First Interlude: Absolution
Oska knew, objectively, that what he was planning was a terrible idea. He’d been serious about leaving Divinity’s Reach with Auri, preferably as quickly as possible. He wanted her to be safe. He wanted his family to have no idea where he was. He wanted…
Absolution. Was that why he was here, standing in the street in the waning light? This time of night brought back so many memories, of the games he’d played as a child and of the minor heists he’d pulled as he got older. Evening was a time of possibilities.
Or it had been. Oska didn’t feel at home in Divinity’s Reach the way he once had. The city was foreign to him now. He really was ready to leave ‒ once this final task was done.
The mansion of Lord Elthias and Lady Kourine was a towering confection of honey-gold stone, with turrets at the corners and lights glimmering in every window. Oska stood uncertainly on the front steps. His instinct had been to sneak in through the kitchen or perhaps the cellar, but how would that look? He couldn’t do this like a thief in the night. This was the time to follow his noble blood.
So he rang the doorbell, folded his hands behind his back, and waited.
The butler who opened the door looked nonplussed to see him. Oska knew he should have dressed for the occasion, but he hadn’t expected to pay any social calls. All he’d brought to Divinity’s Reach were his thief’s leathers. “Can I… help you?”
“I’m here to see Lord Elthias,” Oska said, making the most of the accent he usually tried to hide. “You can tell him Oska Valpari is here.”
The butler twitched, which meant the Valpari name still had at least some standing in Divinity’s Reach. “Very good, sir,” he said, drawing back from the door and holding it wide. “This way, please. I believe the fire in the library is lit.”
The library, when Oska was shown into it, was stiflingly hot. It reminded him uncomfortably of the heat in Draconis Mons. There was no time to ask to be taken elsewhere, though, because the butler was already gone and there were footsteps audible on the stairs.
“Who is it?” The voice was muffled but curt.
The butler’s reply was softer, obscured by the closed door ‒ which, barely a dozen heartbeats later, flew open with a bang.
Lord Elthias looked like he’d been in the middle of dressing for dinner; his shirt was untucked and he wasn’t wearing any shoes. He stood in the doorway, pale-faced and panting. “You.”
Suddenly, Oska knew he’d made a mistake. He’d come here looking for forgiveness, but he wasn’t going to find any. This would only reopen old wounds.
He bowed anyway, as stiff and formal as he’d been taught by the comportment tutor his parents had insisted on. “Lord Elthias. I’m sorry to trouble you at this hour. I thought we might talk.”
Elthias abruptly strode forward, every muscle quivering. “I should call for the Seraph.”
“You would be well within your rights to,” Oska said, “but we both know that wouldn’t do any good.”
“He’s right.” Oska hadn’t seen Lady Kourine enter, but there she was, resplendent in a glittering sapphire gown, matching gems around her neck. “In the eyes of the law, we’re the ones in the wrong.”
Oska inclined his head warily. Kourine had looked grief-stricken at the funeral, but now she was perfectly poised. Her face was perhaps a little paler than usual, her hand trembling where it rested on her husband’s shoulder, but only a practised eye would spot either.
“I…” Oska stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “I wanted to apologise. When I called for the Order of Whispers in Draconis Mons, I was only thinking that Yinn needed to be stopped. I didn’t know…”
Kourine’s nostrils flared. “That it would lead to the death of our only son?”
Oska swallowed again. “That it would lead to any deaths at all. No-one deserved to die that day.”
Elthias snorted, as though he didn’t agree. Oska couldn’t blame him. Yinn’s entire game had been illegal, the Order of Whispers entirely right in intervening… Yet why wouldn’t Elthias wish that his son had come back alive and Oska had died instead? Why wouldn’t he look as though he wanted to find a weapon and gut Oska himself?
Instead, all he said was, “She was supposed to lock you up and throw away the key.”
“Ruby?” Oska asked warily. It was an odd relief to hear that Elthias and Kourine hadn’t wanted him dead. “Do you know who she is?”
“She’s Lionguard, of course,” Elthias spat, as though Oska had asked a foolish question.
For a moment, Oska was too surprised to speak. Lionguard? Ruby? “I don’t think so,” he said uncertainly. “She’s working for…”
He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He was certain Ruby wasn’t anything to do with the Lionguard. They wouldn’t be chasing anyone in Divinity’s Reach, or locking up associates of the Order of Whispers without a very good reason. Elthias and Kourine had been so desperate for someone ‒ anyone ‒ to fight on Kaspar’s behalf that they’d swallowed Ruby’s lies.
But the moment was gone and it didn’t matter anyway. It was probably safer if Elthias and Kourine didn’t know who was behind Ruby’s games.
The silence had stretched too long. Kourine was the one to break it, her voice soft. “Why did you come here, Oska?”
Absolution. The word was there in his head again, like the tolling of a bell. He didn’t let it past his lips. “To apologise,” he said again, even stiffer than before. “I would have saved Kaspar if I could. I wanted you to know.”
It was a pointless apology, he saw now; Elthias and Kourine were hardly even listening. He saw, too, that they would always blame themselves more than they did him. They’d paid for Kaspar’s airship. They’d allowed him to fight in Draconis Mons, lured by the excitement of Yinn’s game. They would never forgive Oska until they’d forgiven themselves.
And they knew they were to blame without anyone saying it aloud. That was why, Oska thought, they looked so small and shrunken, despite Elthias’ height and Kourine’s finery. They’d lost everything that mattered to them; no simple apology would ever make that right.
Oska bowed again, letting remorse suffuse every fibre of his being, and then saw himself out.
