If he turned his head the other way, he could see Ty, a black-and-white figure perched beside him at the roof’s edge. The sleeves of Ty’s hoodie were pulled down, and he worried their frayed edges with his fingers. His black eyelashes were so long Kit could see the breeze move them as if it were ruffling sea grass.
The feeling of his own heart turning over was now so familiar that Kit didn’t question it or what it meant.
“I can’t believe Hypatia agreed to our plan,” Kit said. “Do you think she really means it?”
“She must mean it,” said Ty, staring out over the ocean. The moon was hidden behind clouds, and the ocean seemed to be absorbing light, sucking it down into its black depth. Along the border where the sea met the shore, white foam ran like a stitched ribbon. “She wouldn’t have sent us the money if she hadn’t. Especially enchanted money.”
Kit yawned. “True. When a warlock sends you money, you know it’s serious. I guarantee you that if we don’t get this done like we said we would, she’s going to come after us—for the money, at least.”
Ty pulled his knees up against his chest. “The issue here is that we have to get a meeting with Barnabas, but he hates us. We’ve already seen that. We can’t get near him.”
“You should maybe have thought of that before you made this deal,” said Kit.
Ty looked confused for a moment, then smiled. “Details, Watson.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe we should disguise ourselves.”
“I think we should ask Dru.”
“Dru? Why Dru?” Now Ty looked baffled. “Ask her what?”
“To help us. Barnabas doesn’t know her. And she does look a lot older than she is.”
“No. Not Dru.”
Kit remembered Dru’s face in the library when she’d talked about Jaime. He listened to me and he watched horror movies with me and he acted like what I said was important. He remembered how happy she’d been to be taught lock picking. “Why not? We can trust her. She’s lonely and bored. I think she’d like to be included.”
“But we can’t tell her about Shade.” Ty was pale as the moon. “Or the Black Volume.”
True, Kit thought to himself. I’m definitely not telling Drusilla about a plan that I hope falls apart before it ever comes to fruition.
He sat up. “No—no, definitely not. It would be dangerous for her to know anything about—about that. All we need to tell her is that we’re trying to get back on good terms with the Shadow Market.”
Ty’s gaze slid away from Kit. “You really like Drusilla.”
“I think she feels very alone,” said Kit. “I get that.”
“I don’t want her to be in danger,” said Ty. “She can’t be in any kind of danger.” He tugged at the sleeves of his hoodie. “When Livvy comes back, I’m going to tell her I want to do the parabatai ceremony right away.”
“I thought you wanted to go to the Scholomance?” said Kit without thinking. If only Ty could see that was a possibility for him now, Kit wished—and instantly hated himself for thinking it. Of course Ty wouldn’t want to consider Livvy’s death to be any form of freedom.
“No,” Ty said sharply. “Remember, I told you, I don’t want to go there anymore. Besides, you can’t have parabatai at the Scholomance. It’s a rule. And rules are important.”
Kit didn’t even want to think about how many rules they were breaking right now. Ty had clearly compartmentalized what it would take to bring Livvy back, but nothing like that ever worked perfectly. He was worrying hard at the cuffs of his hoodie now, his fingers shaking a little.
Kit touched Ty’s shoulder. He was sitting slightly behind him. Ty’s back curved as he hunched forward, but he didn’t avoid the touch.
“How many windows does the front of the Institute have?” Kit said.
“Thirty-six,” said Ty. “Thirty-seven if you count the attic, but it’s papered over. Why?”
“Because that’s what I like about you,” Kit said in a low voice, and Ty’s shaking stilled slightly. “The way you notice everything. Nothing gets forgotten. Nothing”—and no one—“gets overlooked.”
* * *
Emma had begun to nod off again as the night wore on. She woke when her horse stopped in its tracks and pushed her hood back slightly, gazing around her.
They had reached the tower. Dawn was breaking and in the first threads of light, the only permanent manifestation of the Unseelie Court looked less like Julian’s mural and more like something from a nightmare. The hedge of thorns surrounding the tower was nothing like modest rosebushes. The thorns were steel-colored, each easily a foot long. Here and there they were studded with what looked like massive white flowers. The tower’s walls were smooth and dark as anthracite, and windowless.
Emma’s breath made tracks against the chilly air. She shivered and drew Nene’s cloak closer, murmurs rising all around as the sleepy procession of Seelie faeries began to come back to wakefulness. The girls behind her were chattering about what kind of rooms and welcome they might expect from the King. Julian was motionless beside Emma, his spine straight, his hood concealing his face.
There was a loud clang, like the ringing of a bell. Emma peered ahead to see that there were gates set into the thorny hedge, tall bronze gates that had just been flung open. She could see a courtyard just past the gates, and a great black archway leading into the tower.
Unseelie knights in black cloaks guarded either side of the gates. They were stopping each member of the procession before allowing them to pass through into the courtyard, where two lines of Unseelie faeries flanked the path to the tower doors.
The multicolored stars were beginning to fade out of the air, and in their absence, the light of the rising sun cast dull gold shadows over the tower, darkly beautiful as a polished gun barrel. All around the hedge was a flat, grassy plain, punctuated here and there by stands of hawthorn trees. The line of Seelie faeries lurched forward again, and a loud grumble rose among the riot of silks and velvets, wings and hooves. The girls on the bay mare were muttering to each other: How slow they are here in the Night Court. How rude to keep us waiting.
The morning air caught the edge of Emma’s hood as she turned. “What is this about?”
One of the girls shook her head. “The King is suspicious, naturally. Too long has there been enmity between the Courts. The Riders are inspecting each guest.”
Emma froze. “The Riders of Mannan?”
The other girl laughed. “As if there were other Riders!”
Julian leaned toward Emma and spoke in a low voice: “There’s no way we can get through those gates with the rest of the procession without the Riders recognizing us. Especially you. We need to get out of here.”
The place where Cortana usually hung at Emma’s back ached like a phantom limb. She had killed one of the Riders with her sword—there was no chance they wouldn’t remember her. “Agreed. Any idea how to do that?”
Julian glanced up and down the restless line of Seelie folk. It stretched from the gates of the tower into the distance, as far as the eye could see. “Not currently.”
A noise erupted from the line ahead. The dryad in the tree was arguing with a pair of goblins. In fact, small arguments seemed to breaking out up and down the line. Occasionally a faerie knight would ride lazily by and call for order, but no one seemed too interested in keeping things calm.
Emma gazed anxiously at the horizon; it was dawn, and soon there would be more light, which would hardly help any attempt on her and Julian’s part to try to get away. They could bolt for the gates, but the guards would block them; if they ran for the thorn hedges or tried to leave the line, they’d certainly be seen.
Then accept that you’ll be seen, Emma thought. She turned to Julian, drawing herself up imperiously. “Fergus, you fool!” she snapped. “The Queen explicitly demanded that you bring up the rear of this procession!”
Julian’s lips shaped the word “What?” silently. He didn’t move, and the girls on the bay mare giggled again.
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