Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 76
“Yes,” said Adaon. “To the King. They would be valuable prizes, and Oban would be eager to collect.”
“They’ll kill Kieran,” Cristina said, a thin thread of panic in her voice. “He already escaped execution once. They’ll kill Mark, too.”
“Then we’d better get there and prevent it,” said Jace. Under the dirt and the beard, he was starting to look more like the Jace Emma had always known, the one she had once wanted to be like—the best warrior of all the Shadowhunters. “Now.”
Adaon gave him a scornful look. “It’s too dangerous for you, Nephilim.”
“You came here for your brother,” Julian said, his eyes blazing. “We’re going after mine. If you want to stop us, you’ll have to use force.”
“We should all go together,” Clary said. “The more of us there are, the more easily we can defeat the King.”
“But you are powerless here, Nephilim,” said Adaon.
“No,” Jace said, and the witchlight blazed up in his hand, light spearing through his fingers. They all stood bathed in its white light. Cristina stared with her mouth open; Adaon betrayed shock the way faeries usually did, by moving one or two facial muscles slightly.
“Very well,” he said coolly. “But I will not risk being caught by the guards wandering the tower openly, like fools. All of you walk before me. You will behave as my prisoners now.”
“You want us to act like prisoners being marched to the King?” said Julian, who didn’t look delighted at the thought.
“I want you to look afraid,” said Adaon, drawing his sword and motioning for them to get in front of him. “Because you should be.”
* * *
Diana had expected to be locked in a cell in the Gard’s prisons, but instead she was brought to a surprisingly luxurious room. A Turkish rug covered the floor and a fire burned high in a carved stone fireplace. Deep velvet armchairs were pulled up to the fire; she sat in one, stiff with tension, and stared out the picture window at the rooftops of Idris.
Her mind was full of Gwyn, and of Emma and Julian. What if she had sent Gwyn into danger? Why had she assumed he would travel to Faerie to find two Shadowhunters only because she had asked?
As for Emma and Julian, two words circled in her head like sharks, over and over.
Suicide mission.
Horace Dearborn entered, carrying a silver tray with a tea service on it. Now I’ve seen it all, Diana thought as he sat down and settled the tray on a small table between them.
“Diana Wrayburn,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to have a private conversation with you for a long time.”
“You could have invited me to the Gard at any time. You didn’t need to have me arrested in the woods.”
He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry it had to happen like that, but you were consorting with faeries and breaking the Cold Peace. Understand, I like a woman with spirit.” His gaze slid over her in a way that made her feel like shuddering.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where’s Jia?”
Horace picked up the teapot and began to pour. Every move was measured and calm. “By the will of the Council, the Consul is under house arrest for the time being, until her connection with faeries is investigated.”
It wasn’t really a surprise, but it still felt like a blow. “Don’t tell me. Her trial will be held as soon as the Mortal Sword is ‘reforged,’” Diana said bitterly.
He bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Exactly, exactly.” He set the teapot down. “An unfortunate situation. And one you could find yourself in—unless you’re willing to make a bargain with me.”
“What kind of bargain?”
He handed her a teacup; mechanically, Diana took it. “The next Council meeting will be a difficult one, as the Clave is brought to understand that future decisions must be arrived at without the Consul. A transition of power is always difficult, wouldn’t you say?”
Diana stared at him stonily.
“Let me be clear,” Horace said, and though his expression was easy and friendly, there was no friendliness in his eyes. “Take my side at the next Council meeting. You have influence over people. The L.A. Institute, the New York Institute—many Institutes will listen to you. If you back me as the next Consul, a replacement for Penhallow, so will they.”
“People listen to me because I don’t compromise my values,” Diana said. “They know when I say something, I believe it. I could never believe you would make a good Consul.”
“Is that so?” The false friendliness had vanished from his face. “Do you think I care about your values, Diana Wrayburn? You’ll stand by my side, because if you don’t, I will reveal your secret to the Clave.”
Diana’s throat tightened. “What secret?”
Horace rose to his feet, his expression thunderous. “For all your talk of values, I know you have a secret. I know you’ve refused to become head of the Los Angeles Institute all these years—letting a madman run it—I know you carry a shadow with you, Diana Wrayburn, and I know what it is. I know you submitted yourself to mundane medical treatment in Bangkok.”
Stunned and furious, Diana was silent. How did he know? Her mind raced: The Clave considered a Shadowhunter who let mundane doctors look at their blood, learn their secrets, a traitor. Never mind that Catarina had covered up all her unusual test results. Horace would blame her anyway.
“And let me tell you this,” said Horace. “I will use that information to the fullest unless you do as I say. You will be torn from those Blackthorns you love so dearly. Imprisoned, perhaps, alongside other traitors.”
“Unless what?” Diana said dully.
“Unless you agree to stand by my side at the next meeting and declare that Jia is incompetent and that I should be the next Consul. Do you understand?”
Diana felt as if she were seeing herself through the wrong end of a telescope, a tiny figure with Horace looming vastly over her. “I understand.”
“And do you agree to throw your support behind the Cohort?”
“Yes.” She got to her feet. She was very conscious of her torn and dirty clothes—the Cohort had not been gentle with her or Jia, though they had surrendered quietly.
Horace opened his mouth, perhaps to call for the guards to take her away. Moving more swiftly than she would have thought possible, Diana seized the Inquisitor’s sword from the belt at his waist and swung it.
Horace screamed. He staggered back, still screaming, and fell to his knees; there was blood all over his robes. His arm was hanging at a strange angle.
Guards burst into the room, but Diana had already run to the window and thrown it open. She hurled herself onto the roof, skidding nearly to the edge before she arrested her fall by catching at the slate tiles.
The guards were at the window. She scrambled to her feet and raced across the roof, looking for an overhang she could swing down from. A shadow passed across the moon, obscuring the demon towers. She heard the sound of hoofbeats, and she knew.
As the guards crawled through the window, she hurled herself from the roof.
“Diana!” Gwyn banked Orion, turned, reached out to catch her. She landed awkwardly, hurling her arms around his neck. Strong hands wrapped her waist; she glanced back once and saw the pale faces of the guards watching from the roof of the Gard as they sailed into the night.
* * *
Dru flipped off the TV in the middle of The Deadly Bees, which was unusual because it was one of her favorite bad movies. She’d even bought a pair of gold bee earrings at Venice Beach once so she could wear them while she watched the death-by-stinger scenes.
She was too restless to sit still, though. The excitement she’d felt outside the 101 Coffee Shop still prickled the back of her neck. It had been so much fun being teamed up with Kit and Ty, laughing with them, in on their plans.
She swung her legs off the sofa and headed barefoot out into the hallway. She’d painted the toenails on one foot acid green, but she didn’t feel like sticking around to do the other one. She felt like finding Livvy and curling up with her on her bed, laughing at out-of-date mundane magazines.
The pain of remembering Livvy changed from moment to moment; sometimes a dull, aching one, sometimes a sharp flash as of being stuck with a hot needle. If Julian or Emma were here, she could have talked to them about it, or even Mark. As she passed the big staircase leading down to the entryway, she could hear the sound of voices from the Sanctuary. Helen’s, friendly and calm, and Aline’s, sharp and authoritative. She wondered if she would have gone to either of them even if they hadn’t been so busy. Dru couldn’t really imagine it.
“They’ll kill Kieran,” Cristina said, a thin thread of panic in her voice. “He already escaped execution once. They’ll kill Mark, too.”
“Then we’d better get there and prevent it,” said Jace. Under the dirt and the beard, he was starting to look more like the Jace Emma had always known, the one she had once wanted to be like—the best warrior of all the Shadowhunters. “Now.”
Adaon gave him a scornful look. “It’s too dangerous for you, Nephilim.”
“You came here for your brother,” Julian said, his eyes blazing. “We’re going after mine. If you want to stop us, you’ll have to use force.”
“We should all go together,” Clary said. “The more of us there are, the more easily we can defeat the King.”
“But you are powerless here, Nephilim,” said Adaon.
“No,” Jace said, and the witchlight blazed up in his hand, light spearing through his fingers. They all stood bathed in its white light. Cristina stared with her mouth open; Adaon betrayed shock the way faeries usually did, by moving one or two facial muscles slightly.
“Very well,” he said coolly. “But I will not risk being caught by the guards wandering the tower openly, like fools. All of you walk before me. You will behave as my prisoners now.”
“You want us to act like prisoners being marched to the King?” said Julian, who didn’t look delighted at the thought.
“I want you to look afraid,” said Adaon, drawing his sword and motioning for them to get in front of him. “Because you should be.”
* * *
Diana had expected to be locked in a cell in the Gard’s prisons, but instead she was brought to a surprisingly luxurious room. A Turkish rug covered the floor and a fire burned high in a carved stone fireplace. Deep velvet armchairs were pulled up to the fire; she sat in one, stiff with tension, and stared out the picture window at the rooftops of Idris.
Her mind was full of Gwyn, and of Emma and Julian. What if she had sent Gwyn into danger? Why had she assumed he would travel to Faerie to find two Shadowhunters only because she had asked?
As for Emma and Julian, two words circled in her head like sharks, over and over.
Suicide mission.
Horace Dearborn entered, carrying a silver tray with a tea service on it. Now I’ve seen it all, Diana thought as he sat down and settled the tray on a small table between them.
“Diana Wrayburn,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to have a private conversation with you for a long time.”
“You could have invited me to the Gard at any time. You didn’t need to have me arrested in the woods.”
He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry it had to happen like that, but you were consorting with faeries and breaking the Cold Peace. Understand, I like a woman with spirit.” His gaze slid over her in a way that made her feel like shuddering.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where’s Jia?”
Horace picked up the teapot and began to pour. Every move was measured and calm. “By the will of the Council, the Consul is under house arrest for the time being, until her connection with faeries is investigated.”
It wasn’t really a surprise, but it still felt like a blow. “Don’t tell me. Her trial will be held as soon as the Mortal Sword is ‘reforged,’” Diana said bitterly.
He bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Exactly, exactly.” He set the teapot down. “An unfortunate situation. And one you could find yourself in—unless you’re willing to make a bargain with me.”
“What kind of bargain?”
He handed her a teacup; mechanically, Diana took it. “The next Council meeting will be a difficult one, as the Clave is brought to understand that future decisions must be arrived at without the Consul. A transition of power is always difficult, wouldn’t you say?”
Diana stared at him stonily.
“Let me be clear,” Horace said, and though his expression was easy and friendly, there was no friendliness in his eyes. “Take my side at the next Council meeting. You have influence over people. The L.A. Institute, the New York Institute—many Institutes will listen to you. If you back me as the next Consul, a replacement for Penhallow, so will they.”
“People listen to me because I don’t compromise my values,” Diana said. “They know when I say something, I believe it. I could never believe you would make a good Consul.”
“Is that so?” The false friendliness had vanished from his face. “Do you think I care about your values, Diana Wrayburn? You’ll stand by my side, because if you don’t, I will reveal your secret to the Clave.”
Diana’s throat tightened. “What secret?”
Horace rose to his feet, his expression thunderous. “For all your talk of values, I know you have a secret. I know you’ve refused to become head of the Los Angeles Institute all these years—letting a madman run it—I know you carry a shadow with you, Diana Wrayburn, and I know what it is. I know you submitted yourself to mundane medical treatment in Bangkok.”
Stunned and furious, Diana was silent. How did he know? Her mind raced: The Clave considered a Shadowhunter who let mundane doctors look at their blood, learn their secrets, a traitor. Never mind that Catarina had covered up all her unusual test results. Horace would blame her anyway.
“And let me tell you this,” said Horace. “I will use that information to the fullest unless you do as I say. You will be torn from those Blackthorns you love so dearly. Imprisoned, perhaps, alongside other traitors.”
“Unless what?” Diana said dully.
“Unless you agree to stand by my side at the next meeting and declare that Jia is incompetent and that I should be the next Consul. Do you understand?”
Diana felt as if she were seeing herself through the wrong end of a telescope, a tiny figure with Horace looming vastly over her. “I understand.”
“And do you agree to throw your support behind the Cohort?”
“Yes.” She got to her feet. She was very conscious of her torn and dirty clothes—the Cohort had not been gentle with her or Jia, though they had surrendered quietly.
Horace opened his mouth, perhaps to call for the guards to take her away. Moving more swiftly than she would have thought possible, Diana seized the Inquisitor’s sword from the belt at his waist and swung it.
Horace screamed. He staggered back, still screaming, and fell to his knees; there was blood all over his robes. His arm was hanging at a strange angle.
Guards burst into the room, but Diana had already run to the window and thrown it open. She hurled herself onto the roof, skidding nearly to the edge before she arrested her fall by catching at the slate tiles.
The guards were at the window. She scrambled to her feet and raced across the roof, looking for an overhang she could swing down from. A shadow passed across the moon, obscuring the demon towers. She heard the sound of hoofbeats, and she knew.
As the guards crawled through the window, she hurled herself from the roof.
“Diana!” Gwyn banked Orion, turned, reached out to catch her. She landed awkwardly, hurling her arms around his neck. Strong hands wrapped her waist; she glanced back once and saw the pale faces of the guards watching from the roof of the Gard as they sailed into the night.
* * *
Dru flipped off the TV in the middle of The Deadly Bees, which was unusual because it was one of her favorite bad movies. She’d even bought a pair of gold bee earrings at Venice Beach once so she could wear them while she watched the death-by-stinger scenes.
She was too restless to sit still, though. The excitement she’d felt outside the 101 Coffee Shop still prickled the back of her neck. It had been so much fun being teamed up with Kit and Ty, laughing with them, in on their plans.
She swung her legs off the sofa and headed barefoot out into the hallway. She’d painted the toenails on one foot acid green, but she didn’t feel like sticking around to do the other one. She felt like finding Livvy and curling up with her on her bed, laughing at out-of-date mundane magazines.
The pain of remembering Livvy changed from moment to moment; sometimes a dull, aching one, sometimes a sharp flash as of being stuck with a hot needle. If Julian or Emma were here, she could have talked to them about it, or even Mark. As she passed the big staircase leading down to the entryway, she could hear the sound of voices from the Sanctuary. Helen’s, friendly and calm, and Aline’s, sharp and authoritative. She wondered if she would have gone to either of them even if they hadn’t been so busy. Dru couldn’t really imagine it.
