"Faeries can't stand A Midsummer Night's Dream," muttered Kieran. "Gets everything wrong."
Gwyn's lips twitched at the corners. "Speaking of dreams," he said. "You have been in mine, and often."
Diana looked stunned. The Blackthorns had quieted their loud reunion and were watching her and Gwyn with unabashed curiosity. Julian was even smiling a little; he was holding Tavvy, who had his arms hooked around his brother's neck like a clinging koala.
"I would that you would meet me, formally, that I might court you," said Gwyn. His large hands moved aimlessly at his sides, and Kit realized with a shock that he was nervous--this big, muscled man, the leader of the Wild Hunt, nervous. "We could together slay a frost giant, or devour a deer."
"I don't want to do either of those things," said Diana after a moment.
Gwyn looked crestfallen.
"But I will go out with you," she said, blushing. "Preferably to a nice restaurant. Bring flowers, and not the helmet."
The Blackthorns burst into giggling applause. Kit leaned against the wall with Kieran, who was shaking his head in bemusement. "And thus was the proud leader of the Hunt felled by love," he said. "I hope there will be a ballad about it someday."
Kit watched Gwyn, who was ignoring the applause as he readied his horses to leave.
"You don't look like the other Blackthorns," said Kieran after a moment. "Your eyes are blue, but not like the ocean's blue. More of an ordinary sky."
Kit felt obscurely insulted. "I'm not a Blackthorn," he said. "I'm a Herondale. Christopher Herondale."
He waited. The name Herondale seemed to produce an explosive reaction in most denizens of the supernatural world. The boy with the ocean hair, though, didn't bat an eye. "Then what are you doing here, if you are not family?" he asked.
Kit shrugged. "I don't know. I don't belong, that's for sure."
Kieran smiled a sideways faerie smile. "That makes two of us."
*
They eventually gathered in the parlor, the warmest room in the house. Evelyn was already there, muttering by the fire burning in the grate; even though it was late summer, London had a damp, chill edge to it. Bridget brought sandwiches--tuna and sweet corn, chicken and bacon--and the newcomers tucked into them as if they were wildly starving. Julian had to eat awkwardly with his left hand, balancing Tavvy on his lap with the other.
The parlor had aged better than a lot of the other rooms in the Institute. It had cheerful flowered wallpaper, only slightly discolored, and gorgeous antique furniture someone had clearly picked out with care--a lovely rolltop desk, a delicate escritoire, plush velvet armchairs and sofas grouped around the fireplace. Even the fire screen was made of delicate wrought iron, patterned with wing-spread herons, and when the fire shone through it, the shadow of the birds was cast against the wall as if they were flying by.
Kieran alone didn't seem thrilled with the sandwiches. He poked at them suspiciously and then pulled them apart, eating only the tomatoes, while Julian explained what had happened in Faerie: their journey to the Unseelie Court, the meeting with the Queen, the blight on the Unseelie Land. "There were burned places, white as ash, like the surface of the moon," Mark said, eyes dark with distress. Kit tried his best to hang on to the story, but it was like trying to ride a roller coaster with faulty brakes--phrases like "scrying glass," "Unseelie champion," and "Black Volume of the Dead" kept hurling him off track.
"How much time passed for them?" he whispered finally to Ty, who was wedged in beside him and Livvy on a love seat too small for the three of them.
"It sounds like a few less days than passed for us," said Ty. "Some time slippage, but not much. Cristina's necklace seems to have worked."
Kit whistled under his breath. "And who's Annabel?"
"She was a Blackthorn," said Ty. "She died, but Malcolm brought her back."
"From the dead?" said Kit. "That's--that's necromancy."
"Malcolm was a necromancer," pointed out Ty.
"Shut up." Livvy elbowed Kit, who was lost in thought. Necromancy wasn't just a forbidden art at the Shadow Market, it was a forbidden topic. The punishment for raising the dead was death. If the Shadowhunters didn't catch you, other Downworlders would, and the way you died would not be pretty.
Bringing back the dead, Johnny Rook had always said, warped the fabric of life, the same way making humans immortal did. Invite in death, and death would stay. Could anyone bring back the dead and have it work? Kit had asked him once. Even the most powerful magician?
God, Johnny had said, after a long, long pause. God could do that. And those who raise the dead may think they are God, but soon enough they will find out the lie they have believed.
"The head of the Los Angeles Institute is dead?" Evelyn exclaimed, dropping the remains of her sandwich on a likely very expensive antique table.
Kit didn't really blame her for her surprise. The Blackthorns didn't act like a family in grief over the death of a beloved uncle. Rather they seemed stunned and puzzled. But then, they had behaved around Arthur almost as if they were strangers.
"Is that why he wanted to stay behind in Los Angeles?" Livvy demanded, her cheeks flushed. "So he could sacrifice himself--for us?"
"By the Angel." Diana had her hand against her chest. "He hadn't replied to any of my messages, but that wasn't unusual. Still, for Zara not to notice--"
"Maybe she did, maybe she didn't," said Livvy. "But it's better for her plans if he's out of the way."
"What plans?" said Cristina. "What do you mean, Zara's plans?"
It was time for another long explanation, this time of things Kit already knew about. Evelyn had fallen asleep in front of the fireplace and was snoring. Kit wondered how much the silver top of her cane was worth. Was it real silver, or just plated?
"By the Angel," said Cristina, when the explanation was done. Julian said nothing; Emma said something unprintable. Mark leaned forward, a flush on his cheeks.
"Let me get this straight," he said. "Zara and her father want to run the Los Angeles Institute so they can push their anti-Downworlder agenda. The new Laws would likely apply to me and to Helen. Certainly to Magnus, Catarina--every Downworlder we know, no matter how loyal."
"I know of their group," said Diana. "They don't believe in loyal Downworlders."
"What is their group?" Emma asked.
"The Cohort," said Diana. "They are a well-known faction in the Council. Like all groups who exist primarily to hate, they believe that they speak for a silent majority--that everyone despises Downworlders as they do. They believe opposition to the Cold Peace is moral cowardice, or at best, whining from those who feel inconvenienced by it."
"Inconvenienced?" said Kieran. There was no expression in his voice, just the word, hanging there in the room.
"They are not intelligent," said Diana. "But they are loud and vicious, and they have frightened many better people into silence. They do not number an Institute head among them, but if they did . . ."
"This is bad," Emma said. "Before, they would have had to prove Arthur wasn't fit to run an Institute. Now he's dead. The spot's open. All they have to do is wait for the next Council meeting and put their candidate forward."
"And they're in a good place for it." Diana had risen to her feet and begun to pace. "The Clave is enormously impressed with Zara Dearborn. They believe she and her Centurions beat back the sea demon threat on their own."
"The demons vanished because Malcolm died--again, and this time hopefully for good," said Livvy furiously. "None of it's because of Zara. She's taking credit for what Arthur did!"
"And there's nothing we can do about it," said Julian. "Not yet. They'll figure out Arthur is dead or missing soon enough--but even abandonment of his post would be cause to replace him. And we can't be seen to know how or why he died."
"Because the only reason we do know is thanks to the Seelie Queen," said Emma in a low voice, eyeing the sleeping Evelyn.
"Annabel is the key to our finding the Black Volume," said Julian.
"We need to be the only ones looking for her right now. If the Clave finds her first, we'll never get the book to the Queen."
"When we agreed with the Queen's plan, though, we didn't know about the Cohort," said Mark, looking troubled. "What if there isn't time to find the book before the Cohort makes their move?"
"We'll just have to find the book faster," said Julian. "We can't face the Dearborns in an open Council. What's Zara done wrong, according to the Clave? Arthur wasn't qualified to run an Institute. Many Council members do hate Downworlders. She wants to run an Institute so she can pass an evil law. She wouldn't be the first. She's not breaking the rules. We are."
Kit felt a faint shudder go up his spine. For a moment, Julian had sounded like Kit's father. The world isn't the way you want it to be. It's the way it is.
"So we're just supposed to pretend we don't know what Zara's up to?" Emma frowned.
"No," said Diana. "I'm going to go to Idris. I'm going to speak to the Consul."
They all looked at her, wide-eyed--all except Julian, who didn't seem surprised, and Kieran, who was still glaring at his food.
"What Zara is proposing would mean Jia's daughter would be married to one of the Downworlders being registered. Jia knows what that would lead to. I know she'd meet with me. If I can reason with her--"
"She let the Cold Peace pass," said Kieran.
"She had no choice," said Diana. "If she'd had warning of what was coming, I'd like to think it would have turned out differently. This time, she'll have that warning. Besides--we have something to offer her now."
"That's right," said Julian, gesturing at Kieran. "The end of the Cold Peace. A faerie messenger from the Queen of Seelie."
Evelyn, who had been napping by the fire, bolted upright. "That is enough." She glared daggers at Kieran. "I can accept a Blackthorn into this house, even one with a questionable bloodline. I will always accept a Blackthorn. But a full-blood faerie? Listening to the business of Nephilim? I will not allow it."
Kieran looked briefly startled. Then he rose to his feet. Mark began to rise too. Julian stayed exactly where he was. "But Kieran is part of our plan--"
"Stuff and nonsense. Bridget!" she called, and the maid, who had clearly been lurking in the corridor, stuck her head into the room. "Please lead the princeling to one of the spare bedrooms. I will have your word, faerie, that you will not depart it until you are allowed."
Kieran looked at Cristina. "What is your desire, my lady?"
Kit was baffled. Why was Kieran, a prince of the gentry, taking orders from Cristina?
She blushed. "You don't need to swear you won't leave the room," she said. "I trust you."
"Do you?" Emma said, sounding fascinated, as Kieran gave a stiff bow and departed.
Bridget's muttering could be heard by all as she led Kieran out the door. "Faeries in the Institute," she muttered. "Ghosts is one thing, warlocks is another thing, but never in all my born days--"
Drusilla looked puzzled. "Why is Kieran here?" she said, as soon as he was gone. "I thought we hated him. Like, mostly hated him. I mean, he did save our lives, but he's still a jerk."
There was a murmur of voices. Kit remembered something he'd overhead Livvy say to Dru a day or two ago. More pieces of the Kieran puzzle: Livvy had been angry that Mark would go to Faerie to help someone who had hurt him. Had hurt Emma and Julian. Kit didn't know exactly what had happened, but it had clearly been bad.
Emma had moved to sit on the couch beside Cristina. She'd arrived wearing a pale gossamer dress that looked like something Kit would have seen in the Shadow Market. It made her look delicate and graceful, but Kit remembered the steel in her, the way she'd sliced apart the praying mantis demons in his house with all the calm of a bride cutting slices of wedding cake.
Julian was quietly listening to his family talk. Even though he wasn't looking at Emma, an almost visible energy crackled between them. Kit remembered the way Emma had said this isn't Julian's kind of place to his father--one of the first things he'd heard her say, in the Market--and the way her voice had seemed to hug the syllables of his name.
Parabatai were strange. So close, and yet it wasn't a marriage, yet it was more than a best friendship. There was no real analogue in the mundane world. And it drew him, the idea of it, of being connected to someone like that, the way all the dangerous and beautiful things of the Shadowhunter world drew him.
Maybe Ty . . .
Julian stood up, setting Tavvy down in an armchair. He stretched out his arms, cracking the sinews in his wrists. "The thing is, we need Kieran," he said.
Evelyn snorted. "Imagine needing a faerie lord," she said. "For anything."
Julian whispered something in Tavvy's ear. A moment later he was on his feet. "Miss Highsmith," he said. "My little brother is exhausted, but he says he doesn't know where his bedroom is. Can you show him?"
Evelyn looked irritably from Julian to Tavvy, who smiled angelically at her, showing off his dimples. "Can't you escort the child?"
"I've only just arrived," said Julian. "I don't know where the room is." He added his own smile to Tavvy's. Julian could radiate charm when he wanted to; Kit had nearly forgotten.
Evelyn looked around to see if there were any volunteers to take over for her; no one moved. Finally, with a disgusted snort, she snapped her fingers at Tavvy, said, "Well, come on then, child," and stalked from the room with him in tow.
Julian's smile turned crooked. Kit couldn't help the feeling that Julian had used Evelyn to get rid of Kieran, and Tavvy to get rid of Evelyn, and done it so handily no one could ever prove it.
If Julian had ever wanted to turn his hand to cons and crime, Kit thought, he would have excelled at it.
"We need Kieran to bargain with the Clave," said Julian, as if nothing had happened. "When we found him in Faerie, his father was about to have him killed. He escaped, but he'll never be safe as long as the Unseelie King sits on the throne." He ran his hands through his hair restlessly; Kit wondered how Julian kept it all in his head: plans, plots, concealments, truths.
"And the Queen wants the King off the throne," said Emma. "She's willing to help us replace him with Kieran's brother, but Kieran had to promise to convince him."
"Kieran's brother would be better than the King they have right now?" asked Dru.
"He would be better," Emma confirmed. "Believe it or not."
"Kieran will also testify in front of the Council," said Julian. "He will bring the Queen's message that she's willing to ally with us to defeat the King. He can confirm for the Council what the King is doing in the Unseelie Lands--"
"But you could tell them that," said Kit.
"If we wanted to risk the wrath of the Clave for having ventured into Faerie," Julian said. "Not to mention that while we might get out of that, there will be no forgiveness for our having entered into a bargain with the Seelie Queen."
Kit had to admit Julian was right. He knew how much trouble the Blackthorns had nearly gotten in for bargaining with the faerie convoy who had returned Mark to them. The Seelie Queen was a whole other level of forbidden. It was like getting a slap on the wrist for running a red light and then coming back the next day and blowing up the whole street.
"Kieran's your get-out-of-jail-free card," he said.
"It's not just about us," said Emma. "If the Council will listen to him, it could end the Cold Peace. In fact, it would have to. They'll have to believe him--he can't lie--and if the Queen is willing to fight the Unseelie King with the Clave, I don't think they'll be able to turn that down."
"Which means we have to keep Kieran safe," said Julian. "We also have to do what we can not to antagonize him."
"Because he's doing this for Mark?" said Dru.
"But Mark broke up with him," said Livvy, and then looked around, alarmed. Her ponytail brushed Kit's shoulder. "Is that something I wasn't supposed to say?"
"No," Mark said. "It's the truth. But--Kieran doesn't remember. When the Unseelie Court tortured him, he lost some of his m
emories. He doesn't recall bringing the envoy to the Institute, or Emma and Julian being whipped, or what danger he put us all in with his haste and anger." He looked down at his intertwined hands. "And he must not be told."
"But--Emma," said Livvy. "Are we supposed to pretend that she and Mark aren't . . . ?"
Kit leaned close to Ty. Ty smelled like ink and wool. "I don't understand any of this."
"Neither do I," Ty whispered back. "It's very complicated."
"Mark and I," Emma, said, looking very steadily at Mark. "We broke up."
Kit wondered if Mark had known that. He wasn't able to hide the look of astonishment on his face. "It just didn't work out," Emma went on. "So it's all right, whatever Mark needs to do."
"They're broken up?" Livvy whispered. Ty shrugged, baffled. Livvy had gone tense and was glancing from Emma to Mark, clearly worried.
"We have to let Kieran think he and Mark are still dating?" said Ty, looking bewildered. Kit felt the whole thing was beyond him as well, but then Henry VIII had beheaded several of his wives for apparently governmental reasons. The personal, the political, and the romantic were often oddly entwined.
"Concealing these things from Kieran isn't ideal," said Julian, hands in his pockets. "And I hate to ask you guys to lie. Probably it's best to avoid the subject. But there's literally no other way to make sure he actually shows up in front of the Clave."
Mark sat, running his fingers through his blond hair in a distracted manner. Kit could hear him saying, "I'm all right, it's fine," to Cristina. He felt a surge of odd sympathy--not for Mark, but for Kieran. Kieran, who didn't know that his boyfriend wasn't really his boyfriend, that he was sleeping in a house full of people who, however friendly they might seem, would lie to him to get something they needed.
He thought of the coldness he'd seen in Julian back at the Shadow Market. Julian, who would sacrifice Kieran, and perhaps his own brother in a way, to get what he wanted.
Even if it was a good thing to want. Even if it was the end of the Cold Peace. Kit looked at Julian, gazing at the parlor fire with fathomless eyes, and suspected that there was more to it.
That where Julian Blackthorn was concerned, there would always be more to it.
16
PASS THE WANDERER
Mark made his way toward Kieran's room, steeling himself to lie.
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