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?”
“Absolutely.” Patrick knelt at Daniel’s other side, helping him to sit up. “I’ll get him to the nearest ER, I’ll look after him, book his flight home—whatever he needs.” He stared up at Stevie as if to ask, What is this madhouse you’ve brought me to? “And you’re coming too, right?” he said out loud.
“Not me,” she said. “Just you and Daniel.”
“Aurata, let them go,” said Mist. “This is no place for humans.”
“Please,” Stevie added.
Hard vertical lines formed between Aurata’s eyebrows. “Why should I?”
“Compassion?”
“It will take more than that, Fela. What are you offering in return?”
“Can I speak to you alone for a moment?”
With Aurata at her side, Stevie went back into the studio and pointed to the opposite corner, at the door to the workshop. Painful memories trickled through her like tar but she endured them. “I can give you what Oliver can’t,” she said. “I’m offering myself.”
* * *
Darkness.
A concentrated pool of light turned her work area as bright as day. Tiny cogs and pins were taking shape, each one precise in size, shining like gold. Mist appeared at her shoulder. Over the whirr of the lathe, she hadn’t heard him approach. She killed the motor, pushed back her protective goggles and looked into his stern eyes.
“Stevie,” he said, “What are you doing?”
“Rebuilding the Felixatus. Oliver physically couldn’t do it. For all his bravado, he hadn’t a clue how it actually fits together. His memory was fuzzy, but Fela’s was so pin-sharp that I could do this blindfold.”
“So I see,” he said very softly. “I meant the question in a wider sense. Aurata says she needs the Felixatus to complete her plan. If you give her this, she’ll be unstoppable.”
“Perhaps, but mending the Felixatus is the price of Daniel’s freedom. I made a promise.”
“I know, but Daniel and Patrick are gone. They’re safe.”
“For as long as I cooperate. She’d se
nd Slahvin after them in a heartbeat if I don’t finish this. I presume that’s why she trusts me enough to let me work unsupervised.”
He touched her shoulder, very lightly. “I wish you hadn’t been put in this position.”
“Have I played our only card too soon? I’ve nothing left to bargain with for the lives of Rosie and the others. Aurata has all the power here.”
“I hoped my offer of support would be enough, but I don’t think she needs it,” he sighed. “She knows damned well I won’t help with a plan that might wreak devastation. And she’s our sister; that’s the hold she has over Rufus and me. She’s near-impossible to defy, and we can’t dream of hurting her.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. Look, I’ve surrendered myself to her. That doesn’t mean I agree with her plans, but all I can cling to is the tiniest chance of finding Rosie, Luc and Sam … It doesn’t matter what happens to me.”
“Don’t ever say that.” Mist pushed his hand under her hair and stroked the nape of her neck. He sounded fierce. “I still don’t know if Aurata’s ideas are right, wrong, or plain crazy, but I’ll never let her harm you. I’ll keep talking to her until she calms down and sees the wisdom of a more rational path.”
Stevie breathed out, sitting back from the bench. She hadn’t yet told him about Veropardus drowning Fela, or other events she’d remembered. It would be an easy way to turn him against Aurata on the spot. However, if he reacted with fury, that would end any chance of him negotiating with her, and might make an impossible situation even worse.
“Jaap de Witt had books like this,” Mist said, derailing her thoughts. He was leafing slowly through the volume that Veropardus had written. “Medieval texts, to do with alchemy or completely bizarre theories about the world. Helena and I used to…”
He stopped. Stevie picked up a tiny spindle and polished it with a cloth to look busy. “What?” she said. “Laugh at the cartoons?”
“Well, that’s not far from the truth. We’d translate, dig out gems of knowledge, marvel at the downright barminess of some of the theories and illustrations.”
Stevie tried not to picture their heads bent together, dark and golden, the warmth of their hands gently brushing as they turned over the pages … She couldn’t allow herself to be jealous of a dead woman.
Once she had full control of herself, Stevie asked, “Mist, do you love me?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation, as if all his breath had rushed out with surprise.
“How? As a friend, or a potential nice memory, or a partner for all time? As much as Helena, as little as Fela, or less or more or differently? Don’t answer.” She couldn’t look at him. Her mouth was dry. “We shouldn’t be lovers anymore. We can’t.”
“Why? Not because of Helena?”
“In a way. I’m not her, I can’t replace her, and I won’t be second-best.”
He stared at her. “Stevie, you are not second-best to anyone.”
“Thanks, but…” She nearly lost her voice. “But that’s almost worse, because the main reason is that you mustn’t be worrying about my safety every second. You think Helena died because you loved her, and that will taint us forever, if you let it. We have to put our feelings aside. If Aurata unleashes an apocalypse, one or both of us may get killed, and so we both need to be strong enough to carry on without falling down in grief. Make sense?”
The look on his face was one of shock, veiled by resignation. If he argued, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. But if he didn’t … she couldn’t bear that, either.
“Stevie, you’re my soul,” he said, quiet and fervent. “I felt it the first time I saw you. Never second-best. And I never looked down on Fela, either. If anything, I was in awe of her; she was like a distant, silvery moon goddess.”
“But you never thought of … being with her?”
“No, because she was Aurata’s…”
“Property?”
“I was trying to think of a better word. No, I wouldn’t have tried to ‘steal’ Fela, because that would have been to behave like Rufus. That doesn’t mean I had no feelings for Fela, and just because I lost Helena doesn’t mean I can’t love again … I shouldn’t have let this happen, knowing the dangers, but I wasn’t strong enough. I’m sorry.”
“Why? You are strong. We were both lonely. There was no shame in falling for each other, was there?”
He shook his head, still fingering the leaves of the book. His hand trembled slightly. “If things were different…”
“Then we’d never have met. I’d rather have been with you for a few days than not at all. But we can’t … you know, don’t you? I’m being realistic.”
His eyes were dusk-grey. His dignity made her heart twist painfully. “Yes, I know what you’re saying. Love makes us vulnerable, which we can’t afford. We need to focus on the crisis, not on each other. But you know it makes no difference? I’ll still protect you with my life.”
“No, you won’t. You’ll do what needs to be done. Promise!”
“Neither of us wants to be apart,” he said firmly. “We’re agreed on that?”
“Yes.” The word was nearly a sob. “Agreed, with all my heart, but it’s about staying strong.”
“You mean this.”
“I mean it, absolutely.” She hardened her voice.
“Then I promise,” he murmured. “But we’ll be side by side, like warriors.”
His lips briefly pressed her temple. And it was done; the affair ended, a new pact made. And, oddly, it was the first time she’d felt truly in step with him. They were a team, in perfect trust, able to read each other without speaking.
It was the strangest feeling.
Forcing herself to keep breathing, Stevie bent over the workbench, the glow of the soul-orb dazzling her as she tried to remember what she was doing and pretend he was not still there, an arm’s length from her. The Felixatus wanted to be put back together. Its intangible will pulled like magnetism. And the pillars portrayed in Daniel’s triptych held a code that revealed how the mechanism could be altered to trap souls or release them … a code that was carved in her most distant memories.
Mist swore under his breath. She started slightly, unsure how much time had passed. He said, “Gods, why didn’t I see this?”
“What is it?”
He pressed his fingers to the book in a pool of light. “It’s all here. Aurata and Veropardus. Rufus is right, their plan to destroy the barriers is not new. They were plotting long before Rufus started making trouble. They were trying to use the Felixatus as a kind of weapon. When Rufus told us about the Spiral, and Aurata expressed such shock and outrage—when Fela told her—she already knew.”
Stevie leaned sideways to look at the text. Since the lettering was hard to read, and her memory of the Felynx tongue rusty, she hadn’t tried to read the volume. Now, with careful attention, she deciphered the damning passage.
“When I told her, she did the most incredible job of faking surprise,” said Stevie. “Why didn’t I notice she was acting?”
“I trusted her. My father trusted both her and Veropardus. Yet all the time, they were planning to overthrow my parents?”
Stevie put her hand over his. The moment to tell him had arrived. “Mist? Look at me. I know who killed Fela. Who killed me. It was Veropardus who drowned me in the swamp. And Aurata was there, too; I saw her over his shoulder, a silhouette through the rippling water. And the witness who lied by saying that he’d seen Rufus near the marshes? That was Slahvin. The three of them have been planning this … forever.”
20
The Felixatus
How to judge right from wrong, Stevie asked herself, when both sides are equally convinced, and I’m a pawn trapped in the middle, clueless—yet holding the power to change the outcome?
Maybe.
She leaned over the workbench in a pool of light, the question churning as she worked. Aurata had the iron conviction of a born leader. On the other hand there was Rufus, rebellious and volatile, prophesying di
saster. Daniel’s icons made terrifying sense at last. “Aurata’s Promise” was clear: it was to split open the Earth and make herself the new Queen of Fire.
Mist loved his sister and wanted to believe the best of her. The last thing Stevie had wanted was to tear down his illusions. Yet she’d had no choice. What possible hope was there, now, that he could talk sense into Aurata, or even speak to her at all?
Stevie had discarded all Oliver’s attempts at repair. The drawing in his book, which he’d made from memory, was hopelessly inaccurate. His metalwork was inept; the gear wheels were misshapen, their sharp, ragged edges betraying his lack of skill. Starting anew, she buried herself in the process she loved: calculating, measuring, filing and drilling metal, connecting one cog to the next. It was like rebuilding a clock. Simpler, in fact.
As Fela, she’d only had to see the Felixatus once to memorize and understand everything about it. She couldn’t explain that flash of intuition. Even now, she heard faint voices trapped within the Elfstone center, crying out for help. Put it all back together and set us free.
Yes, she tried to tell them. I’m doing my best, working as fast as I can.
The whir of the lathe soothed her. Often she’d find food and drink on the bench without noticing who’d brought it. Pausing to eat, she would read sections of Veropardus’s book. The text was more manifesto than history. In secret we strove to make Azantios equal to Naamon, read a typical passage. Our intention was to set ablaze the barriers between worlds, turn them to vapor. Ultimately, we would have overthrown Malikala and raised Aurata in her place. To achieve this we must turn the Felixatus into our infallible spear, the pure energy of dormant Felynx essences into a bolt of lightning that flies truer than any arrow.
Twice a day Aurata would appear beside her, watching silently as if afraid to interrupt the delicate work. Stevie sensed a glow of approval. She shuddered, thinking, Déjà vu. There is no way I’ll be allowed to live with all this knowledge.
Sometimes Oliver would enter and observe for a few minutes. His presence made her skin crawl: his aura was stained by seething resentment. He must loathe the fact that Stevie could rebuild the Felixatus so easily, when he’d failed. She’d humiliated him without trying, deprived him of Daniel, and might yet denounce him as Fela’s murderer … Oh, there were many reasons for Oliver to want her dead again. He wanted her gone so desperately that she sensed his hands sweating.
Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) Page 41
