“Helen thought the Conclave should get used to her,” said Mark. “Be reminded she’s a Shadowhunter like any other Shadowhunter. And that she’s a Blackthorn, especially since they might wind up talking about things like whether Diana needs to be replaced as our tutor—”
“I don’t want another tutor!” Tavvy exclaimed. “I want Diana!”
“But surely she is only going to be away a few more days?” said Cristina anxiously. “At the most?”
Mark shrugged. “All of us bouncing around here without a tutor or a schedule is the kind of thing that makes Conclaves nervous.”
“But Tavvy’s right,” Dru said. “We’re already studying with Diana. We don’t need to start with someone else. Isn’t that right, Kit?”
Kit was so startled to be addressed that his juice glass almost flew out of his hand. Before he could answer, Aline interrupted them by stalking over to the table holding a frying pan. Fantastic smells wafted from it. Kit’s mouth began to water.
“What’s that?” Tavvy asked, his eyes big.
“This,” said Aline, “is a frittata. And you’re all going to eat it.” She slammed it down onto a metal trivet in the center of the table.
“Don’t like frittata,” said Tavvy.
“Too bad,” said Aline, crossing her arms and glaring at each of them in turn. “You made Helen cry yesterday, so you’re going to eat this frittata—which, by the way, is goddamn delicious—and you’re going to like it. It’s what’s for breakfast, and since I’m not Helen, I don’t care if you starve or eat Cheetos for every single meal. Helen and I both have a lot of work to do, the Clave isn’t giving us an inch, all she wants is to be with you guys, and you are not going to make her cry again. Understood?”
Dru and Tavvy both nodded, wide-eyed.
“I’m very sorry, Aline,” said Cristina in a small voice.
“I didn’t mean you, Cristina.” Aline rolled her eyes. “And where’s Ty? I’m not repeating this lecture again.” She glared at Kit. “You’re the one glued to his side. Where is he?”
“Probably sleeping,” said Kit. He guessed Ty had stayed up late, researching dark magic. Not that he’d say that out loud.
“Fine. Tell him what I said when he wakes up. And put the frying pan in the freaking sink when you’re done with breakfast.” Aline grabbed her jacket off the back of a chair, slid her arms into the sleeves, and stalked out of the room.
Kit braced himself for either Tavvy or Dru to start to cry. Neither of them did. “That was pretty cool,” said Dru, helping herself to some frittata, which turned out to be a mixture of eggs, sausage, cheese, and caramelized onions. “I like the way she stood up for Helen.”
“You yelled at Helen the other day,” Mark pointed out.
“She’s my sister,” said Dru, heaping frittata on Tavvy’s plate.
Mark made an exasperated noise. Cristina took a bite of frittata and closed her eyes in pleasure.
“I bet you used to yell at your dad,” Dru said to Kit. “I mean, every family fights sometimes.”
“We weren’t really a yelling family. Mostly my dad would either ignore me or spend his time trying to teach me to pick locks.”
Dru’s face lit up. She still looked wan and tired, and very young in her oversize T-shirt, but when she smiled, she reminded Kit of Livvy. “You can pick locks?”
“I can show you how, if you want.”
She dropped her fork and clapped her hands together. “Yes! Mark, can I go learn how to pick locks now?”
“We have Open runes, Dru,” Mark said.
“So? What if I was kidnapped by a tentacle demon and I dropped my stele and I was handcuffed to a chair? What then?”
“That won’t happen,” said Mark.
“It could happen,” said Tavvy.
“It really couldn’t. Tentacle demons can’t operate handcuffs.” Mark looked exasperated.
“Please?” Dru begged him with her eyes.
“I—suppose it would do no harm,” Mark said, clearly out of his depth. He glanced sideways at Cristina, as if seeking her approval, but she looked quickly away. “Just don’t commit any actual crimes with your newfound knowledge, Dru. The last thing we need is something else for the Clave to be annoyed about.”
* * *
“That water is eldritch magic,” Kieran said. He was leaning heavily against Diego’s side as they made their way as quickly as possible down the corridors of the Scholomance. Divya and Rayan had remained behind at the doors of the Hollow Place, to keep the Cohort from chasing after Kieran and Diego. “I heard them laugh about it, as they dragged me down the halls, blindfolded.” There was a haughty bitterness in his voice, still the tones of a prince. Beneath it was a layer of rage and shame. “I did not believe they knew of what they spoke, but they did.”
“I am sorry,” Diego said. He put a hand on the faerie prince’s shoulder, tentatively. It seemed as if he could feel Kieran’s heartbeat thrumming even through bone and muscle. “I was meant to protect you. I failed.”
“You did not fail,” Kieran said. “If it were not for you, I would have died.” He sounded uncomfortable. Faeries weren’t fond of apologies or debts. “We cannot go back to your room,” Kieran added as they turned another corner. “They will look for us there.”
“We have to hide,” said Diego. “Somewhere we can get you bandaged up. There are dozens of empty rooms—”
Kieran pulled away. He was walking like a drunk, unsteadily. “Bandages are for those who deserve to heal,” he said.
Diego looked at him, worried. “Is the pain bad?”
“It is not my pain,” said Kieran.
A scream echoed down the halls. A tortured female scream, abruptly cut off.
“The girl who fell in the waters,” said Kieran. “I tried to reach her sooner—”
Samantha. Diego might not have liked her, but no one deserved pain that would make you scream like that.
“Maybe we should get out of the Scholomance,” said Diego. The main entrance was through
the side of the mountain but was always guarded. There were other ways out, though—even a glass corridor that snaked through the waters of the lake to the other side.
Kieran raised his chin. “Someone is coming.”
Diego reached for Kieran with one hand and his dagger with the other, then froze as he recognized the figure in front of him. Black hair, set jaw, scowling eyebrows, eyes fixed on Kieran.
Martin Gladstone.
“You won’t be leaving the Scholomance,” Gladstone said. “Not any time soon.”
“You don’t understand,” said Diego. “The others—Zara’s group—they tried to kill Kieran—”
Gladstone raked contemptuous eyes over Diego and his companion. “So you really had the gall to bring him here,” he said, clearly meaning Kieran. “The faerie is a member of an enemy army. A high-ranking one at that.”
“He was going to testify against the Unseelie King!” said Diego. “He was going to risk himself—risk the King’s anger—to help Shadowhunters!”
“He never quite got that chance, did he,” sneered Gladstone. “So we don’t know what he would have done.”
“I would have testified,” said Kieran, leaning against the wall. “I bear my father no love.”
“Faeries can’t lie,” said Diego. “Can you not listen?”
“They can trick and deceive and manipulate. How did he get you to aid him, Diego Rocio Rosales?”
“He did not ‘get’ me to do anything,” said Diego. “I know who I trust. And if you kill Kieran, or let those bastards hurt him, you will be breaking the Accords.”
“Interesting escalation,” said Gladstone. “I have no intention of killing or harming Kingson. Instead you will be sequestered in the library until the Inquisitor can arrive and deal with you both.”
* * *
Emma and Julian had been walking for some hours when Emma realized that they were being followed.
It had actually been a fairly pleasant walk along a tramped path in the woods. Julian was easy enough to talk to when Emma tried not to think about the spell, or how he felt about her, or about how he felt, period. They avoided the topics of Livvy and the parabatai curse, and talked instead about the Clave and what its next plans might be, and how Zara might figure into them. Julian walked ahead, holding the map, consulting it when enough light rayed down through the trees to make the map readable.