Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 59

“No,” Ty said sharply. “Remember, I told you, I don’t want to go there anymore. Besides, you can’t have parabatai at the Scholomance. It’s a rule. And rules are important.”
Kit didn’t even want to think about how many rules they were breaking right now. Ty had clearly compartmentalized what it would take to bring Livvy back, but nothing like that ever worked perfectly. He was worrying hard at the cuffs of his hoodie now, his fingers shaking a little.
Kit touched Ty’s shoulder. He was sitting slightly behind him. Ty’s back curved as he hunched forward, but he didn’t avoid the touch.
“How many windows does the front of the Institute have?” Kit said.
“Thirty-six,” said Ty. “Thirty-seven if you count the attic, but it’s papered over. Why?”
“Because that’s what I like about you,” Kit said in a low voice, and Ty’s shaking stilled slightly. “The way you notice everything. Nothing gets forgotten. Nothing”—and no one—“gets overlooked.”
* * *
Emma had begun to nod off again as the night wore on. She woke when her horse stopped in its tracks and pushed her hood back slightly, gazing around her.
They had reached the tower. Dawn was breaking and in the first threads of light, the only permanent manifestation of the Unseelie Court looked less like Julian’s mural and more like something from a nightmare. The hedge of thorns surrounding the tower was nothing like modest rosebushes. The thorns were steel-colored, each easily a foot long. Here and there they were studded with what looked like massive white flowers. The tower’s walls were smooth and dark as anthracite, and windowless.
Emma’s breath made tracks against the chilly air. She shivered and drew Nene’s cloak closer, murmurs rising all around as the sleepy procession of Seelie faeries began to come back to wakefulness. The girls behind her were chattering about what kind of rooms and welcome they might expect from the King. Julian was motionless beside Emma, his spine straight, his hood concealing his face.
There was a loud clang, like the ringing of a bell. Emma peered ahead to see that there were gates set into the thorny hedge, tall bronze gates that had just been flung open. She could see a courtyard just past the gates, and a great black archway leading into the tower.
Unseelie knights in black cloaks guarded either side of the gates. They were stopping each member of the procession before allowing them to pass through into the courtyard, where two lines of Unseelie faeries flanked the path to the tower doors.
The multicolored stars were beginning to fade out of the air, and in their absence, the light of the rising sun cast dull gold shadows over the tower, darkly beautiful as a polished gun barrel. All around the hedge was a flat, grassy plain, punctuated here and there by stands of hawthorn trees. The line of Seelie faeries lurched forward again, and a loud grumble rose among the riot of silks and velvets, wings and hooves. The girls on the bay mare were muttering to each other: How slow they are here in the Night Court. How rude to keep us waiting.
The morning air caught the edge of Emma’s hood as she turned. “What is this about?”
One of the girls shook her head. “The King is suspicious, naturally. Too long has there been enmity between the Courts. The Riders are inspecting each guest.”
Emma froze. “The Riders of Mannan?”
The other girl laughed. “As if there were other Riders!”
Julian leaned toward Emma and spoke in a low voice: “There’s no way we can get through those gates with the rest of the procession without the Riders recognizing us. Especially you. We need to get out of here.”
The place where Cortana usually hung at Emma’s back ached like a phantom limb. She had killed one of the Riders with her sword—there was no chance they wouldn’t remember her. “Agreed. Any idea how to do that?”
Julian glanced up and down the restless line of Seelie folk. It stretched from the gates of the tower into the distance, as far as the eye could see. “Not currently.”
A noise erupted from the line ahead. The dryad in the tree was arguing with a pair of goblins. In fact, small arguments seemed to breaking out up and down the line. Occasionally a faerie knight would ride lazily by and call for order, but no one seemed too interested in keeping things calm.
Emma gazed anxiously at the horizon; it was dawn, and soon there would be more light, which would hardly help any attempt on her and Julian’s part to try to get away. They could bolt for the gates, but the guards would block them; if they ran for the thorn hedges or tried to leave the line, they’d certainly be seen.
Then accept that you’ll be seen, Emma thought. She turned to Julian, drawing herself up imperiously. “Fergus, you fool!” she snapped. “The Queen explicitly demanded that you bring up the rear of this procession!”
Julian’s lips shaped the word “What?” silently. He didn’t move, and the girls on the bay mare giggled again.
Emma struck his shoulder lightly, her fingers sliding across his back, drawing a quick symbol they both knew. It meant: I have a plan. “Distracted by a dryad, were you?” she said. She dug her heels into Silvermane’s side and the horse, startled, trotted sharply in place. “The Queen will have your head for this. Come along!”
Giggles spread throughout the nearby faeries. Emma turned Silvermane and began to ride toward the back of the procession. After a moment, Julian followed her. The giggles faded behind them as they trotted down the line; Emma didn’t want to attract notice by going too fast.
To her relief, no one paid much attention to them. As they rode away from the tower, the Seelie procession’s order began to deteriorate. Faerie folk were grouped together laughing, joking, and playing cards. None of them seemed interested in their progress toward the tower, much less anything closer at hand.
“This way,” Julian murmured. He bent low over Widowmaker, and the horse bolted toward a nearby thicket of trees. Emma grabbed her own reins tightly as Silvermane leaped after the stallion. The world rushed by in a blur—she was galloping, which was like flying, the horse’s feet barely seeming to touch the ground. Emma caught her breath. It was like the terror and freedom of being in the ocean, at the mercy of something far stronger than you. Her hood flew back and the wind tore at her, her blond hair whipping like a banner.
They pulled up at the far side of the thicket, out of sight of the Seelie folk. Emma looked at Julian, breathless. His cheeks were flushed to brightness by the cold air. Behind him, the horizon had turned to bright gold.
“Nice work,” he said.
Emma couldn’t suppress a smile as she slid from Silvermane’s back. “We might not have angelic magic here, but we’re still Shadowhunters.”
Julian dismounted beside her. Neither needed to say they couldn’t keep the horses with them; Emma struck Silvermane lightly on the flank, and the mare took off toward the lightening horizon. She knows her own way home.
Widowmaker vanished after her in a dark blur, and Emma and Julian turned toward the tower. The long shadows of dawn were beginning to stretch out across the grass. The tower rose before them, the high hedge circling it like a deadly necklace.
Emma eyed the grass between their trees and the hedge nervously. There was no cover, and though they were out of sight of the gates, anyone watching from the tower could see them approach.
Julian turned toward her, pushing his hood back. Emma supposed it no longer mattered; he was done pretending to be Fergus. His hair was tousled and sweat-dampened from the hood. As if he had read her mind, he said, “We can’t worry about cover. We’ll have to brazen it out till we get to the hedge.”
He slid his hand into hers. Emma tried to stop herself from jumping. His palm was warm against her palm; he drew her toward him and they began to walk across the grass.
“Keep your head turned toward me,” Julian said in a low voice. “Faeries are romantics, in their way.”
Emma realized with a jolt that they were playing at being a couple, taking an affectionate walk in the dawn light. Their shoulders brushed, and she shivered, even as the sun rose higher, warming the air.
She glanced sideways at Julian. He didn’t look like someone on a romantic walk; his eyes were wary, his jaw set. He looked like a statue of himself, one carved by someone who didn’t know him well, who had never seen the sparkle in his eyes he saved for his family, who had never seen the smile he had once saved for Emma alone.