Queen of Air and Darkness (The Dark Artifices #3)

by Cassandra Clare

  Julian stopped as well and turned to her, folding the map into his pocket. “You’re sure?”

  His voice was quiet. Emma strained to hear what she’d heard before: the tiny breakage of branches behind them, the thump of a footfall. “I’m sure.”

  There was no doubt in Julian’s eyes; Emma felt a faint gratification that even in his current enchanted state, he trusted her skills implicitly. “We can’t run,” he said—he was right; the trail was too rocky and the undergrowth too thick for them to be sure they’d outrun a pursuer.

  “Come on.” Emma grabbed Julian’s hand; a moment later they were skinning up the trunk of the tallest of the oak trees surrounding the clearing. Emma found the fork of a branch and settled into it; a second later, Julian swung up onto a branch across from hers. They clung to the tree trunk and looked down.

  The footfalls were getting closer. Hoofbeats, Emma realized, and then a kelpie—dark green, with a mane of shimmering seaweed—strode into the clearing, a rider on its back.

  Emma sucked in her breath. The rider was a man, wearing Shadowhunter gear.

  She leaned down, eager to see more. Not a man, she realized, a boy—whippet thin and narrow-faced, with a shock of black hair.

  “Dane Larkspear on a kelpie,” Julian muttered. “What is this?”

  “If I see Zara come up riding the Loch Ness monster, we’re going home,” Emma hissed back.

  The kelpie had stopped dead in the middle of the clearing. It was rolling its eyes—deep black with no whites. Closer up, it looked less like a horse, even though it had a mane and tail and four legs, and more like a frightening creature, something that had never been meant to be out of the water.

  “Hurry up.” Dane jerked on the kelpie’s bridle and a memory flickered in the back of Emma’s mind—something about how bridling a kelpie forced it to obey you. She wondered how Dane had managed it. “We need to find Blackthorn and Carstairs’s trail before nightfall or we’ll lose them.”

  The kelpie spoke. Emma jolted. Its voice sounded like the grinding of waves against rock. “I do not know these creatures, Master. I do not know what they look like.”

  “It doesn’t matter! Pick up their trail!” Dane smacked the kelpie across the shoulder and sat back, glowering. “Okay, I’ll describe them for you. Julian’s the kind of guy who would have a girl as a parabatai. Get it?”

  “No,” said the kelpie.

  “Spends all his time chasing little kids around. Has like a million children and he acts like he’s their dad. It’s creepy. Now, Emma, she’s the kind of girl who’d be hot if she ever shut up.”

  “I’ll kill him,” Emma muttered. “I’ll kill him while talking the whole time.”

  “I don’t understand human attitudes toward beauty,” said the kelpie. “I like a fine sheen of seaweed on a woman.”

  “Shut up.” Dane jerked the bridle and the kelpie exposed needlelike teeth in a hiss. “We need to find them before the sun goes down.” His smile was ugly. “Once I get back with the Black Volume, Horace will give me anything I want. Maybe Julian Blackthorn’s last sister to play with. Dru whatsit. Best tits in the family.”

  Emma was out of the tree so fast that the world was a blur of green leaves and red rage. She landed on Dane Larkspear and knocked him clear of his saddle, forcing a gasp of pain from him when they hit the ground together. She punched him hard in the stomach and he doubled up while she sprang to her feet. She grabbed for her sword; for a moment she had been worried Julian wouldn’t have followed her but he was already on the ground, yanking off the kelpie’s bridle.

  “My lord!” The kelpie bowed its forelegs to Julian. Dane was coughing and gagging, rolling on the ground in pain. “Thank you for freeing me.”

  “Don’t mention it.” Julian tossed the bridle aside, and the kelpie dashed into the forest.

  Emma was still standing over Dane with her sword pointed at his throat, where something gold flashed. Lying flat on the ground, he glared at her.

  “What are you doing here, Larkspear?” she demanded. “We were sent to get the Black Volume, not you.”

  “Get away from me.” Dane turned his head and spit blood. He wiped his mouth, leaving a red smear on his hand. “If you hurt me at all, the Dearborns will have your Marks stripped.”

  “So what?” Emma said. “We don’t even have the Black Volume. So you just wasted your time following us, Dane. Which, by the way, you suck at. You sounded like an elephant. A sexist elephant. You’re a terrible Shadowhunter.”

  “I know you don’t have it,” Dane said in disgust. “But you will. You’ll find it. And when you do—”

  Dane broke off.

  “What?” Emma’s voice dripped scorn. “Am I talking too much?”

  Emma suddenly realized Dane wasn’t staring at her but behind her; Julian had come up and was standing with his longsword in his hand, gazing at Dane with a frightening coldness. “You do know,” he said quietly, “that if you ever touched Dru, I would kill you?”

  Dane pushed himself up on his elbows. “You think you’re so special,” he hissed in a thin, whining voice. “You think you’re so great—you think your sister’s too good for me—”

  “She’s too young for you,” said Emma. “She’s thirteen, creep.”

  “You think the Inquisitor sent you on some special mission because you’re so great, but he sent you because you’re disposable! Because you don’t matter! He wants you gone!”

  Dane froze, as if he realized he’d said too much.

  Emma turned to Julian. “Does he mean—”

  “He means the Inquisitor sent him to kill us,” said Julian. “He’s wearing one of the medallions Horace gave us. The ones that prevent time slippage.”

  Dane put a hand protectively to his throat, but not before Emma saw that Julian was right.

  She glared at Dane. “So Horace sent you to get the Black Volume and kill us and return with it alone?”

  “And then he’d tell everyone we were murdered by the Fair Folk,” said Julian. “Extra bonus for him.”

  A flicker of fear crossed Dane’s face. “How did you guess that?”

  “I’m smarter than you,” said Julian. “But I wouldn’t give myself big props. So is sawdust.”

  “There’s a difference between sending someone on a dangerous mission and sending someone after them to stab them in the back,” said Emma. “When the Clave finds out—”

  “They won’t find out!” Dane shouted. “You’re never coming back from here! You think it’s just me?” He staggered to his feet; Emma took a step back, unsure what to do. They could knock Dane out, but then what? Tie him up? Return him to Idris somehow? “The Cohort has a long reach and we don’t need traitors like you. The fewer of you there are in the world, the better—we got a good start with Livvy, but—”

  Julian’s sword flashed like lightning as he drove the blade into Dane’s heart.

  Emma knew it was Dane’s heart, because Dane’s body spasmed and arched, like a fish caught with a hook through its body. He coughed out blood in a red spray, his eyes fixed on Julian with a look of incredulity.

  Julian jerked his sword free. Dane slid to the ground, his mouth half-open, his expression glassy and flat.

  Emma whirled on Julian. “What did you just do?”

  Julian bent to clean the blade of his sword on a patch of grass and flowers. “Killed the person who was planning to kill us.”

  “You murdered him,” Emma said.

  “Emma, be practical. He was sent here to murder us. He would have done it to us if I hadn’t done it to him. And he said there might be others, too, other Cohort members. If we left him alive, we could have been facing a lot more adversaries pretty soon.”

  Emma felt as if she couldn’t catch her breath. Julian had sheathed his sword; the flowers at his feet were stained with blood. She couldn’t look at Dane’s body. “You don’t just kill other Shadowhunters. People don’t do that. People with feelings don’t do that.”

  “Maybe,”
said Julian. “But he was a problem, and now he’s not.”

  There was a rustle in the underbrush. A moment later the kelpie reappeared, shimmering green in the sunlight. It nosed its way over to Dane. Emma wondered for a second if it was mourning its previous master.

  There was a crunching sound as it sank its needle teeth into Dane’s bloodstained side. The coppery smell of blood exploded onto the air. The kelpie swallowed and looked up at Julian, its green teeth glinting red, like a disturbing vision of Christmas.

  “Oh God.” Emma stepped back, revolted.

  “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 attempt 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 t
hought 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?”

  “I’ll show you. Take a clip.”

  She picked one up.

  “Bend it into an L shape,” he instructed. “The straight part is the top part. Okay, good.” Her face was screwed up with concentration. She was wearing a black T-shirt that said FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE on it and featured a cracked tombstone.

  Kit picked up a second clip and straightened it completely. “This is your pick,” he said. “What you’re holding is the tension wrench.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Now how do you pick the lock?”