Lord of Shadows
Page 103
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“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.
Alec and Magnus had exchanged a look at that, the sort of look that made Mark feel as if they had reached a silent and agreed-upon consensus about his relationship with Kieran.
“So,” Magnus said, looking at Kieran with some interest. “You’re the son of the Unseelie King?”
Kieran had what Mark thought of as his Court face on, blank and superior as befitted a prince. “And you are the warlock Magnus Bane.”
“Quite,” Magnus said. “Although that was an easy guess, since there’s one of me and fifty of you.”
Ty looked puzzled.
“Fifty sons of the Unseelie King,” explained Livvy. “I think that was a joke.”
“Not one of my best,” said Magnus to Kieran. “I apologize—I’m not a big fan of your father.”
“My father does not have fans.” Kieran leaned against the edge of the table. “He has subjects. And enemies.”
“And sons.”
“His sons are his enemies,” said Kieran, without inflection.
Magnus looked at him with a flicker of extra interest. “All right,” he said, sitting up. “Diana explained some of this to us, but it’s more complicated than I thought. Annabel Blackthorn, who was brought back from the dead by Malcolm, who was sort of dead before but is now very definitely dead, has the Black Volume. And the Seelie Queen wants it?”
“She does,” said Mark. “She was very clear about that.”
“And she made you a deal,” Alec said, from the floor. “She always makes a deal.”
“If we give her the Black Volume, she will use it against the Unseelie King,” said Mark, and hesitated. YOU CAN TRUST MAGNUS AND ALEC, Julian had texted earlier. TELL THEM ANYTHING. “She has sworn not to try to use it to harm us. In fact, she has promised aid to us. She made Kieran her messenger. He’ll testify in front of the Council about the Unseelie King’s plans to make war on Alicante. Once the Queen has the Black Volume, she will authorize her Seelie soldiers to fight alongside Shadowhunters against the King—but the Clave will have to end all laws that forbid cooperation with faeries if they want her help.”
“Which they will,” said Magnus. “Fighting a war against Faerie would be much easier with faeries on your side.”
Mark nodded. “We are hoping not just to defeat the King, but also to crush the Cohort and end the Cold Peace.”
“Ah, the Cohort,” said Magnus, exchanging a look with Alec. “We know them well. Horace Dearborn and his daughter, Zara.”
“Horace?” Mark was startled.
“Sadly,” said Magnus, “that is his name. Hence his life of evil.”
“Not that the Dearborns are all of it,” said Alec. “Plenty of bigots in the Clave, happy to gather under the umbrella of tossing out the Downworlders and returning the Clave to its former glory.”
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.
Alec and Magnus had exchanged a look at that, the sort of look that made Mark feel as if they had reached a silent and agreed-upon consensus about his relationship with Kieran.
“So,” Magnus said, looking at Kieran with some interest. “You’re the son of the Unseelie King?”
Kieran had what Mark thought of as his Court face on, blank and superior as befitted a prince. “And you are the warlock Magnus Bane.”
“Quite,” Magnus said. “Although that was an easy guess, since there’s one of me and fifty of you.”
Ty looked puzzled.
“Fifty sons of the Unseelie King,” explained Livvy. “I think that was a joke.”
“Not one of my best,” said Magnus to Kieran. “I apologize—I’m not a big fan of your father.”
“My father does not have fans.” Kieran leaned against the edge of the table. “He has subjects. And enemies.”
“And sons.”
“His sons are his enemies,” said Kieran, without inflection.
Magnus looked at him with a flicker of extra interest. “All right,” he said, sitting up. “Diana explained some of this to us, but it’s more complicated than I thought. Annabel Blackthorn, who was brought back from the dead by Malcolm, who was sort of dead before but is now very definitely dead, has the Black Volume. And the Seelie Queen wants it?”
“She does,” said Mark. “She was very clear about that.”
“And she made you a deal,” Alec said, from the floor. “She always makes a deal.”
“If we give her the Black Volume, she will use it against the Unseelie King,” said Mark, and hesitated. YOU CAN TRUST MAGNUS AND ALEC, Julian had texted earlier. TELL THEM ANYTHING. “She has sworn not to try to use it to harm us. In fact, she has promised aid to us. She made Kieran her messenger. He’ll testify in front of the Council about the Unseelie King’s plans to make war on Alicante. Once the Queen has the Black Volume, she will authorize her Seelie soldiers to fight alongside Shadowhunters against the King—but the Clave will have to end all laws that forbid cooperation with faeries if they want her help.”
“Which they will,” said Magnus. “Fighting a war against Faerie would be much easier with faeries on your side.”
Mark nodded. “We are hoping not just to defeat the King, but also to crush the Cohort and end the Cold Peace.”
“Ah, the Cohort,” said Magnus, exchanging a look with Alec. “We know them well. Horace Dearborn and his daughter, Zara.”
“Horace?” Mark was startled.
“Sadly,” said Magnus, “that is his name. Hence his life of evil.”
“Not that the Dearborns are all of it,” said Alec. “Plenty of bigots in the Clave, happy to gather under the umbrella of tossing out the Downworlders and returning the Clave to its former glory.”
