Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) by Freda Warrington Page B

waiting for the movement to subside. Orla stared upward, as if absorbing every nuance. He still couldn’t believe that she’d become a scientist, a doctor, part of a team. That was true human camouflage. He’d never troubled to learn anything in particular, still less to attend a university or give any credence to human qualifications. She’d evolved, and he felt oddly inadequate. But, after all this time, who wouldn’t change? Even the ancient, timeless Felynx. The question was not whether they’d changed, but how much the changes actually mattered?
    Now they were engaged in a strange dance around each other, both secretly knowing the truth but daring the other one to speak first.
    “One of us should begin,” said Orla. “What are you thinking?”
    Finally Rufus said, “I used to dream about you. You were calling to me from some kind of limbo with grey walls. Nine-tenths of me was sure you perished in Azantios, but the last tenth insisted that you must still exist … somewhere.”
    He heard her release a small breath of exasperation. “Who do you think I am? Rufus, we both know, so why can’t we say it aloud?”
    “It might break the magic,” he said softly.
    Her eyes narrowed, irresistibly seductive. “Magic? Rufus, please. Is it gun-selling that’s turned you so romantic?”
    “All right.” He paused. “It’s gentlemanly to go first, but I hesitate because I’ve made grave mistakes in the past. I was convinced I recognized someone, so convinced that I couldn’t accept I was monstrously wrong. Now I have the same feeling about you, but I don’t trust it.”
    “This time, you probably should trust yourself, Rufus. I have been calling you. Gods, it took you long enough to hear me!”
    “Calling…?” He stared into the deep fire of her eyes. “Tell me your real name. I’ve already told you mine.”
    “No. You must say it; then I’ll tell you if you’re right.”
    “This is turning into a game.”
    “No game.” She trailed a finger from his shoulder to his elbow. Her voice was honey. “This is more important than you can imagine.”
    Grinning, he leaned off the mattress and picked up her notebook and pen lying nearby. “All right, I’m going to write your true name on a piece of paper. Then you say it out loud, and we’ll see if it matches what I’ve written.”
    Theatrically, she laughed and closed her eyes. “Fold it up and let me hold it, then. I don’t trust you not to scribble the name down as I speak, then swap bits of paper around. You’re an illusionist.”
    “You’re not wrong,” he said. “You remember me, after all.” Turning his back to her, Rufus wrote her name, tore out the page and folded it three times to make sure she couldn’t feel an imprint. Then he slotted the paper between her thumb and forefinger. “There. Now say it.”
    As she spoke, she opened her eyes and swiftly unfolded the note. “Aurata.” Together they looked at the name written in slanting letters, Aurata .
    Rufus could barely breathe. “Sister,” he gasped. “Sweet sister.”

 
    5
    A Winter’s Trail
    The arts center, jauntily named the Jellybean Factory, was a renovated 1930s printing works in North London. Stevie looked up at an expanse of red brick set with huge metal-framed windows. Fire escapes wound down from the upper floors into a courtyard landscaped with gravel areas and quirky sculptures. The look was industrial art-deco, ugly yet trendily urban at the same time.
    A week into the New Year, this was the first day the center had been open after the Christmas break. Three hours of travel by train and taxi had left her cold, tired and hungry. Even the fake fur of her thrift-shop winter coat couldn’t keep out the chill. Drizzle was eroding a light coating of snow as she hurried across the courtyard to the glass double doors of the entrance.
    How frustrating, that she’d never visited Daniel here while she had the chance. If only they’d talked, maybe she could have helped him.