Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices 2)

"Right, Mark has to pretend he still cares about Kieran. I guess lying on top of you wouldn't do much for that."

"He does care about Kieran," Cristina said. "It's just--I think he cares about me, too." She half-turned to look at Emma. Her eyes were big and dark and worried. "I danced with him. With Mark. And we kissed."

"That's good! That is good, right?"

"It was, but then Kieran came in--"

"What?"

"But he wasn't angry, he just told Mark that he should dance better, and he danced with me. It was like dancing with fire."

"Whoa, sexy weirdness," said Emma. "This may be more sexy weirdness than I can handle."

"It is not weird!"

"It is," said Emma. "You are headed for a faerie threesome. Or some kind of war."

"Emma!"

"Hot faerie threesome," said Emma cheerfully. "I can say I knew you when."

Cristina groaned. "Fine. What about you and Julian? Do you have a plan, after what happened in Cornwall?"

Emma sighed and put the hairbrush down. It was a lovely old silver-backed Victorian object. She wondered if it had been in the room when Cristina got here or if she'd found it somewhere else in the Institute. Already Cristina's London room bore signs of her personality--pictures had been cleaned and straightened, she'd found a colorful coverlet for her bed somewhere, and her balisong hung on a new hook by the fireplace.

Emma began to braid Cristina's hair, plaiting the thick strands between her fingers. "We don't have a plan," she said. "It's always the same thing--we're together and we feel like we're invincible. And then we start to realize it's still all the same choices and they're all bad ones."

Cristina looked troubled. "It is always the same choices, isn't it? Separation from each other or ceasing to be Shadowhunters."

Emma had finished the braid. She leaned her chin on Cristina's shoulder, thinking about what Julian had learned from the Seelie Queen. The terrifying possibility of ending all parabatai bonds. But it was too horrible a thing to even voice aloud. "I used to think it would help, physical distance from Julian," she said. "But now I don't think it would. Nothing else has. I think no matter where I went, or for how long, I would always feel like this."

"Some loves are strong, like cords. They bind you," Cristina said. "The Bible says love is as strong as death. I believe that."

Emma scooted around to peer closer into her friend's face. "Cristina," she said. "There's something else going on, isn't there? Something about Diego, or Jaime?"

Cristina looked down. "I can't say."

"Let me help you," Emma said. "You're always so strong for everyone else. Let me be strong for you."

There was a knock on the door. They both looked up in surprise. Mark, Emma thought. There was something about the look on Cristina's face. It must be Mark.

But it was Kieran.

Emma froze in surprise. Though she'd grown somewhat used to Kieran being around, he still made the fine hairs on Emma's arms rise with tension. It wasn't that she blamed him, specifically, for the injuries she'd suffered at Iarlath's hands. But the sight of him still brought it back to her, all of it: the hot sun, the sound of the whip, the copper scent of blood.

It was true that he looked enormously different now. His black hair was a little wilder, more untidy, but otherwise he cut an incongruously human figure in his jeans. The wild hair hid the tops of his pointed ears, though his black and silver eyes were still startling.

He gave a small, courtly bow. "My ladies."

Cristina looked puzzled. Clearly she hadn't expected this visit either.

"I came to speak with Cristina, if she will permit it," Kieran added.

"Go ahead, then," Emma said. "Speak."

"I think he wishes to speak to me alone," said Cristina, in a whisper.

"Yes," said Kieran. "That is my request."

Cristina looked at Emma. "I'll see you in the morning, then?"

Humph, Emma thought. She'd missed Cristina, and now a brash faerie princeling was kicking her out of her friend's room. Kieran barely spared her a glance as she climbed off the bed and headed to the door.

As she passed Kieran on her way out, Emma paused, her shoulder almost touching his. "If you do anything to hurt or upset her," she said, in a voice low enough that she doubted Cristina could hear it, "I will pull off your ears and turn them into lock picks. Get it?"

Kieran glanced at her with his night-sky eyes, unreadable as clouds. "No," he said.

"Let me spell it out," Emma said sharply. "I love her. Don't mess around with her."

Kieran put his long, delicate hands in his pockets. He looked absolutely unnatural in his modern clothes. It was like seeing Alexander the Great in a biker jacket and leather pants. "She is easy to love."

Emma looked at him in surprise. It hadn't been what she'd expected him to say at all. Easy to love. Nene had behaved as if the concept was bizarre. But then what did the Fair Folk know about love, anyway?

*

"Would you like to sit down?" Cristina inquired. Then she wondered if she was turning into her mother, who had always claimed that the first thing one did with a guest was offer them a seat. Even if they are a murderer? Cristina had asked. Yes, even murderers, her mother had insisted. If you didn't want to offer a murderer a seat, you shouldn't have invited him in the first place.

"No," Kieran said. He moved across the room, hands in his pockets, his body language restless. Not unlike Mark's, Cristina thought. They both moved as if they had energy trapped beneath their skin. She wondered what it would be like to contain so much movement, and yet be forced to stay still.

"My lady," he said. "Because of what I swore to you in the Seelie Court, there is a bond between us. I think you have felt its force."

Cristina nodded. It wasn't the enchanted bond she had with Mark. But it was there anyway, a s

himmering energy when they danced, when they spoke.

"I think that force can help us do something together I could not do alone." Kieran came closer to the bed, drawing his hand out of his pocket. Something glimmered in his palm. He held it out to Cristina, and she saw the acorn there that Mark had used earlier, to summon Gwyn. It looked slightly dented, but it was whole, as if it had been sealed back together after breaking open.

"You want to summon Gwyn again?" Cristina shook her head. Her hair fell completely out of its unfastened braid, spilling down her back. She saw Kieran glance at it. "No. He won't interfere again. You want to speak to someone else in Faerie. Your brother?"

"As I thought." He inclined his head slightly. "You guess my intentions exactly."

"And you can do it? The acorn won't just call Gwyn?"

"The magic is a fairly simple one. Remember, you are not of the blood than can cast spells, but I am. It should bring a Projection of my brother to us. I will ask him of our father's plans. I shall ask him as well if he can stop the Riders."

Cristina was astonished. "Can anyone stop the Riders?"

"They are servants of the Court, and under its command."

"Why are you telling me this?" Cristina asked.

"Because to summon my brother, I must reach out with my mind into Faerie," said Kieran. "And it would be safer, should I wish to keep my mind intact, for me to have a connection here in the world. Something--someone--to keep me anchored while I seek my brother."

Cristina slid off the bed. Standing straight, she was only a little shorter than Kieran. Her eyes were level with his mouth. "Why me? Why not Mark?"

"I have asked enough of Mark," he said.

"Perhaps," she said, "but even if that is true, I do not think it is the whole truth."

"Few of us are lucky enough ever to know the whole truth of anything." She knew Kieran was young, but there was something ancient in his eyes when he spoke. "Will you put your hand in mine?"

She gave him the hand whose wrist bore the red mark of her bond with Mark. It seemed fitting, somehow. His fingers closed around hers, cool and dry, light as the touch of a leaf.

With his other hand, Kieran dashed the golden acorn against the wall beside the fireplace mantel.

For a moment, there was silence. Cristina could hear his ragged breathing. It seemed strange for a faerie--everything they did was at such a remove from ordinary human emotion, it was odd to hear Kieran gasp. But then she remembered his arms around her, the uneven thud of his heart. They were flesh and blood after all, weren't they? Bone and muscle, just as Shadowhunters were. And the flame of angelic blood burned in them, too . . . .