Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 129
“I don’t know who to trust. ‘There is a corruption at the heart of the bond of parabatai. A poison. A darkness in it that mirrors its goodness.’ That’s what the Queen said.”
The hand at Julian’s side clenched into a fist. “But the Queen—”
It’s more than the Queen. I should tell him. What Diana said in Thule about parabatai. But Emma held back: He was in no state to hear it, and besides, they both knew what they needed to do.
“You know what has to happen,” she said finally, her voice barely more than a whisper. “What Magnus said. We have a little time. We need to not—not push it.”
His eyes were bleak, haunted. He didn’t move. “Tell me to go away,” he said. “Tell me to leave you.”
“Julian—”
“I will always do what you ask me to do, Emma,” he said, his voice harsh. The bones of his face seemed suddenly too sharp and pronounced, as if they were cutting through his skin. “Please. Ask me.”
She remembered the time all those years ago when Julian had put Cortana in her arms and she had held it so tightly it had left a scar. She remembered the pain and the blood. And the gratitude.
He had given her what she needed then. She would give him what he needed now.
She raised her chin. It might hurt like death, but she could do this. I am of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durendal.
“Go away, Julian,” she said, putting every ounce of steel she could into the words. “I want you to go away and leave me alone.”
Even though he had asked her to say it, even though he knew it wasn’t her real wish, he still flinched as if the words were arrows piercing his skin.
He gave a short, jerky nod. Turned with sharp precision. Walked away.
She closed her eyes. As his footsteps receded down the hall, she felt the pain in her parabatai rune fade, and told herself that it didn’t matter. It would never happen again.
* * *
Kit was lurking about in the shadows. Not because he wanted to, precisely; he liked to think he’d turned over a new leaf and was less prone to lurking and planning underhanded deeds than he used to be.
Which, he realized, might be an exaggeration. Necromancy was pretty underhanded, even half-hearted participation in necromancy. Maybe it was like the tree falling in the forest: If no one knew about your necromantic activities, were they still underhanded?
Pressing himself back against the wall of the Institute, he decided that they probably were.
He’d come outside to talk to Jace, not realizing when he saw Jace heading out the back door that he was on his way to join Clary, Alec, and Magnus. Kit realized he’d wandered into their good-byes, and scrunched himself awkwardly into the shadows, hoping not to be noticed.
Clary had hugged Alec and Magnus, and Jace had given Magnus a friendly high five. Then he’d grabbed hold of Alec and they’d hugged each other for what seemed like hours or possibly years. They’d patted each other on the back and clung on while Clary and Magnus looked on indulgently.
Being parabatai did seem like intense stuff, Kit thought, rolling his shoulders to get rid of the crick in his neck. And oddly, it had been a long time since he’d thought about being Ty’s parabatai. Maybe it was because Ty was in no shape to make that kind of decision.
Maybe it was something else, but he pushed away from the thought as Alec and Jace let go of each other. Jace stepped back, sliding his hand into Clary’s. Magnus raised his hands, and the blue sparks flew from his fingers to create the whirling door of a Portal.
The wind that blew from it kicked up dust and sand; Kit squinted, barely able to see as Alec and Magnus stepped through. When the wind died down, he saw that Alec and Magnus were gone, and Jace and Clary were headed back to the Institute, hand in hand.
Kit closed his eyes and banged his head silently against the wall.
“Do you do that because you enjoy it, or because it feels good when you stop?” said a voice.
Kit’s eyes popped open. Jace was standing in front of him, muscular arms crossed, an amused look on his face. Clary must have gone inside.
“Sorry,” Kit muttered.
“Don’t apologize. It doesn’t make any difference to me if you want to scramble your brains like eggs.”
Grumbling, Kit stepped out of the shadows and stood blinking in the sun, dusting off his shirt. “I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t want to interrupt all the good-bye hugging,” he said.
“Alec and I are unafraid to express our manly love,” said Jace. “Sometimes he carries me around like a swooning damsel.”
“Really?” said Kit.
“No,” said Jace. “I’m very heavy, especially when fully armed. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Actually, that,” said Kit.
“My weight?”
“Weapons.”
Jace looked delighted. “I knew you were a Herondale. This is excellent news. What do you want to discuss? Types of swords? Two-handed versus one-handed? I have a lot of thoughts.”
“Having my own weapon,” said Kit. “Emma has Cortana. Livvy had her sabers. Ty likes throwing knives. Julian’s got crossbows. Cristina has her balisong. If I’m going to be a Shadowhunter, I should have a weapon of choice.”
“So you decided?” Jace said. “You’re going to be a Shadowhunter?”
Kit hesitated. He didn’t know when exactly it had happened, but it had. He’d realized it on the beach with Shade, when he’d feared for a moment that he wasn’t Nephilim after all. “What else would I be?”
Jace’s mouth curled up at the corners in a cheeky grin. “I never doubted you, kid.” He ruffled Kit’s hair. “You don’t have any training, so I’d say archery and crossbows and throwing knives are out for you. I’ll find you something. Something that says Herondale.”
“I could slay with my deadly sense of humor and wicked charm,” said Kit.
“Now that says Herondale.” Jace looked pleased. “Christopher—can I call you Christopher?”
“No,” said Kit.
“Christopher, family for me was never blood. It was always the family I chose. But it turns out it’s nice to have someone I’m related to in this world. Someone I can tell boring family stories to. Do you know about Will Herondale? Or James Herondale?”
“I don’t think so,” said Kit.
“Excellent. Hours of your time will be ruined,” said Jace. “Now I’m off to find you a weapon. Don’t hesitate to come to me any time if you need advice about life or weaponry, preferably both.” He saluted sharply and jogged off before Kit could ask him what you were supposed to do if someone you really cared about wanted to raise the dead in an ill-advised manner.
“Probably for the best,” he muttered to himself.
“Kit! Kit! Pssst,” someone hissed, and Kit jumped several feet in the air and spun around to see Drusilla leaning out of an upper window and gesturing at him. “You said we could talk.”
Kit blinked. Unfolding events had blown his agreement with Dru cleanly out of his mind. “All right. I’ll come up.”
As he jogged up the steps toward Dru’s floor, he wondered where Ty was. Kit had been used to going everywhere with him—to finding Ty in the hallway, reading, when he got up in the morning, and to going to bed only after they’d both worn themselves out researching or sneaking around the Shadow Market under the amused eye of Hypatia. Though Ty didn’t care for the clamor of the Shadow Market, everyone at it seemed to love him, the extremely polite Shadowhunter boy who didn’t display weapons, didn’t threaten, just calmly asked if they had this or that that he was looking for.
Ty was remarkable, Kit thought. The fact that tensions were escalating among Downworlders and Shadowhunters didn’t seem to touch him. He was entirely focused on one thing: the spell that would bring back Livvy. He was happy when the search was going well and frustrated when it wasn’t, but he didn’t take his frustrations out on others.
The only person he was unkind to, Kit thought, was himself.
In the past days, though, since Julian and Emma had woken up, Ty had been harder to find. If he was working on something, he hadn’t included Kit in it—a thought that hurt with surprising intensity. Still, they did have plans for that night, so that was something.
The hand at Julian’s side clenched into a fist. “But the Queen—”
It’s more than the Queen. I should tell him. What Diana said in Thule about parabatai. But Emma held back: He was in no state to hear it, and besides, they both knew what they needed to do.
“You know what has to happen,” she said finally, her voice barely more than a whisper. “What Magnus said. We have a little time. We need to not—not push it.”
His eyes were bleak, haunted. He didn’t move. “Tell me to go away,” he said. “Tell me to leave you.”
“Julian—”
“I will always do what you ask me to do, Emma,” he said, his voice harsh. The bones of his face seemed suddenly too sharp and pronounced, as if they were cutting through his skin. “Please. Ask me.”
She remembered the time all those years ago when Julian had put Cortana in her arms and she had held it so tightly it had left a scar. She remembered the pain and the blood. And the gratitude.
He had given her what she needed then. She would give him what he needed now.
She raised her chin. It might hurt like death, but she could do this. I am of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durendal.
“Go away, Julian,” she said, putting every ounce of steel she could into the words. “I want you to go away and leave me alone.”
Even though he had asked her to say it, even though he knew it wasn’t her real wish, he still flinched as if the words were arrows piercing his skin.
He gave a short, jerky nod. Turned with sharp precision. Walked away.
She closed her eyes. As his footsteps receded down the hall, she felt the pain in her parabatai rune fade, and told herself that it didn’t matter. It would never happen again.
* * *
Kit was lurking about in the shadows. Not because he wanted to, precisely; he liked to think he’d turned over a new leaf and was less prone to lurking and planning underhanded deeds than he used to be.
Which, he realized, might be an exaggeration. Necromancy was pretty underhanded, even half-hearted participation in necromancy. Maybe it was like the tree falling in the forest: If no one knew about your necromantic activities, were they still underhanded?
Pressing himself back against the wall of the Institute, he decided that they probably were.
He’d come outside to talk to Jace, not realizing when he saw Jace heading out the back door that he was on his way to join Clary, Alec, and Magnus. Kit realized he’d wandered into their good-byes, and scrunched himself awkwardly into the shadows, hoping not to be noticed.
Clary had hugged Alec and Magnus, and Jace had given Magnus a friendly high five. Then he’d grabbed hold of Alec and they’d hugged each other for what seemed like hours or possibly years. They’d patted each other on the back and clung on while Clary and Magnus looked on indulgently.
Being parabatai did seem like intense stuff, Kit thought, rolling his shoulders to get rid of the crick in his neck. And oddly, it had been a long time since he’d thought about being Ty’s parabatai. Maybe it was because Ty was in no shape to make that kind of decision.
Maybe it was something else, but he pushed away from the thought as Alec and Jace let go of each other. Jace stepped back, sliding his hand into Clary’s. Magnus raised his hands, and the blue sparks flew from his fingers to create the whirling door of a Portal.
The wind that blew from it kicked up dust and sand; Kit squinted, barely able to see as Alec and Magnus stepped through. When the wind died down, he saw that Alec and Magnus were gone, and Jace and Clary were headed back to the Institute, hand in hand.
Kit closed his eyes and banged his head silently against the wall.
“Do you do that because you enjoy it, or because it feels good when you stop?” said a voice.
Kit’s eyes popped open. Jace was standing in front of him, muscular arms crossed, an amused look on his face. Clary must have gone inside.
“Sorry,” Kit muttered.
“Don’t apologize. It doesn’t make any difference to me if you want to scramble your brains like eggs.”
Grumbling, Kit stepped out of the shadows and stood blinking in the sun, dusting off his shirt. “I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t want to interrupt all the good-bye hugging,” he said.
“Alec and I are unafraid to express our manly love,” said Jace. “Sometimes he carries me around like a swooning damsel.”
“Really?” said Kit.
“No,” said Jace. “I’m very heavy, especially when fully armed. What did you want to talk to me about?”
“Actually, that,” said Kit.
“My weight?”
“Weapons.”
Jace looked delighted. “I knew you were a Herondale. This is excellent news. What do you want to discuss? Types of swords? Two-handed versus one-handed? I have a lot of thoughts.”
“Having my own weapon,” said Kit. “Emma has Cortana. Livvy had her sabers. Ty likes throwing knives. Julian’s got crossbows. Cristina has her balisong. If I’m going to be a Shadowhunter, I should have a weapon of choice.”
“So you decided?” Jace said. “You’re going to be a Shadowhunter?”
Kit hesitated. He didn’t know when exactly it had happened, but it had. He’d realized it on the beach with Shade, when he’d feared for a moment that he wasn’t Nephilim after all. “What else would I be?”
Jace’s mouth curled up at the corners in a cheeky grin. “I never doubted you, kid.” He ruffled Kit’s hair. “You don’t have any training, so I’d say archery and crossbows and throwing knives are out for you. I’ll find you something. Something that says Herondale.”
“I could slay with my deadly sense of humor and wicked charm,” said Kit.
“Now that says Herondale.” Jace looked pleased. “Christopher—can I call you Christopher?”
“No,” said Kit.
“Christopher, family for me was never blood. It was always the family I chose. But it turns out it’s nice to have someone I’m related to in this world. Someone I can tell boring family stories to. Do you know about Will Herondale? Or James Herondale?”
“I don’t think so,” said Kit.
“Excellent. Hours of your time will be ruined,” said Jace. “Now I’m off to find you a weapon. Don’t hesitate to come to me any time if you need advice about life or weaponry, preferably both.” He saluted sharply and jogged off before Kit could ask him what you were supposed to do if someone you really cared about wanted to raise the dead in an ill-advised manner.
“Probably for the best,” he muttered to himself.
“Kit! Kit! Pssst,” someone hissed, and Kit jumped several feet in the air and spun around to see Drusilla leaning out of an upper window and gesturing at him. “You said we could talk.”
Kit blinked. Unfolding events had blown his agreement with Dru cleanly out of his mind. “All right. I’ll come up.”
As he jogged up the steps toward Dru’s floor, he wondered where Ty was. Kit had been used to going everywhere with him—to finding Ty in the hallway, reading, when he got up in the morning, and to going to bed only after they’d both worn themselves out researching or sneaking around the Shadow Market under the amused eye of Hypatia. Though Ty didn’t care for the clamor of the Shadow Market, everyone at it seemed to love him, the extremely polite Shadowhunter boy who didn’t display weapons, didn’t threaten, just calmly asked if they had this or that that he was looking for.
Ty was remarkable, Kit thought. The fact that tensions were escalating among Downworlders and Shadowhunters didn’t seem to touch him. He was entirely focused on one thing: the spell that would bring back Livvy. He was happy when the search was going well and frustrated when it wasn’t, but he didn’t take his frustrations out on others.
The only person he was unkind to, Kit thought, was himself.
In the past days, though, since Julian and Emma had woken up, Ty had been harder to find. If he was working on something, he hadn’t included Kit in it—a thought that hurt with surprising intensity. Still, they did have plans for that night, so that was something.
