Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 170

Kieran had not stayed long in the Unseelie Court. He had returned to Mark and Cristina the day after the battle, and they had been glad to have him back.
“Look!” Cristina cried. She sat up, pointing: One of the windows of the Basilias had opened and Dru had poked her head out. She was waving down at them, gesturing for them to come inside. “Emma and Julian are awake!” she called. “Come up!”
Cristina scrambled to her feet and the others followed. Julian and Emma. And Dru had been smiling. Now, Mark thought, now he was perfectly happy.
He started toward the Basilias, Cristina beside him. They were nearly there when they realized Kieran hadn’t followed.
Mark turned. “Kieran—” He frowned. “Is the iron too difficult?”
“It is not that,” Kieran said. “I should return to Faerie.”
“Now?” Cristina said.
“Now and forever,” said Kieran. “I shall not come back from there.”
“What?” Mark strode back toward Kieran. The white letter from Winter fluttered in Kieran’s hand like the wing of a bird. “Speak sense, Kieran.”
“I am speaking sense,” Kieran said softly. “Now that we know Emma and Julian will live, I must go back to Faerie. It is the bargain I made with Winter.” He glanced down at the letter. “My general summons me. Without a King the Land is at risk of falling into chaos.”
“They have a King!” Cristina had run to Kieran’s side. She wore a light blue shawl; she drew it around herself tightly in agitation, shaking her head. “You are their King, whether you are there or here.”
“No.” Kieran closed his eyes. “The King is linked to the Land. Every moment that the King is in the mortal world, the Land weakens. I cannot stay here. I did not want to be King—I did not ask to be King—but I am King, and I cannot be a bad one. It would not be right.”
“We could come with you, then,” said Mark. “We could not stay in Faerie all the time, but we could visit—”
“I thought that as well. But after even a short time as King in the Court, I know otherwise now,” Kieran said. His hair had gone entirely black under the slim gold circlet that now encircled his brow. “The King is not permitted to have a mortal consort—”
“We know that,” said Cristina, remembering her words in Brocelind. Even then she had believed Kieran might not become King. That a way would be found. “But your father had mortal consorts, didn’t he? Isn’t there some way around the rules?”
“No. He had mortal lovers.” The word sounded ugly. “A consort is an official position. Mortal companions are playthings to be toyed with and tossed aside. He cared not how they were treated, but I do care. If I brought you to the Court as such, you would be treated with contempt and cruelty, and I could not stand to see it.”
“You’re the King,” Cristina said. “They’re your people. Can’t you order them not to be cruel?”
“They have had years of a cruel reign,” said Kieran. “I cannot teach them overnight. I did not know it myself. I had to learn kindness from both of you.” His eyes glittered. “My heart is breaking and I cannot see a way out. You are all I want, but I must do what is best for my people. I cannot weaken my Land by coming here, and I cannot hurt you by bringing you there. We would never have peace in either place.”
“Please, Kieran,” said Mark. He caught at Kieran’s wrist: I am holding the arm of the Unseelie King, he thought. It was perhaps the first time he had thought of Kieran as the King and not simply his Kieran. “We can find a solution.”
Kieran pulled Mark to him and kissed him, hard and suddenly, his fingers digging into Mark’s wrist. When he let him go, he was pale, his cheeks burning with color. “I have not slept for three days. This is why I wanted Adaon to be King. Others want the throne. I do not. I only want you.”
“And you will be a great King because of it,” said Cristina, her brown eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “What if it was only you and Mark? Mark is half-faerie—surely that must mean something—”
“He is a Shadowhunter to them,” said Kieran, releasing Mark’s hand. He strode over to Cristina. His eyes were smudged with tiredness. “And I love you both, my brave Cristina. Nothing can change that. Nothing ever will.”
The tears she had been holding back spilled down her cheeks as Kieran cupped her face gently. “You’re truly leaving? There must be another way!”
“There is no other way.” Kieran kissed her, swiftly and hard, as he had kissed Mark; Cristina closed her eyes. “Know that I will always love you no matter how far away I am.”
He let her go. Mark wanted to protest, but more than Cristina, he understood the cruel realities of Faerie. The thorns among the roses. What it would mean to be a toy and plaything of the King of a faerie Court; he could stand it for himself but not for Cristina.
Kieran leaped onto Windspear’s back. “Be happy with each other,” he said, his eyes averted as if he could not bear to look at them. “It is my wish as King.”
“Kieran—” Mark said.
But Kieran was already riding away with thunderous speed. The flagstones trembled with Windspear’s retreating hoofbeats; within seconds, Kieran was out of sight.
* * *
Kit hated it in the Silent City, even though his room was fairly comfortable, at least compared to the rest of the Silent City, which was all sharp-edged objects made out of human skeletons. Once you’d picked up three or four skulls and muttered “Alas, poor Yorick,” to them, the novelty wore off quickly.
He suspected his rooms were a Silent Brother’s chambers. There were a lot of books on a wooden shelf, all of them about history and glorious battles. There was a comfortable bed and a bathroom down the hall. Not that he wanted to think about the bathroom conditions in the Silent City. He hoped to forget them as soon as possible.
He had been left with little to do but heal and think about what had happened on the battlefield. He remembered over and over the surge of power that had gone through him when he’d struck the Riders and made their horses disappear. Was it dark magic? Was that why he was locked up? And how was it possible he had faerie blood? He could touch iron and rowan wood. He’d lived his whole life surrounded by technology. He didn’t look anything like a faerie and no one in the Shadow Market had ever whispered at the possibility.
It was more than enough to occupy his mind and keep him from thinking about Ty. At least, it should have been.
He was lying on the bed staring at the stone ceiling when he heard footsteps approaching in the hallway outside his room. His first thought was food—a Silent Brother brought him a tray of plain, nourishingly boring food three times a day.
But the footsteps clicked on the stone. Heels. He frowned. The Consul? Diana, even? He’d play it cool and explain that he hadn’t done anything wrong. He sat up, running his fingers through his hair and wondering how the Silent Brothers ever got anything done without owning mirrors. How did they know their robes weren’t on backward?
The door opened and Tessa Gray came in. She wore a green dress and a hairband like Alice in Wonderland. She smiled at him affectionately.
“Please break me out of here,” said Kit. “I don’t want to be trapped here forever. I didn’t do anything wrong, especially not any necromancy.”
Tessa’s smile faded. She came over to sit down at the foot of the bed, her gray eyes worried. So much for playing it cool, Kit thought.
“Christopher,” she said. “I’m sorry for having left you here for so long.”
“It’s all right,” he said, though he wasn’t sure it was. “But don’t call me Christopher. No one does.”
“Kit,” she said. “I’m so sorry that we left you here. We were looking after Julian and Emma, so we couldn’t leave the city. It was touch and go for a while, but they just woke up.” She smiled. “I thought you’d want to know.”
Kit was glad to hear it. And yet—“What about the others, are they okay? What about Ty?”
“Ty and the others are fine. And Emma is all right in part thanks to you. You saved her life.”