Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices, #2)

And then there were Livvy and Ty. Ty had the buds of his earphones in. Livvy looked tired but entirely healthy. Only a slight shadow under Ty’s eyes let Kit know he hadn’t dreamed the whole of last night.

“What we found at Blackthorn Hall was an aletheia crystal,” Ty was saying as Kit sat down. “In the past the crystals were used by the Clave to hold evidence. The evidence of memories.”

There was a babble of curious voices. Cristina’s rose above the others—it was an impressive talent of hers, to make herself heard without ever shouting. “Memories of what?”

“A sort of trial,” said Livvy. “In Idris, with the Inquisitor there. Lots of familiar families—Herondales, Blackthorns, of course, Dearborns.”

“Any Lightwoods?” asked Alec.

“One or two looked like they might be.” Livvy frowned.

“The Herondales have always been famous for their good looks,” said Bridget, “but if you ask me, the Lightwoods are the more sexually charismatic of the bunch.”

Alec spit out his tea. Magnus seemed to be keeping a straight face, but with an effort.

“I should examine the memories,” Magnus said. “See if there’s anyone I recognize from that era.”

“If Annabel is angry at Shadowhunters,” said Livvy, “it seems to me she has good reason.”

“Many have good reason to be angry with the Nephilim,” said Mark. “Malcolm did as well. But those who harmed her are dead, and their descendants blameless. That is the problem with revenge—you wind up destroying the innocent as well as the guilty.”

“But does she know that?” Ty frowned. “We don’t understand her. We don’t know what she thinks or feels.”

He looked anxious, the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. Kit wanted to go across the table and put his arms around Ty the way he had the night before, on the roof. He felt intensely protective of the other boy, in a way that was strange and unnerving. He’d cared about people before, mostly his father, but he’d never wanted to protect them.

He wanted to kill anyone who would try to hurt Ty. It was a very peculiar feeling.

“Everyone should watch the scenes in the crystal,” Magnus announced. “In the meantime, Alec and I have some news.”

“You’re getting married,” said Livvy, beaming. “I love weddings.”

“Nope, still not getting married right now,” said Alec. Kit wondered why not; they were clearly a committed couple. But it was none of his business, really.

“Evelyn has left us,” said Magnus. Somehow he managed to retain his sangfroid despite having a grizzling toddler on his lap. “According to Jia, the Institute is temporarily in Alec’s charge.”

“They’ve been trying to lumber me with an Institute somewhere for years,” said Alec. “Jia must be thrilled.”

“Evelyn has left us?” Dru’s eyes were huge. “You mean she died?”

Magnus started to cough. “Of course not. She went to visit your great-aunt Marjorie, actually, in the countryside.”

“Is this like when the family dog dies and they say he’s living on a farm now?” Kit asked, curious.

It was Alec’s turn to choke. Kit strongly suspected he was laughing and trying not to show it.

“Not at all,” said Magnus. “She just decided she’d prefer to miss the excitement.”

“She is with Marjorie,” Mark confirmed. “I got a fire-message about it this morning. She left Bridget, obviously, to help around the house.”

Kit thought of the way Evelyn had reacted to having a faerie in the Institute. He could only imagine how she’d felt about two warlocks added to the situation. She’d probably left tire marks behind when she raced out of the place.

“Does that mean we don’t have to eat our porridge?” said Tavvy, eyeing the grayish stuff with dislike.

Magnus grinned. “In fact . . .”

He snapped his fingers, and a bag from the Primrose Bakery appeared in the middle of the table. It tipped over, spilling muffins, croissants, and iced cakes.

There was a great shout of happiness and everyone lunged for the pastries. A small war over the chocolate cookies was won by Ty, who shared them with Livvy.

Max crawled onto the table, reaching for a muffin. Magnus leaned on his elbows, his cat eyes watchful. “And after breakfast,” he said, “maybe we can go into the library and discuss what we know about the current situation.”

Everyone nodded; only Mark looked at him with a slightly narrow gaze. Kit understood—Magnus had gotten rid of Evelyn for them, he’d brought breakfast, he’d put them in a good mood. Now he was going to see what they knew. A straightforward con.

Looking at the cheerful faces around the table, for a moment Kit hated his own father, for destroying his ability to ever believe someone might be willing to give something for nothing.

*

Kieran found the whole business of eating dinner and breakfast in a group bizarre and of little interest. Mark had been bringing him plates of food as plain as Bridget could make them—meat and rice and bread, uncooked fruit and vegetables.

But Kieran only picked at them. When Mark came into Kieran’s room after breakfast, the prince was looking out at the city through his window with a weary loathing. His hair had paled to blue-white, curling like the break of surf at the edge of the water around his ears and temples.

“Listen to this,” Kieran said. He had a book open on his lap.

“The land of Faery,

Where nobody gets old and godly and grave,

Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise,

Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.”

He glanced up at Mark with his luminous eyes. “That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s Yeats,” said Mark, handing over some raspberries. “He was a very famous mundane poet.”

“He didn’t know anything about faeries. Nobody grows bitter of tongue? Ha!” Kieran swallowed the raspberries and slid off the windowsill. “Where do we journey now?”

“I was going to the library,” said Mark. “There’s a sort of—meeting—about what we’re going to do next.”

“Then I would like to go to it,” said Kieran.

Mark’s mind raced. Was there any reason Kieran shouldn’t come? As far as Magnus and Alec knew, his relationship with Kieran was whatever he said it was. Nor was it any good for Kieran, or for their strained relationship, for the faerie prince to spend all his time in a small room, hating seminal Irish poets.

“Well,” Mark said. “If you’re sure.”

When they walked into the library, Magnus was examining the aletheia crystal while the others tried to fill him in on what had been going on before he’d arrived. The warlock was lying full-length on one of the tables, holding the crystal delicately above him.

Cristina, Ty, Livvy, and Dru were seated around the long library table. Alec was sitting on the floor of the room with three children clustered around him: his own two boys, and Tavvy, who was delighted to have someone to play with. The seven-year-old was explaining to Max and Rafe how he made towns and cities out of books, showing them how you could make tunnels with books splayed open on their faces for trains to go through.

Magnus gestured Mark over to look into the aletheia crystal, which was glowing with an odd light. The sounds in the room around him faded as Mark watched the trial, saw Annabel beg and protest, saw the Blackthorns doom her to her fate.

He felt chilled all over when he finally looked away. It took several moments for the library to come back into focus. To Mark’s surprise, Kieran had picked up Max and was holding him in the air, obviously delighted by his blue skin and the buds of his horns.

Max stuck his hand into Kieran’s wavy hair and pulled. Kieran just laughed. “That’s right, it changes color, little nixie-like warlock,” he said. “Look.” And his hair went from blue-black to bright blue in an instant. Max giggled.

“I didn’t know you could do that on purpose,” said Mark, who had always thought of Kieran’s hair as a reflection of his moods, uncontrollable as the tides.

“You don’t know a lot of things about me, Mark Blackthorn,” Kieran said, setting Max down.