Queen of Air and Darkness Page 34

  There was a silence when she was done, but at least Jace had let go of the vine.

  “I’m so sorry about your sister,” Clary said softly. “I’m sorry we weren’t there.”

  Julian said nothing.

  “There isn’t anything you could have done,” said Emma.

  “The King is close to getting the Black Volume,” said Jace. He opened and closed his bloody hand. “This is really bad news.”

  “But you didn’t come here for that,” said Julian. “You came here to find Ash. He’s the weapon you’re looking for, right?”

  Clary nodded. “We got a tip-off from the Spiral Labyrinth that there was a weapon in Faerie that the Unseelie King had access to, something that could nullify Shadowhunter powers.”

  “We were sent here because of our angelic blood. Rumors of the ineffectiveness of Shadowhunter magic in the Courts were swirling; the Silent Brothers said we would be more resistant to the effects,” said Jace. “We don’t suffer from time slippage here, and we can use runes—or at least we could, before they took our steles away. At least we still have these.” He held up the glowing witchlight, pulsing in his hand.

  “So we knew we were looking for something,” said Clary. “But not that it was my—that it was Ash.”

  “How did you figure it out?” said Emma.

  “We found out pretty early on that the King had kidnapped the Seelie Queen’s son,” said Jace. “It’s something of an open secret in the Courts. And then the first time Clary saw him—from a distance, we were captured before we ever got close—”

  Clary moved restlessly inside the cell. “I knew who he was right away. He looks exactly like my brother.”

  Emma had heard Julian and Livvy and Mark and Dru say the words “my brother” more times than she could count. It had never sounded the way it did when Clary said it: imbued with bitterness and regret.

  “And now the King has the Black Volume, which means we have hardly any time,” said Jace, brushing his hand lightly across the back of Clary’s neck.

  “Okay,” said Julian. “What exactly does the King plan to do with the Black Volume to make Ash a weapon?”

  Jace lowered his voice, though Emma doubted anyone could hear them. “There are spells in the Black Volume that would imbue Ash with certain powers. The King did something like this once before—”

  “Have you heard of the First Heir?” said Clary.

  “Yes,” Emma said. “Kieran mentioned him—or at least mentioned the story.”

  “It was something his brother Adaon told him.” Julian was frowning. “Kieran said his father had wanted the book since the First Heir was stolen. Maybe to raise the child from the dead? But what does that have to do with Ash?”

  “It’s an old story,” said Jace. “But as you know—all the stories are true.”

  “Or at least true in part.” Clary smiled up at him. Emma felt a spark of longing—even in the darkness and cold of this prison, their love was undamaged. Clary turned back to Julian and Emma. “We learned that long ago the Unseelie King and the Seelie Queen decided to unite the Courts. Part of their plan involved having a child together, a child who would be heir to both Courts. But that wasn’t enough for them—they wanted to create a faerie child so powerful that he could destroy the Nephilim.”

  “Before the child was born, they used rites and spells to give the child ‘gifts,’ ” said Jace. “Think Sleeping Beauty but the parents are the wicked faeries.”

  “The child would be perfectly beautiful, a perfect leader, inspiring of perfect loyalty,” said Clary. “But when the child was born, she was a girl. It had never even occurred to the King that the child wouldn’t be male—being who he is, he thought the perfect leader had to be a man. The King was furious and thought that the Queen had betrayed him. The Queen, in turn, was furious that he wanted to abandon their whole plan just because the child was a girl. Then the child was kidnapped, and possibly murdered.”

  “No wonder—all that stuff about the King hating daughters,” Emma mused.

  “What do you mean ‘possibly’?” said Julian.

  Jace said, “We weren’t able to find out what happened to that child. No one knows—the claim of the King was that she was kidnapped and murdered, but it seems likely she escaped Faerie and lived on.” He shrugged. “What’s clear is that Ash has mixed in him the blood of royal faeries, the blood of the Nephilim, and the blood of demons. The King believes he’s the perfect candidate to finish what they began with the First Heir.”

  “The end of all Shadowhunters,” Julian said slowly.

  “The blight the King has already brought here has been taking hold slowly,” Clary said. “But if the King is allowed to perform the spells he wants to on Ash, Ash will become a weapon even more powerful than the blight. We don’t even know everything he’ll be able to do, but he’ll have the same mixture of seraphic and infernal blood that Sebastian did.”

  “He’d be demonic, but impervious to runes or angelic magic,” said Jace. “He could bear runes, but nothing demonic could hurt him. The touch of his hands could make the blight spread like wildfire.”

  “The blight is already in Idris,” said Emma. “Parts of Brocelind Forest have been destroyed.”

  “We need to get back,” Clary said. She looked even paler than she had before, and younger. Emma remembered Clary on the roof at the L.A. Institute. Knowing something awful is coming. Like a wall of darkness and blood. A shadow that spreads out over the world and blots out everything.

  “We can’t wait any longer,” Jace said. “We have to get out of here.”

  “I’m guessing that wishing to get out of here hasn’t worked so far, since you’re still imprisoned,” said Julian.

  Jace narrowed his eyes.

  “Julian,” Emma said. She wanted to add sorry, he has no feelings of empathy, but she didn’t because at that moment she heard a shout, followed by a loud thump. Jace closed his hand over his witchlight, and in the near-total darkness, Emma backed away from the walls of the cage. She didn’t want to accidentally walk face-first into the stabbing thorns.

  There was a grinding sound as the door of the prison swung open.

  “Probably guards,” said Clary in a low voice.

  Emma stared into the shadowy dimness. There were two figures coming toward them; she could see the gold glint of the braid on guard uniforms.

  “One’s carrying a sword,” Emma whispered.

  “They’re probably coming for us,” Clary said. “We’ve been down here longer.”

  “No,” Julian said. Emma knew what he was thinking. Jace and Clary were valuable hostages, in their way. Emma and Julian were Shadowhunter thieves who had killed a Rider. They would not be left in the dungeons to languish. They would be beheaded quickly for the enjoyment of the Court.

  “Fight back,” Jace said urgently. “If they open your cell, fight back—”

  Cortana, Emma thought in desperation. Cortana!

  But nothing happened. There was no sudden and comforting weight in her hand. Only a pressure against her shoulder; Julian had moved to stand next to her. Weaponless, they faced the front of their cell. There was the sound of a gasp, then running feet—Emma raised her fists—

  The smaller of the guards reached their cell and grabbed at one of the vines, then yelped in pain. A voice murmured something in a faerie language, and the torches along the walls burst into dim flame. Emma found herself staring through the tangle of vines and thorns at Cristina, wearing the livery of a faerie guard, a longsword strapped across her back.

  “Emma?” Cristina breathed, her eyes wide. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  * * *

  Watch over Tiberius.

  Kit was doing just that. Or at least he was staring at Ty, which seemed close enough. They were on the beach below the Institute; Ty had taken off his socks and shoes and was walking at the edge of the water. He glanced up at Kit, who was sitting on a rise of sand, and beckoned him closer. “The water isn’t that cold!
” he called. “I promise.”

  I believe you, Kit wanted to say. He always believed Ty. Ty wasn’t a liar unless he had to be, though he was good at hiding things. He wondered what would happen if Helen asked them both straight-out if they were trying to raise Livvy from the dead.

  Maybe he would be the one who told the truth. After all, he was the one who didn’t really want to do it.

  Kit rose slowly to his feet and walked down the beach to join Ty. The waves were breaking at least twenty feet out; by the time they reached the shoreline they were white foam and silver water. A surge splashed up and over Ty’s bare feet and soaked Kit’s sneakers.

  Ty had been right. It wasn’t all that cold.

  “So tomorrow we’ll go to the Shadow Market,” said Ty. The moonlight played delicate shadows over his face. He seemed calm, Kit thought, and realized that it had been a long time since he hadn’t felt like Ty was a tightly strung wire, thrumming by his side.

  “You hated the Shadow Market in London,” Kit said. “It really bothered you. The noises, and the crowd—”

  Ty’s gaze flicked down to Kit. “I’ll wear my headphones. I’ll be all right.”

  “. . . and I don’t know if we should go again so soon,” Kit added. “What if Helen and Aline get suspicious?”

  Ty’s gray gaze darkened. “Julian told me once,” he said, “that when people keep coming up with reasons not to do something, it’s because they don’t want to do it. Do you not want to do this? The spell, everything?”

  Ty’s voice sounded tight. The thrumming wire again, sharp with tension. Under the cotton of his shirt, his thin shoulders had tightened as well. The neck of his shirt was loose, the delicate line of his collarbones just visible.

  Kit felt a rush of tenderness toward Ty, mixed with near panic. In other circumstances, he thought, he would just have lied. But he couldn’t lie to Ty.

  He splashed farther into the water, until his jeans were wet to below his knees. He turned around, the foam of the surf splashing around him. “Didn’t you hear what Shade said? The Livvy we get back might not be anything like our Livvy. Your Livvy.”

  Ty followed him out into the water. Mist was coming down to touch the water, surrounding them in white and gray. “If we do the spell correctly, she will be. That’s all. We have to do it right.”

  Kit could taste salt on his mouth. “I don’t know . . .”

  Ty reached out a hand, sweeping his arm toward the horizon, where the stars were beginning to fade into the mist. The horizon was a black line smudged with silver. “Livvy is out there,” he said. “Just past where I can reach her, but I can hear her. She says my name. She wants me to bring her back. She needs me to bring her back.” The corner of Ty’s mouth trembled. “I don’t want to do it without you. But I will.”

  Kit took another step into the ocean and paused. The deeper he went, the colder it got. And wasn’t that the case with everything, he thought. There are many ways to be endangered by magic.

  I could walk away, he said to himself. I could let Ty do this on his own. But I can’t tell myself that it wouldn’t be the end of our friendship, because it would. I’d end up locked out of Ty’s plans, just like Helen, just like Dru. Just like everyone else.

  It felt like the air was being choked out of his lungs. He spun back toward Ty. “Okay. I’ll do it. We can go to the Shadow Market tomorrow.”

  Ty smiled. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that a smile broke across his face, like the sun rising. Kit stood breathless, the water receding around him, as Ty came up and put his arms around Kit’s neck.

  He remembered holding Ty on the roof of the Institute in London, but that had been because Ty was panicking. It had been like holding a wild animal. This was Ty hugging him because he wanted to. The soft cotton of Ty’s shirt, the feeling of Ty’s hair brushing against his cheek as he hid his expression from Ty by burrowing his face against the other boy’s shoulder. He could hear Ty breathing. He threaded his arms around Ty, crossing his cold hands over Ty’s back. When Ty leaned into him with a sigh, he felt like he’d won a race he didn’t know he was running.

  “Don’t worry,” Ty said quietly. “We’re going to get her back. I promise.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of. But Kit said nothing aloud. He held on to Ty, sick with a miserable happiness, and closed his eyes against the prying light of the moon.

  * * *

  “We are here to help you,” said Cristina’s companion. Emma recognized him, belatedly: Prince Adaon, one of the Unseelie King’s sons. She had seen him the last time she was in Faerie. He was a tall faerie knight in the colors of Unseelie, handsome and dark-skinned, two daggers at his waist. He reached out to grasp the vines of their cell, which parted under his touch. Emma wriggled out through them and flung her arms around Cristina.

  “Cristina,” she said. “You beautiful badass, you.”

  Cristina smiled and patted Emma’s back while Adaon freed Julian and then Jace and Clary. Jace was the last to slip through the vines. He raised an eyebrow at Julian.

  “What were you saying about wishing to be rescued?” he said.

  “We cannot stay here long,” said Adaon. “There will come others, guards and knights alike.” He glanced up and down the row of cells, frowning. “Where are they?”

  “Where are who?” said Emma, letting go of Cristina reluctantly.

  “Mark and Kieran,” said Cristina. “Where are Mark and Kieran?”

  “I came here to rescue my brother, not empty the palace’s prisons of criminals,” said Adaon, who Emma was beginning to think might not be the world’s most jolly person.

  “We’re very appreciative of your efforts,” said Clary. She had noticed Emma was shivering with cold. She took off her denim jacket and handed it to Emma with a gentle pat on her shoulder.

  Emma slipped the jacket on, too cold and tired and hurt to protest. “But—why would Mark and Kieran be here? Why are you here, Cristina?”

  Adaon had begun to stride up and down the line of cells, peering into each one. Cristina looked around nervously. “Mark, Kieran, and I heard that Dearborn sent you on a suicide mission,” she said to Emma and Julian. “We came to help you.”

  “But Mark isn’t with you?” said Julian, who had snapped to attention at the sound of his brother’s name. “Did you get separated here? Inside the tower?”

  “No. They were kidnapped on the road, by the worst of my brothers,” said Adaon, who had returned from his search of the cells. “Cristina came to me for help. I knew Oban would have brought Mark and Kieran here, but I thought they would be in the prison.” His mouth set in grim lines. “Oban was always overeager. He must have taken them straight to my father instead.”

  “You mean to the throne room?” said Emma, slightly dizzy with the suddenness with which things were happening.

  “Yes,” said Adaon. “To the King. They would be valuable prizes, and Oban would be eager to collect.”

  “They’ll kill Kieran,” Cristina said, a thin thread of panic in her voice. “He already escaped execution once. They’ll kill Mark, too.”

  “Then we’d better get there and prevent it,” said Jace. Under the dirt and the beard, he was starting to look more like the Jace Emma had always known, the one she had once wanted to be like—the best warrior of all the Shadowhunters. “Now.”

  Adaon gave him a scornful look. “It’s too dangerous for you, Nephilim.”

  “You came here for your brother,” Julian said, his eyes blazing. “We’re going after mine. If you want to stop us, you’ll have to use force.”

  “We should all go together,” Clary said. “The more of us there are, the more easily we can defeat the King.”

  “But you are powerless here, Nephilim,” said Adaon.

  “No,” Jace said, and the witchlight blazed up in his hand, light spearing through his fingers. They all stood bathed in its white light. Cristina stared with her mouth open; Adaon betrayed shock the way faeries usually did, by moving one or two fa
cial muscles slightly.

  “Very well,” he said coolly. “But I will not risk being caught by the guards wandering the tower openly, like fools. All of you walk before me. You will behave as my prisoners now.”

  “You want us to act like prisoners being marched to the King?” said Julian, who didn’t look delighted at the thought.

  “I want you to look afraid,” said Adaon, drawing his sword and motioning for them to get in front of him. “Because you should be.”

  * * *

  Diana had expected to be locked in a cell in the Gard’s prisons, but instead she was brought to a surprisingly luxurious room. A Turkish rug covered the floor and a fire burned high in a carved stone fireplace. Deep velvet armchairs were pulled up to the fire; she sat in one, stiff with tension, and stared out the picture window at the rooftops of Idris.

  Her mind was full of Gwyn, and of Emma and Julian. What if she had sent Gwyn into danger? Why had she assumed he would travel to Faerie to find two Shadowhunters only because she had asked?

  As for Emma and Julian, two words circled in her head like sharks, over and over.

  Suicide mission.

  Horace Dearborn entered, carrying a silver tray with a tea service on it. Now I’ve seen it all, Diana thought as he sat down and settled the tray on a small table between them.

  “Diana Wrayburn,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to have a private conversation with you for a long time.”

  “You could have invited me to the Gard at any time. You didn’t need to have me arrested in the woods.”

  He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry it had to happen like that, but you were consorting with faeries and breaking the Cold Peace. Understand, I like a woman with spirit.” His gaze slid over her in a way that made her feel like shuddering.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where’s Jia?”

  Horace picked up the teapot and began to pour. Every move was measured and calm. “By the will of the Council, the Consul is under house arrest for the time being, until her connection with faeries is investigated.”