Chapter 1: Part 2 - Old Acquaintances

Reconnaissance in Divinity’s Reach wasn’t what Oska was used to. He’d grown up in the city and knew every nook, cranny, and secret there was to know – but that wasn’t helping much now. He hadn’t been sent back here to fight enemy forces, or carry intelligence, or even to learn the city’s news from his family. He was here, in the words of his new guild leader, to watch and wait.

It was tedious work, even for a spy. Truthfully, Oska knew he didn’t have much claim to the title. He’d spent the last two years working for the Order of Whispers, but for most of that time he’d been too young to be accepted as a formal member. Instead, he’d scouted, run errands, and soaked up every last shred of spycraft he could.

Yinn’s game was supposed to have changed things. Marissa hadn’t cared how young he and Auri were; she’d wanted a team comprised solely of Valparis, because she simply didn’t trust anyone outside the family. Oska had expected to come back from his weeks of travel and adventure honed and ready to join the Order permanently – no longer their errand boy, but a proper agent, ready to take on missions of his own.

Instead, everything had fallen apart. Yinn had been taken into custody by the Order, and everyone who’d been involved in the game had come under suspicion of collusion. Oska had only discovered that included him when he’d sent a message to his Order handler and been rudely ignored. It didn’t matter that he’d worked against Yinn in the midst of the game, or that he’d been in contact with Primm. Every participant in the carnival was now tainted by association.

Leaving Oska with nowhere to turn.

It was Auri who’d suggested their current course. His twin was usually content to drift through life in her own unique way, but the opportunity to join Light’s Memory had captured her interest. She’d spent a whole day following Oska around Rata Sum like a shadow, her usual method of getting what she wanted. Finally, wearily, Oska had given in.

Light’s Memory, though… wasn’t what he’d expected. The guild seemed to be made up of disgraced spies, wayward warriors, and charr who had better things to do than follow orders. Their guild leader was the norn, Erin. Oska couldn’t imagine how she’d ended up in charge. Her response to every single problem was to fold her arms, frown, and make thinking noises until someone else came up with a plan.

And now, of course, the Valparis had been added to the mix. Marissa hadn’t exactly thrown her weight around, but she was as bad as the charr for following orders. They’d also somehow recruited the guardian, Roan, who seemed to hate everyone and everything. At least it was a relief to be out of the guild hall in Lion’s Arch, which had been thick with tension since they’d arrived.

Even if it meant Oska ended up back here.

He hated Divinity’s Reach. It was tedious, and mired in human politics, and he already knew all its secrets. Lion’s Arch had been exciting, a gateway to the world and everything he could learn out there. His home city was just boring.

But here he was, sitting on a curb in Rurikton. Watching.

“Hey. Oska.”

He looked up, finding the street urchin who’d spoken. That was the other problem about being back in Divinity’s Reach: everyone knew him.

“What?” Oska snapped.

The boy edged closer. “Vilma said you were looking for someone.”

Vilma was the leader of a gang of street brats who usually operated out of the Eastern Commons. They’d expanded their operations in the city since Oska had worked with them last – but he’d told Vilma no such thing.

“What sort of someone?” he countered.

The boy grinned. “The profitable kind.”

Oska rolled his eyes and flicked a small coin to the boy. “This had better be worth it.”

“My information always is.” The boy came closer still, his smile fading. “Vilma says there’s a funeral happening this afternoon. You might want to take a look.”

Oska raised an eyebrow. There were always funerals happening in a place as big as Divinity’s Reach, but as leads went, that was… interesting. “Thanks. I will do.”

The boy scurried away, leaving Oska to sit and think. He didn’t know anyone who’d died recently – did he?

There had been deaths in Yinn’s game, including some of the competitors. There had been so many other people involved, too. By the end, with the arrival of the Order of Whispers and Yinn’s golems, the game had practically turned into a war.

Oska sat a little longer, drawing lines in the dust with a finger – and then he rose, quite abruptly, and turned north. He could be patient, when he had to be, but he wasn’t the type to sit and brood. Vilma had given him a lead, so he’d follow it.

If the funeral was of a human, it would most likely take place around the Plaza of Grenth, in the very north of Divinity’s Reach. Oska was no necromancer, but he’d spent plenty of time there as a child. It was quiet, almost restful – and the tombs of the cemetery were an excellent place to practice a little acrobatics.

He wouldn’t be jumping anywhere today. A sizeable crowd had gathered at the entrance to the cemetery. Oska didn’t need to get close to know that the nobility were out in force. These were his own people, he reminded himself – youths he’d gone to school with, adults who’d attended dinner parties with his parents. His cousins weren’t the only ones who chafed against the restraints of status, though. Marissa and Jean talked about freedom, but they tended to make use of their prestige and riches without realising they were doing it. Oska, on the other hand, had spent his childhood playing on the streets for a reason.

The funeral was drawing to a close. People streamed away, heads down, sodden handkerchiefs pressed against chests. Many of them weren’t just here for the spectacle – they looked genuinely upset. That meant the deceased had been someone popular and probably also someone young.

Oska edged closer. He thought he could pick out the family of the deceased by the knot of people around them. They looked faintly familiar, that tall woman with streaks of white in her black hair, and the man beside her.

No, more than just familiar. Oska knew them both. Lord Elthias and Lady Kourine, once dinner companions of his own parents – until their long-standing friendship with Minister Zamon had tarnished their reputation. Oska imagined they’d suddenly found most of their dinner invitations cancelled after his death.

He certainly hadn’t seen them in years. From being the cream of Krytan society, they’d rapidly fallen from grace – but here they were, at a funeral that looked like it had been attended by half the nobles in the city. Which meant…

The bottom seemed to drop out of Oska’s stomach. Elthias and Kourine had a son, two years older than Oska himself; they’d been forced to play together during those interminable dinners. Kaspar had been a spoiled brat even by Oska’s reckoning, but he was the only one they could possibly be holding a funeral for. What had happened? Kaspar had been a risk-taker, but only in the usual manner of rich youths with nothing better to do. Oska couldn’t imagine him doing anything truly dangerous.

But here they were. Even at a distance, Oska could see the way Lady Kourine’s face was streaked with tears, the way Lord Elthias stood as straight-backed as a statue. They were both grieving, even if they usually looked like they’d never felt a real emotion in their lives.

Oska backed away. He didn’t want to witness their grief, or pay his respects to Kaspar. Why had Vilma even sent him here? He’d never been close to Kaspar; they hadn’t even attended the same school. Besides, he’d put out the word that he was looking for leads on Yinn and Draconis Mons, not to reconnect with old acquaintances…

His stomach heaved again. Yinn. Draconis Mons. The entire carnival had been financed by people with money, exactly like Kaspar’s parents. And those airships that had swarmed the volcano had been flown by people who had a taste of danger, exactly like Kaspar himself…

It was a long time since Oska had found himself so floored. He’d stumbled across the very thing he’d been sent to Divinity’s Reach to track: the power behind the carnival. More importantly, though, drawing the Order of Whispers into the game had inadvertently led to the death of someone he’d known all his life. The world, in that moment, suddenly felt very small.

Well, Elthias and Kourine certainly wouldn’t want to see him, not if they realised he was involved in Kaspar’s death. Oska turned away, still shaken – so shaken, in fact, that he walked right into a pair of arms as thick as tree trunks.

Oska stepped backwards, muttering an apology, only to find someone else had come up behind him. In fact, there was a whole ring of figures approaching, cutting off every avenue of escape. Instinct made him dart sideways, towards the last gap in the circle, only to find it filled by one last newcomer.

This one, he recognised. Vilma’s gang had clearly evolved from street brats, but the woman herself looked the same as ever. Oska was startled to realise he was now as tall as her, but that didn’t make her shrewd expression any less intimidating.

“Little Oska Valpari.” Vilma’s words hissed through her broken teeth, a legacy of one street fight too many. “What a surprise it is to see you all grown up.”

Oska took a step back, though there was nowhere to go. “Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are. I never meant to come back.”

“Oh, not that.” Vilma’s grin widened. “You were always a troublemaker. I never expected you to live this long.”

Troublemaker? Really? Oska was almost flattered.

Before he could speak, Vilma gestured to her thugs. “You going to come quietly, boy?”

“Come where?” Oska asked warily.

Vilma’s smile hadn’t grown any more reassuring. “You’ve been invited to a… private party, you might say. There’s someone who wants to meet you.”