Chapter 1: Part 4 - Gunpowder and Roses

It was as dark as a grave in the cellar Vilma left him in. There had been a candle, for a little while, but that had long since burnt away. Even the puddle of wax was now cool. Oska had traced his way around the room before it went out, finding three damp stone walls, with a heavy wooden door in the fourth. The cobbled floor sloped down into a pool of water at the opposite end, as though the whole room was sinking into the earth.

Not a wine cellar, then. He wasn’t being held below Elthias and Kourine’s mansion. Of course, he didn’t know for certain whether Vilma had captured him on their behalf… But Oska’s instincts were telling him no-one else would want to talk to him under such onerous circumstances.

Being captured so easily stung. So did Vilma thinking any of this was necessary. If Kaspar’s parents wanted to talk, he would willingly do so. He owed them that much.

But Vilma wasn’t known for her subtlety. She was sending Oska a message: if he failed to cooperate, this was where he’d spend the rest of his very short days.

Oska wasn’t afraid of the dark; he wouldn’t have made a very good thief otherwise. What bothered him most about the cellar was that he could no longer feel Auri’s presence.

Oska knew he and Auri had a strange relationship, even for twins. They were mirrors of one another, in everything from their eye colours to their personalities. They weren’t telepathic in the traditional sense, though Auri liked to pretend they were and Oska didn’t see any reason to tell people otherwise. They nearly always thought the same way, though, which meant they could predict one another’s movements and finish one another’s sentences.

And they always knew where the other was, even over a considerable distance. That was telepathy, perhaps, or the closest they came to it. They’d found one another in Orr, during the game; they’d always been able to find one another within Divinity’s Reach, too. Down here, though, locked in this tomb of cold stone… For the first time in a very long time, Oska was truly alone.

There was a grinding noise overhead. Oska reached for a dagger, then remembered they’d been taken from him. There was nothing to do but wait as he heard the faint sound of footsteps on the other side of the door, then the screech of rusty hinges as it was pulled open.

The corridor beyond was dimly lit, but it was still bright enough to leave Oska blinking. Vilma stood there, leering at him. One of her thugs – a tattooed norn who looked like he’d been recruited from the Sons of Svanir – loomed behind her.

“I thought I was here for a conversation,” Oska said.

Vilma gave a dry laugh. “You’ll lose that sharp tongue of yours soon enough, my boy. Even if she doesn’t cut it out, you’ll think better of using it.”

‘She’? Kourine? Oska didn’t know her well, but he doubted the noblewoman made a habit of cutting out guest’s tongues.

Even so, Oska was starting to wonder if he’d made a mistake; escape might have been the sensible option. Vilma had used back streets to reach the cellar, but the Valparis were well-known in the city, and a shout at an opportune moment would have brought someone to his aid. Oska hadn’t wanted a rescue, though, and he hadn’t wanted to be sensible. He wanted to know what was going on – and the easiest way to do that was to remain captured.

He held out his hands to Vilma, wrists pressed together. “You can bind me, if you like.”

Vilma smirked at him. “Tempting, but I know what you thieves are like. If you wanted to escape, you’d have done it by now.”

Oska raised an eyebrow, surprised by her astuteness. “Then you know curiosity got the better of me.”

“Oh, I know that, too – just like I know you’re going to regret it.”

Vilma led the way out of the cellar – which was closer to an oubliette, Oska realised, now that he wasn’t being led around with a bag over his head. There was a proper cellar above, with a dry floor and wine racks against the walls. More steps led up into a kitchen, occupied by a single boy scrubbing the sink. It was unusually quiet, Oska thought, for the middle of the day; sunlight still streamed in through the windows, which meant only hours had passed since Kaspar’s funeral. Beyond the kitchen, the corridors grew increasingly opulent, all draped in red velvets and with thick carpets underfoot. As richly furnished as a mansion, but quiet in daylight hours…

Oska wasn’t at all surprised when they stepped through a pair of double doors into a gambling den. Most of the room was taken up by card tables, but there was also a polished wooden bar on one side, and low couches arranged around a roaring fire. What did surprise him was that this looked like an establishment catering to a high class clientèle, the sort of place he’d spent his childhood sneaking into – yet he didn’t recognise a single bit of it.

“Fancy, ain’t it?” Vilma murmured, as they came to a stop.

She’d mistaken his thoughtful expression for awe, Oska realised. A new emotion was creeping over him, though. Erin was convinced there had been power and influence behind Yinn’s game that even the Valparis couldn’t match – and finally, Oska agreed with her.

They crossed the plush carpet in a line, Vilma leading the way and the burly norn bringing up the rear. They were halfway across the room before Oska realised it had another occupant. A young woman lounged on one of the low sofas, legs crossed. The first thing Oska noticed was the knife she was spinning across the knuckles of one hand. The second thing he noticed was her face.

Valparis were distinctive: everyone in the family knew that. They always had pale eyes and silver-grey hair – and they always recognised one another, whatever methods they’d used to conceal such things. This woman might have dyed her hair black, but her eyes were a pale jade green. Apart from being several years younger, she could have been Marissa’s twin.

Oska held his tongue as they studied one another. He had no siblings apart from Auri. He also knew Jean and Marissa’s side of the family well enough to know they weren’t missing any official members. His own father had a sister who hadn’t lived in Divinity’s Reach in years, though – and there was always the possibility of unofficial relations.

“Oska Valpari.” The woman spoke his name with satisfaction, though she didn’t stop twirling her knife. “We meet at last.”

“I’m afraid I can’t return the courtesy,” he murmured. He glanced towards the rear of the room, looking for other doors. Oska, after all, knew one other thing about Valparis: they were nearly always dangerous.

“Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” the woman replied. “You can call me Ruby.”

The name gave nothing away; it certainly wasn’t one Oska had ever seen in his family tree. He nodded cautiously. There were no other exits, not unless that hanging tapestry concealed one. It might – Ruby had positioned herself so that it was within easy reach.

She got to her feet abruptly. She was a fraction shorter than Oska, and when she waved the knife around, it came perilously close to his chin. “Here’s the thing, Oska. I’ve been hired by Lord Elthias – I think you know him.”

Oska nodded again.

“Lovely. Well, Elthias knows you were out in Draconis Mons. He knows you called in the Order of Whispers. He knows they shot down a lot of those little airships.” Ruby grinned; the expression was almost frightening. “He knows, because I told him.”

Oska wanted to take a step back, but that norn was almost on his heels. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

Ruby was still grinning. “That’s for me to know and you to find out. Or it would be, if you were going to live long enough.”

He couldn’t fight his way out of this – Oska knew that already. He wasn’t armed, and there was a norn right behind him, and Ruby looked like she knew how to use that blade. Even so, he shifted his stance a little. If he could keep her distracted… “I intend to live a good long time.”

“Do you?” Ruby suddenly stepped forwards, until they were almost nose to nose. She smelt of gunpowder and, incongruously, roses. “Because what I see before me is another damned Valpari. Do you know what good Valparis do? We burn out fast and bright, quick as a match, until there’s nothing left. Are you one of the good ones, Oska? I think you are.”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” Oska replied. There was something horrifying about seeing Ruby up close. She looked like a Valpari, she sounded like a Valpari, but the look in her eyes… That was something else entirely.

The fact she’d come so close gave him an opportunity, though. Unseen, Oska slid his hand into a fold of his shirt, drawing out the packet Vilma hadn’t found. He’d had enough of his curiosity, of trying to see where this capture would end. Before Ruby could stick her knife somewhere serious, Oska threw the packet of blinding powder against the floor, and ran.