"Mark told me," he said, "that when you went into Faerie, you were each made a promise by the phouka who guards the gate that you would find something you wanted there. What was it you wanted?"
"The phouka told me I would be given a chance to bring the Cold Peace to an end," said Cristina. "It is why I agreed when it was decided to cooperate with the Queen."
Kieran looked at her, shaking his head. For a moment she thought he considered her foolish, and her heart sank. He reached to touch her face. The glide of his fingers was featherlight, as if she had been brushed by the calyx of a flower. "When I swore fealty to you in the Court of the Queen," he said, "it was to annoy and anger Mark. But now I think I made a wiser decision than I could have imagined."
"You know I'll never hold you to that oath, Kieran."
"Yes. And that is why I say you are nothing like I thought you'd be," he said. "I have lived in this small world of the Wild Hunt and Faerie Courts, yet you make me feel the world is bigger and full of possibility." He dropped his hand. "I have never known someone so generous in their heart."
Cristina felt as if her face were on fire. "Mark is also all those things," she said. "When Gwyn came to tell us you were in danger in Faerie, Mark went to get you immediately regardless of the cost."
"That was a kind thing to tell me," he said. "You have always been kind."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you could always have taken Mark from me, but you didn't."
"No," Cristina said. "It is as you told Adaon--you would not want Mark's love if it did not come freely. Neither would I. I would not pressure or influence him. If you think I would, and that it would work if I did--then you don't know me at all. Nor Mark. Not as he really is."
Kieran's lips parted. He didn't speak, though, because the Sanctuary doors had opened, and Mark had come in.
He was all in black and looked exhausted. The red ring around his wrist drew Cristina's eye; involuntarily, she touched her own wrist, the healing skin of the binding wound.
"I followed you here," he said to Cristina. "There's still enough of the binding spell left to allow me to do that. I thought you'd be with Kieran."
Kieran said nothing. He looked like a faerie prince in a painting: remote, unassailable, distant.
"My lord Kieran," Mark said formally. "Can we talk?"
*
They looked like a painting, both of them kneeling, Cristina's dark hair falling to hide her face. Kieran, opposite her, was a study in contrasts of black and white. Mark stood in the doorway of the Sanctuary for a moment, just watching them, his heart feeling as if it were being compressed inside his chest.
He really did have a thing for dark hair, he thought.
At that moment he heard Cristina say his name and realized he was eavesdropping. Coming into the Sanctuary felt like entering a cold, harsh place: It was bound all around with iron. Kieran must have felt it too, though the look on his face gave no sign. It gave no sign he felt anything at all.
"My lord Kieran," Mark said. "Can we talk?"
Cristina rose to her feet. "I should go."
"You need not." Kieran had leaned back to lounge among the spilled cushions. Faeries did not lie with their words, but they lied with their faces and voices, the gestures of their hands. Right now anyone looking at Kieran would think he felt nothing but boredom and dislike.
But he hadn't left. He was still in the Institute. Mark clung to that.
"I must," Cristina said. "Mark and I are not meant to be near each other as the binding spell wears off."
Mark moved closer to her, though, as she went to the door. Their hands brushed. Had he thought she was beautiful the moment he met her? He remembered coming awake to the sound of her voice, seeing her sitting on the floor of his room with her knife open. How grateful he had been that she was someone he had never known before the Hunt, someone who would have no expectations of him.
She looked at him once and was gone. He was alone with Kieran.
"Why are you here?" Kieran demanded. "Why lower yourself to come before someone you hate?"
"I don't hate you. None of this was because I hated you or wanted to hurt you. I was angry with you--of course I was. Can't you understand why?"
Kieran didn't meet Mark's eyes. "This is why Emma dislikes me," he said. "And Julian."
"Iarlath whipped them both. The whipping he gave Emma would have killed a mundane human."
"I remember," said Kieran miserably, "and yet it seems distant." He swallowed. "I knew I was losing you. I was afraid. There was more to it, as well. Iarlath had hinted you would not be safe in the Shadowhunters' world. That they were planning to lure you back, only to execute you on some trumped-up charge. I was a fool to believe him. I know it now."
"Oh," said Mark. The knowledge unfolded in him, realization edged with relief. "You thought you were saving my life."
Kieran nodded. "It makes no difference, though. What I did was wrong."
"You will have to make your own apology to Emma and Julian," said Mark. "But for my sake, Kieran, I have forgiven you. You returned when you did not have to--you helped us save Tavvy--"
"When I sought refuge here, I was blinded by rage," Kieran said. "All I could think was that you had lied to me. I thought you had come to the Court to save me because you--" His voice cracked. "Because you loved me. I cannot bear to think on my own stupidity."
"I do love you," Mark said. "But it is not an easy or restful sort of love, Kier."
"Not like what you feel for Cristina."
"No," said Mark. "Not like what I feel for Cristina."
Kieran's shoulders sagged slightly. "I am glad you admit it," he said. "I could not tolerate a lie now, I think. When first I loved you, I knew I was loving something that could lie. I told myself it would not matter. But it matters more than I ever thought."
Mark closed the distance between them. He was half-certain that Kieran would back away from him, but the other boy didn't move. Mark approached until there were only inches of space between them, until Kieran's eyes had widened, and then Mark knelt, cold marble against his knees.
It was a gesture he had seen before, in the Hunt and at revels. One faerie kneeling to another. Not submission, but an apology. Forgive me. Kieran's eyes were like saucers.
"It does matter," Mark said. "I wish that I could not lie, so that you would believe me: All these days, I have not held back from affection with you because I was angry at you, or sickened. I wanted you just as I did in the Hunt. But I could not be with you, touch you, with all of it shadowed by lies. It would not have felt true or honest. It would not have felt as if you were choosing me, because to make a true choice, we must have true knowledge."
"Mark," Kieran whispered.
"I do not love you as I love Cristina. I love you as I love you," said Mark. He bent his head. "I wish that you could see my heart. Then you would understand."
There was a rustling sound. Kieran had sunk to his own knees, level with Mark. "Would you have told me?" he said. "After the testimony?"
"Yes. I couldn't have stood it otherwise."
Kieran half-closed his eyes. Mark could see crescents of black and silver beneath his lids, fringed by his dark lashes. His hair had paled to almost a pewter color. "I believe you." He opened his eyes, looked directly into Mark's. "Do you know why I trust you?"
Mark shook his head. He could hear the water rushing in the fountain behind them, reminding him of a thousand rivers they had ridden over together, a thousand streams they had slept beside.
"Because of Cristina," said Kieran. "She would not have agreed to a dishonorable plan. I understand you were trying to help your family, your sister. I understand why you were desperate. And I believe you would not have deceived me longer than you needed." Something behind his eyes suddenly seemed very old. "I will testify," he said.
Mark started up. "Kieran, you don't--"
Kieran's hands came up to cup Mark's face. His touch was gentle. "I am not doing it for you," he said
. "This will be what I do for Emma and the others. Then that debt will be paid. You and I, our debts are paid already." He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Mark's. Mark wanted to chase the kiss, the warmth of it, the familiarity. He felt Kieran's hand come down to splay itself over his chest--over the elf-bolt that hung there, below his collarbone. "We will be done with each other."
"No," Mark whispered.
But Kieran was on his feet, the warmth of his hands gone from Mark's skin. His eyes were dark, his whole body tense. Mark shot to his feet after, meaning to demand that Kieran explain what he had meant by done--just as a terrible noise split the air.
It was a noise that came from outside the Institute, though not very far at all. Not nearly far enough. A memory flashed through Mark's mind, of watching from horseback as a forest of trees was destroyed by lightning. Fire had flashed beneath him, the wrenching crash of branches and trunks like shrieks in his head.
Kieran sucked in a breath. His eyes had gone distant, unfocused. "They have come," he said. "They are near."
*
A crash ripped Emma out of sleep and out of Julian's arms. A crash that wasn't quite a crash; she thought at first that it sounded like two cars slamming into each other on the highway, the screech of brakes and the explosion of glass. It seemed to be coming from right outside; she bolted up and hurtled across the room to the window.
There were five of them in the courtyard. They gleamed bronze in the morning light, both horses and riders. The steeds seemed metallic, their eyes bound with bronze silk, their hooves gleaming with a high polish. The faeries who sat astride them were just as shimmering and beautiful, their armor without visible jointure so that it looked like liquid bronze. Their faces were masked, their hair long and metallic. Somehow, here in the heart of London, they looked far more terrifying than they had the first time Emma had seen them.
Julian was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching for the weapons belt that hung on the wall over the nightstand.
"They came," she said. "It's the Riders."
*
They raced to the library, all of them but Kit and Bridget, as Magnus had instructed. Magnus, Cristina, Ty, and Livvy were already there when Emma came bursting in with Cortana in her hand.
Julian was a few paces behind her. They'd agreed it was better not to seem as if they'd been together.
Everyone was standing at the windows, from which the curtains had been thrown back to provide an uninterrupted view of the courtyard and the front of the Institute. Magnus was leaning against the glass, arm extended, hand flat against the pane, his expression grim. There were black hollows under his eyes and he looked worryingly gaunt and exhausted.
Mark and Kieran came in as Emma hooked her sword over her back and hurried to the windows. Julian slid in beside her and stared through the glass.
The five Riders hadn't moved from the courtyard. They remained where they were, like statues. Their horses had no reins or bridles, nothing for them to hold. They sat with their swords unsheathed, held out ahead of them like a row of gleaming teeth.
Kieran came forward before Mark, crossing the room to the window, and after a moment Mark followed. They stood in a line: the Shadowhunters, the warlock, and the faerie prince, staring grimly down at the courtyard. Kieran was silent and sick-looking, his hair a pale white, the color of bones.
"They can't get inside the Institute," said Ty.
"No," Magnus said. "The wards keep them out."
"Nonetheless, we should get away as soon as we can," said Kieran. "I do not trust the Riders. They will think of some way in."
"We need to contact Alicante," said Livvy. "Get them to open their side of a Portal so we can get out of here."
"We can't do that without revealing that the Riders are here, and why," said Julian. "But--we could still Portal away from here, even if we didn't go straight to Idris." He glanced sideways at Magnus.
"The thing is, I can't make my side of a Portal right now," said Magnus. He spoke with some effort. "We need to hold out a few hours. I've exhausted my energy--I wasn't expecting to need to heal Kit, or to need to send Alec and the children away."
There was an awful silence. It had never occurred to any of them that there were things Magnus couldn't do. That he had weaknesses, like anyone else.
"There's a Portal in the crypt," said Ty. "But it only goes to the Cornwall Institute."
No one asked him how he knew that. "That Institute is abandoned, though," said Julian. "The protections are probably stronger here."
"We'd just be trading Institute for Institute," said Magnus. "We'd still be trapped inside, and with weaker protections. And believe me, they'd be able to follow us. There have never been greater hunters than the Riders of Mannan."
"What about Catarina Loss?" said Livvy. "She got us out of the Los Angeles Institute."
Magnus took a shaky breath. "The same wards keeping the Riders out also prevent anyone from trying to make a Portal from outside."
"What about the Seelie Queen?" Emma said. "Might she be willing to help us fight the Riders?"
"The Queen isn't on our side," said Julian. "She's only on her own side."
There was a long silence. Magnus broke it. "I have to hand it to you," he said. "I never thought Jace and Clary would be topped by anyone else in terms of insane, self-destructive decisions, but you all are giving them a run for their money."
"I really had nothing to do with this," Kieran pointed out stiffly.
"I think you will find many poor decisions led you here, my friend," Magnus said. "All right, there are a few things I can do to try to bring my energy up. You--all of you--wait here. And don't do anything stupid."
He strode out of the room on long, black-clad legs, swearing under his breath.
"He's getting more and more like Gandalf," said Emma, watching him go. "I mean, a hot, younger-looking Gandalf, but I keep expecting him to start stroking his long white beard and muttering darkly."
"At least he's willing to help us," said Julian. His gaze sharpened. A Rider was coming through the gates. The sixth rider, this one with a slighter build, a spill of long bronze hair. Ethna, Emma thought. The sister.
Then her thoughts dissolved into a buzz of shock. A small figure was propped on the bronze horse's back in front of her. A little human girl, with short black hair. She dangled limply in the faerie woman's one-handed grip, but she was blinking, her face twisted in terror. She couldn't have been more than four years old--she wore leggings with a cheerful print of bees, and bright pink sneakers.
In her other hand, Ethna held a dagger, the point of it against the back of the girl's neck.
Julian had gone rigid as marble, his face white. Voices rose around Emma in the room, but they were only noise. She couldn't distinguish the words. She was staring at the little girl, and in her mind she saw Dru, Tavvy, even Livvy and Ty; they had all been that tiny once, that helpless.
And Ethna was strong. All she had to do was drive that dagger forward, and she'd sever the child's head from her neck.
"Get back from the window," said Julian. "Everyone, get back from the window. If they don't think we're watching them, they're less likely to hurt the girl."
His hand was on Emma's arm. She staggered back with the others. She could hear Mark protesting. They should go down, he was saying. Fight off the Riders.
"We can't," said Julian in anguish. "We'll be slaughtered."
"I killed one of them before," said Emma. "I--"
"They were caught off guard, though." Julian's voice reached her partially distorted through shock. "They didn't expect it--didn't think it was possible--this time they'll be prepared--"
"He is right," said Kieran. "Sometimes the most ruthless heart speaks the most truth."
"What do you mean?" Mark was flushed, his right hand gripping his wrist; Emma realized, distantly, that the mark of the binding spell was gone from his skin, and from Cristina's, too.
"The children of Mannan have never been defeated,
" Kieran said. "Emma is the first ever to slay one. They have taken the child to lure us out, because they know they will have us in their power when we do."
"They'll kill her," Emma said. "She's a baby."
"Emma--" Julian reached out for her. She could read his face. Julian would do anything, brave anything, for his family. There was nothing and no one he wouldn't sacrifice.
That was why this had to be her.
She bolted. She heard Julian shout her name but she was out the library door; she slammed it behind her and took off running down the hall. She was already in gear, already had Cortana; she barreled down the steps, skidded through the entryway, and burst through the front doors of the Institute.
She saw the blur of bronze that was the Riders, before she swung around and shoved the doors closed, whipping her stele from her pocket. She slashed a Locking rune across them just as she heard the dull thumps of bodies striking the other side, voices calling out to her not to be reckless, to open the doors, open them, Emma--
She put her stele in her pocket, raised Cortana, and descended the steps.
28
THE SAD SOUL
"That's her!" Ethna cried, her voice rich and sweet. She drew the child in her grip closer to her, raised the blade in her hand. "That is the murderer who slew Fal."
"It was a battle," Emma said. "He would have killed me." She looked at the other Riders. They stood in their row, facing her, a line of grim statuary. "I would think warriors would know the difference."
"You should be killed like your parents," hissed one of the other Riders. Delan. "Tortured and carved with knives, like they were."
Emma's heart lurched in her chest. Her fear for the girl was still there, but rage was starting to mix with it. "Let the girl go," she said. "Let her go and you can fight me. Revenge yourselves on me like you want to."
She could hear pounding on the doors behind her. Soon enough they'd get them open; she didn't have any illusions of the locking rune holding forever. Her runes had surprising power now, because of Julian--but Julian would be a match for their capability.
Emma raised Cortana, the morning sun sliding down the blade like melted butter.