"She was a leanansidhe! A shape-changer! I thought she was you!"
"Oh." Emma stood for a moment, arrested in midmotion. "Oh."
"Yes, oh. You really think I'm going to fall in love with someone else?" Julian demanded. "You think I get to do that? I'm not you, I don't get to fall in love every week with someone different. I wish it wasn't you, Emma, but it is, it'll always be you, so don't tell me my life isn't wrecked when you don't know the first thing about it!"
Emma slammed her hand against the wall. The plaster cracked, spidering out from the impact point. She felt the pain only distantly. A roiling black wave of despair rose, threatening to overwhelm her. "What do you want from me, Jules?" she demanded. "What do you want me to do?"
Julian took a step forward; his face looked as if it had been carved out of marble or something even harder, even more unyielding. "What do I want?" he said. "I want you to know what it's like. To be tortured all the time, night and day, desperately wanting what you know you should never want, what doesn't even want you back. To know how it feels to understand that a decision you made when you were twelve years old means you can never have the one thing that would make you truly happy. I want you to dream about only one thing and want only one thing and obsess about only one thing like I do--"
"Julian--" she gasped, desperate to stop him, to stop all this before it was too late.
"--like I do with you!" he finished, the words spat out almost savagely. "Like I do with you, Emma." The rage seemed to have gone out of him; he was shaking now instead, as if in the grip of shock. "I thought you loved me," he said, almost in a whisper. "I don't know how I got that so wrong."
Her heart cracked. She twisted away, away from the look in his eyes, away from his voice, away from the shattering of all her carefully made plans. She clawed the door open--she heard Julian call her name, but she had already plunged out of the cottage and into the storm.
24
LEGION
The crest of Chapel Cliff was a tower in a maelstrom: slick rock rising toward the sky, surrounded on three sides by the boiling cauldron of the ocean.
The sky above was gray, streaked with black, hanging heavy as a rock over the small town and the sea beyond. The water was high in the harbor, raising the fishing boats to the level of the windows of the dockside houses. The small craft tossed and turned on the crests of the waves.
More waves crashed up against the cliff, spraying whitecaps into the air. Emma stood within a whirlwind of swirling water, the smell of the sea all around, the sky exploding above her, lightning forking through the clouds.
She spread her arms out wide. She felt as if the lightning were exploding down through her, into the rocks at her feet, into the water that slammed up in gray-green sheets, almost vertical against the sky. All around her the granite spires that gave Chapel Cliff its name rose like a stone forest, like the points of a crown. The rock under her feet was slippery with wet moss.
All her life, she had loved storms--loved the explosions tearing through the sky, loved the soul-baring ferocity of them. She hadn't thought when she'd burst out of the cottage, at least not logically; she'd been desperate to get away before she told Julian everything he could never know. Let him think she'd never loved him, that she'd broken Mark's heart, that she had no feelings. Let him hate her, if that meant he would live and be all right.
And maybe the storm could wash her clean, could wash what felt like both their hearts' blood off her hands.
She moved down the side of the cliff. The rock grew slipperier, and she paused to apply a new Balance rune. The stele slid on her wet skin. From the lower point, she could see where the caves and tide pools were covered by curling white water. Lightning cracked against the horizon; she lifted her face to taste the salt rain and heard the distant, winding sound of a horn.
Her head jerked up. She'd heard a sound like that before, once, when the convoy of the Wild Hunt had come to the Institute. It was no human horn. It sounded again, deep and cold and lonely, and she started to her feet, scrambling back up the path toward the top of the cliff.
She saw clouds like massive gray boulders colliding in the sky; where they parted, weak golden light shafted down, illuminating the churning surface of the ocean. There were black dots out over the harbor--birds? No, they were too big to be seabirds, and none would be out in this weather anyway.
The black dots were coming toward her. They were closer now, resolving, no longer dots. She could see them for what they were: riders. Four riders, cloaked in glimmering bronze. They hurtled through the sky like comets.
They were not the Wild Hunt. Emma knew that immediately, without knowing how she knew it. There were too few of them, and they were too silent. The Wild Hunt rode with a fierce clamor. The bronze riders glided silently toward Emma, as if they had been formed out of the clouds.
She could run back toward the cottage, she thought. But that would draw them toward Julian, and besides, they had angled themselves to cut her off from the path back toward Malcolm's house. They were moving with incredible speed. In seconds, they would be on the cliff.
Her right hand closed on the hilt of Cortana. She drew it almost without conscious thought. The feel of it in her hand grounded her, slowed her heartbeat.
They soared overhead, circling. For a moment Emma was struck by their odd beauty--up close, the horses seemed barely real, as transparent as glass, formed out of wisps of cloud and moisture. They spun in the air and dove like gulls after their prey. As their hooves struck the solid earth of the cliff, they exploded into ocean whitecaps, each horse a spray of vanishing water, leaving the four riders behind.
And between Emma and the path. She was cut off, from everything but the sea and the small piece of cliff behind her.
The four Riders faced her. She braced her feet. The very top of the ridge was so narrow that her boots sank in on either side of the cliff's spine. She raised Cortana. It flashed in the storm light, rain sliding off its blade. "Who's there?" she called.
The four figures moved as one, reaching to push back the hoods of their bronze cloaks. Beneath was more shining stuff--they were three tall men and a woman, each of them wearing bronze half masks, with hair that looked like metallic thread wound into thick braids that hung halfway down their backs.
Their armor was metal: breastplates and gauntlets etched all over with the designs of waves and the sea. The eyes they fixed on her were gray and piercing.
"Emma Cordelia Carstairs," said one of them. He spoke as if Emma's name were in a foreign language, one his tongue had a hard time wrapping itself around. "Well met."
"In your opinion," Emma muttered. She kept a tight grip on Cortana--each of the faeries (for she knew they were faeries) that she was facing was armed with a longsword, hilts visible over their shoulders. She raised her voice. "What does a convoy from the Faerie Courts want from me?"
The faerie raised an eyebrow. "Tell her, Fal," said one of the others, in the same accented voice. Something about the accent raised the hairs on Emma's arms, though she couldn't have said what it was.
"We are the Riders of Mannan," said Fal. "You will have heard of us."
It wasn't a question. Emma desperately wished Cristina were with her. Cristina was the one with vast knowledge of faerie culture. If the words "Riders of Mannan" were supposed to mean something to Shadowhunters, Cristina would know it.
"Are you part of the Wild Hunt?" she asked.
Consternation. A low mutter vibrated among the four of them, and Fal leaned to the side and spat. A faerie with a sharply chiseled jaw and an expression of disdain replied for him.
"I am Airmed, son of Mannan," he said. "We are the children of a god, you see. We are much older than the Wild Hunt, and much more powerful."
Emma realized then what it was that she'd heard in their accents. It wasn't distance or foreignness; it was age, a terrifying age that stretched back to the beginning of the world.
"We seek," said Fal. "And we find. We are the searchers. We
have been under the waves to search and above them. We have been in Faerie, and in the realms of the damned, and on battlefields and in the dark of night and the bright of day. In all our lives there has only been one thing we have sought and not found."
"A sense of humor?" Emma suggested.
"She should shut her mouth," said the female Rider. "You should shut it for her, Fal."
"Not yet, Ethna," said Fal. "We need her words. We need to know the location of what we seek."
Emma's hand felt hot and slippery on the hilt of Cortana. "What do you seek?"
"The Black Volume," said Airmed. "We seek the same object you and your parabatai seek. The one taken by Annabel Blackthorn."
Emma took an involuntary step back. "You're looking for Annabel?"
"For the book," said the fourth Rider, his voice harsh and deep. "Tell us where it is and we will leave you be."
"I don't have it," Emma said. "Neither does Julian."
"She is a liar, Delan," said the woman, Ethna.
His lip curled. "They are all liars, Nephilim. Do not treat us as fools, Shadowhunter, or we will string your innards from the nearest tree."
"Try it," said Emma. "I'll ram the tree down your throat until branches start poking out of your--"
"Ears?" It was Julian. He must have applied a Soundless rune, because even Emma hadn't heard him approach. He was perched on a wet boulder by the side of the path toward the cottage as if he'd simply appeared there, summoned out of the rain and clouds. He was in gear, his hair wet, an unlit seraph blade in his hand. "I'm sure you were going to say ears."
"Definitely." Emma grinned at him; she couldn't help it. Despite the fight they'd had, he was here, having her back, being her parabatai. And now they had the Riders hemmed in, pinned between the two of them.
Things were looking up.
"Julian Blackthorn," drawled Fal, barely glancing at him. "The famous parabatai. I hear the two of you gave a most impressive performance at the Unseelie Court."
"I'm sure the King couldn't stop singing our praises," Julian said. "Look, what makes you think we know where Annabel or the Black Volume are?"
"Spies are in every Court," said Ethna. "We know the Queen sent you to find the book. The King must have it before the Queen possesses it."
"But we have promised the Queen," said Julian, "and a promise like that cannot be broken."
Delan growled, his hand suddenly at the hilt of his sword. He had moved so fast it was a blur. "You are humans and liars," he said. "You can break any promise you make, and will, when your necks are on the line. As they are now." He jerked his chin toward the cottage. "We have come for the warlock's books and papers. If you will not tell us anything, then give them to us and we will be gone."
"Give them to you?" Julian looked puzzled. "Why didn't you just . . ." His eyes met Emma's. She knew what he was thinking: Why didn't you break in and take them? "You can't get in, can you?"
"The wards," Emma confirmed.
The faeries said nothing, but she could tell by the angry set of their jaws that she was right.
"What will the Unseelie King give us in return for the book?" said Julian.
"Jules," Emma hissed. How could he be scheming at a time like this?
Fal laughed. Emma noted for the first time that the clothes and armor of the faeries were dry, as if the rain didn't fall on them. His glance toward Julian was full of contempt. "You have no advantage here, son of thorns. Give us what we have come for, or when we find the rest of your family, we shall put red-hot pokers through their eyes down to even the smallest child."
Tavvy. The words went through Emma like an arrow. She felt the impact, felt her body jerk, and the cold came down over her, the cold ice of battle. She lunged for Fal, bringing Cortana down in a vicious overhand swipe.
Ethna screamed, and Fal moved faster than a current on the ocean, ducking Emma's blow. Cortana whistled through the air. There was a clamor as the other faeries reached for their swords.
And a glow as Julian's seraph blade burst into light, illuminating the rain. It wove around Emma like bright strings as she twirled, fending off a blow from Ethna, Cortana slamming into the faerie sword with enough force to send Ethna stumbling back.
Fal's face twisted with surprise. Emma gasped, wet, inhaling rain but not feeling the cold. The world was a spinning gray top; she ran toward one of the stone spires and clambered up it.
"Coward!" Airmed cried. "How dare you run away?"
Emma heard Julian laugh as she reached the top of the spire and leaped from it. The descent gave her speed, and she slammed into Airmed with enough force to knock him to the ground. He tried to roll away, but froze when she smashed the hilt of Cortana into his temple. He choked with pain.
"Shut up," Emma hissed. "Don't you dare touch the Blackthorns, don't you even talk about them--"
"Let him be!" Ethna called, and Delan leaped toward them, only to be stopped by Julian and the sweep of his seraph blade. The cliff exploded with light, the rain seeming to hang still in the air, as the blade swung down and slammed against the faerie warrior's breastplate.
And shattered. It broke as if it had been made out of ice, and Julian was thrown back by the recoiling force of it, lifted off his feet and slammed down among the rocks and wet earth.
Delan laughed, striding toward Julian. Emma abandoned Airmed where he lay and leaped after the faerie warrior as he raised his sword over Jules, and brought it down--
Julian rolled fast to the right, swung around, and drove a dagger into the unguarded skin of Delan's calf. Delan yelled with pain and anger, spinning to drive the tip of the sword down toward Julian's body. But Jules had flung himself upward; he was on his feet, dagger in hand.
Light shafted down suddenly through the clouds, and Emma saw the shadows on the ground before her shift; there was someone behind her. She spun away just as a blade came down, barely missing her shoulder. She spun around to find Ethna behind her: Fal was leaning over Airmed on the ground, helping haul him to his feet. For a moment it was just Emma and the faerie woman, and Emma grabbed the hilt of Cortana with both hands and swung.
Ethna darted back, but she was laughing. "You Nephilim," she sneered. "You call yourselves warriors, ringed round with your protective runes, your angel blades! Without them you would be nothing--and you will be without them soon enough! You will be nothing, and we will take everything from you! Everything you have! Everything!"
"Did you want to say that again?" Emma asked, evading a slice of Ethna's sword with a twist of her body. She leaped up onto a boulder, looking down. "The everything part? I don't think I got it the first time."
Ethna snarled and leaped for her. And for a long series of moments it was only the battle, the glowing vapor of the rain, the sea crashing and thundering in the pools below the cliff, and everything slowing down as Emma knocked Ethna to the side and leaped for Airmed and Fal, her sword clanging against theirs.
They were good: better than good, fast and blindingly strong. But Cortana was like a live thing in Emma's hands. Rage powered her, an electric current that shot through her veins, driving the sword in her hand, hammering the blade against those raised against hers, the clang of metal drowning out the sea. She tasted salt in her mouth, blood or ocean spray, she didn't know. Her wet hair whipped around her as she spun, Cortana meeting the other swords of the faeries, blow after blow.
An ugly laugh cut through the violent dream that gripped her. She looked up to see that Fal had Julian backed up to the edge of the cliff. It fell away sheer behind him; he stood framed against the gray sky, his hair plastered darkly to his head.
Panic blasted through her. She pushed off from the side of a granite facing with a kick that connected solidly against Airmed's body. The faerie fell back with a grunt, and Emma was racing, seeing Julian in her mind's eye run through with a sword or toppled from the cliff's edge to shatter on the rocks or drown in the maelstrom below.
Fal was still laughing. He had his sword out. Julian took another
step backward--and ducked down, swift and nimble, to catch up a crossbow from where it had been hidden behind a tumble of rocks. He lifted it to his shoulder just as Emma collided with Fal, her sword out; she didn't slow, didn't pause, just slammed Cortana point-first between Fal's shoulder blades.
It pierced his armor and slid home. She felt the point burst out of the other side of his body, slicing through the metal breastplate.
There was a shriek from behind Emma. It was Ethna. She had her head thrown back, her hands clawing at her hair. She was wailing in a language Emma didn't know, but she could hear that Ethna was shrieking her brother's name. Fal, Fal.
Ethna began to sink to her knees. Delan reach to catch her, his own face bone-white and shocked. With a roar, Airmed lifted his sword and lunged toward Emma, who was struggling to free Cortana from Fal's limp body. She tensed and pulled; the sword came free in a gout of blood, but she had no time to turn--
Julian released the bolt from his crossbow. It whistled through the air, a softer sound than the rain, and struck the sword in Airmed's hand, knocking it out of his grip. Airmed howled. His hand was scarlet.
Emma turned, planted her feet, raised her sword. Blood and rain ran down Cortana's blade. "Who wants to try me?" she shouted, her words half-torn out of her mouth by wind and water. "Who wants to be next?"
"Let me kill her!" Ethna struggled in Delan's grip. "She slew Fal! Let me cut her throat!"
But Delan was shaking his head, he was saying something, something about Cortana. Emma took a step forward--if they wouldn't come to her to be killed, she would be happy enough to go to them.
Airmed raised his hand; she saw light flicker from his fingers, pale green in the gray air. His face was twisted into a sneer of concentration.
"Emma!" Jules caught her from behind before she could take another step, hauling her back and against him just as the rain exploded into the shapes of three horses, swirling creatures of wind and spray, snorting and pawing at the air between Emma and the rest of the Riders. Fal lay with his blood soaking into the Cornwall dirt as his brothers and sister vaulted onto the bare backs of their steeds.
Emma began to shiver violently. Only one of the Riders paused long enough to look back at her before their horses shot forward into the sky, losing themselves among the clouds and rain. It was Ethna. Her eyes were murderous, disbelieving.
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