Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) (51 page)

“It was done for protection of both realms,” Mist put in.

“Yes, like the Iron Curtain, or those ugly walls that snake through Israel and Northern Ireland,” Aurata said sharply. “Hostile, aggressive, the antithesis of freedom. I intend to break the barriers down.”

“Like the collapse of the Berlin Wall?” said Stevie.

Rufus muttered, “Only rather more drastic.”

“I’m talking about freedom.” Aurata’s demeanor was calm and open. Convincing. “Aetherials shouldn’t be separated into Vaethyr and Aelyr, according to which side we live on. We’re all one folk. We should be free to wander wherever we please. Others talk about it, but I’m actually going to do something.”

“Are you sure it’s possible?” asked Mist.

She pointed at the landscape. “Without detailing the entire geology of the West Coast, thermal areas indicate places where the Earth’s crust is thin. Jigsaw Canyon has faults running beneath. It’s hardly the San Andreas Fault, but that doesn’t matter. Any thin place would do, but I choose this one because Azantios once stood here. We’ll weave a tenfold web to strain the fabric of reality to its limit. The energy of the Felixatus will do the rest.”

“Simple!” Rufus exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air to describe a fountain. “The Earth explodes like a giant abscess that makes the supervolcano under Yellowstone Park look like a birthday candle. Earth melts, the Spiral vaporizes.”

“Rufus has been watching too many disaster movies,” Aurata said sweetly.

“What if he’s right, though?” Stevie said.

“There might be some damage,” she acceded. “For example, if the Yellowstone caldera went up, it would take out most of the States, and the potential domino effect would be quite spectacular.” Aurata closed her eyes for a moment, like a cat basking in the sun. “But it won’t happen. Any geological disruption would be mere fallout. It will settle.”

“Settle?” said Mist. “You mean, on an Aetherial timescale? Over hundreds or thousands of years, during which all life on Earth would be wiped out?”

“Except for the cockroaches,” said Rufus. “It’ll be just us and the cockroaches. Lovely.”

Aurata’s eyes narrowed minimally. “Your predictions of catastrophe are a distraction. This change is going to happen, whether you like it or not. I’d truly appreciate your support. I insist on it.”

“I’d gladly give it, if this didn’t sound so monumentally dangerous. Aurata, are you
sure
you’re right?”

“Everything’s converged here,” she said easily. “The survivors of the ancient Felynx are here, on the site of Azantios. All of you, and the missing parts of the Felixatus. We even have our prophet, Daniel.”

Again Stevie and Mist gave each other a sidelong glance. Stevie said, “And what about Lord Albin of Sibeyla?”

Aurata’s eyebrows rose into a delicate arch. “What about him?”

“Didn’t Mist tell you how powerful he is? The friends of ours he’s holding captive—one of them is the Gatekeeper himself, Lucas Fox. You said you’d help us rescue them—and I believe you’re the only one who can, if you’re as powerful as Rufus says—but how, if melting the barriers is going to cause so much disruption?”

Rufus sat forward, fiercely interested. “Albin, that ice-cold bastard? He had me tried for my so-called crimes without a shred of evidence. He failed. Now he must
really
hate me. Oh, count me in.”

“Thank you,” Stevie said with a soundless laugh, not knowing how to take an offer of help from Rufus.

Aurata took a minute to reply. Her hesitation stirred Stevie’s worst fears; that she didn’t care, that her promises were hollow. “Oh, Albin no doubt thinks he’s the most dangerous creature ever to walk the Spiral, but he won’t be a problem. He knows nothing of my plans. He’ll be dust before he even sees me coming.”

“Er … well, that’s reassuring,” said Stevie, “I think. But our friends?”

Aurata turned her golden gaze to her. “Stevie, I’ll do my best, of course. That’s the only promise I can make. I don’t know where they are, or what he’s done to them. I can’t make them my priority.”

“Well, try.” There was steel in Mist’s voice. “One of them is the
Gatekeeper
.”

“A bit careless of him to leave his post, wasn’t it?”

“Lucas was helping us to get here! And holding him hostage makes it that much easier for Albin to seal all the Gates. He wants separation, as badly as you want freedom.”

Aurata gave a quiet sigh. “And as I said, Albin stands no chance against me. He can freeze all the portals shut, but fire melts ice every time.”

Mist said, “Aurata, I’d hoped you might see the sense of a middle path. Help us against Albin. Create a new Felynx realm, if that’s what you want. But not at such massive cost to Vaeth.”

With a soft growl, Aurata left her chair and leaned back against the balustrade. “Mist, don’t give me moderation. You don’t get it, do you? Must I spell it out?”

She changed form. Where she stood there was now a shape as bright as the sun, as tall as a house, golden wings flaring. “If Vaeth and the Spiral burn, it doesn’t matter! We will become fire elementals, our true selves, the chosen of Qesoth!”

Aurata reappeared. A greenish-black afterimage obscured Stevie’s vision. Rufus and Mist were both on their feet. Regally, Aurata leaned her head back and added, “Those of us who are strong enough to change will survive. The rest don’t matter. For goodness’ sake, what are you staring at? Have you never seen an Aelyr transformation before? You can all do the same!”

“You’ve singed the balcony,” said Rufus.

“My point is that I need you to stop flapping about like scared mortals and think on a Felynx scale. You may as well support me, because it’s too late for anyone to stop my plan.”

Stevie said shakily, “Then why kidnap Daniel?”

“We didn’t ‘kidnap’ him. He was persuaded. My dear, he was leaking our secrets like a sieve. Fortunately we curbed him in time. You know, it’s very strange; he’s human, yet he claims he’s had these visions for years.” Aurata came towards Stevie with a warm yet intimidating smile. “Ever since he first met
you
.”

“I can’t explain that,” she said, not quite truthfully.

“He’s sensitive, a
naemur
. He seems to absorb a flood of visions from anything Felynx. And it began, interestingly, when he first met you.”

“He might have picked up the visions from a lamppost, for all I understood about it.” Stevie was trying to stay calm. Mist’s hand rested on her back, steadying her. “If you’re suggesting I’m some kind of Aetherial spy, that’s absolutely not true.”

“But you are Aetherial.”

“I’m no one. Vaethyr. Practically human.”

“Stevie, don’t look so worried. I know it’s not your fault. It’s been fascinating, actually.” Aurata sat down and rested her elbows on the table, looking squarely at her. “Enlightening. Daniel’s painted events from the past, and things that haven’t yet happened—as if he reads my mind. His paintings have given
me
ideas, so the grand plan all feeds around in a circle. And yet it all began with
you
.”

She leaned forward and reached out to touch Stevie’s cheek with hot fingertips. “I know who you are. And you know me, Fela.”

*   *   *

Stevie left the deck, hurried inside, leaving Aurata, Rufus and Mist behind. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go. What would happen, now that everyone knew she’d been Fela? If Aurata knew, it followed that Oliver did too, and Slahvin. They must have known from the start, looking down on her with pity and mockery.

Not Felynx, but mere Tashralyr, a creature of the marshes, a curiosity, a decoration.

An Aetherial whose unexplained death had triggered the destruction of Azantios.

She didn’t want even Mist near her, because—for all he tried to separate himself—he was still part of the enchanted triumvirate. The more time he spent with Aurata, the more he was drawn under her spell. They might argue among themselves, but the Ephenaestus siblings were still a clique from which she was excluded.

She needed to see Daniel. Patrick, too. There must be someone else who could help her find a way back to Luc, Sam and Rosie, to rescue them or at least assuage her guilt by sharing their fate. She ran down broad flights of stairs to the lower floor.

She heard voices in the studio. Pushing open the door—a big, heavy slab of red wood with carved panels—she saw that Daniel was there. So, to her dismay, was Oliver. He stood in the middle of the room, arms folded over his stocky torso, while Daniel paced about looking thinner than ever, sweat trickling down his pallid face.

They both looked at her, stopping in mid-argument. “Stevie, not now,” Daniel said.

“Are you all right?” she asked. She stepped towards him but he backed away.

“I’m on strike,” he said, baring his teeth in a feverish smile. “I’m finished. I’ve got nothing left.”

Oliver sighed, rolling his eyes. “All I’m asking of you is one simple thing. An accurate drawing of the Felixatus. Danny, work with me. What’s wrong with you?”

Dan pointed at the right-hand panel of the triptych. His hands were paint-blotched claws, trembling. “That’s the best I can do. What more do you want?”

“Detail! Not vague decoration, but technical accuracy. Miss Silverwood, can you reason with your friend?”

She turned to Oliver and said, “I think you should leave Danny alone. He looks shattered. If he can’t do it, he can’t.”

Daniel said, “My mother’s ill. I have to go home. Look, I’ll finish
Aurata Enthroned
and then I’m done. You’ve squeezed every last image out of me. Please.”

Oliver’s voice was stone-cold. “Enough melodrama. This is not over until I say it is.”

Daniel’s response was to run flat-out at the huge window. He hit the glass like an outstretched bird, but the thick, unforgiving pane vibrated and threw him back. Dan crumpled to the floor. Before Stevie was three strides towards him, he was on his feet and fleeing towards the door. “Daniel!”

Only now did she realize that she’d witnessed the end stage of a battle of wills. Oliver must have been wearing him down for hours. Perhaps he’d tried to put Danny in a trance; he’d definitely aided the process with drugs of some kind, judging by Dan’s manic, sweaty state. And he’d gone over the edge at last.

“What have you done to him?” she snarled at Oliver, who appeared too startled to move.

Stevie ran to the doorway after Daniel. She was barely two feet away when the door slammed violently in her face. Stunned, she collided with the paneling. There followed the most horrifying noise she’d ever heard; a grunting, strangled screech, like an animal dying in agony.

She grabbed the handle, pulled open the heavy door. In the corridor, by the hinge side of the doorframe, Daniel was on the carpet in a fetal curl, uttering bone-chilling shrieks.

“What have you done?” she cried. She dropped to her knees beside Daniel. His eyes were squeezed shut, his face crimson with pain.

Now Oliver was at her shoulder. He looked genuinely shaken. “It was just an argument,” he growled. “Idiot!”

“Oh, gods, I think he slammed the door on his own hand,” said Stevie. “Danny? Did you?”

His head bobbed. She burrowed into his curled-up body to find his hands; the left one, undamaged, was cradling the bloody, broken mess of his right. The fingers were crushed at horrible angles, with too many joints. Bones showed through the torn skin.

Stevie put her hand to her mouth, suppressing sickness.

“He needs an ambulance,” she said.

“Let me see,” said Oliver, moving closer.

“No,” Daniel gasped. “It’s over.”

When Stevie looked up at Oliver, all rational thought fled her mind. He loomed above her, no longer Oliver but a wavering silhouette seen through water …

Then she knew for certain.

He was the one who’d drowned Fela. Oliver. Veropardus. But not alone.

Muffled footfalls were thundering down the stairs. The moment stretched; she was aware of others running into the passageway. Aurata and Mist reached them first, then Slahvin with a handful of staff around him, then Rufus, and two seconds later, Patrick.

“What the hell is going on?” demanded Aurata.

“I asked him to draw the Felixatus in detail. He refused.” Oliver pushed both hands through his spiky hair. “We argued and the next thing I know, he—first he tries to throw himself through the window, then he slams the door on his working hand!”

Patrick uttered a heartfelt profanity in the background.

Silence. Only Mist moved, kneeling down beside Stevie, slipping his arm around her. Between Daniel’s injury and the shadow of Veropardus above her, she couldn’t utter a sound.

“What are we going to do with him?” said Oliver. “He’s useless to us now.”

His indifference made Stevie want to strike him. She could only imagine Daniel’s pain; the crushed hand as nothing compared to the blade that Oliver had struck through his heart:
He’s useless.

“Oliver,” Aurata said mildly, “why did you want him to draw the Felixatus again?”

“To aid me in putting the damned thing back together.” His voice was flat with frustration. “I cannot—it’s intricate. I need more detail.”

“He’s only human.” Aurata’s voice was gentle. “You pushed him as far as you could. Too far.”

“So how about letting him go?” said Stevie. Her voice came out raw. “Can you not see he’s had a nervous breakdown? Enough!”

Aurata turned to her with a slow, impassive blink. “We can’t let him go. He knows too much. Where would he go, anyway?”

“Hospital. Then home. I’ll even pay his bills, if you won’t. But you can’t keep him here; he needs medical help. Now!”

“We have ways to heal and soothe pain,” Aurata said, unmoved.

“It’s not just his hand. It’s what you’ve done to his mind! He’s broken. He won’t tell anyone—and even if he did, who’d listen? You said yourself that no one can stop you anyway.”

Aurata came closer to her. “Fair point. But isn’t it more about what
you’ve
done to his mind, Fela?”

Stevie stood up, leaving Daniel in Mist’s care. She felt blood rushing in her ears like water. Her legs shook, but held her ground. “This is what we do to humans,” Stevie said softly. “We fuck them up. Daniel had the misfortune to be oversensitive—and look how you’ve used him and burned him to ash. Please let him go. Patrick can take him away—can’t you, Patrick?”