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

“I know,” she said, and patted his face lightly, the way she had sometimes when she was a very little girl, as if the familiar shape of his features was reassuring. Then she stepped away, breaking the hug. She smoothed her hair back and said, “I didn’t tell you about the Silent Brothers.”

“The Silent Brothers?” Emma was puzzled.

“When Idris fell, the Silent Brothers were killed, but before they died they sealed the Silent City, with the Mortal Cup and Mortal Sword inside it. No one could get in. Not even Sebastian. And he wants to, desperately.”

“Why does he want the Mortal Instruments?” said Julian.

“He has a version of the Cup that controls the Endarkened,” said Livvy. “But he wants to master us. He thinks if he can get the Mortal Instruments together, he can control what remains of the Nephilim—turn us from rebels into slaves.”

“Sebastian said something on the beach,” Emma recalled, “about the Mortal Instruments.”

“We have people on the inside, like Cameron,” said Livvy. “The rumor is that Sebastian is getting closer to figuring out a way into the City.” She hesitated. “That would be the end of us. All we can do is hope he doesn’t make it, or that the progress is slow. We can’t stop him.”

Emma and Julian stared at each other. “What if we could find a warlock?” Emma suggested. “Someone who could help you get into the Silent City first?”

Livvy hesitated. “I like your enthusiasm,” she said. “But the warlocks are all dead or demons.”

“Hear me out,” Emma said. She was thinking of Cristina, in the Unseelie Court: It’s not the ley lines. It’s the blight. “You were talking about how the demons came into Idris through patches of blight. We have those in our world too, though demons aren’t coming through yet. And our warlocks are also getting sick—the oldest and most powerful first. They’re not turning into demons—not yet, anyway—but the illness is the same.”

“And?” Julian said. He was looking at her with thoughtful respect. Emma had always been praised for her fighting skills, but only Julian had been there to reassure her she was smart and capable, too. She realized suddenly how much she’d missed that.

“In our world, there’s one warlock who is immune to the sickness,” said Emma. “Tessa Gray. If she’s immune here, too, she might be able to help us.”

Livvy was staring. “There are rumors of the Last Warlock, but I’ve never seen Tessa here in Los Angeles. I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

“I have a way to contact her.” Emma held up her hand. “This ring. Maybe it will work here. It’s worth a shot.”

Livvy looked from the ring to Emma. She spoke slowly. “I remember that ring. You used to wear it. Brother Zachariah gave it to you while we were in Manhattan, but it was lost when you—when Emma was lost.”

A spark of hope flared in Emma’s heart. “He gave it to me in my world too,” she said. “It could work here if Tessa still has the other one.”

Livvy didn’t say anything. Emma had a feeling she’d long ago given up believing things were worth a shot.

“Let me just try,” Emma said, and swung her left hand hard against one of the concrete pillars. The glass bauble in the ring smashed, and the metal of the ring darkened, suddenly splotched with markings like rust or blood. The prongs that had held the glass disappeared—the ring was now just a metal band.

Livvy exhaled. “Real magic,” she said. “I haven’t seen that in a long time.”

“Seems like a good sign,” said Julian. “If Tessa is still here, she might have powers that still work.”

It seemed like a spiderweb-thin string to hang hope on, Emma thought. But what else did they have?

Livvy went over to one of the desks and returned with Emma’s phone. “Here you go,” she said a little reluctantly.

“Keep it if you want it,” Emma said; she knew Julian was looking at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Really—”

“The battery’s dying anyway,” Livvy said, but there was something else in her voice, something that said it hurt to look at the pictures of a life that had been taken from her. “Ty grew up so handsome,” she added. “The girls must be all over him. Or the boys,” she added with a sideways smile that faded quickly. “Anyway. You take it.”

Emma put the phone into her pocket. As Livvy turned away, Emma thought she caught sight of the edge of a black Mark just under the collar of Livvy’s T-shirt. She blinked—weren’t there no Marks here?

It looked like the curlicue of a mourning rune.

Livvy flopped back down on the couch. “Well, there’s no point waiting here,” she said. “It’ll just make us tense. You guys go and get some sleep. If nothing happens by tomorrow afternoon, we can regroup.”

Emma and Julian made for the exit. At the door, Julian hesitated. “I was wondering,” he said. “Is this place any better by daylight?”

Livvy had been studying her hands, with their patterns of scars. She raised her eyes and for a moment they blazed, familiar Blackthorn blue.

“Just you wait,” she said.

*

Pajamas didn’t seem to be a thing in Thule. After showering, Julian sat on the bed in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, staring at the painted metal window with its false silver stars. He was thinking of Mark. When Mark had been a captive of the Wild Hunt, every night he had counted out his brothers’ and sisters’ names on the points of light wheeling above.

In Thule you couldn’t see the stars. What had Livvy done? How had she remembered them all? Or had it been less painful to try to forget? Mark had thought his siblings were alive and happy without him. Livvy knew they were dead or in thrall. Which was worse?

“She didn’t ask,” he said as Emma came out of the bathroom in her tank top and a pair of boxer briefs. “Livvy—she didn’t ask about our world. Nothing at all.”

Emma sank onto the bed beside him. She had pulled her hair back in a braid; he could feel the warmth of her and smell the soap on her skin. His insides tightened. “Can you blame her? Our world’s not perfect. But it isn’t this. It isn’t a whole world of birthdays she missed, and growing up she didn’t get to see, and comfort she never got.”

“She’s alive here, though,” Julian said.

“Julian.” Emma touched his face lightly. He wanted to lean into the touch but held himself back with a body-tensing effort. “She’s surviving here.”

“And there’s a difference?”

She gave him a long look before dropping her hand and settling back against the pillows. “You know there is.”

She lay on her side, tendrils of pale hair escaping from her braid, gold against the white pillows. Her eyes were the color of polished wood, her body curved like a violin. Julian wanted to grab his sketch pad, to draw her, the way he always had when his feelings for her grew too intense. His heart exploding paint and colors because he could not speak the words.

“Do you want me to sleep on the floor?” he asked. His voice was husky. Nothing he could do about that.

She shook her head, still looking at him with those enormous eyes. “I was thinking,” she said. “If Shadowhunter magic is gone here . . . If seraph blades don’t work, or angelic magic . . .”

“Then our parabatai bond is probably broken,” he finished. “I thought of that too.”

“But we can’t be sure,” she said. “I mean, I guess we could try to do something, to make something happen, the way we burned that church. . . .”

“Probably not a good idea to experiment with arson.” Julian could feel his heart beating. Emma was leaning closer to him. He could see the smooth curve of her collarbone, the place where her tanned skin grew paler. He dragged his gaze away.

“We could try the other thing,” she said. “You know. Kissing.”

“Emma—”

“I feel it when we kiss.” Her pupils were enormous. “I know you do too. The bond.”

It was like having helium pumped into his blood. He felt light as air. “You’re sure? You absolutely want this?”