Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 47

“She did terrible things to Jace and Clary—”
“Maybe they just didn’t know how to deal with her properly.” His blue-green eyes glittered. “The Queen only cares about the Queen. She isn’t interested in causing pain for the sake of causing it. She just wants what she wants. If you remember that, you can deal with her.”
“But why did we ever have to—”
“Look, it was obvious we couldn’t trust Dearborn from the beginning. This isn’t just a secret mission like Clary and Jace’s. He brought us to Brocelind alone. He sent us through the door to Faerie without anyone else there. Horace Dearborn is not on our side,” Julian said. “He thinks we’re enemies. Downworlder-lovers. Sure, he thinks we can get the Black Volume back for him—but he planned for us to die doing it. What do you think happens, Emma, when we go home if we don’t have it? In fact, how do you think we even get back—do you really feel like we can trust some guy standing at Bram’s Crossroads on Horace’s orders?”
She’d been so caught up in anger at Julian she hadn’t stopped to think about how they might get home from Faerie. “Dane said it wasn’t just him,” she said. “Do you think he meant there’ll be someone waiting at Bram’s Crossroads to kill us?”
“There could be someone waiting around every corner to kill us,” Julian said. “Dane was an idiot—he came for us too fast, before we had the real book. But they may not all be. Our lives are in danger here every second. If we have a deal with the Queen, we’re under her protection.”
“We need an ally,” Emma said. “And she’s weird and opportunistic and terrible but better than nothing. That’s what you’re saying?”
“Every plan involves risk,” Julian said. “Not going to the Queen was a risk. Strategy is choosing between the risks—there is no safe way, Emma, not for us. Not since the minute Horace called us into his office.”
“And if we return with the real Black Volume, he’ll just kill us and take it,” said Emma. “That was his plan anyway.”
“No,” Julian said. “That was his plan when he thought he was controlling how we returned. If we decide how and where we return, we can walk into any Council meeting and present the Black Volume, bravely rescued from our faerie foes. Horace thought he could get rid of us easily because we were in disgrace. It’ll be much harder to do if we return in triumph.”
“Fine,” she said. “I get what you think we’re doing. I don’t know if I agree about working with the Queen, but at least I understand. But you know what would have been better? If you’d included me in the part where you chose what risk we were going to take.”
“I didn’t see the point,” he said. “You would have worried, and for what?”
Emma felt tears burn behind her eyes. “This isn’t you. You’d never say that.”
Julian’s eyes flashed. “You know I’ve always done whatever needed to be done to keep us safe. I thought you understood that about me.”
“This is different. Remember—Julian, remember what Dane said, that you were the kind of guy who would have a girl for a parabatai?” She knelt up on the bed, raising her chin to look him directly in the eye. “That’s what I always loved about you, even before I was in love with you. You never thought for a second about it diminishing you to have a girl as your warrior partner, you never acted as if I was anything less than your complete equal. You never for a moment made me feel like I had to be weak for you to be strong.”
He looked away. Emma pressed on:
“You knew we were always stronger together. You’ve always treated me as though my opinion matters. You’ve always respected my ability to make decisions for myself. But you’re not acting like that now. It’s not some small thing that you lied to me, Julian, it’s a betrayal of everything we swore in our parabatai ceremony. It’s one thing for you to not want to treat me like your girlfriend, but it’s entirely another for you to not treat me like your parabatai.”
Julian crawled onto the bed beside her. “This isn’t what I planned,” he said. “I was concerned that you’d refuse to go to the Seelie Court, and I was just trying to move fast.” The shimmer of the waterfall altered, and Julian’s hair was dark again, his lashes making shadows against his cheeks. “I had no idea you’d be so upset about—everything.”
“Of course you had no idea.” Having Julian this close made her nerves feel like they were jumping inside her skin. They were both kneeling, facing each other; he was so close she could have reached out and put her arms around him without even needing to lean forward. “You have no idea because you have no feelings. Because you turned off all your emotions, not just about me, but about everything”—about Livvy, even about Livvy—“and that’s going to come back and bite you in the end.”
“I don’t,” he said.
“You don’t what?”
He slid his hand across the bed so that his fingertips touched hers, just barely. Emma’s heart kicked into a faster beat. “I don’t have no feelings at all.” He sounded lost and a little baffled. “I just don’t entirely understand what it is that I do feel. Except that—I need you not to be angry, Emma.”
She froze. His fingers curved around to stroke the inside of her wrist. Emma felt as if every nerve ending in her body was concentrated there, where his fingers touched. He was touching her pulse. Her heart.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Her heart leaped. With a low cry, she reached out for him; on their knees, they wrapped their arms around each other. He dipped his head to kiss her, and all her breath left her body.
He tasted the way she imagined faerie fruit would taste, sweeter than any sugar on earth. She was dizzy with the memory of the first time she’d kissed him, wet from seawater, hungry and desperate. This was languorous, hot with a slow desire: He explored her mouth thoroughly with his own, stroking his fingertips over her cheekbones, cupping her jaw to tilt her head back.
He pulled her closer. His body still works the same, she thought. Feelings or no feelings.
There was a terrible satisfaction in it. He felt something for her, even if it was only a physical something.
But he had said he was sorry. Surely that meant something. Perhaps that the spell was wearing off. Maybe it wasn’t permanent. Maybe—
He kissed the corner of her mouth, the pulse at her neck. His lips were soft against her throat; his hands caught the hem of her nightgown, working it up her thighs.
Let it happen, her body said. Get whatever you can of him, because there might never be anything else.
His hands were under her gown. He knew where she liked to be touched. Knew what would make her shiver and kiss him harder.
No one knew her like Julian did.
Her eyes fluttered open, her vision hazy with desire. She started—Julian was looking at her, his own eyes open, and the expression in them was cool and thoughtful. It was like a bucket of cold water dashed in her face; she almost gasped.
I need you not to be angry, he’d said.
His hands were still curved around the backs of her thighs, holding her against him. Against his mouth, she whispered, “You’re not really sorry, are you?”
His eyes shuttered: She knew that look. He was thinking of the right thing to say. Not the true thing, but the best thing: the most clever and efficacious thing. The thing that would get him what he wanted and needed.
She had always been proud of him for his cleverness; adored and understood the necessity of it. It was David’s slingshot; it was Julian’s only small defense against a massive world arrayed against him and his family. It was the only way he knew of protecting what he loved.
But without love as the driving force behind everything he did, what would he be capable of? A Julian without feelings was a Julian who could and would manipulate anyone.
Even her.
He sank back on his heels, his hands falling to his sides, his expression still indecipherable. Before he could speak, the sound of someone entering the room echoed from downstairs.