Chapter 5: Part 13 - Persimmon

Rata Sum was quiet. What little light she could see from above told Vasha it was the middle of the day. You'd hardly know it on the lower concourse, though, with its shadowed corners and its inhabitants talking in whispers. Instinct argued they were all talking about her; logic told her that was ridiculous. Yinn's arrest seemed to have cast a pall over the place, though. The usual loud enthusiasm of the city was now subdued.

Vasha wandered along the corridors with little enthusiasm. She'd left their shared quarters when Artair had, rather than stay and listen to the norn arguing. Now she was out in public, though, she realised she might run into the Order of Whispers, or other participants from the game – or Jean.

She still couldn't believe he'd joined Artair, not even for her benefit. His loyalty left her feeling both astonished and guilty. What had she ever done to deserve it? She'd spent years fuming at Jean for trying to change her, but now... In trying to prove his contrition, he risked altering his own life beyond recognition.

He thought she could be something better, Vasha knew – but then so did Artair. It was, in the end, the Archon's vision she preferred. She wanted to be strong, ambitious, impervious to the hurts of the world. That was what he could make her.

Jean, though... Every time she spotted a figure who might be human, Vasha found herself darting into an alcove or quickly turning in the other direction. She could be strong another day, when she'd found her footing in Artair's guild. Right now, she was in no mood to face Jean Valpari.

She supposed it was ironic, then, that the first human she came across was his sister.

Marissa sat at a low table, close to some sort of bar in the Apprentice Carrels. She was looking over a stack of paperwork, but she wasn't distracted enough to miss Vasha's presence. Their eyes met. Slowly, Marissa put down the sheet she'd been studying, then beckoned Vasha over.

There was no running away now, not without looking like a terrible coward. Vasha approached the table, sinking into the only spare chair.

The silence stretched. Vasha felt it prickling across her scalp, tension building with every heartbeat. If she broke first, she'd look just as weak as if she'd run away.

Or so she thought. Marissa, it seemed, was tired of such games – or maybe she no longer cared what anyone thought of her. "So," she said, pushing the papers into a pile, "you've joined him."

Vasha nodded warily. "Gull and Haki, too. And..."

"My brother. I know." Marissa's lips pursed. "Quite the cosy little guild. I can't say I'm surprised – Artair always was persuasive, and I suspected you had more ambition than my brother gave you credit for."

"And Jean?" Vasha couldn't help asking, even though it felt like prodding an open wound.

Marissa merely shrugged. "He isn’t ambitious, which is the only consolation. He's doing this because he's being his usual soft-hearted self."

"You'd rather he went home with you?"

"Not if he doesn't want to. I wouldn't even blame him for joining Artair, if it was for his own benefit. No, he can do as he pleases – as long as it's for the right reasons." Marissa's gaze was almost piercing enough to make Vasha flinch. "Besides, there isn't much for either of us in Divinity's Reach any more."

"Not a mansion and a comfortable life?" Vasha couldn't quite keep the bitterness from her voice.

"Money has less appeal than you'd think."

"You're only saying that because you've never felt its lack."

"Perhaps." There was a surprising depth of understanding in Marissa's eyes. "I know what it is to want something so badly you can taste it, just as you do."

Vasha made no reply. She didn't want to spill her deepest desires to Marissa Valpari, of all people.

Marissa shifted a little in her chair. "You think I don't remember those times you came to the house, but I do. You weren't Vasha then, were you? I seem to recall a girl named Persimmon."

Vasha did flinch, then. No-one had called her that in a very long time. "I left that name behind."

"I would have done the same. I mean, honestly. Persimmon. Wherever did you get a name like that?"

Vasha bit her lip.

"Oh, I see. You don't know." Marissa leaned back. "Well, it's no crime to not know where you came from. And it's no crime to pursue wealth when you've known a life of poverty, either. You seemed so small and scared back then, but I could already see the spark of determination in you. Jean could see it too, I'm sure. He wouldn't have loved you otherwise."

Love. That was the last thing Vasha wanted to talk about. "Jean knows less about me than he thinks."

"I doubt that. Soft-hearted or not, my brother has a better grasp of the human condition than I ever had. He doesn't always show it at first, of course; I suspect he likes being underestimated. You can play the inscrutable act all you want, but you'll never hide much from him."

Vasha didn't want to believe it. If Jean was right about needing to follow her into Artair's guild... That meant she really was making a mistake.

Marissa sat forward again, propping her elbows on the stack of paperwork. The posture made her look younger, less formal, almost like another woman entirely. "I'm going to make you an offer, Vasha. You don't have to take it immediately ‒ in fact, I know you won't."

Cautiously, Vasha said, "What 'offer'?"

"I've joined Light's Memory. Oska and Auri have, too, and I believe even Roan might do the same. I'm offering you a chance to come with us."

"Only because you're trying to protect Jean."

"Not at all. Oh, don't get me wrong ‒ if you hurt my brother, I'll rip out your heart without blinking. This isn't for his benefit, though. It's for yours."

"Why?" Vasha's voice was hoarse.

"I told you, didn't I? I know what it is to want something ‒ and I know what it's like to go after that thing in entirely the wrong way. Artair can give you money, and power, and perhaps even purpose. Light's Memory can give you a future."

"You can't offer that."

Marissa sat back again, suddenly casual. "Oh, I'm sure I can. They're a surprisingly egalitarian bunch. That mouthy little asura isn't even their guild leader, you know? They take it in turns to run missions, that's all. It's the norn ‒ the quiet, sensible one ‒ who's actually in charge. I'm sure she'd take you in."

Vasha found herself on her feet before she quite knew what she was doing. She no longer wanted to hear what Marissa had to say ‒ because a small part of her knew she was on the verge of listening.

Marissa stood too, as elegant and controlled as ever. She began gathering the papers from the table. "I won't make the offer again ‒ but I won't take it back, either. When you've had enough of doing Artair's bidding, come to us. Perhaps you'll find Light's Memory can give you what you're looking for."

"And what do you think that is?" Vasha had intended the words to be almost accusatory, but even to her own ears, she sounded lost.

Marissa merely gave a chilly smile. "I may be a mesmer, but I'm not a mind-reader. You'll have to work that out for yourself."

Vasha felt a sudden urge to lash out. She walked away before she could act on it, almost without paying attention to where she was going. Down a gloomy corridor, then up a ramp, up and up and up. Into the light, where the city was just as quiet, and the sun fell across her upturned face.

She wasn't making a mistake. Artair had laid everything she'd ever wanted at her feet. In his guild, she could become what she needed to be in order to survive this world.

Because that, she realised, was what this had all been about. Money, prestige, even power ‒ they were only means to an end, just as Yinn's game had been. What Vasha had wanted for so long, more than anything else, was to survive.

She stood at the very edge of the city. Clouds obscured the view, save for fleeting glimpses of emerald green far below. Light's Memory offered comfort, security, perhaps even friendship ‒ but what good were those if they kept her rooted to the ground? She'd chased survival for so long, but that simply wasn't enough any more. What she wanted now was to fly.

Artair had been right, about this most of all: the whole world lay before them, before her. She wouldn't just survive, as poor, frightened Persimmon would have done. There was the world ‒ and it was time for her to take it.