Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 157

A calm stillness filled her heart. She raised her blade as if it were Glorious, as if it were a shining blade of heaven. She saw fear in Oban’s eyes, even as he moved to strike out at her again, bringing his sword around in a sideways arc. She spun in a full circle, avoiding his blow, and as she turned she drove her blade between his ribs.
A sigh seemed to pass through the world. She felt the metal of her sword grind against bone, felt hot blood splash over her fist. She jerked the sword back; Oban staggered, gazing down in disbelief at the blood spreading across the front of his doublet.
“You,” he breathed, still in disbelief. “Who are you?”
No one important.
But there was no point speaking. Oban had slumped to the ground, his hands falling loose at his sides, his eyes filming over. He was dead.
Mark and Kieran were battling desperately and heedlessly on. Cristina knew they were fighting not for their own lives but for each other.
“Prince Oban is dead!” she shouted. “Oban is dead!”
She stepped forward on the blood-wet grass, calling to Winter, to Mark and Kieran, to everyone who could hear.
It was General Winter who heard her cry. He stood, as tall and forbidding as a wall between Cristina and the boys she loved. His red-capped head turned. His red eyes took in Cristina, and then what lay behind her, a heap of blood and velvet.
His knuckles where he held his sword went white. For a moment Cristina pictured him taking his revenge for his King on Kieran and Mark. Her breath caught in her throat.
Ponderous and terrifying as an avalanche, Winter sank slowly to his knees. He bowed his blood-darkened head. His voice boomed like thunder as he said, “My liege lord, King Kieran.”
Kieran and Mark stood side by side, blades still held high, breathing in hard jolting unison. Cristina walked across the blood-drenched earth to stand so she and Mark were flanking Kieran.
Kieran’s face was deadly pale. There was a forlorn, lost look about him, but his eyes searched Cristina’s face as if he might find himself there. She clasped his hand. Kieran’s eyes traveled from Cristina to Mark, and his chin lifted. He stood with his back straight as a blade. Cristina watched him set his slender shoulders as if preparing to bear a heavy burden.
She swore an oath silently to herself: She and Mark would help him bear it.
“Prince Oban is dead,” Mark said. His voice lifted to the skies, to Diana and Gwyn circling high above their heads. “Kieran Kingson is the new King of Unseelie! Long live the King!”
* * *
They had made it to the edge of the forest, half-running the whole way, tripping over tree roots in their haste to get to the Imperishable Fields. There was no defined border between the Fields and the forest: The trees thinned out and Ty stopped dead, his breath catching. Kit stopped beside him, staring.
It looked like a movie. He couldn’t help the thought, though he felt vaguely ashamed of it—like a movie with incredible effects and attention to every detailed piece. He had thought of battles as organized, two lines of soldiers advancing on each other. Instead, this was chaos—less a chess game than a collapsed Jenga tower. Soldiers fought in clumps, rolled into ditches, spread in haphazard patterns across the Fields. The air stank of blood and roiled with noise—the clang of metal on metal, soldiers shouting, the howl of wolves, the screams of the wounded.
The noise. Kit turned to Ty, who had gone pale. “I can’t—I didn’t bring my headphones,” Ty said.
Kit hadn’t remembered them either, but then he hadn’t really expected to be in the fight. He hadn’t even imagined there would be a fight on this scale. It was massive. The gates of the city of Alicante were open, and more Shadowhunters were pouring out, adding to the noise and chaos.
Ty couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive being at the center of that with nothing to protect his ears, his eyes.
“Do you see Julian?” Kit asked. Maybe if Julian was nearby, if they could just get to him—
Ty’s expression cleared slightly. “Hold on.” He checked the inside of his jacket, where he’d stashed several knives and a slingshot. He had a pocketful of stones as well; Kit had seen them earlier.
Ty jogged to the nearest tree—a big, spread-branched oak—and began to shinny up it.
“Wait!” Kit ran to the base of the trunk and looked up. Ty was already vanishing among the leaves. “What are you doing?”
“I might be able to see the others from a higher vantage,” Ty called down. A branch rattled. “There they are—I see Alec. And Jace; he’s fighting some of the Cohort. Mark and Cristina are over by the redcaps. There’s Helen—a troll is coming up on her from behind—” There was a whistling rattle and a rustle of leaves. “Not anymore,” Ty added in a pleased voice, and Kit realized he must have used his slingshot. “Kit, come up here—you can see everything.”
There was no answer.
Ty leaned down through the branches, searching the forest floor below the oak. It was bare. Kit was gone.
* * *
Alec had found himself a rock, one of the few on the Fields. This was a good thing, because he was at his best from a slight elevation—as Jace jogged toward him, weaving through Unseelie soldiers and friendly Downworlders alike, he watched with brotherly admiration as Alec let arrow after arrow fly with deadly speed and more deadly precision.
“Alec.” Jace reached Alec. A troll was running toward them, its tusks stained with blood, its ax raised. Its eyes gleamed with hate. Jace tugged a knife from his belt and flung it and the troll went down, gurgling, the blade in its throat.
“What is it?” Alec didn’t glance at him. He nocked his bow again, drew, and impaled a glass-toothed goblin that had been running toward Simon. Simon gave him an offhand salute and went back to fighting a mossy thing Jace suspected was a dryad gone wrong.
“The gates of the city are open—”
“I noticed.” Alec shot the dryad. It ran off toward the trees.
“More Cohort members are coming onto the field.”
“So are more of our allies. Jia’s here,” said Alec.
“True.” An ogre came at Jace from the left. He cut it down with quick efficiency. “Where’s Magnus?”
Alec watched Simon with narrow eyes; he’d joined Clary in cutting down a redcap. The redcaps were the deadliest faerie soldiers on the field, but Jace was pleased to see Clary handle hers with aplomb. She slashed at its knees, and when it fell, Simon lopped off its head. Good solid parabatai work.
“Why do you want to know where Magnus is?” Alec said.
“Because these Cohort members are all Shadowhunters,” Jace said frankly. “I’ve been trying not to kill them. I’ve been using the flat of my blade, whacking them on the heads when they go down, or letting Clary use her knockout runes, but it’s a lot harder not killing people than killing them.” He sighed and threw a knife at an attacking pixie. “We could use Magnus’s help.”
“You know,” Alec said, “vampires are really good at taking people down without killing them. Just grab a person, drink enough blood to make them pass out, and voilà.”
“Not helpful,” Jace said. Another troll rushed at them. Jace and Alec reached for their weapons at the same time. The troll eyed them, turned, and ran off.
Alec laughed. “You’re in luck, parabatai,” he said, and pointed toward the edge of Brocelind Forest.
Jace followed his gesture. The edge of the trees was deeply shaded, but Clary had put Farsight runes on him earlier. He could even see a small figure perched halfway up an oak tree, using a slingshot to take down Unseelie soldiers. Interesting. He also saw Magnus, who had just stepped out of the shadows beneath the trees.
He was in full warlock regalia—a cloak of black sewn with silver stars, silver chains at his throat and wrists, hair spiked to maximum height. Blue fire spread from his hands. It flowed up into the air, and the already thick clouds began to draw together.
Clary jogged over to them, picking her way among dead trolls and ogres. She was beaming. “I thought he was worried he couldn’t do it!” she exclaimed. “He looks so cool.”
“Just watch,” Alec said, winking at her. “And he does look cool.” He shot an approaching troll, just in case anyone was worried he was slacking off.