"He is not of my heart any longer," interrupted Mark. It was a faerie expression, "of my heart," the closest they might come to saying "girlfriend" or "boyfriend."
"Kieran Hunter has been found guilty of the murder of Iarlath," said Gwyn. "He stood trial at the Court of the Unseelie, though it was a short affair."
Mark flushed, tensing all over. "And the sentence?"
"Death," said Gwyn. "He will die at the moon's rise, tomorrow night, if there is no intervention."
Mark didn't move. Emma wondered if she should do something--move closer to Mark, offer comfort, a gentling hand? But the expression on his face was unreadable--if it was grief, she didn't recognize it. If it was anger, then it was unlike any anger he had shown before.
"That is sad news," Mark said finally.
It was Julian who moved then, stepping to his brother's side. Julian put a hand on Mark's shoulder; Emma felt relief flood through her.
"Is that all?" Gwyn said. "Have you nothing else to say?"
Mark shook his head. He looked fragile, Emma thought worriedly. As if you could see through his skin to the bones underneath. "Kieran betrayed me," he said. "He is nothing to me now."
Gwyn looked at Mark in disbelief. "He loved you and he lost you and he tried to get you back," he said. "He wanted you to ride with the Hunt again. So did I. You were one of our best. Is that so terrible?"
"You saw what happened." Mark did sound angry now, and Emma herself could not help but remember: the twisted quickbeam tree she had leaned against while Iarlath whipped Julian and then her, and Kieran and Mark and Gwyn watched. The pain and the blood, the lashes like fire against her skin, though nothing had hurt as much as watching Julian be hurt. "Iarlath whipped my family, my friend. Because of Kieran. He whipped Emma and Julian."
"And now you have given up the Hunt for them," said Gwyn, his two-colored eyes flicking toward Emma, "and so, there is your vengeance, if you wanted it. But where is your compassion?"
"What do you want of my brother?" Julian demanded, his hand still on Mark's shoulder. "Do you want him to grieve visibly for your amusement? Is that why you came?"
"Mortals," Gwyn said. "You think you know so much, yet you know so little." His large hand tightened on his helmet. "I do not want you to grieve for Kieran. I want you to rescue him, Mark Hunter."
*
Thunder rumbled in the distance, but in front of the Institute, there was only silence, profound as a shout.
Even Diana seemed struck speechless. In the quiet, Emma could hear the sounds of Livvy and the others up in the training room, their voices and laughter.
Jules's expression was flat. Calculating. His hand on Mark's shoulder was a tight grip now. I want you to rescue him, Mark Hunter.
Anger swelled quickly inside Emma; unlike Jules, she didn't bite it back. "Mark is not of the Wild Hunt any longer," she said hotly. "Don't call him 'Hunter.' He isn't one."
"He is a Shadowhunter, isn't he?" asked Gwyn. Now that he had made his bizarre request, he seemed more relaxed. "Once a hunter, always a hunter of some sort."
"And now you wish me to hunt for Kieran?" Mark spoke in a strange, halting tone, as if he were having difficulty getting the words out past his anger. "Why me, Gwyn? Why not you? Why not any of you?"
"Did you not hear me?" said Gwyn. "He is held captive by his father. The Unseelie King himself, in the depths of the Court."
"And is Mark indestructible, then? You think he can take on the Unseelie Court where the Wild Hunt can't?" It was Diana; she had moved down a step, and her dark hair blew in the desert wind. "Yours is a famous name, Gwyn ap Nudd. You have ridden with the Wild Hunt for hundreds of mortal years. There are many stories about you. Yet never had I heard that the leader of the Wild Hunt had succumbed to madness."
"The Wild Hunt is not subject to the rule of the Courts," said Gwyn. "But we fear them. It would be madness not to. When they came to take Kieran, I, and all my Hunters, were forced to swear a life oath that we would not challenge the trial or its outcome. To attempt to rescue Kieran now would mean death for us."
"That's why you've come to me. Because I didn't swear. Because even if I did, I can lie. A lying thief, that's what you want," Mark said.
"What I wanted was one I could trust," said Gwyn. "One who has not sworn, one who would dare the Court."
"We want no trouble with you." It was Julian, keeping his voice level with an effort that Emma suspected only she could sense. "But you must see that Mark cannot do what you're asking. It is too dangerous."
"We of the Folk of the Air do not fear danger, nor death," said Gwyn.
"If you don't fear death," said Julian, "then let Kieran meet it."
Gwyn recoiled at the coldness in Julian's voice. "Kieran is not yet twenty."
"Neither is Mark," said Julian. "If you think we're afraid of you, you're right. We'd be fools not to be. I know who you are, Gwyn--I know you once made a man eat his own father's heart. I know you took the Hunt from Herne in a battle over Cadair Idris. I know things that would surprise you. But I am Mark's brother. And I will not let him risk himself in Faerie again."
"The Wild Hunt is a brotherhood as well," Gwyn said. "If you cannot bring yourself to help Kieran out of love, Mark, do it out of friendship."
"Enough," Diana snapped. "We respect you here, Gwyn the Hunter, but this discussion is at an end. Mark will not be taken from us."
Gwyn's voice was a bass rumble. "What if he chooses to go?"
They all looked at Mark. Even Julian turned, dropping his hand slowly from Mark's shoulder. Emma saw the fear in his eyes. She imagined it was echoed in her own. If Mark still loved Kieran--even a little bit--
"I do not choose it," said Mark. "I do not choose it, Gwyn."
Gwyn's face tightened. "You have no honor."
Light speared through gaps in the clouds overhead. The storm was moving toward the mountains. The gray illumination cast a film across Mark's eyes, rendering them unreadable. "I thought you were my friend," he said, and then he turned and stumbled back into the Institute, the door slamming shut behind him.
Gwyn began to dismount, but Diana raised her hand, palm out. "You know you cannot enter the Institute," she said.
Gwyn subsided. For a moment, as he gazed at Diana, his face looked lined and old, though Emma knew he was ageless. "Kieran is not yet twenty," he said again. "Only a boy."
Diana's face softened, but before she could speak, Gwyn's horse reared up. Something flew from Gwyn's hand and landed on the step below Diana's feet. Gwyn leaned forward, and his horse exploded into motion, its mane and tail blurring into a single white flame. The flame shot toward the sky and vanished, disappearing into the night's fretwork of clouds.
*
Julian shouldered the door of the Institute open. "Mark? Mark!"
The empty foyer swung around him as he turned. Fear for his brother was like pressure on his skin, tightening his veins, slowing his blood. It wasn't a fear he could put a name to--Gwyn was gone; Mark was safe. It had been a request, not a kidnapping.
"Jules?" Mark appeared from the closet beneath the staircase, clearly having just hung up his jacket. His blond hair was tousled, his expression puzzled. "Did he leave?"
"He's gone." It was Emma, who had come in behind Julian. Diana, a step after her, was closing the front door. Mark went straight across the room to Emma without a pause and put his arms around her.
The jealousy that flared through Julian took his breath away.
He thought he had gotten used to seeing Emma and Mark like this. They weren't a particularly demonstrative couple. They didn't kiss or cuddle in front of other people. Emma wouldn't, Julian thought. She wasn't like that. She was determined, and she was matter-of-fact, and she would do what needed to be done. But she wasn't cruel.
It was Mark who reached for her, usually--for the small, quiet things, the hand on the shoulder, the brushing away of a stray eyelash, a quick embrace. There was an exquisite pain in watching that, more than there would have been in
seeing them passionately embracing. After all, when you were dying of thirst, it was the sip of water you dreamed about, not the whole reservoir.
But now--the feel of holding Emma was so close, the taste of her still on his mouth, her rose-water scent on his clothes. He would play back the scene of their kiss over and over in his head, he knew, until it faded and fragmented and came apart like a photograph folded and unfolded too many times.
But it was too close now, like a just-delivered wound. And seeing Emma in Mark's arms was a sharp splash of acid on raw skin, a brutal reminder: He couldn't afford to be sentimental, or to think of her as possibly his, even in an imaginary someday. To consider possibilities was to open yourself up to pain. Reality had to be his focus--reality and his responsibilities to his family. Otherwise he would go insane.
"Do you think he'll come back?" Emma drew back from Mark. Julian thought she cast him an anxious sideways glance, but he wasn't sure. And there was no point wondering. He crushed his curiosity down, brutally.
"Gwyn?" said Mark. "No. I refused him. He won't beg and he won't return."
"Are you sure?" Julian said.
Mark gave him a wry look. "Do not let Gwyn fool you," he said. "If I do not help him, he will find someone else to do it, or he will do it himself. Kieran will come to no harm."
Emma made a relieved noise. Julian said nothing--he was wondering about Kieran himself. He remembered how the faerie boy had gotten Emma whipped bloody, and broken Mark's heart. He remembered also how Kieran had helped them defeat Malcolm. Without him they would have had no chance.