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

“Oh, definitely not,” said Emma. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” She glanced over at Julian, who was waving and giving Cameron a thumbs-up from behind the table. Looking terrified, Cameron bolted for the safety of the seats.

Someday maybe she’d tell him about Thule.

Maybe.

She waved to Simon and Isabelle as they came in, holding hands. Isabelle made an immediate beeline for her mother and Max.

Simon regarded Kieran with a look of surprised recognition before crossing the room to talk to Vivianne Penhallow, the dean of Shadowhunter Academy. Sometimes Emma wondered if Simon had enjoyed his time at the Academy. She wondered if she would like it there. But there was no point thinking about the future now.

She glanced over at Julian. The wide doors were still open and a breeze was passing through, and for a moment Emma saw Livvy—not as she had been in Thule, but the Livvy of this world—like a vision or a hallucination, standing behind Julian, her hand on his shoulder, her ethereal hair rising in the wind.

Emma closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Julian was alone. As if he could feel her gaze, Julian glanced at Emma. He looked incredibly young to her for a moment, as if he were still the twelve-year-old boy who had hiked a mile back and forth every week from the highway, dragging heavy bags, to make sure his brothers and sisters had groceries.

If only you had told me, she thought. If only I had known when you needed help.

She couldn’t be Julian’s parabatai, or his partner, now. She couldn’t smile at him as Clary smiled at Jace, or put a reassuring hand against his back the way Alec did to Magnus, or take his hand as Aline had taken Helen’s.

But she could be his ally. She could stand with the others at the front of the room and face the crowd, at least. She began to cross the room toward the table.

*

Mark reached Nene at the same time that Helen did. Their aunt seemed agitated, her long pale fingers working at the emerald material of her cloak. Her eyes darted between them as they approached, and she gave a small, stiff nod. “Miach,” she said. “Alessa. It is good to see you well.”

“Aunt Nene,” Helen said. “It is good of you to come, and—is everything all right?”

“I was ordered to remain at Court after the Queen returned from Unseelie,” said Nene. “She has been furious and untrusting since that time. For me to be here, I disobeyed a direct order of my monarch’s.” She sighed. “It is possible I can never return to the Court.”

“Nene.” Helen looked horrified. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I wished to,” Nene said. “I have lived in fear of the Queen all my life. I lived in fear of what I wished for—to depart the Court and live as one of the wild fey. But you, my niece and nephew—you live between worlds, and you are not afraid.”

She smiled at them, and Mark wanted to point out that he was afraid half the time. He didn’t.

“I will do what I can to help you here,” she said. “Your cause is righteous. It is time for the Cold Peace to come to an end.”

Mark, who hadn’t realized Julian had been promising an end to the Cold Peace, made a slight choking noise.

“Adaon,” he said. “I know Helen wrote to you of him. He saved our lives—”

“I wished to bring you the news myself. Adaon is well,” said Nene. “He has become something of a favorite of the Seelie Queen and has risen quickly in the Court.”

Mark blinked. He hadn’t been expecting this. “A favorite of the Seelie Queen?”

“I think Mark wants to know if he’s the Seelie Queen’s lover,” said Helen, with her usual bluntness.

“Oh, most likely. It’s quite surprising,” said Nene. “Fergus is much put out, as he was the favorite once.”

“Greetings, Nene,” said Kieran, striding up to them. He had changed out of his jeans and looked every bit the faerie prince, as Mark had first seen him, in creamy linen and fawn breeches. His hair was a dark, night-ocean blue. “It is good to see you well. How is Adaon my brother? Not too much under the thumb of the Queen?”

“Only if he wants to be,” said Nene cheerfully.

Kieran looked puzzled. Mark put his face in his hands.

*

“Emma!”

Halfway to the table, Emma turned and found Jem approaching her, a shy smile on his face. She had seen him come in earlier, with Tessa, who was now seated beside Catarina Loss. She blinked at him as he reached her; it felt like centuries since she’d seen him, the awful day of Livvy’s funeral.

“Emma.” Jem took her hands in his. “Are you all right?”

He sees how tired I look, she thought. My puffy eyes, rumpled clothes, who knows what else. She tried to smile. “I’m really glad to see you, Jem.”

The light from the chandelier illuminated the scars on his cheekbones. “That’s not really an answer to my question,” he said. “Tessa told me about Thule. You have been on quite a journey.”

“I guess we all have,” she said in a low voice. “It was awful—but we’re back now.”

He squeezed her hands and released them. “I wanted to thank you,” he said. “For all the help you and your friends have rendered us in curing the warlock illness. You have been a better friend to me than I have been to you, mèi mei.”

“No—you’ve helped me so many times,” Emma protested. She hesitated. “Actually, there is a question I want to ask you.”

Jem put his hands in his pockets. “Of course, what is it?”

“Do you know how to strip a Shadowhunter’s Marks?” Emma said.

Jem looked stunned. “What?” He glanced around the room as if to make sure no one was looking at them; most people had taken their seats and were thankfully looking toward the front of the room expectantly. “Emma, why would you ask me about something so awful?”

She thought quickly. “Well—the Cohort. Maybe the way to remove them from power is not—not to hurt them, but to make them not Shadowhunters anymore. And you were a Silent Brother, so you could do it, or . . .”

Her voice trailed off at the horrified look on his face.

“Emma, not every decision rests on your shoulders. The Clave will be restored, and they will deal with the Cohort.” Jem’s voice gentled. “I know you are worried. But as a Silent Brother, I have been part of the ceremony of stripping the Marks from a Shadowhunter before. It is something so horrible that I would never repeat it. I would never do it. Not under any circumstances.”

Emma felt as if she were choking. “Of course. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“It’s all right.” There was so much understanding in his voice, it broke her heart. “I know you are afraid, Emma. We all are.”

She looked after him as he walked away. Despair was making it hard for her to breathe. I am afraid, she thought. But not of the Cohort.

Of myself.

Emma took her place behind the table at the front of the room; Mark had also joined the small group, and she stood beside him, some distance from Julian. The doors had been closed and the torches lit, and row after row of faces stared back at them from the lines of chairs set up in the middle of the room. They had run out of chairs, in fact, and quite a few Downworlders and Shadowhunters were leaning against the walls, watching.

“Thank you all for responding to my summons,” Julian said. Emma could feel his nerves, his tension, speeding the pace of her own blood through her veins. But he showed none of it. There was an easy command in his voice, the room falling silent as he spoke without him needing to shout. “I won’t drag out any explanations or introductions. You know who I am. You know my sister and brother; you know Aline Penhallow and Emma Carstairs. You know that Aline’s mother, our Consul, has been illegally taken into custody. You know that Horace Dearborn has seized power in Idris—”

“He was voted in,” said Kwasi Bediako, the warlock Emma had noticed before with the white spider mark on his face; Cristina had whispered to her that Bediako was the High Warlock of Accra. “We cannot pretend otherwise.”

“No one voted for him to throw my mother in jail,” said Aline. “No one voted for him to remove the Consul from power so he could be in charge.”