Chapter 4: Part 7 - The Wrong Hands

Oska wasn’t sure who he was most annoyed with: Vasha, for betraying them; Jean, for believing in her; or himself, for being desperate enough to trust either of them. He should have known better. Vasha was loyal to Artair and Jean was a lovesick fool.

And yet… A little part of Oska had hoped it might be enough. He’d known, deep down, that Vasha might turn on them, but even that could provide an opening. Wherever Artair went, his guild followed ‒ which meant they might have brought Auri with them.

Except Oska couldn’t feel any trace of her. If Auri was here, something had severed their bond as twins. What if it was gone for good?

The blade at Oska’s throat drew back and Artair stepped from the shadows. The greatsword he carried looked immensely heavy, but Artair wielded it as easily as a dagger. He was smiling, but it looked less triumphant than Oska had expected. In fact, the sylvari was as tense as a drawn bow.

Jean didn’t seem to have noticed. He was staring fixedly in the direction of the bridge; he didn’t even blink until Vasha appeared between the trees. She nodded to Artair, ignoring Jean completely.

“Thank you, Persimmon,” Artair said, returning the nod. “Your efforts today won’t go unrewarded. Now, let’s adjourn to more comfortable surroundings.”

Rough hands grabbed Oska from behind. He glanced over his shoulder to find Gull towering over him, steering him away from the bridge and deeper into the trees. Beside him, Jean was pushed along by Haki, stumbling with every step. He looked so heartbroken that, even in his frustration, Oska felt a little bit sorry for him.

Two tents had been erected at the edge of the trees. It was Vasha who directed them to the smaller of the two, then followed them inside to relieve them of their weapons. Even as his knives and throwing stars went into the box Vasha held out, Oska turned over a dozen escape plans in his head ‒ except what she said next stopped him in his tracks.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, the words directed at Jean. She sounded, for a moment, genuinely apologetic. “This was the only way things could be.”

Jean reached for Vasha’s arm, but she pulled away. “Vasha, please. You can get us out of here. Auri, too‒”

“I’m not about to risk everything I’ve worked for,” Vasha snapped. “And besides, it’s Auri I’m doing this for. You don’t know how much trouble she’s in.”

“What?” Oska interrupted, so distracted that he threw his last blade into the box rather than hiding it as he’d meant to do. “What about Auri?”

Vasha just shook her head. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “You’ll understand when you speak to Artair. You have to, for Auri’s sake. You’ll see.”

Then she was gone, the tent wall flapping behind her, leaving Oska and Jean staring at one another in bewilderment.

It wasn’t long before Gull reappeared. She led them out without speaking, making for the larger tent. All Oska’s thoughts of escaping had faded. What had Vasha meant, ‘for Auri’s sake’? He had to know what was going on, even if that meant facing Artair.

The sylvari was waiting for them. He sat in a low chair, his greatsword across his knees. He was cleaning it with practised movements, though the blade already looked spotless. Artair was fastidious, though. Oska had a feeling he didn’t like loose ends.

“After your new guild went to the trouble of rescuing you, Jean,” Artair began, “I thought you might have kept your distance. I appreciate your loyalty to Persimmon, I really do ‒ but you must have realised by now that I can offer her far more than you can.”

As if on cue, the tent flap rustled and Vasha strode past them. She came to a stop at Artair’s shoulder, her arms folded. All her softness, all her apologies, had been replaced by a steely look.

Jean nodded. “I understand now,” he said, surprising Oska for the first time. “I understand that you’ve brainwashed Vasha into thinking she wants the kind of power you wield.”

Oska almost rolled his eyes. Vasha, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to hit someone. Artair merely laughed. “I have opened Persimmon’s mind, that’s all. Everyone wants power. Everyone would take power, if it was offered. My Talons are simply more honest about that than most.”

“And you don’t care who you hurt on the way,” Oska put in.

Artair’s gaze flicked to him. “I have no interest in causing deliberate harm, little thief. But I also will not shy from it. Honesty, like I said. When there is something I desire, I take it.”

“Like my sister.” Oska almost choked on the words.

Artair’s hands fell still. “Your sister is very interesting, Oska,” he said, sounding as though he was choosing his words with care. “Her power is of a kind rarely seen even amongst elementalists and she has been watched her entire life because of it.”

“Including by you.”

Artair inclined his head. “In more recent months, yes. It seems to me that Auri requires both guidance and training to make the most of her power. To ensure that it can be used most… effectively.”

“By you, again.” Oska spat the words like bitter seeds.

Artair abruptly surged to his feet, his greatsword still in his hand. “Is that what you think? Auri’s power is hers to use as she sees fit. Guidance, I said, and training. A firm hand would be best, it’s true, so that her magic never overwhelms her. But that magic should only ever be hers to direct.”

For the first time, Oska wavered. That… wasn’t what he’d expected to hear from Artair. The sylvari had pursued Auri as though she was nothing more than an object to be stolen. To hear him talking about autonomy, about guidance… Was that really what Artair believed?

Vasha, behind him, was nodding. She was strikingly loyal to Artair, it was true ‒ but apart from a misguided former affection for his cousin, Oska didn’t think she was stupid. Was this what Artair had been offering her, all along?

Artair had come closer, leaving his sword lying on his chair. He was taller than Oska and far broader across the shoulders, but for a moment he looked almost vulnerable. “If you know where your sister is, Oska, you must tell me. It is of the utmost importance that Auri doesn’t fall into the wrong hands.”

Something shifted inside Oska’s head, as though the world had briefly stopped spinning. His breath caught in his throat, his chest going tight. It was a long time before he managed an explosive, “What?”

Artair began to pace, as though he hadn’t noticed Oska speak. “You know Auri’s nature much better than I do. You know how trusting, how naive, she can be. All the reports speak of these things. I am, no doubt, not the only one to have read them. The longer Auri is missing, the greater danger she is in ‒ and when she is in danger, we all are.”

Oska felt utterly frozen. He knew Jean was staring at him in disbelief. Artair didn’t have Auri. He didn’t even know where she was. It might have been a lie, but why would Artair bother? He was the one who held all the cards.

Except he didn’t. None of Light’s Memory had realised it, but Artair was just as lost as the rest of them.

“You had hiding places as children,” Artair said, coming close again. “Might she have taken herself to one of them? Where would she go if she thought herself threatened?”

Oska had no answer. He’d never even considered the question, because he’d been so certain Auri was with Artair. But if she wasn’t and no one else had her… Where would she go?

Where, if he left now, might he find her?

The world seemed to skip and jump around Oska, suddenly spinning far too fast. There was a yell, followed by a crash. Jean was shouting something and Vasha’s eyes were wide. Artair was falling away from him, curling sideways as he hit the ground…

And then Oska was outside, the rain still falling. His forehead hurt and so did his fist. There was blood across his knuckles, but he couldn’t be sure who it belonged to.

Time juddered again. Jean was grabbing his arm, hauling him away through the trees. Someone else was shouting, more distantly now. A pistol fired, echoing dully off the hillside, but Oska didn’t see which way the bullet went. Some kind of wolf gave several loud yaps, then fell silent.

And Oska was still running, Jean was still pulling him along, and words of hope were still beating around inside his head like the flapping of giant wings. Auri was out there. Auri was out there. Auri was out there.

And he was going to find her.