Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices 2)

A murmur ran through the crowd.

"We pay a price for the peace among our folk," said the King. His voice was like a ringing bell, lovely and echoing. Something touched Emma's shoulder. It was Julian's hand, the one that wasn't clasping Mark's arm. Emma looked at him in surprise, but he was staring ahead, toward the clearing. "No Unseelie faerie shall raise hand against another. The price of disobedience is justice. Death is paid with death."

Julian's fingers moved quickly against Emma's skin through her shirt, the age-old language of their shared childhood. S-T-A-Y H-E-R-E.

She whipped around to look at him, but he was already moving. She heard Mark's breath hiss out in a gasp and caught at his wrist, preventing him from going after his brother.

Under the starlight, Julian walked out into the clearing full of Unseelie gentry. Emma, her heart pounding, held tight to Mark's wrist; everything in her wanted to rush out after her parabatai, but he had asked her to stay, and she would stay, and hold on to Mark. Because Julian was moving as if he had a plan, and if he had a plan, she owed it to him to trust that it might work.

"What is he doing?" Cristina moaned, in an agony of suspense. Emma could only shake her head. Some of the faeries on the edge of the crowd had spotted him now and were gasping, drawing back as he approached. He had done nothing to cover the black, permanent runes on his skin--the Voyance rune on the back of his hand glared like an eye at the Fair Folk in their gaudy finery. The woman in the dress made of bones gave a screech.

"Shadowhunter!" she cried.

The King sat bolt upright. A moment later a row of faerie knights in black-and-silver armor--among them the princes who had dragged Kieran to the tree--had surrounded Julian, forming a circle around him. Swords of silver and brass and gold flashed up around him like a grim tribute.

Kieran raised his head and stared. The shock on his face as he recognized Julian was complete.

The King rose. His bifurcated face was grim and terrible. "Bring the Shadowhunter spy to me that I may kill him with my own hand."

"You will not kill me." Julian's voice, calm and confident, rose above the din of voices. "I am no spy. The Clave sent me, and if you kill me, it will mean open war."

The King hesitated. Emma felt a wild half urge to laugh. Julian had spoken the lie so calmly and confidently that she almost believed it herself. Doubt flickered across the King's face.

My parabatai, she thought, looking at Jules, standing with his back straight and his head back, the only seventeen-year-old boy in the world who could make the King of the Dark Court doubt himself.

"The Clave sent you? Why not an official convoy?" said the King.

Julian nodded, as if he'd expected the question. Probably he had. "There was no time. When we heard of the threat to Kieran Hunter, we knew we had to move immediately."

Kieran made a choked sound. There was a lash of thorned wire around his throat. Blood trickled down onto his collarbone.

"What cares the Clave or Consul for the life of a boy from the Wild Hunt?" said the King. "And a criminal, at that?"

"He is your own son," said Julian.

The King smiled. It was a bizarre sight, as half his face sprang into light and the other displayed a ghastly grimace. "No one can then," he said, "accuse me of favoritism. The Unseelie Court extends the hand of justice."

"The man he murdered," said Julian. "Iarlath. He was a kin-slayer. He plotted with Malcolm Fade to murder others of the Fair Folk."

"They were of the Seelie Court," said the King. "Not of our people."

"But you say you are the ruler of both Courts," said Julian. "Should not then the people who will one day be yours to rule expect your fairness and clemency?"

There was a murmur in the crowd, this one softer in tone. The King frowned.

"Iarlath also murdered Nephilim," said Julian. "Kieran prevented other Shadowhunter lives from being lost. Therefore we owe him, and we pay our debts. We will not let you take his life."

"What can you do to stop us?" snapped Erec. "Alone, as you are?"

Julian smiled. Though Emma had known him all her life, though he was like another part of herself, the cold surety of that smile sent ice through her veins. "I am not alone."

Emma let go of Mark. He strode forward into the clearing without looking back, and Emma and Cristina came after. None of them drew their weapons, though Cortana was strapped to Emma's back, visible to everyone. The crowd parted to let them pass through and join Julian. Emma realized, as they stepped into the circle of guards, that Mark's feet were still bare. They looked pale as a white cat's paws against the long dark grass.

Not that it mattered. Mark was a formidable warrior even barefoot. Emma had good cause to know.

The King looked at them and smiled. Emma didn't like the look of that smile. "What is this?" he said. "A convoy of children?"

"We are Shadowhunters," said Emma. "We bear the mandate of the Clave."

"So you said," said Prince Adaon. "What is your demand?"

"A good question," said the King.

"We demand a trial by combat," said Julian.

The King laughed. "Only one of the Fair Folk can enter a trial by combat in the Unseelie Lands."

"I am one of the Fair Folk," said Mark. "I can do it."

At that, Kieran began to struggle against his bonds. "No," he said, violently, blood running down his fingers, his chest. "No."

Julian didn't even look at Kieran. Kieran might be who they were there to save, but if they had to torture him to save him, Julian would. You're the boy who does what has to be done because no one else will, Emma had told him once. It seemed like years ago.

"You are a Wild Hunter," said Erec. "And half Shadowhunter. You are bound by no laws, and your loyalty is to Gwyn, not to justice. You cannot fight." His lip curled back. "And the others are not faerie at all."

"Not quite true," said Julian. "It has often been said that children and the mad are of the faerie kind. That there is a bond between them. And we are children."

Erec snorted. "That's ridiculous. You are grown."

"The King called us children," said Julian. " 'A convoy of children.' Would you call your liege lord a liar?"

There was a collective gasp. Erec went pale. "My Lord," he began, turning to the King. "Father--"

"Silence, Erec, you've said enough," said the King. His gaze was on Julian, the brilliant eye and the dark, empty socket. "An interesting one," he said, to no one in particular, "this boy who looks like a Shadowhunter and speaks like gentry." He rose to his feet. "You will have your trial by combat. Knights, lower your blades."

The flashing wall of bright metal around Emma and her friends vanished. Stony faces regarded them instead. Some were princes, bearing the distinct stamp of Kieran's delicate angular features. Some were badly scarred from past battles. Quite a few had their faces hidden by hoods or veils. Beyond them, the gentry of the Court were milling and exclaiming, clearly excited. The words "trial by combat" drifted through the clearing.

"You will have your trial," the King said again. "Only I shall pick which of you will be the champion."

"We are all willing," Cristina said.

"Of course you are. That is the nature of Shadowhunters. Foolish self-sacrifice." The King turned to glance at Kieran, throwing the skeletal side of his face into sharp relief. "Now how to choose? I know. A riddle of sorts."

Emma felt Julian tense. He wouldn't like the idea of a riddle. Too random. Julian didn't like anything he couldn't control.

"Come closer," said the King, beckoning them with a finger. His hands were pale like white bark. A hook like a short claw extended from each finger just above the knuckle.

The crowd parted to let Emma and the others closer to the pavilion. As they went, Emma was conscious of a strange scent that hung all around them. Thick and bittersweet, like tree sap. It intensified as they drew close to the throne until they stood looking up at it, the King looming above them like a statue. Behind him stood a row of knights whose fac

es were covered by masks wrought from gold and silver and brass. Some were in the shape of rats, some golden lions or silver panthers.

"Truth is to be found in dreams," the King said, looking down at them. From this angle, Emma could see that the odd splitting of his face ended at his throat, which was ordinary skin. "Tell me, Shadowhunters: You enter a cave. Inside the cave is an egg, lit from within and glowing. You know that it beats with your dreams--not the ones you have during the day, but the ones you half-remember in the morning. It splits open. What emerges?"

"A rose," said Mark. "With thorns."

Cristina cut her eyes toward him in surprise, but remained motionless. "An angel," she said. "With bloody hands."