never shown any interest in the compass.

Patience, the virtue needed to carry them through this round of the game? Oh, Yinn knew them all far too well.

Or he knew Marissa, anyway. If Yinn had wanted to eject the Valparis from the game with a puzzle that was beyond them, there was one member of the family he’d underestimated.

“Well?” Marissa said, with a note of impatience that had Jean biting his lip again. “Can you show us where to go?”

Jean watched the compass hands complete another lazy turn. “Yes. Yelazar was right: we’re being sent underground.”

Auri shuddered, but that didn’t change the determined expression she wore. Jean saw the same look mirrored on every face, even Marissa’s. It was a feeling he shared. It wasn’t that he wanted to take revenge on Yelazar; the team of sylvari meant nothing to him. Following Yelazar gave them a chance to both observe his decisions and make better ones of their own, though – to prove once and for all that none of the Valparis, even Marissa, were anything like the Carver at all.