Queen of Air and Darkness
Page 78

Unlike the Seelie Queen’s ever-changing throne room, the inner sanctum of the King was unaltered. The massive Portal still covered one wall. It showed a blowing desert landscape, where trees poked out of the ground like skeleton hands clawing for air. The yellow-bright desert light lent an unnatural tint to the room, as if they stood in the light of invisible flames.
The King was upon his throne, his one eye blazing red. In front of him were Mark and Kieran, surrounded by redcaps. Mark’s hands were manacled together; Kieran knelt, his bound wrists connected to a metal chain sunk into the stone floor. When they jerked around to see who had come in, shock and relief flooded across Mark’s face, followed by horror. There was a bloody cut across Kieran’s forehead.
His lips formed a single word. Cristina.
Cristina gave a ragged gasp. Emma reached to catch her friend’s wrist, but she was frozen in place.
It was Julian who bolted forward, his gaze fixed on Mark. Adaon caught him with his free arm and yanked him back. Emma remembered what Julian had said about the atavistic need to protect Ty. It seemed he felt it for his other siblings too: He was still struggling as Adaon turned and said something to Jace. The Strength rune on Jace’s forearm flashed as he flung an arm around Julian’s chest, immobilizing him.
“Keep him back!” Winter, the redcap general, pointed the tip of his pikestaff at Julian. More redcaps had streamed in to stand between Adaon’s captives and the King, a thin crimson line.
Julian’s body was a taut line of tension and hate as he stared at the King, who was grinning his odd, half-skeletal grin. “Well done, Adaon,” the King said. “I hear you foiled an attempt to escape our prisons.”
Mark’s shoulders slumped. Kieran gazed at his father with loathing.
“Look your fill, my son,” the King said to Kieran. “Your friends are all my prisoners. There is no hope for you.” He turned. “Let me see them, Adaon.”
With the tip of his sword, Adaon urged Emma and the others closer to the throne. Emma felt her chest tighten, remembering the last time she had stood before the King of Unseelie, how he had looked into her heart somehow and seen what she had most wanted, and given it to her as a dose of poison.
“You,” said the King, his eyes on Emma. “You fought my champion.”
“And she won,” said Cristina proudly, her back straight.
The King ignored her. “And you slew a Rider, my Fal. Interesting.” He turned to Julian. “You disrupted my Court and took my son hostage. His blood is on your hands.” Lastly, he gazed at Jace and Clary. “Because of you we suffer the Cold Peace.”
Adaon cleared his throat. “Then why are they still alive, Father? Why have you not killed them?”
“Not helpful,” Jace muttered. He had let go of Julian, who stood poised like a runner waiting for the starting gun.
“Leverage against the Clave,” said the King, caressing the arm of his throne. The stone was carved with a pattern of screaming faces. “To us they are enemies. To the Clave, they are heroes. It is ever the way with war.”
“But do we not seek an end to the Cold Peace?” said Adaon. “If we return these prisoners to the Clave, we could reopen negotiations. Find common ground. They will see that we are not all bloodthirsty murderers, as they believe.”
The King was silent for a moment. He was expressionless, but there was a look of apprehension on Kieran’s face that Emma didn’t like.
At last the King smiled. “Adaon, you are truly the best of my sons. In your heart you long for peace, and peace we shall have—when the Nephilim realize we have a weapon that can destroy them all.”
“Ash,” Emma whispered.
She hadn’t even meant to speak aloud, but the King heard. His ghastly face turned toward her. In the depths of his cavernous eye sockets, pinpoint lights gleamed.
“Come here,” he said.
Julian made a noise of protest—or maybe it was something else; Emma couldn’t tell. He was biting his lip hard, blood running down his chin. He didn’t seem to notice, though, and he did nothing to stop her as she turned to go toward the King. She wondered if he even knew about the blood.
She approached the throne, moving past the line of redcaps. She felt utterly naked without a weapon in her hand. She hadn’t felt so vulnerable since Iarlath had whipped her against the quickbeam tree.
The King thrust out a hand. “Stop,” he said, and Emma stopped. There was enough adrenaline coursing through her that she felt a little drunk. She wanted nothing more than to fling herself at the King, tear at him, punch and kick him. But she knew that if she tried, she would be dead in an instant. The redcaps were everywhere.
“One of you I will choose to return to the Clave as my messenger,” said the King. “It could be you.”
Emma raised her chin. “I don’t want to carry your messages.”
The King chuckled. “I didn’t want you to kill one of my Riders, but you did. Perhaps this shall be your punishment.”
“Punish me by keeping me here,” said Emma. “Let the others go.”
“A noble, but stupid, attempt at a ploy,” said the King. “Child, all the wisdom of the Nephilim could fit into one acorn in the hand of a faerie. You are a young and foolish people and in your foolishness, you will die.” He leaned forward, the pinpoint gleaming in his right eye blooming into a circle of flame. “How do you know of Ash?”
“No! No! Leave him alone!” Emma whirled; a woman’s scream lanced through the room like the sweep of a sharp blade. She felt herself tense further; Ethna and Eochaid had stalked into the room, marching Ash between them. He was without his gold crown and looked sulky and angry.
Rushing along behind him was Annabel, crying out. “Stop! Haven’t you done enough? Stop, I tell you! Ash is my charge—”
She saw Emma and froze. Her eyes darted toward Adaon, lighting on Julian, who stared back at her with blazing hatred. Jace was gripping his shoulder again.
She seemed to shrink into her clothes—a gray linen dress and woolen jacket. Her left hand was a claw that clutched the true Black Volume.
“No,” she moaned. “No, no, I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to do it.”
Emma heard a deep growl. A moment later she realized it was Mark, his chains rattling. Annabel gasped, recognizing him. She staggered back as one of the redcaps darted toward Mark, pike raised.
Mark backed up—but he wasn’t retreating, Emma saw, only loosening the chains that bound his wrists. He spun, flinging the chains around the redcap’s neck; the pike crashed to the ground as he seized the length of chain and jerked, hard.
The guard was flung backward, hurtling into his fellow redcaps. They all stumbled. Mark stood poised and breathing hard, his eyes fierce and hard as glass. Winter gazed at him and Kieran with a considering look.
“Shall I kill him for you, liege?” said Winter.
The King shook his head, clearly annoyed. “Have him beaten to his bones later. Redcaps, be more wary of the prisoners.” He sneered. “They bite.”
Annabel was still moaning softly. She cast a terrified look at Emma, Julian, and Mark—which was ridiculous, Emma thought, as they were all obviously prisoners—and a longing one at Ash.
Perfect loyalty, Emma thought. No wonder Annabel had attached herself so swiftly and tightly to Ash.
The King snapped his fingers at Emma. “Return to Adaon, girl.”
Emma bristled but said nothing. She sauntered back across the room to Adaon and the others, refusing to give the King the satisfaction of hurrying.
Emma reached the rest of the group just as Annabel gave another whimpering scream. Emma pushed in next to Julian, taking his arm. His muscles jumped under her touch. She wrapped her hand around his forearm and Jace stepped away from them, giving them space.
Emma could feel the shape of the bloody rag tied around Julian’s forearm under her fingers. Remember what Livvy would want, she thought. Don’t get yourself killed.
The King turned to Eochaid. “Give Ash your sword, Rider.”
Eochaid reeled back, clearly stunned. He turned toward Ethna, but she shook her head, her bronze hair spilling over her shoulders. Her message was clear: Do it.