Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 142

“Ay ay!” Cristina sat down on a rock, knocking her forehead gently against her hand. “Really? Now?”
Emma sat down next to her friend. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” She pointed her index finger at Cristina. “If we both die in battle tomorrow, though, we’ll never get to talk about it ever, and you’ll never get the benefit of my enormous wisdom.”
“Look at this crazy girl,” Cristina said, gesturing to an invisible audience. “All right, all right. What makes you think anything new is happening, anyway?”
“I see the way you all look at each other. I’ve never seen anything like it,” Emma said.
Cristina sobered immediately, her hand going to the angel medallion at her throat as it often did when she was nervous. “I don’t know what to do,” she said. “I love both of them. I love Mark and I love Kieran. I love them both in different ways, but with no less intensity.”
Emma spoke carefully. “Are they asking you to choose between them?”
Cristina looked off toward the sunset, stripes of gold and red above the trees. “No. No, they’re not asking me to choose.”
“I see,” said Emma, who was not sure she did see. “Then . . .”
“We decided it was impossible,” Cristina said. “Kieran, Mark, and I—we are all afraid. If we were together, the way we want to be, we would bring misery on those we love.”
“Misery? Why?” Emma’s hands were shaking again; she shoved them between her knees so Cristina wouldn’t see.
“Kieran fears for Faerie,” Cristina said. “After so many terrible Kings, after so much cruelty, he wishes to go back and take up a place in the Court and see to the welfare of his people. He cannot turn away from that, and neither Mark nor I would want him to. But for us—we cannot know the future. Even if the Cohort is gone, it does not mean the end of the Cold Peace. Mark is afraid for Helen, for all the Blackthorns, that if he were involved with a prince of Faerie and everyone knew it, his family would be punished. I fear the same for my family. So it would never work. Do you understand?”
Emma twirled a piece of grass between her fingers. “I would never judge you,” she said. “First because it’s you, and second because I hardly have the right to judge anyone. But I think you’re letting your fear get in the way of what you really want because what you really want is what you’re afraid of.”
Cristina blinked. “What do you mean?”
“From the outside, here’s what I see,” said Emma. “When Mark and Kieran are alone together, they get pulled into their difficult past. It consumes them. When Mark and you are together, he worries that he isn’t good enough for you, no matter what you say. And when Kieran and you are together, sometimes you can’t bridge the gulf between Shadowhunter understanding and faerie understanding. Mark helps you bridge that gulf.” The sun was nearly down, the sky a deep blue, Cristina’s expression lost in shadow. “Does that seem wrong?”
“No,” Cristina said after a long pause. “But it doesn’t—”
“You’re afraid of what everyone is afraid of,” said Emma. “Having your hearts broken, being made miserable by love. But what you’re saying, that’s what the Cohort wants. They want to make people afraid, to make them stay apart because they have created an environment of fear and suspicion where you could be punished for being with someone you love. If they got their way, they’d punish Alec for being with Magnus, but that doesn’t mean Magnus and Alec should split up. Am I making sense?”
“A little too much sense,” Cristina said, pulling at a loose thread on her sleeve.
“I know one thing for sure,” Emma said. “Cristina, of all the people I know, you’re the most generous, and you spend the most time thinking about what makes other people happy. I think you should do whatever makes you happy. You deserve it.”
“Thanks.” Cristina gave her a shaky smile. “What about you and Julian? How are you doing?”
Emma’s stomach lurched, surprising her. It was as if hearing the words “you and Julian” had set something off inside her. She pushed down on the feeling, trying to control it. “It’s really hard,” she whispered. “Julian and I can’t even talk to each other. And the best we can hope for after all this is over is some kind of exile.”
“I know.” Cristina took Emma’s hand in hers; Emma tried to still her own shaking. Cristina’s reassuring touch helped. For the millionth time, Emma wished she’d met Cristina earlier—that Cristina could have been her parabatai. “After the exile, if it happens, come and stay with me, wherever I am. Mexico, anywhere. I’ll take care of you.”
Emma made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sniffle. “That’s what I mean. You’re always doing things for other people, Tina.”
“Okay, well, then I’m going to ask you to do something for me.”
“What? I’ll do anything. Unless it makes your mom mad. Your mom scares me.”
“You want to kill Zara in the battle, if there’s a fight, don’t you?” Cristina said.
“The thought had crossed my mind. Okay. Yes. If anyone else takes her out, I’m going to be really angry.” Emma mock scowled.
Cristina sighed. “We don’t even know if there’s going to be a fight, Emma. If Zara is spared or imprisoned or escapes, or if someone else kills her, I don’t want you to dwell on it. Focus on what you want your life to be after tomorrow.”
After tomorrow I’ll be exiled, Emma thought. Will I see you again, Cristina? Will I always miss you?
Cristina narrowed her eyes in concern. “Emma? Promise me?”
But before Emma could promise, before she could say anything at all, Aline’s and Helen’s voices cut through the evening air, calling them down to dinner.
* * *
“Has anyone ever tried ketchup on a s’more?” Isabelle said.
“This is why you’re a bad cook,” said Alec. Simon, bundled up in a sweater and leaning back against a log, slunk down as if he hoped to become invisible. “You actually like disgusting food. It’s not, like, an accident.”
“I like ketchup and s’mores,” said Simon loyally, and mouthed to Clary, I don’t like them.
“I know,” Clary said. “I can feel through the parabatai bond how much you don’t like them.”
“Julian is an excellent cook,” said Emma, spearing a marshmallow. Magnus had produced bags of them along with the requisite chocolate and graham crackers. He gave Emma a dark look that seemed to say, Stay away from Julian, and also his cooking.
“I am also an excellent cook,” said Mark, putting an acorn onto his s’more. Everyone stared.
“He can’t help it,” said Cristina loyally. “He has lived with the Wild Hunt for so long.”
“I don’t do that,” said Kieran, eating a s’more in the correct fashion. “Mark has no excuse.”
“I never pictured Shadowhunters eating s’mores,” said Kit, glancing around the fire. It was like a scene out of dreams of camping he’d had when he was a little kid—the fire, the trees, everyone bundled up in sweaters and sitting around on logs, smoke in their eyes and hair. “On the other hand, this is the first s’more I’ve ever had that didn’t come out of a box.”
“That’s not a s’more, then,” Ty said. “That’s a cookie. Or some cereal.”
Kit smiled, and Ty smiled back at him. He leaned against Julian, who was sitting beside him; Julian put an absent arm around his younger brother, his hand ruffling Ty’s hair.
“Excited for your first battle?” Jace said to Kit. Jace was sitting cross-legged with his arms around Clary, who was creating a massive s’more out of several chocolate bars.
“He’s not going!” Clary said. “He’s too young, Jace.” She looked at Kit. “Don’t listen to him.”
“He seems old enough,” said Jace. “I was fighting battles when I was ten.”