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

“We want to be there with you,” Ty was saying. Mark had started over, abandoning the porridge. Helen, Aline, and Kieran stood nearby, while the others were politely not paying attention. “We want to fight beside you.”

“Ty.” New runes stood out black and gleaming on Julian’s wrists and collarbones. Emma wondered who had done them—Mark? Helen? It didn’t matter. It should have been her. “This isn’t a fight. It’s a parley. A peace meeting. I can’t bring my whole family.”

“It’s not like you’re invited and we’re not,” said Ty. He was in gear; so was Kit. A shortsword hung at Ty’s hip. “None of us are invited.”

Emma hid a smile. It was always hard to argue with Ty when he made good points.

“If we all show up, it’ll be chaos,” Julian said. “I need you here, Ty. You know what your job is.”

Ty spoke reluctantly. “Give a warning. Stay safe.”

“That’s right,” Julian said. He took Ty’s face in his hands; Ty was still a head shorter than him. “Stay safe, Tiberius.”

Mark looked relieved. Kit still hadn’t spoken a word. Over Ty’s head, Julian nodded at Magnus, who stood beside Alec in the shelter of a nearby tree. Magnus nodded back. Interesting, Emma thought.

The others had begun to approach now that it seemed the argument was over: Cristina and Kieran, Diana, Isabelle and Simon, Clary and Jace. Jace went over to Kit and touched the boy on the shoulder with all the gentleness Emma knew he was capable of, but which he rarely showed. As Emma watched, Jace offered Kit a slim silver dagger with a design of herons in flight etched on the handle. Kit took it carefully, nodding his head. Emma couldn’t hear them talking, but Kit at least looked a little less miserable.

Kieran and Cristina had been speaking to each other in low voices. Kieran moved away from her now, coming to face Julian and the rest of those who were going to the Fields—Emma and Cristina, Alec and Mark. Kieran’s dark hair curled damply around his face. “It is my time to go as well, I think.”

“I am sorry you can’t remain with us for this part of the plan,” said Julian. “You have been a great help, Kieran. It feels as if you belong with us.”

Kieran gave Julian a measuring look. “I did not see you clearly enough in the past, Julian Atticus. You do have a ruthless heart. But you also have a good one.”

Julian looked faintly surprised, and then even more surprised as Kieran went to kiss Mark good-bye—then turned to Cristina and kissed her as well. Both smiled at him as everyone stared. Guess I was right, Emma thought, and raised an eyebrow at Cristina, who blushed.

Kieran murmured something to the two of them that Emma couldn’t hear, and melted into the woods, vanishing like mist.

“Those of us leaving camp must go,” said Diana. “The parley is soon and it will take an hour at least to walk to the Fields.”

Clary was talking to Simon; she patted his shoulders and turned worriedly to Isabelle, who hugged her. Alec had gone to speak with Jace. Everywhere were parabatai, preparing to be parted, even if briefly. Emma felt a sense of unreality. She had expected the bonds to be broken by now. It was strange to be standing where she was—not yet fleeing, not yet hated or exiled.

Alec clasped Jace’s hand. “Take care.”

Jace looked at him for a long moment, and let him go. Clary moved away from Simon and went to stand with Jace. They watched as Magnus crossed the wet grass to Alec, inclined his head, and kissed him gently.

“I wish you could come,” Alec said, his eyes bright.

“You know the deal. No Downworlders scaring Horace,” said Magnus. “Be good, my archer boy. Come back to me.”

He went to stand with Jace and Clary. Helen and Aline joined them, and so did Kit and Ty. They made a small and silent group, watching as the others turned and walked into the woods of Brocelind.

*

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?” Ty said.

He and Kit were sitting in a green hollow in the forest, close to the campsite. A gray boulder covered in green-brown moss rose behind them; Ty was leaning his back against it, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.

Kit barely remembered coming back from Lake Lyn the night before. Ty had hardly been able to walk. He had leaned on Kit most of the way, but Kit hadn’t spoken then, either. Not even when it started to rain and they splashed through miserable dampness together. Not when Ty had to stop to dry-heave by the side of the path. Not when he doubled over and gasped for Julian as if somehow Julian would appear out of thin air and make everything better.

It was as if Kit’s emotions were trapped somewhere in an airless killing jar. Ty didn’t want him—not as a friend, not as anything. Every breath hurt, but his mind shied away from why: from who he really blamed for what had happened.

“We’re supposed to be keeping quiet,” was all he said now.

Ty gave him a doubtful look. “That’s not it,” he said. “You’re mad at me, I think.”

Kit knew he should tell Ty what he was feeling; it was more than unfair to expect him to guess. The only problem was that he wasn’t sure himself.

He remembered returning to camp, remembered crawling into their tent together, Ty curling up into himself. Kit had wanted to get Julian, but Ty had only shaken his head, pressing his face into his blankets, chanting under his breath until his muscles had relaxed and he’d fallen into an exhausted sleep.

Kit hadn’t slept.

He reached into his pocket. “Look—last night, after—well, before we left the lake I went back up to the fire.” It had been ash and char, save one shining remnant. Livvy’s gold necklace, glimmering like pirate treasure among the ashes.

Kit held it out now and saw Ty’s eyes crinkle at the corners the way they did when he was very surprised.

“You got it for me?” Ty said.

Kit kept holding the necklace out. It swung between them, a shimmering pendulum. Ty reached his hand out slowly to take it. The blood had been burned away from the surface. The locket shone clean as he fastened it around his neck.

“Kit,” he began haltingly. “I thought that you—I thought that it would be—”

Leaves crunched; a branch snapped. Kit and Ty fell instantly silent. After a moment, hand on the pendant at his throat, Ty rose to a crouch and began to whistle.

*

Emma and the others made their way in near-total silence through the woods, which were damp and green and thick with leaves and water. Cold drops of rain broke through the canopy occasionally and slid down the back of Emma’s collar, making her shiver.

They had reached a fork in the road some ways back. Diana, Isabelle, and Simon had gone to the right. The others had gone to the left. There had been no good-byes, though Alec had kissed his sister on the cheek without a word.

They walked on now as a group of five: Julian first, then Mark and Cristina—not holding hands but close together, shoulders touching—and Alec and Emma, bringing up the rear. Alec was watchful, his bow ever ready, his blue eyes raking the shadows on either side of the path.

“Have you ever wanted a really big tapestry of yourself?” Emma said to him.

Alec was not the sort who rattled easily. “Why?” he said. “Do you have one?”

“I do, actually,” said Emma. “I rescued it from the Inquisitor’s office and carried it through the streets of Alicante. I got some pretty weird looks.”

Alec’s mouth twitched. “I bet you did.”

“I didn’t want the Inquisitor to throw it away,” Emma said. “He wants to pretend that the Battle of the Burren didn’t matter. But I’ve been to Thule. I know what it would mean if there had never been a Clary. Or a Jace. Or a you.”

Alec lowered his bow slightly. “And imagine where we’d be now,” he said, “if there hadn’t been a Julian or a you or a Cristina or a Mark. There are times, I think, where we’re each called. Where we can choose to rise up or not to rise up. What you did in Faerie—” He broke off. “You know, you should give that tapestry to Magnus. If anyone would enjoy having it, he would.”