“Sorry,” said the kelpie. “Did you want to share? He’s very tasty.”
“No, thanks.” Julian looked neither bothered nor amused by the grisly spectacle.
“You are very generous, Julian Blackthorn,” said the kelpie. “Be sure I will repay you some day.”
“We need to leave,” said Emma, trying not to gag. She looked away, but not before she saw Dane’s rib cage gleam white in the sun. “We need to get out of here now.”
She whirled blindly. She kept seeing the blood on the flowers, the way Dane’s eyes had rolled up in his head. The air was suddenly thick with the copper smell of blood, and Emma reached out to steady herself on the narrow trunk of a birch tree.
“Emma?” Julian said behind her, and suddenly there was the explosive thunder of hooves, and two horses, one gray and one brown, burst into the clearing. A faerie rider sat astride each: a fair-haired woman on the gray horse, and a wheat-skinned man on the brown.
“Is this Faerie Grand Central?” said Emma, leaning her forehead against the tree. “Does everyone come here?”
“Emma Carstairs?” said the fair-haired woman. Emma recognized her through blurred vision: It was Mark’s aunt Nene. Beside her rode one of the Seelie Queen’s courtiers, Fergus. He was scowling.
“Is that a dead Shadowhunter?” he demanded.
“He took me prisoner and these kind people freed me,” said the kelpie.
“Go, kelpie,” said Fergus. “Leave this place. The words of Seelie courtiers are not for you.”
The kelpie gave a whinnying sigh and dragged Dane’s body into the underbrush. Emma turned slowly, keeping her back to the tree. She was fervently glad the corpse was gone, though the ground was still wet with blood, the petals of the flowers weighed down by it.
“Emma Carstairs and Julian Blackthorn,” said Nene. “Your course was bound toward the Seelie Court. Why?”
“No, we were on the way to the Unseelie Court,” said Emma. “We were—”
“We know which paths in the Lands lead to what destinations,” said Fergus sharply. “Do not try your human tricks.”
Emma opened her mouth to protest—and saw Julian shake his head at her, a tiny fraction of a negation, but she knew immediately what it meant. They had been traveling the wrong way. For whatever reason, he had lied to her; every time he had consulted the map, it had brought them closer to the Seelie Court.
The taste of betrayal was bitter in her mouth, more bitter than the copper of blood.
“We have the Black Volume,” Julian said to Nene, to Fergus, and Emma stared at him in total astonishment. What was he talking about? “That is why we have returned to Faerie. The Queen asked us to retrieve it for her, and we have, and we have come for what she promised.”
He straightened, his head thrown back. His face was very pale, but his eyes were shining, bright green-blue, and he looked beautiful; even with blood on his face he was beautiful, and Emma wished she couldn’t see it, but she could.
“We formally request audience with the Seelie Queen,” he said.
9
UP KINGLY HALLS
Soaring through the air with Gwyn, Diana felt free, despite her nagging worry over Emma and Julian. She supposed they were safe in the house, but she didn’t like not being able to see them. It made her realize how much they had become her family over the past five years, and how disconnected she felt from Alicante.
Walking through the streets, even familiar faces felt like the masks of strangers. Did you vote to bring Horace Dearborn in as the Inquisitor? Do you blame the Blackthorns for their own sister’s death? Do you believe faeries are monsters? Who are you, really?
She held Gwyn more tightly as they landed in their now-familiar small clearing among the linden trees. The moon had thinned, and the glade was full of silence and deep shadow. Gwyn dismounted first and helped Diana down; this time he had not brought saddlebags full of food, but a blunt sword at his waist. Diana knew he trusted her, and he had asked no questions when she’d requested that he bring her here tonight. He didn’t trust other Shadowhunters, though, and she couldn’t blame him for that.
A light sprang up among the shadows, and Jia stepped out from behind a tilted rock. Diana frowned as the Consul approached them. The last time Diana had been here, the earth had been green under her feet. Now Jia’s shoes crunched on dried moss, brown and sere. It could simply be because fall was approaching, but the blight . . .
“Diana,” Jia said. “I need your help.”
Diana held up a hand. “First I need to know why I am not allowed to see Emma and Julian. Why am I being kept away from them?”
“Everyone is meant to be kept away from them,” said Jia. She sat down neatly on a flat stone, her ankles crossed. She didn’t have a hair out of place. “Horace says he doesn’t want to compromise their testimony.”
Diana made a disbelieving noise. “How is he planning to force them to give testimony? There’s no Mortal Sword!”
“I understand how concerned you must be,” said Jia. “But I spoke with Simon before he left for New York. He and Isabelle managed to see Emma and Julian this morning and said that they were fine and their meeting with Horace went as well as could be expected.”
A mix of relief and annoyance washed over Diana. “Jia, you have to do something. Dearborn cannot keep them isolated until some imaginary future time when the Sword is repaired.”
“I know,” Jia said. “It’s why I wanted to meet. Remember when I asked you to stand with me?”
“Yes,” Diana said.
“The Cohort are aware of the blight in the forest,” Jia said. “After all, Patrick took Manuel with him to see it, before we realized how dangerous they all were—even the children.” She sighed and glanced at Gwyn, who was expressionless. With his years of experience in the political duelings of the Faerie Courts, Diana couldn’t help but wonder what he thought of all this. “They’ve decided to use it as a political tool. They are going to claim it as the work of faeries specifically. They want to burn the forest to kill the blight.”
“That will not kill the blight,” said Gwyn. “It will only kill the forest. The blight is death and decay. You cannot destroy destruction itself any more than you can cure poison with poison.”
Jia looked at Gwyn again, this time hard and directly. “Is it faerie magic? The blight?”
“It is not any faerie magic I have ever seen, and I have lived a long time,” said Gwyn. “I am not saying that the Unseelie King has no hand in it. But this is a more demonic magic than any wielded in Faerie. It is not natural but unnatural in nature.”
“So burning the forest won’t accomplish anything?” said Diana.
“It will accomplish something,” said Gwyn. “It will drive out the Downworlders who call Brocelind home—all the faeries and the werewolf packs who have lived here for generations.”
“It is an excuse, I believe, to begin driving the Downworlders out of Idris,” said Jia. “Dearborn intends to use the current mood of fear among the Nephilim to push for stricter anti-Downworlder laws. I knew he would, but I did not expect his attem
pt to empty Idris of Downworlders to come so quickly.”
“Do you think the Clave would ever fall in line with him?” asked Diana.
“I fear so,” Jia said with a rarely expressed bitterness. “They are focused so much on their fear and hatred that they don’t even see where they are injuring themselves. They would eat a poisoned banquet if they thought Downworlders were feasting beside them.”
Diana hugged her arms around herself to keep from shivering. “So what can we do?”
“Horace has called a meeting in two days. It will be his first opportunity to present his plans to the public. People respect you—the Wrayburns are a proud family and you fought bravely in the Dark War. There must be those of us who stand up to resist him. So many are afraid to speak out.”
“I am not afraid,” said Diana, and she saw Gwyn give her a warm look of admiration.
“The world can change so quickly,” Jia said. “One day the future seems hopeful, and the next day clouds of hate and bigotry have gathered as if blown in from some as yet unimagined sea.”
“They were always there, Jia,” said Diana. “Even if we did not want to acknowledge them. They were always on the horizon.”
Jia looked weary, and Diana wondered if she had walked all the way here, though she doubted it was physical exertion that had tired the Consul. “I do not know if we can gather enough strength to clear the skies again.”
* * *
“Okay,” said Kit. “First we’re going to make a tension wrench out of a paper clip.”
“We’re going to make a what out of a what?” Dru hooked her hair behind her ears and looked at Kit with wide eyes. They were both sitting on top of one of the long tables in the library, with a padlock and a pile of paper clips in between them.
He groaned. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what a paper clip is.”
She looked indignant. “Of course I do. Those.” She jabbed a finger. “But what are we making?”