First Interlude: Treachery

Jean had been in the Grove for three weeks and he still didn’t feel at home there. It wasn’t the sylvari and it wasn’t their verdant architecture; both were surprisingly welcoming. Being part of the Archon’s guild… That was the problem.

They had, eventually, chosen a name. Jean wasn’t sure where it had come from, but they were now the Talons ‒ or ‘the Archon’s Talons’, when Artair was in a good mood. He could, by turns, be indulgent, distant, and blisteringly cruel, depending on how his day was going. Mostly, Jean tried to stay out of his way.

Which was made more difficult by the fact that Vasha ‒ always Persimmon, to the Archon, though she seemed less comfortable with the rest of them using the name ‒ did exactly the opposite.

“Can I get you something to drink? A honeydew nectar, perhaps?”

The voice was too close and Jean jumped. He looked up to see he’d drifted near a stall, where an eager young sylvari was holding out some kind of fruit drink to him. Jean shook his head and quickly moved away. He felt like a shadow, living here in the Grove. They’d been instructed to keep their heads down, to act like they didn’t exist. Jean was finding that alarmingly easy.

The Talons were in the Grove for a reason. Jean knew that, simply because Artair never did anything without one. The Archon had been less good-humoured of late, though. He’d stopped sharing his plans and it was clear something had put him in a black mood. Whatever they were doing here, it wasn’t going well.

And now the norn, Haki and Gull, were off doing something outside the city. Vasha was with Artair, as usual, cooking up some new scheme. That made it impossible for Jean to keep an eye on her ‒ but that didn’t mean there was nothing useful for him to do.

It was darker in the lower reaches of the city. Jean tried to stay up in the light as much as possible, but sometimes there were reasons for stepping into the shadows. He had one now.

He also had no idea if it was going to work. He’d had a message from Light’s Memory ‒ from that thief of theirs, Amber ‒ when the Talons were still in Rata Sum. The message had been deliberately vague, not too incriminating if it was intercepted, but Jean had got the idea. Light’s Memory were still watching, still trying to slow Artair down ‒ and they’d welcome any help they could get.

Only now, with the rest of the guild busy elsewhere, did Jean dare to send a message in return. He didn’t have much to share with them, but perhaps they’d find it useful to know where Artair was. Perhaps they’d be able to do more with that information than Jean himself could.

Or perhaps he was just lonely and reaching out to the only people he knew who’d listen. He was not, Jean reflected, cut out to be a spy.

At least he had a plan. It would have been easiest to send a letter by bird, of course; there were always messengers hanging around the asura gate, too. Both were too obtrusive, though. He’d be spotted if he went too close to the gate and birds could be intercepted ‒ or Jean thought they could, anyway. He’d seen Artair watching closely whenever Gull sent a letter, as though just waiting for a chance to read what she’d written.

Instead, it was down into the shadows. Jean walked around aimlessly for a while, studying the shops and training grounds, the gardens set with jewel-like flowers and glimmering pools. One thing all his time with Oska had given him was a fairly good sense of who was a member of the Order of Whispers. Their undercover operatives were harder to spot, of course, but the ones who weren’t hiding their identities…

There. That norn woman, standing at the foot of the curving ramp that lead to the upper levels of the city. There was nothing immediately obvious to mark her as a Whispers agent. Instead, it was something in the way she stood, the way she surveyed everyone who passed by ‒ and the way she nodded to Jean as he got closer.

“You’ve been watching for me,” he said, when the norn was within earshot.

“It’s my job to watch,” the woman replied. “But if it makes you feel better, you’re not the only one I’m here for.”

Of course. The Order of Whispers had hundreds of agents and fingers in hundreds of pies. The Archon’s Talons would be a small matter, in the grand scheme of things.

“And I’m not here for you,” Jean said, at which the woman raised an eyebrow. “I want you to get a message to Light’s Memory.”

She nodded slowly. “That can be arranged.”

“Tell them…” Jean’s words momentarily failed him. Even now, he feared saying anything too incriminating. “Tell them I’m here and that I’m willing to cooperate. I know they’re still interested in my… employer.”

At least, he hoped they were. There was nothing to stop Light’s Memory going back to their old lives, forgetting the Archon had ever existed.

But the norn nodded again. “They’ve made no secret of that. I’ll pass the message on.”

“Thank you.” Jean swallowed, his throat dry. It took a great effort to walk away from the woman, back into the depths of the city. He didn’t really fear for his safety with the Talons, but he did miss having a friendly face to talk to.

Because that wasn’t Vasha, not any more. Whatever connection Jean had hoped to rekindle between them had been firmly squashed by the Archon. Now, all Vasha’s energy was spent on running his errands and listening to his schemes. The more time passed, the more Jean wondered what he was trying to protect her from.

Perhaps it was because he was already thinking about her, but as Jean walked away from the norn, he saw Vasha’s face. She was drifting in and out of the crowd ahead, her eyes fixed on him. A moment later she was gone, as though she’d been nothing but a dream ‒ until there she was again, much closer, coming straight towards him.

Jean’s heart leapt, as it always did at the sight of her ‒ and then, quite abruptly, it sank again. There were two much taller figures to either side of her: Gull and Haki, grim-faced, not on an assignment outside the city after all.

And behind Vasha, with a knowing smile on his face, Artair himself. He looked distinctly pleased with himself.

It was too much to hope for, Jean knew, that his rendezvous with the Whispers agent had gone unseen. Artair’s Talons had clearly been watching him, perhaps for weeks. Waiting for a wrong move, a slip-up, a betrayal.

It wouldn’t take much for the Archon to start talking about treachery.

It was Artair who came closest, brushing past Vasha to stand in front of Jean. He still wore that smile, as though something he’d long predicted had come to pass. Well, why wouldn’t he have predicted this? He knew well enough that Jean was only here for Vasha.

“Hello, Jean.” Artair’s smile grew as Jean tensed. “Such a nice day for a stroll, isn’t it?”

“I suppose so.”

“Then perhaps we should take a walk together. It’s time you and I had a little chat.”