Queen of Air and Darkness

by Cassandra Clare

  But she thought again of Diana in Thule. Their runes began to burn like fire, as if they had fire in their veins instead of blood. People said that the blades of those who fought them shattered in their hands. Black lines spread over their bodies and they became monstrous—physically monstrous. I never saw it happen, mind you—I heard this all thirdhand. Stories about ruthless, massive shining creatures, tearing cities apart. Sebastian had to release thousands of demons to take them down. A lot of mundanes and Shadowhunters died.

  She and Julian could not become monsters. They could not destroy everyone they knew and loved. It was better to break the parabatai bonds than to be responsible for death and destruction. It felt like forever since Jem had explained the curse to her. They had tried everything to escape it.

  Eventually the power would make them mad, until they became as monsters. They would destroy their families, the ones they loved. Death would surround them.

  There was no escape but this. Her hands clamped tighter around the sword’s hilt. She raised Maellartach.

  Forgive me, Julian.

  “Stop!” A voice rang through the Bone City. “Emma! What are you doing?”

  She turned, without moving from the Speaking Stars or lowering the Sword. Julian stood at the entrance to the chamber. He was white-faced, staring at her in total shock. He had clearly been running: He was breathless, leaves in his hair and mud on his shoes.

  “Don’t try to stop me, Julian.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

  He held his hands out as if to show they were empty of weapons and took a step forward, toward her. She shook her head and he stopped. “I always thought this would be me,” he said. “I never thought it would be you doing this.”

  “Get out of here, Julian. I don’t want you to be here for this. If they find me here, I want them to find me alone.”

  “I know,” he said. “You’re sacrificing yourself. You know they’ll blame someone—someone with access to the Mortal Sword—and you want it to be you. I know you, Emma. I know exactly what you’re doing.” He took another step toward her. “I won’t try to stop you. But you can’t make me leave you either.”

  “But you have to!” Her voice rose. “They’ll exile me, Julian, at best, even if Horace is overthrown; even Jia wouldn’t overlook this, nobody would or could—they won’t understand it—if it’s the two of us, they’ll think we did it so we could be together, you’ll lose the kids. I won’t let that happen, not after everything—”

  “Emma!” Julian held his hands out to her. The sea-glass bracelet on his wrist glittered, bright color in this place of bones and grayness. “I will not leave you. I will not ever leave you. Even if you shatter that rune, I won’t leave you.”

  A sob tore through Emma. And then another. She slid to her knees, still holding the Sword. Despair ripped into her, as strong as relief. Maybe it was relief. She couldn’t tell, but she could sense Julian come up quietly and kneel down across from her, his knees against the cold stone.

  “What happened?” he said. “What about the cushion of time Magnus said we had—”

  “My rune has been burning—and yours, too, I know it. And there’s this.” She tugged up the sleeve of her sweater, turning her hand over to show him the mark on her forearm—a dark spiderweb-like pattern, small but growing. “I don’t think we have time left.”

  “Then we could get our Marks stripped,” Julian said. His voice was soft, reassuring—a voice he saved for the people he loved the most. “Mine as well as yours. I thought that—”

  “I talked to Jem at the meeting,” Emma said. “He told me he would never do it, never, and Magnus can’t do it alone—” She caught her breath. “In Thule, Diana told me that when Sebastian started to take over, the parabatai in that world turned into monsters. Their runes burned, and their skin was covered with black marks, and then they became monsters. That’s what’s happening to us, Julian. I know it is. All that stuff about the curse turning us into monsters. It’s like that monstrosity is hidden in the heart of the bond. Like—like a cancer.”

  There was a long pause. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “I didn’t believe it at first,” she whispered. “At least, I thought it was something that could only happen in Thule. But our runes have burned. And the black marks on my skin—I knew—”

  “But we don’t know,” he said softly. “I know how you feel. You feel shaky, right? Your mind’s racing. Your heart’s racing too.”

  She nodded. “How—”

  “I feel the same way,” he said. “I do think it’s the curse. Jem said it would give us power. And I do feel like—like I’ve been lit up with electricity and I can’t stop shaking.”

  “But you seem all right,” Emma said.

  “I think recovering from the spell, for me, is like climbing up out of a pit,” he said. “I’m not quite at the top yet, where you are. I’m a little protected.” He looped his arms around his knees. “I know why you’re scared. Anyone would be. But I’m still going to ask you to do something for me. I’m going to ask you to have faith.”

  “Faith?” she said. “Faith in what?”

  “In us,” he said. “Even when you told me why it was forbidden for us to be in love—even when I knew we shouldn’t ever have become parabatai—I still had all the memories of how wonderful it was to be your partner, to have our friendship made into something holy. I still believe in our bond, Emma. I still believe in the bonds of parabatai, in the importance of it, in the beauty of what Alec and Jace have, or what Jem had in the past.”

  “But what if it can be turned against us?” Emma said. “Our greatest strength made into our greatest weakness?”

  “That’s why I asked you to have faith,” he said. “Believe in us if you can’t believe in the idea of it. Tomorrow we might go into battle. Us against them. We need Jace and Alec, Clary and Simon—we need ourselves—to be whole and unbroken on the battlefield. We need to be at our strongest. One more day, Emma. We’ve made it this far. We can make it one more day.”

  “But I need the Mortal Sword,” said Emma, hugging the blade to her. “I can’t do this without it.”

  “If we win tomorrow, then we can get help from the Clave,” Julian said. “If we don’t win, Horace will be happy to strip our runes off. You know he will.”

  “I thought of that,” Emma said. “But we can’t be sure, can we?”

  “Maybe, maybe not,” he said. “But if you do this, if you cut the bonds, then I’m going to stand by you and take the blame along with you. You can’t stop me.”

  “But the kids,” she whispered. She couldn’t bear the thought of Julian being separated from them, of more pain and suffering coming to the Blackthorns.

  “Have Helen and Aline now,” said Julian. “I’m not the only one who can keep our family together. When I was at my worst, you were at your best for me. I can only do the same for you.”

  “All right,” she said. “All right, I’ll wait one day.”

  As if it heard her voice, the floor closed up at her feet, hiding the parabatai tablet beneath the protecting marble. She wanted to reach out to Julian, to touch his hands, to tell him she was grateful. She wanted to say more, say the words they were forbidden to say, but she didn’t—just looked at him silently and thought them, wondering if anyone had thought these words before in the Silent City. If they had thought them like this: with equal hope and despair.

  I love you. I love you. I love you.

  30

  THE RICHES THERE THAT LIE

  A scratching noise at the tent flap woke Emma. She had slept dreamlessly all night, waking only when Cristina crept into the tent late and rolled herself up in her blankets. She struggled awake now, feeling groggy; she could see through the gap in the tent fabric that it was gray outside, the sky heavy with impending rain.

  Helen was outside their tent. “Thirty-minute warning,” she said, and her footsteps receded as she continued with the wake-up call.

  Cristina groaned
and rolled out of her blankets. They had both slept in their clothes. “My stele,” she said. “We should”—she yawned—“Mark each other. Also, there had better be coffee.”

  Emma stripped down to her tank top, shivering as Cristina did the same. They exchanged runes—Swiftness and Sure-Footedness for Emma, Blocking and Deflecting runes for Cristina, Sure-Strike and Farsight for both. Cristina didn’t ask why Emma wasn’t getting her runes from Julian. They both knew.

  They zipped and laced their way into their gear and boots and clambered out of the tent, stretching their stiff muscles. The sky was heavy with dark clouds, the ground wet with dew. It seemed as if everyone else was already awake and hurrying around the camp—Simon was zipping his gear, Isabelle polishing a longsword. Magnus, dressed somberly in dark colors, was helping a geared-up Alec strap on his quiver of arrows. Aline was drawing a Fortitude rune on the back of Helen’s neck. Mark, his weapons belt bristling with daggers, was stirring some porridge over the fire.

  Cristina whimpered. “I don’t see coffee. Only porridge.”

  “I always tell you coffee’s evil, addict,” said Emma. “Give me your hand—I’ll draw you an Energy rune.”

  Cristina grumbled but held her hand out; a good Energy rune worked much like caffeine. Emma looked at Cristina affectionately as she ran the stele over her skin. She had a suspicion she knew where Cristina had been the night before, though now wasn’t the time to ask.

  “I can’t believe this is actually happening,” Cristina said as Emma returned her hand.

  “I know,” Emma said. She squeezed Cristina’s hand before putting her stele away. “I’ll have your back if anything happens. You know that.”

  Cristina touched her medallion and then Emma’s cheek, her eyes grave. “May the Angel bless you and keep you safe, my sister.”

  Raised voices drew Emma’s attention before she could say anything else. She turned to see Julian standing with Ty and Kit; Ty was speaking loudly, clearly angry, while Kit hung back with his hands in his pockets. As she headed over, she saw Kit’s expression more clearly. It shocked her. He looked utterly drained and despairing.

  “We want to be there with you,” Ty was saying. Mark had started over, abandoning the porridge. Helen, Aline, and Kieran stood nearby, while the others were politely not paying attention. “We want to fight beside you.”

  “Ty.” New runes stood out black and gleaming on Julian’s wrists and collarbones. Emma wondered who had done them—Mark? Helen? It didn’t matter. It should have been her. “This isn’t a fight. It’s a parley. A peace meeting. I can’t bring my whole family.”

  “It’s not like you’re invited and we’re not,” said Ty. He was in gear; so was Kit. A shortsword hung at Ty’s hip. “None of us are invited.”

  Emma hid a smile. It was always hard to argue with Ty when he made good points.

  “If we all show up, it’ll be chaos,” Julian said. “I need you here, Ty. You know what your job is.”

  Ty spoke reluctantly. “Give a warning. Stay safe.”

  “That’s right,” Julian said. He took Ty’s face in his hands; Ty was still a head shorter than him. “Stay safe, Tiberius.”

  Mark looked relieved. Kit still hadn’t spoken a word. Over Ty’s head, Julian nodded at Magnus, who stood beside Alec in the shelter of a nearby tree. Magnus nodded back. Interesting, Emma thought.

  The others had begun to approach now that it seemed the argument was over: Cristina and Kieran, Diana, Isabelle and Simon, Clary and Jace. Jace went over to Kit and touched the boy on the shoulder with all the gentleness Emma knew he was capable of, but which he rarely showed. As Emma watched, Jace offered Kit a slim silver dagger with a design of herons in flight etched on the handle. Kit took it carefully, nodding his head. Emma couldn’t hear them talking, but Kit at least looked a little less miserable.

  Kieran and Cristina had been speaking to each other in low voices. Kieran moved away from her now, coming to face Julian and the rest of those who were going to the Fields—Emma and Cristina, Alec and Mark. Kieran’s dark hair curled damply around his face. “It is my time to go as well, I think.”

  “I am sorry you can’t remain with us for this part of the plan,” said Julian. “You have been a great help, Kieran. It feels as if you belong with us.”

  Kieran gave Julian a measuring look. “I did not see you clearly enough in the past, Julian Atticus. You do have a ruthless heart. But you also have a good one.”

  Julian looked faintly surprised, and then even more surprised as Kieran went to kiss Mark good-bye—then turned to Cristina and kissed her as well. Both smiled at him as everyone stared. Guess I was right, Emma thought, and raised an eyebrow at Cristina, who blushed.

  Kieran murmured something to the two of them that Emma couldn’t hear, and melted into the woods, vanishing like mist.

  “Those of us leaving camp must go,” said Diana. “The parley is soon and it will take an hour at least to walk to the Fields.”

  Clary was talking to Simon; she patted his shoulders and turned worriedly to Isabelle, who hugged her. Alec had gone to speak with Jace. Everywhere were parabatai, preparing to be parted, even if briefly. Emma felt a sense of unreality. She had expected the bonds to be broken by now. It was strange to be standing where she was—not yet fleeing, not yet hated or exiled.

  Alec clasped Jace’s hand. “Take care.”

  Jace looked at him for a long moment, and let him go. Clary moved away from Simon and went to stand with Jace. They watched as Magnus crossed the wet grass to Alec, inclined his head, and kissed him gently.

  “I wish you could come,” Alec said, his eyes bright.

  “You know the deal. No Downworlders scaring Horace,” said Magnus. “Be good, my archer boy. Come back to me.”

  He went to stand with Jace and Clary. Helen and Aline joined them, and so did Kit and Ty. They made a small and silent group, watching as the others turned and walked into the woods of Brocelind.

  * * *

  “Are you ever going to talk to me again?” Ty said.

  He and Kit were sitting in a green hollow in the forest, close to the campsite. A gray boulder covered in green-brown moss rose behind them; Ty was leaning his back against it, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

  Kit barely remembered coming back from Lake Lyn the night before. Ty had hardly been able to walk. He had leaned on Kit most of the way, but Kit hadn’t spoken then, either. Not even when it started to rain and they splashed through miserable dampness together. Not when Ty had to stop to dry-heave by the side of the path. Not when he doubled over and gasped for Julian as if somehow Julian would appear out of thin air and make everything better.

  It was as if Kit’s emotions were trapped somewhere in an airless killing jar. Ty didn’t want him—not as a friend, not as anything. Every breath hurt, but his mind shied away from why: from who he really blamed for what had happened.

  “We’re supposed to be keeping quiet,” was all he said now.

  Ty gave him a doubtful look. “That’s not it,” he said. “You’re mad at me, I think.”

  Kit knew he should tell Ty what he was feeling; it was more than unfair to expect him to guess. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure himself.

  He remembered returning to camp, remembered crawling into their tent together, Ty curling up into himself. Kit had wanted to get Julian, but Ty had only shaken his head, pressing his face into his blankets, chanting under his breath until his muscles had relaxed and he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep.

  Kit hadn’t slept.

  He reached into his pocket. “Look—last night, after—well, before we left the lake I went back up to the fire.” It had been ash and char, save one shining remnant. Livvy’s gold necklace, glimmering like pirate treasure among the ashes.

  Kit held it out now and saw Ty’s eyes crinkle at the corners the way they did when he was very surprised.

  “You got it for me?” Ty said.

  Kit kept holding the necklace out. It swung between them
, a shimmering pendulum. Ty reached his hand out slowly to take it. The blood had been burned away from the surface. The locket shone clean as he fastened it around his neck.

  “Kit,” he began haltingly. “I thought that you—I thought that it would be—”

  Leaves crunched; a branch snapped. Kit and Ty fell instantly silent. After a moment, hand on the pendant at his throat, Ty rose to a crouch and began to whistle.

  * * *

  Emma and the others made their way in near-total silence through the woods, which were damp and green and thick with leaves and water. Cold drops of rain broke through the canopy occasionally and slid down the back of Emma’s collar, making her shiver.

  They had reached a fork in the road some ways back. Diana, Isabelle, and Simon had gone to the right. The others had gone to the left. There had been no good-byes, though Alec had kissed his sister on the cheek without a word.

  They walked on now as a group of five: Julian first, then Mark and Cristina—not holding hands but close together, shoulders touching—and Alec and Emma, bringing up the rear. Alec was watchful, his bow ever ready, his blue eyes raking the shadows on either side of the path.

  “Have you ever wanted a really big tapestry of yourself?” Emma said to him.

  Alec was not the sort who rattled easily. “Why?” he said. “Do you have one?”

  “I do, actually,” said Emma. “I rescued it from the Inquisitor’s office and carried it through the streets of Alicante. I got some pretty weird looks.”

  Alec’s mouth twitched. “I bet you did.”

  “I didn’t want the Inquisitor to throw it away,” Emma said. “He wants to pretend that the Battle of the Burren didn’t matter. But I’ve been to Thule. I know what it would mean if there had never been a Clary. Or a Jace. Or a you.”

  Alec lowered his bow slightly. “And imagine where we’d be now,” he said, “if there hadn’t been a Julian or a you or a Cristina or a Mark. There are times, I think, where we’re each called. Where we can choose to rise up or not to rise up. What you did in Faerie—” He broke off. “You know, you should give that tapestry to Magnus. If anyone would enjoy having it, he would.”