Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 178
“Outside the wards of Idris we will fight on to protect the world,” Alec said. “In here, you will rot as you play at being soldiers with nothing to fight but each other.”
Alec turned his back on Balogh, moving to face the Clave. “Let’s open the Portal now,” he said. “Those who do not live in Alicante, return through it to your homes. Those who live here will have a choice. Gather your families and come with us or remain here, trapped forever, with the Cohort as your rulers. It is the choice of each Shadowhunter whether they wish to be imprisoned or free.”
Clary rose to her feet and walked to the doors at the back of the room, taking her stele from her pocket. The Clave watched in silence as her stele flashed in her hand and a silvery-gray whirlwind began to grow against the doors, opening outward, shimmering along the walls until it had become an enormous Portal.
She turned to look at the room. “I’ll keep this open for as long as anyone needs to leave Idris,” she said, her voice firm and clear. “I’ll be the last who passes through. Who wants to be the first?”
Emma stood, and Julian moved with her, acting together as they always had. “We will follow our Consul,” Emma said.
“The Blackthorns will go first,” Julian said. “Keep your prison, Zara. We will be free without you.”
The rest of their family rose with them. Aline went to Jia and looped her arm through her mother’s. Emma would have thought the room would have been full of cries and chaos, of arguing and fighting. But it seemed as if a cloak of stunned acceptance had been drawn over the Shadowhunters, both those leaving and those staying. The Cohort and their allies watched in silence as the majority of Shadowhunters either headed toward the Portal or went to gather up their things from their Alicante houses.
Alicante would be a ghost town, a ghost city in a ghost land, Emma thought. She looked for Diana, found her nearby in the crowd. “Your father’s shop,” she said. “Your apartment—”
Diana just smiled. “I don’t mind,” she said. “I was always coming back with you to Los Angeles, love. I’m a teacher. Not a shop owner in Idris. And why would I want to live somewhere Gwyn couldn’t go?”
Cristina hugged Diego and Jaime as they stood, ready to return to Mexico City. Divya and Rayan were preparing themselves. So were Cameron and Paige Ashdown, though Vanessa still stood on the dais, glaring at them with narrowed eyes. Amelia’s body lay at her feet. Emma felt a twist of pity. To sacrifice so much for a cause that cared nothing for you, and then to die unmourned. It seemed too cruel.
Cameron turned his back on Vanessa, heading for the stairs, joining the Blackthorns and their friends as Clary directed the Portal to return them to Los Angeles. He didn’t look back at his cousin. Emma hoped he saw her smile at him encouragingly.
The Ashdowns weren’t the only family that would be torn apart by this. But with every step she took toward the Portal, she knew they were doing the right thing. No shining new world could be built on blood and bones.
The Portal rose up before Emma, lucent and shimmering. Through it she could see the ocean and the shore, the looming shape of the Institute. Finally the Blackthorns were going home. They had passed through blood, through disaster, and now through exile, but they were going home at last.
She took Julian’s hand, and they stepped through.
34
THE CITY IN THE SEA
Kieran had been waiting in the meadow for some time now. No one ever told you, he thought, that when you became a King of a Faerie Court, you would have to wear very itchy velvet and silk nearly all the time. The boots were nice—the King had his own cobbler, who molded the leather to his feet—but he could have done without wearing a jeweled belt, heavy rings, and a doublet with five pounds of embroidery on it on a bright summer day.
A rustle in the grass announced the arrival of General Winter, who bowed deeply before Kieran. Kieran had told him many times not to do that, but Winter persisted.
“Adaon Kingson, your brother,” he announced, and stepped aside, allowing Adaon to pass him and come close to Kieran.
The two brothers regarded each other. Adaon wore the green livery of a page of the Seelie Court. It suited him. He seemed rested and calm, his dark eyes thoughtful as he gazed at Kieran. “You sought private word with me, my liege?” he said.
“Winter, turn your back,” Kieran said. In truth, he did not mind what Winter heard: He had not bothered keeping secrets from the head of his guards. It was better for a King not to have secrets if he could avoid it, in his opinion. It simply gave the tools for blackmail into enemy hands.
Winter walked a few steps away and turned his back. There was a rustle as the handful of redcap guards who had come with him did the same. Adaon raised an eyebrow, but surely he could not be surprised: The guards were good at making themselves invisible, but Kings did not stand around in meadows alone and unprotected.
“You have come all the way to the doors of an enemy Court to see me,” said Adaon. “I suppose I am complimented.”
“You are the only brother I have ever trusted,” Kieran said. “And I came to ask you if you wished—if you would consider becoming King in my place.”
Adaon’s eyebrows flickered like bird wings. “Do you not enjoy being King?”
“It is not to be enjoyed or not enjoyed. It does not matter. I have left Mark and Cristina, who I love, to stand as King, but I cannot bear it. I cannot live like this.” Kieran fiddled with his heavy rings. “I cannot live without them.”
“And they would not survive the Court.” Adaon fingered his chin thoughtfully. “Kieran, I am not going to become King, for two reasons. One is that with you on the King’s throne and me beside the Queen, we can work toward peace between Seelie and Unseelie. The Queen hated Arawn, but she does not hate you.”
“Adaon—” Kieran’s voice was raw.
“No,” Adaon said firmly. “Already I have made the Queen see the wisdom of a peace between the Lands, but if I leave her to become the King of Unseelie, she will hate me and we will return to being enemies.”
Kieran took a deep breath. The meadow smelled of wildflowers, but he felt nauseated, sick and hot and despairing. How could he live without hearing Cristina’s voice again? Without seeing Mark’s face? “What was your second reason, then?”
“You’ve been a good King,” Adaon said. “Though you have only held the position these past weeks, Kieran, you have already done many fine things—released prisoners, enacted a fair redistribution of land, changed the laws for the better. Our people are loyal to you.”
“So if I had been an incompetent King, like Oban, I might have the life I want?” Kieran said bitterly. “A strange reward for work well done.”
“I am sorry, Kieran,” Adaon said, and Kieran knew it must be true. “But there is no one else.”
At first, Kieran could not speak. Before him he saw the long days stretching away without love in them or trust. He thought of Mark laughing, wheeling Windspear around, his strong body and golden hair. He thought of Cristina dancing, smoke and flame in the night, her softness and her boundless generosity of spirit. He would not find those things again; he would not find such hearts again.
“I understand,” Kieran said remotely. This was the end, then. He would have a life of dutiful service—a life that would stretch on many years—and only the pleasure of doing good, which was not nothing, to sustain him. If only the Wild Hunt had known this would be the fate of their wildest Hunter. They would have laughed. “I must uphold my duty. I regret that I asked.”
Adaon’s face softened. “I do not hold duty above love, Kieran. I must tell you—I heard from Cristina.”
Kieran’s head jerked up. “What?”
“She made a suggestion that I give you my cottage. It exists in a place on the Borderlands that is in neither Faerie nor the mortal world. It would neither weaken you as the mortal world would nor would Mark and Cristina be under threat, as they would be in the Court.” Adaon laid his hand on Kieran’s silk-and-velvet shoulder. “You could be with them there.”
The raw emotion he felt nearly rocked Kieran off his feet. “You would do that, Adaon? You would give me your cottage?”
Alec turned his back on Balogh, moving to face the Clave. “Let’s open the Portal now,” he said. “Those who do not live in Alicante, return through it to your homes. Those who live here will have a choice. Gather your families and come with us or remain here, trapped forever, with the Cohort as your rulers. It is the choice of each Shadowhunter whether they wish to be imprisoned or free.”
Clary rose to her feet and walked to the doors at the back of the room, taking her stele from her pocket. The Clave watched in silence as her stele flashed in her hand and a silvery-gray whirlwind began to grow against the doors, opening outward, shimmering along the walls until it had become an enormous Portal.
She turned to look at the room. “I’ll keep this open for as long as anyone needs to leave Idris,” she said, her voice firm and clear. “I’ll be the last who passes through. Who wants to be the first?”
Emma stood, and Julian moved with her, acting together as they always had. “We will follow our Consul,” Emma said.
“The Blackthorns will go first,” Julian said. “Keep your prison, Zara. We will be free without you.”
The rest of their family rose with them. Aline went to Jia and looped her arm through her mother’s. Emma would have thought the room would have been full of cries and chaos, of arguing and fighting. But it seemed as if a cloak of stunned acceptance had been drawn over the Shadowhunters, both those leaving and those staying. The Cohort and their allies watched in silence as the majority of Shadowhunters either headed toward the Portal or went to gather up their things from their Alicante houses.
Alicante would be a ghost town, a ghost city in a ghost land, Emma thought. She looked for Diana, found her nearby in the crowd. “Your father’s shop,” she said. “Your apartment—”
Diana just smiled. “I don’t mind,” she said. “I was always coming back with you to Los Angeles, love. I’m a teacher. Not a shop owner in Idris. And why would I want to live somewhere Gwyn couldn’t go?”
Cristina hugged Diego and Jaime as they stood, ready to return to Mexico City. Divya and Rayan were preparing themselves. So were Cameron and Paige Ashdown, though Vanessa still stood on the dais, glaring at them with narrowed eyes. Amelia’s body lay at her feet. Emma felt a twist of pity. To sacrifice so much for a cause that cared nothing for you, and then to die unmourned. It seemed too cruel.
Cameron turned his back on Vanessa, heading for the stairs, joining the Blackthorns and their friends as Clary directed the Portal to return them to Los Angeles. He didn’t look back at his cousin. Emma hoped he saw her smile at him encouragingly.
The Ashdowns weren’t the only family that would be torn apart by this. But with every step she took toward the Portal, she knew they were doing the right thing. No shining new world could be built on blood and bones.
The Portal rose up before Emma, lucent and shimmering. Through it she could see the ocean and the shore, the looming shape of the Institute. Finally the Blackthorns were going home. They had passed through blood, through disaster, and now through exile, but they were going home at last.
She took Julian’s hand, and they stepped through.
34
THE CITY IN THE SEA
Kieran had been waiting in the meadow for some time now. No one ever told you, he thought, that when you became a King of a Faerie Court, you would have to wear very itchy velvet and silk nearly all the time. The boots were nice—the King had his own cobbler, who molded the leather to his feet—but he could have done without wearing a jeweled belt, heavy rings, and a doublet with five pounds of embroidery on it on a bright summer day.
A rustle in the grass announced the arrival of General Winter, who bowed deeply before Kieran. Kieran had told him many times not to do that, but Winter persisted.
“Adaon Kingson, your brother,” he announced, and stepped aside, allowing Adaon to pass him and come close to Kieran.
The two brothers regarded each other. Adaon wore the green livery of a page of the Seelie Court. It suited him. He seemed rested and calm, his dark eyes thoughtful as he gazed at Kieran. “You sought private word with me, my liege?” he said.
“Winter, turn your back,” Kieran said. In truth, he did not mind what Winter heard: He had not bothered keeping secrets from the head of his guards. It was better for a King not to have secrets if he could avoid it, in his opinion. It simply gave the tools for blackmail into enemy hands.
Winter walked a few steps away and turned his back. There was a rustle as the handful of redcap guards who had come with him did the same. Adaon raised an eyebrow, but surely he could not be surprised: The guards were good at making themselves invisible, but Kings did not stand around in meadows alone and unprotected.
“You have come all the way to the doors of an enemy Court to see me,” said Adaon. “I suppose I am complimented.”
“You are the only brother I have ever trusted,” Kieran said. “And I came to ask you if you wished—if you would consider becoming King in my place.”
Adaon’s eyebrows flickered like bird wings. “Do you not enjoy being King?”
“It is not to be enjoyed or not enjoyed. It does not matter. I have left Mark and Cristina, who I love, to stand as King, but I cannot bear it. I cannot live like this.” Kieran fiddled with his heavy rings. “I cannot live without them.”
“And they would not survive the Court.” Adaon fingered his chin thoughtfully. “Kieran, I am not going to become King, for two reasons. One is that with you on the King’s throne and me beside the Queen, we can work toward peace between Seelie and Unseelie. The Queen hated Arawn, but she does not hate you.”
“Adaon—” Kieran’s voice was raw.
“No,” Adaon said firmly. “Already I have made the Queen see the wisdom of a peace between the Lands, but if I leave her to become the King of Unseelie, she will hate me and we will return to being enemies.”
Kieran took a deep breath. The meadow smelled of wildflowers, but he felt nauseated, sick and hot and despairing. How could he live without hearing Cristina’s voice again? Without seeing Mark’s face? “What was your second reason, then?”
“You’ve been a good King,” Adaon said. “Though you have only held the position these past weeks, Kieran, you have already done many fine things—released prisoners, enacted a fair redistribution of land, changed the laws for the better. Our people are loyal to you.”
“So if I had been an incompetent King, like Oban, I might have the life I want?” Kieran said bitterly. “A strange reward for work well done.”
“I am sorry, Kieran,” Adaon said, and Kieran knew it must be true. “But there is no one else.”
At first, Kieran could not speak. Before him he saw the long days stretching away without love in them or trust. He thought of Mark laughing, wheeling Windspear around, his strong body and golden hair. He thought of Cristina dancing, smoke and flame in the night, her softness and her boundless generosity of spirit. He would not find those things again; he would not find such hearts again.
“I understand,” Kieran said remotely. This was the end, then. He would have a life of dutiful service—a life that would stretch on many years—and only the pleasure of doing good, which was not nothing, to sustain him. If only the Wild Hunt had known this would be the fate of their wildest Hunter. They would have laughed. “I must uphold my duty. I regret that I asked.”
Adaon’s face softened. “I do not hold duty above love, Kieran. I must tell you—I heard from Cristina.”
Kieran’s head jerked up. “What?”
“She made a suggestion that I give you my cottage. It exists in a place on the Borderlands that is in neither Faerie nor the mortal world. It would neither weaken you as the mortal world would nor would Mark and Cristina be under threat, as they would be in the Court.” Adaon laid his hand on Kieran’s silk-and-velvet shoulder. “You could be with them there.”
The raw emotion he felt nearly rocked Kieran off his feet. “You would do that, Adaon? You would give me your cottage?”
