Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 52

Emma started. “The Unseelie Court? But why?”
Nene gave them a hard glance. “You understand I am betraying my Court and my lady by speaking to you like this,” she said. “If I am found out, it will go worse for me than you can imagine.”
“You came to us,” Julian pointed out. He was himself again, calm, measured. Maybe that was what being without your emotions meant; maybe you never really lost yourself in anything. “We didn’t come to you.”
“I came because I owe the Blackthorns,” she said. “Because of the wrong my sister Celithe did to Arthur in torturing him, in shattering his mind with magic so that he might never be cured. And because I do not want the Unseelie King to have the Black Volume of the Dead.”
“But he might well already have it,” Emma said. “He took Annabel—and Annabel has the book.”
“We have spies in the Court, of course,” said Nene. “He does have Annabel. But she will not give him the Black Volume, and because she knows his true name, he cannot make her.”
“So why is she staying in the Court?” Julian demanded.
“That I cannot tell you,” Nene said. “Only what the Queen is doing. She does not consider any promises she made to you binding, because the book you brought her is a copy and not the original.”
“That’s a ridiculous technicality,” said Emma.
“Faerie turns on ridiculous technicalities,” said Nene. “The Queen will do what the Queen wishes to do. That is the nature of Seelie.”
“But why does she want to give the book to the King? She hates the King! She said she wanted to keep it out of his hands—” Emma started.
“She did say she wanted to keep it out of his hands,” Julian said. He was pale. “But she didn’t say she wouldn’t give it to him anyway.”
“No,” said Nene. “She did not.”
The Queen’s words echoed in Emma’s head. The Black Volume is more than necromancy. It contains spells that will allow me to retrieve the captive from the Unseelie Court. “She’s going to trade the book for the captive in the Unseelie Court, whoever he is,” said Emma. “Or she.”
“He,” said Nene. “It is her son who is captive.”
Julian sucked in a breath. “Why didn’t you tell us that before? If I’d known that—”
Nene glared at him. “Betraying my Queen is no light thing to me! If it were not for my sister’s children, I would never—”
“I expected the Queen to betray us,” Julian said. “But not for her to do it so soon, or like this. She must be desperate.”
“Because she’s trying to save her child,” said Emma. “How old is he?”
“I do not know,” Nene said. “Ash was always hidden from us. I would not recognize him if I saw him.”
“The King can’t have the book. The Queen said that he was blighting the Lands of Faerie with dark magic and filling the rivers with blood. Imagine what he’d do if he had the Black Volume.”
“If we can believe the Queen,” said Julian.
“It is the truth as far as I know it,” said Nene. “Since the Cold Peace, the Land of Unseelie has been bleeding evil. It is said that a great weapon resides there, something that but needs the spells of the Black Volume to bring its powers to life. It is something that could wipe out all angelic magic.”
“We have to get to the Unseelie Court,” said Emma. “We have to stop the Queen.”
Julian’s eyes glittered. Emma knew what he was thinking. That in the Unseelie Court was Annabel, and with Annabel lay revenge for Livvy’s death. “I agree with you,” he said. “We can follow the Queen—”
“You cannot travel as fast as a procession of fey horses,” she said. “Not even Nephilim can run like that. You must intercept the Queen before she reaches the tower.”
“The tower?” echoed Emma.
“It is the one permanent stronghold of Unseelie, the place they retreat when under siege. Its fortifications are unmatched in Faerie; none can scale the walls or brave the thorns, and the throne room at the top of the tower is guarded by redcaps. You must join the procession so that you might reach the Queen before she is inside the tower, and it is too late.”
“Join the procession? We’ll be noticed!” Emma exclaimed, but Nene was already seizing up a hooded cloak that had been hung by the door and tossing it to Julian.
“Wear this,” she said. “It’s Fergus’s. Pull up the hood. No one will be looking that closely.” She drew off her own cloak and handed it to Emma. “And you will be disguised as me.” She eyed Emma critically as Emma put the cloak on, fastening it at the throat. “At least the blond hair is right.”
Julian had disappeared up the steps; when he returned, he was carrying his weapons belt and Emma’s. Fergus’s cloak—black, with raven wings shimmering like oil on the breast and hood—covered him completely. “We’re not going without these.”
“Keep them beneath your cloaks,” Nene said. “They are clearly of Shadowhunter make.” She looked them up and down. “As are you. Ah well. We will do the best we can.”
“What if we need to flee from Faerie?” said Emma. “What if we get the Black Volume and need to go back to Idris?”
Nene hesitated.
“You’ve already betrayed faerie secrets,” said Julian. “What’s one more?”
Nene narrowed her eyes. “You have changed,” she said. “I can only hope it is grief.”
Grief. Everyone in Alicante had thought it was grief that had altered Julian’s behavior, his reactions. Emma had thought it herself at first.
“Make your way to Branwen’s Falls,” said Nene. “Beneath the falls you will find a path back to Alicante. And if you ever speak of this secret to another soul besides each other, my curse will be on your heads.”
She pushed open the door, and they crept out into the corridor.
* * *
Tavvy had never been satisfied with sandcastles. They bored him. He liked to build what he called sand cities—rows of square sand structures shaped by empty milk cartons turned upside down. They were houses, stores, and schools, complete with signs made with the torn-off fronts of matchbooks.
Dru scuffed her way up and down the beach barefoot, helping Tavvy find sticks, rocks, and seashells that would become lampposts, walls, and bus stops. Sometimes she’d find a piece of sea glass, red or green or blue, and tuck it into the pocket of her overalls.
The beach was empty except for her and Tavvy. She was watching him out of the corner of her eye as he knelt on the wet sand, shaping a massive wall to surround his city—after what had happened with Malcolm, she didn’t plan to take her gaze off him again. But most of her mind was filled up with thoughts of Mark and Emma and Julian. Mark was going to Faerie, and he was going because Julian and Emma were in trouble. Mark hadn’t said, but Dru was pretty sure it was bad trouble. Nothing good came from going to Faerie, and Mark and Cristina and Kieran wouldn’t be running to save them if they thought they’d be all right on their own.
People are leaving me one by one, she thought. First Livvy, then Julian and Emma, now Mark. She stopped to glance out at the ocean: sparkling blue waves rolling over and under. Once she’d watched that ocean thinking that somewhere across it was Helen on her island, protecting the wards of the world. She had remembered her sister’s laugh, her blond hair, and imagined her as a sort of Valkyrie, holding up a spear at the entrance to the world, not letting the demons pass her by.
These days, she could tell that every time Helen looked at her she was sad that Dru wasn’t more friendly, more open to sisterly bonding. Dru knew it was true, but she couldn’t change it. Didn’t Helen understand that if Dru let herself love her older sister, Helen would just be another person for Dru to lose?
“Someone’s coming,” Tavvy said. He was looking down the beach, his blue-green eyes squinted against the sun.
Dru turned and stared. A boy was walking down the empty beach, consulting a small object in his hand as he went. A tall, rail-thin boy with a mop of black hair, brown skin that shone in the sun, and bare, runed arms.