Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 30
There was a rumble of discontent among the Cohort. Clearly they’d never thought about that.
“Fine, fine,” said Zara. “Be killjoys. But I knew he was here, hiding out in your room,” she said to Diego. “I saw a hollowed acorn on your floor. So this is your fault. If you hadn’t brought him here, none of this would have happened.”
“Give it a rest, Zara,” said Divya, still holding the sword levelly. “Diego, go get Kieran.”
Diego started across the room, just as Manuel spoke. “Why don’t you look in the water yourself, Rocio Rosales?” he said. “If you think your soul is so clean. It should be painless for you.”
“Cállate la pinche boca,” Diego snapped, nearly at Kieran’s side; the faerie prince was coughing, blood on his lips. He’d started to pull himself upright when Manuel moved with the speed of a snake: Planting a boot in Kieran’s back, he kicked him into the water.
Diego lunged forward, catching at the back of Kieran’s shirt, but not before Kieran had gotten a faceful of pool water. Diego yanked him out, coughing and gasping, and tried to set him on his feet; Kieran staggered and Rayan caught him.
“Just get out,” Samantha said, striding toward them. “When the Inquisitor hears about this—”
“Samantha!” Jessica called in alarm, but it was too late; Samantha had slipped on the water at the edge of the pool and tumbled in with a scream.
“By the Angel.” Divya lowered her sword, staring. “Is she—”
Samantha surfaced, screaming. It was a terrible scream, as if she were dying, or watching someone she loved die. It was a scream of horror and revulsion and misery.
The Cohort members stood stunned; only a few moved toward Samantha. Hands reached into the water, grasped her arms, and drew her out.
Kieran’s hands. Still coughing blood, he deposited Samantha on the side of the pool. She rolled over, retching and gagging water, as Zara shoved herself between Samantha and the faerie prince. “Get away from her,” she snarled at Kieran.
He turned and limped toward Diego. Diego caught Kieran as he nearly collapsed. The Cohort was occupied with Samantha; there was no time to waste. As Diego hurried from the room, half-supporting Kieran between himself and Rayan, Divya following with her sword, he was almost sure he could hear Manuel laughing.
* * *
“Okay,” Julian said. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
They were in what Emma could only describe as a glade. Glades were the sort of thing she didn’t have a lot of experience with—there weren’t too many in L.A.—but this was definitely one: open and grassy, surrounded by trees, filled with sunlight and the low humming of what might have been insects or tiny pixies.
You never could tell in Faerie.
She was still dizzy from the trip through the faerie gate, buried deep in the woods of Brocelind Forest. How Horace had known about it, she couldn’t guess. Perhaps it was information given to all the high officials of the Clave. He had been impatient, nearly shoving them through without ceremony, but not too impatient to give Emma the medallion, and both of them black rucksacks packed with weapons, gear, and food.
The last thing he’d said was: “Remember, you’re heading toward the Unseelie Court. Follow the map.”
A map wouldn’t work in Faerie, Emma had thought, but Horace had shoved her toward the gate of twisted branches, and a moment later she was thudding to her knees on green grass and the scent of Faerie air was in her nose and mouth.
She reached up a hand and touched the medallion. It didn’t have an angel on it, like Cristina’s; in fact, it looked as if it had once borne a Shadowhunter family crest that had since been scratched away. Otherwise it looked much like the Rosales necklace. It made a comforting weight at the base of her throat.
“The Clave packed us sandwiches,” Julian said, fishing around in his rucksack. “I guess for today, because they won’t keep. There’s cheese, bread, dried meat, and fruit. Some bottles of water.”
Emma moved closer to him to see what he was unpacking and spreading on the grass. He’d taken out two gray blankets, an assortment of weapons—they also carried weapons on their belts—and folded clothes. When Julian shook them out, they turned out to be smooth linen in earth tones, fastened with laces and loops, no zippers or buttons.
“Faerie clothes,” Emma said.
“It’s a good idea,” said Julian. Both outfits consisted of a long overshirt, trousers that laced up the front, and vests made of tough hide. “We should change. The longer we stand around in Shadowhunter gear, the longer we’re a target.”
Emma took the smaller set of clothes and went behind a copse of trees to change. She wished she could have asked Julian to go with her, especially when she was hopping on one foot, pulling on her trousers with one hand while gripping her weapons belt with the other. She’d rarely felt more vulnerable to attack, but even though Julian had seen her with no clothes on at all, it felt awkward now. She wasn’t sure how this new Julian, the one without feelings, would react, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
The faerie clothes were comfortable at least, soft and loose. When she emerged from the trees, she stood blinking in the bright sunlight for a moment, looking for Julian.
She saw him as he turned; he was holding up what looked like a piece of old parchment, frowning. He had put on the faerie trousers, but he was naked from the waist up.
Her stomach tightened. Emma had seen Julian shirtless at the beach plenty of times, but somehow this was different. Maybe because now she knew what it was like to run her hands over his shoulders, pale gold in the sunlight. He was smoothly muscled all over, the ridges in his abdomen sharply defined. She had kissed her way down that skin while he ran his hands through her hair, saying Emma, Emma, in the gentlest voice. Now she was staring like a curious onlooker.
But she couldn’t stop. There was something about it—illicit, nerve-racking—as if Julian were a dangerous stranger. Her gaze slipped over him: his hair, soft and dark and thick, curling where it touched the nape of his neck; his hips and collarbones made elegant arches under his skin; his runes described whorls and spirals across his chest and biceps. His parabatai rune seemed to glow under the sun. Around his wrist was the same knotted rag of red-brown cloth.
He looked up at that moment and saw her. He lowered the parchment he was holding, angling it to cover the thing on his wrist. “Come here,” he called, “and look at the map,” and turned away, reaching for his shirt. By the time she’d gotten near him, he’d pulled it on and the rag was covered.
He handed over the map and she forgot everything else. She stared at it as he knelt down, unpacking the food from one of the rucksacks.
The parchment showed a sketch of Faerie—the Thorn Mountains, various lakes and streams, and the Courts of Seelie and Unseelie. It also showed a bright red dot that seemed to be trembling slightly, as if it weren’t a part of the page.
“The dot is us,” Julian said, putting out sandwiches. “I figured the map out—it shows where we are in relation to the Courts. No real map would work here. The landscape of Faerie always shifts, and the Unseelie Court moves around. But since this shows where we are and where the Unseelie Court is, as long as we keep walking toward it we should be all right.”
Emma sat down on the grass across from him and picked up a sandwich. They were both cheese, lettuce, and tomato—not her favorite but she didn’t care, since she was hungry enough to eat pretty much anything.
“And what about Jace and Clary? We said to Simon and Isabelle that we’d look for them.”
“We only have four days,” Julian said. “We have to find the Black Volume first, or Horace will destroy our lives.”
And the kids’ lives. And Helen’s and Aline’s. And even Cristina’s, because she knew our secret and she didn’t tell. Emma knew it was all true, and Julian was being practical. Still, she wished he seemed more regretful that they couldn’t look for their friends yet.
“But we can look for them if we find the book?” said Emma.
“If we still have time left on Horace’s clock,” said Julian. “I don’t see why not.”
“Fine, fine,” said Zara. “Be killjoys. But I knew he was here, hiding out in your room,” she said to Diego. “I saw a hollowed acorn on your floor. So this is your fault. If you hadn’t brought him here, none of this would have happened.”
“Give it a rest, Zara,” said Divya, still holding the sword levelly. “Diego, go get Kieran.”
Diego started across the room, just as Manuel spoke. “Why don’t you look in the water yourself, Rocio Rosales?” he said. “If you think your soul is so clean. It should be painless for you.”
“Cállate la pinche boca,” Diego snapped, nearly at Kieran’s side; the faerie prince was coughing, blood on his lips. He’d started to pull himself upright when Manuel moved with the speed of a snake: Planting a boot in Kieran’s back, he kicked him into the water.
Diego lunged forward, catching at the back of Kieran’s shirt, but not before Kieran had gotten a faceful of pool water. Diego yanked him out, coughing and gasping, and tried to set him on his feet; Kieran staggered and Rayan caught him.
“Just get out,” Samantha said, striding toward them. “When the Inquisitor hears about this—”
“Samantha!” Jessica called in alarm, but it was too late; Samantha had slipped on the water at the edge of the pool and tumbled in with a scream.
“By the Angel.” Divya lowered her sword, staring. “Is she—”
Samantha surfaced, screaming. It was a terrible scream, as if she were dying, or watching someone she loved die. It was a scream of horror and revulsion and misery.
The Cohort members stood stunned; only a few moved toward Samantha. Hands reached into the water, grasped her arms, and drew her out.
Kieran’s hands. Still coughing blood, he deposited Samantha on the side of the pool. She rolled over, retching and gagging water, as Zara shoved herself between Samantha and the faerie prince. “Get away from her,” she snarled at Kieran.
He turned and limped toward Diego. Diego caught Kieran as he nearly collapsed. The Cohort was occupied with Samantha; there was no time to waste. As Diego hurried from the room, half-supporting Kieran between himself and Rayan, Divya following with her sword, he was almost sure he could hear Manuel laughing.
* * *
“Okay,” Julian said. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
They were in what Emma could only describe as a glade. Glades were the sort of thing she didn’t have a lot of experience with—there weren’t too many in L.A.—but this was definitely one: open and grassy, surrounded by trees, filled with sunlight and the low humming of what might have been insects or tiny pixies.
You never could tell in Faerie.
She was still dizzy from the trip through the faerie gate, buried deep in the woods of Brocelind Forest. How Horace had known about it, she couldn’t guess. Perhaps it was information given to all the high officials of the Clave. He had been impatient, nearly shoving them through without ceremony, but not too impatient to give Emma the medallion, and both of them black rucksacks packed with weapons, gear, and food.
The last thing he’d said was: “Remember, you’re heading toward the Unseelie Court. Follow the map.”
A map wouldn’t work in Faerie, Emma had thought, but Horace had shoved her toward the gate of twisted branches, and a moment later she was thudding to her knees on green grass and the scent of Faerie air was in her nose and mouth.
She reached up a hand and touched the medallion. It didn’t have an angel on it, like Cristina’s; in fact, it looked as if it had once borne a Shadowhunter family crest that had since been scratched away. Otherwise it looked much like the Rosales necklace. It made a comforting weight at the base of her throat.
“The Clave packed us sandwiches,” Julian said, fishing around in his rucksack. “I guess for today, because they won’t keep. There’s cheese, bread, dried meat, and fruit. Some bottles of water.”
Emma moved closer to him to see what he was unpacking and spreading on the grass. He’d taken out two gray blankets, an assortment of weapons—they also carried weapons on their belts—and folded clothes. When Julian shook them out, they turned out to be smooth linen in earth tones, fastened with laces and loops, no zippers or buttons.
“Faerie clothes,” Emma said.
“It’s a good idea,” said Julian. Both outfits consisted of a long overshirt, trousers that laced up the front, and vests made of tough hide. “We should change. The longer we stand around in Shadowhunter gear, the longer we’re a target.”
Emma took the smaller set of clothes and went behind a copse of trees to change. She wished she could have asked Julian to go with her, especially when she was hopping on one foot, pulling on her trousers with one hand while gripping her weapons belt with the other. She’d rarely felt more vulnerable to attack, but even though Julian had seen her with no clothes on at all, it felt awkward now. She wasn’t sure how this new Julian, the one without feelings, would react, and wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
The faerie clothes were comfortable at least, soft and loose. When she emerged from the trees, she stood blinking in the bright sunlight for a moment, looking for Julian.
She saw him as he turned; he was holding up what looked like a piece of old parchment, frowning. He had put on the faerie trousers, but he was naked from the waist up.
Her stomach tightened. Emma had seen Julian shirtless at the beach plenty of times, but somehow this was different. Maybe because now she knew what it was like to run her hands over his shoulders, pale gold in the sunlight. He was smoothly muscled all over, the ridges in his abdomen sharply defined. She had kissed her way down that skin while he ran his hands through her hair, saying Emma, Emma, in the gentlest voice. Now she was staring like a curious onlooker.
But she couldn’t stop. There was something about it—illicit, nerve-racking—as if Julian were a dangerous stranger. Her gaze slipped over him: his hair, soft and dark and thick, curling where it touched the nape of his neck; his hips and collarbones made elegant arches under his skin; his runes described whorls and spirals across his chest and biceps. His parabatai rune seemed to glow under the sun. Around his wrist was the same knotted rag of red-brown cloth.
He looked up at that moment and saw her. He lowered the parchment he was holding, angling it to cover the thing on his wrist. “Come here,” he called, “and look at the map,” and turned away, reaching for his shirt. By the time she’d gotten near him, he’d pulled it on and the rag was covered.
He handed over the map and she forgot everything else. She stared at it as he knelt down, unpacking the food from one of the rucksacks.
The parchment showed a sketch of Faerie—the Thorn Mountains, various lakes and streams, and the Courts of Seelie and Unseelie. It also showed a bright red dot that seemed to be trembling slightly, as if it weren’t a part of the page.
“The dot is us,” Julian said, putting out sandwiches. “I figured the map out—it shows where we are in relation to the Courts. No real map would work here. The landscape of Faerie always shifts, and the Unseelie Court moves around. But since this shows where we are and where the Unseelie Court is, as long as we keep walking toward it we should be all right.”
Emma sat down on the grass across from him and picked up a sandwich. They were both cheese, lettuce, and tomato—not her favorite but she didn’t care, since she was hungry enough to eat pretty much anything.
“And what about Jace and Clary? We said to Simon and Isabelle that we’d look for them.”
“We only have four days,” Julian said. “We have to find the Black Volume first, or Horace will destroy our lives.”
And the kids’ lives. And Helen’s and Aline’s. And even Cristina’s, because she knew our secret and she didn’t tell. Emma knew it was all true, and Julian was being practical. Still, she wished he seemed more regretful that they couldn’t look for their friends yet.
“But we can look for them if we find the book?” said Emma.
“If we still have time left on Horace’s clock,” said Julian. “I don’t see why not.”
