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

Orders for them? Kieran thought frantically. He had no idea what they should do. This was why he had wanted Adaon to be King, but Adaon was prisoner in the Seelie Court. What would Adaon say about an army of faeries trapped on a field with rampaging part-angel giants?

“Why aren’t they all running for the forest?” Kieran demanded. The forest was a place Fair Folk felt at home, full of natural things, water and trees. There had long been faeries in Brocelind Forest.

“Sadly, the woods are full of vampires,” said Winter glumly.

“The vampires are our allies!” shouted Kieran, grasping Windspear’s mane as the horse reared.

“No one really believes that,” said Winter.

By all the Gods of Dark and Light. Kieran wanted to yell and break something. Windspear reared again, and this time, Kieran caught sight of a familiar figure. Mark. He would know him anywhere—and Cristina beside him. He said a silent thanks. What would they tell me to do? He thought of Mark’s generosity, Cristina’s kindness. They would think of the Unseelie soldiers first.

“We need to get our people off this field,” said Kieran. “They cannot battle angels. No one can. How did you all arrive here?”

“Oban made a door,” said Winter. “You can do the same, liege. Open a door to Faerie. As King you can do it. Reach out to your Land and it will reach back to you.”

If bloody drunk Oban did it, I can do it, Kieran thought. But that wasn’t all that helpful. He had to reach out to his Land, a place he had long cursed, and hope it would reach back to him.

He slid from Windspear’s back as the horse stilled beneath him. He remembered Mark saying: I will not forget the beauty of Faerie and neither will you. But it will not come to that.

And he thought of what he himself had said, had remembered, when he had thought Faerie was threatened.

The way the water tumbles blue as ice over Branwen’s Falls. The taste of music and the sound of wine. The honey hair of mermaids in the streams, the glittering of will-o’-the-wisps in the shadows of the deep forests.

Kieran took a deep breath. Let me through, he thought. Let me through, my Land, for I belong to you: I will give unto you as the Kings of Faerie long have, and you will flourish when I flourish. I will bring no blight to your shores, nor blood to wither your flowers in the fields, but only peace and a kind road that rises to green hills.

“My liege,” said Winter.

Kieran opened his eyes and saw that the low hillock before him had begun to split apart. Through the gap he could see the great tower of Unseelie rising in the distance and the peaceful fields before it.

Several of the closer fey sent up a cheer. They began to run through the gap even as it widened. Kieran could see them emerging on the other side, some even falling on their knees with gratitude and relief.

“Winter,” he said in an unsteady voice. “Winter, get everyone through the door. Get them to safety.”

“All the fey?” said Winter.

“Everyone,” said Kieran, looking at his first in command sternly. “Shadowhunters. Warlocks. Everyone who seeks sanctuary.”

“And you, my liege?” said Winter.

“I must go to Mark and Cristina.”

For the first time, Winter looked mutinous. “You must leave your mortal friends, lord.”

Winter was a redcap, sworn in blood to protect the King and the royal line. Kieran could not be angry with him, and yet he must make him understand. He searched for the right words. “You are my loyal guard, Winter. But as you guard me, so must you guard what I love best, and Mark Blackthorn and Cristina Rosales are what I love best in this world and all others.”

“But your life,” said Winter.

“Winter,” Kieran said flatly. “I know they cannot be my consorts. But I die without them.”

More and more faeries were flooding through the door to the Undying Lands. There were others with them now—a few warlocks, even a band of lycanthropes.

Winter set his jaw. “Then I will guard your back.”

*

Helen felt as if she were caught in the middle of a river going two ways at once.

Faeries were running in one direction, toward a hilly rise at the eastern end of the field. Shadowhunters were racing in the other, toward the city of Alicante, presumably to hide behind its walls. Aline had darted off to investigate, promising to be back momentarily.

Some still milled around the center of the field—the Cohort seemed to be shrieking and running in circles, willing to join neither the exodus of faeries nor fellow Shadowhunters. Helen had stayed near to where the others she knew had gathered—Kadir and Jia were helping wounded from the field, Simon and Isabelle were in conference with Hypatia Vex and Kwasi Bediako, and Jace and Clary had gone with a group of others, including Rayan and Divya, to put themselves between Emma and Julian and the Cohort prisoners.

“Helen!” Aline was jogging toward her across the grass. “They’re not running away.”

“What do you mean?” Helen said.

“The Shadowhunters. They’re going to protect the city, in case the giants—in case Emma and Julian make a move toward it. It’s full of kids and old people. And besides,” she added, “Shadowhunters protect Alicante. It’s what we do.”

Spoken like the daughter of the Consul. “But Emma and Julian would never—they wouldn’t—” Helen protested.

“We don’t know what they’d do,” Aline said gently, just as Hypatia Vex and Kwasi Bediako rushed past them. They raced toward the trampled grass where Emma and Julian stood, and Kwasi flung out his hands as Hypatia placed her palms on his shoulders. A shimmering golden net burst into the air over Emma and Jules: It settled on them like a fine spiderweb, but Helen sensed it was made of something much stronger.

Emma put up a great, shining hand to push against the net. It held fast. Kwasi was breathing fast, but Hypatia steadied him.

A cry broke from Martin Gladstone. “Do it now! Round up the Blackthorns! Show those monsters what will happen to their families if they don’t stop!”

The Cohort sent up a cheer. Helen could hear Zara screaming that they should do it, that they had a right to protect themselves.

Aline stepped in front of Helen. “That bastard!” She glowered.

Julian hooked his fingers into the material of the shining net and tore it apart. It fell away, and Julian reached down to seize Gladstone.

With a flick of his fingers, he snapped Gladstone’s neck.

Julian and Emma moved toward the other Cohort members, who began to scatter. Emma reached for Zara—

And Jace slid between them, between Emma’s shimmering hand and Zara’s fleeing figure. The Mortal Sword was sheathed on his back; he was weaponless. He tossed back his golden head and called out, “Stop! Emma and Julian! The battle is over! Stop!”

Expressionless as a statue of an avenging angel, Emma reached down and swept Jace out of the way. He was thrown several yards and hit the ground with an ugly thud. Clary screamed and went flying across the grass, racing toward Jace with her red hair trailing behind her like fire.

Get up, get up, Helen thought. Get up, Jace.

But he didn’t.

*

Dru had never used the Familias rune before, and the experience was a strange one.

She felt herself tugged toward her siblings in a way she couldn’t define. It felt like something was tied around the inside of her spine—which was gross but interesting—and was pulling her toward a destination. She’d heard the way Tracking runes felt described to her, and she suspected this wasn’t dissimilar.

She let the tugging pull her, running along after it with her hand clasped firmly around Tavvy’s wrist. They kept to the edges of the battlefield, Jaime beside them with his crossbow trained on anyone who might approach.

They left the shelter of the city walls and struck out for the edge of the forest, still following the pull of the rune. She tried not to look over at the field, at Emma and Julian. It was like looking at pillars of fire one moment, at terrible monsters the next.

There was a rustling overhead, and Ty dropped down out of an oak tree. Dru gave a little gasp of surprise, and then another one as Ty walked straight toward her and hugged her tightly.