Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices 2)

"I was offered a post at the Gard," he said. "I couldn't pass up the chance for advancement. There are plenty of Centurions still in Los Angeles, guarding the Institute." He looked at Diana sideways; she said nothing. "It's a pleasure to see you in Alicante," Manuel went on. "The last time we were together, I believe, you were fleeing for London."

Diana gritted her teeth. "I was taking the children who were in my charge to safety," she said. "They're all fine, by the way."

"I assumed I would have heard if it had been otherwise," said Manuel airily.

"I'm sorry about your friend," she said. "Jon Cartwright."

Manuel was silent. They had reached the gate to the path leading up to the Gard. Once it had closed only with a latch. Now Diana watched as Manuel passed his hand over it and it clicked open.

The path was as rough as it had been when Diana was a child, snaked with the roots of trees. "I didn't know Jon well," said Manuel as they began the climb. "I understand his girlfriend, Marisol, is very upset."

Diana said nothing.

"Some people cannot manage their grief as Shadowhunters should," added Manuel. "It's a shame."

"Some people do not show the empathy and tolerance a Shadowhunter should," said Diana. "That's also a shame."

They had reached the upper part of the path, where Alicante spread out before them like a map, and the demon towers rose to pierce the sun. Diana remembered walking this path with her sister, when they were both children, and her sister's laughter. She missed her so much sometimes it felt as if her heart were being clutched by talons.

In this place, she thought, looking out over Alicante, I was lonely. In this place I had to hide the person I knew I was.

They reached the Gard. It rose up above them, a mountain of gleaming stone, sturdier than ever since its rebuilding. A path lined with witchlights led to the front gate. "Was that a jab at Zara?" Manuel looked amused. "She's very popular, you know. Especially since she killed Malcolm. Something the Los Angeles Institute couldn't manage."

Shocked out of her reverie, Diana could only stare at him. "Zara didn't kill Malcolm," she said. "That's a lie."

"Is it?" Manuel said. "I'd like to see you prove that." He grinned his beaming grin and walked away, leaving Diana to stare after him, squinting her eyes in the sunlight.

*

"Let me see your wrist," Cristina said to Mark. They were sitting side by side on the infirmary bed. His shoulder was warm against hers.

He drew his sweater up and held his arm out silently. Cristina folded back her bandage and put her wrist against his. They looked in silence at their identical wounds.

"I know nothing about this kind of magic," said Mark. "And we cannot go to the Clave or the Silent Brothers. They can't know we were in Faerie."

"I'm sorry about Kieran," she said. "That he's angry."

Mark shook his head. "Don't be--it's my fault." He took a deep breath. "I am sorry I was angry with you, in Faerie, after the revel. People are complicated. Their situations are complicated. I know why you hid Julian's feelings from me. I know you and Emma had little choice."

"And I am not angry at you now," she hastened to assure him. "About Kieran."

"I am changed," said Mark, "because of you. Kieran can sense that my feelings for him have altered in some way, though he doesn't know why. And I cannot tell him." He looked up at the ceiling. "He is a prince. Princes are spoiled. They cannot bear to be thwarted."

"He must feel so alone," said Cristina. She remembered the way she had felt with Diego, that what they'd had once had was gone, and she couldn't understand how to get it back. It had been like trying to catch smoke that had dissolved into the air. "You are his only ally here, and he cannot understand why his connection to you feels broken."

"He did swear to you," said Mark. He ducked his head, as if he were ashamed of what he was saying. "It is possible that if you order him to do something, he'll have to do it."

"I don't want to do that."

"Cristina."

"No, Mark," she said firmly. "I know this binding spell affects you, too. And upsetting Kieran affects the chances he'll testify. But I won't force him into anything."

"Aren't we already?" Mark said. "Lying to him about the situation so he'll talk to the Clave?"

Cristina's fingers crept to her injured wrist. The skin felt odd under her fingertips: hot and swollen. "And after he testifies? You'll tell him the truth, right?"

Mark rose to his feet. "By the Angel, yes. What do you take me for?"

"Someone in a difficult situation," said Cristina. "As we all are. If Kieran doesn't testify, innocent Downworlders may die; the Clave may sink further into corruption. I understand the need for deception. That doesn't mean I like it--or that you do either."

Mark nodded, not looking at her. "I had better search for him," he said. "If he'll agree to be helpful, he's our best way to fix this." He indicated his wrist.

Cristina felt a slight ache inside. She wondered if she had hurt Mark; she hadn't meant to. "Let's see what kind of range this has," she said. "How far from each other we can go without it hurting."

Mark stopped in the doorway. The clean, sharp planes of his face looked cut from glass. "It already hurt me to be away from you," he said. "Perhaps that was meant to be the joke."

He was gone before Cristina could answer.

She got to her feet and went to the counter where the powders and medicines were. She had a rough idea of medicinal Shadowhunter work: Here were the leaves that had anti-infection properties, here the poultices that kept swelling down.

The door of the infirmary opened while she was unscrewing a jar. She looked up: It was Kieran. He looked flushed and windblown, as if he'd been outside. There were patches of color on his high cheekbones.

He looked as discomfited to see her as she was to see him. She set the jar down carefully and waited.

"Where is Mark?" he said.

"He went to find you." Cristina leaned against the counter. Kieran was quiet. A faerie sort of quiet: inward, considering. She had a feeling many people would feel compelled to fill that silence. She let him have it; let him draw the silence into himself, shape and decipher it.

"I should apologize," he said finally. "It was uncalled for to accuse you and Mark of having arranged the binding spell. Foolish, too. You have nothing to gain from it. If Mark did not want to be with me, he would say so."

Cristina said nothing. Kieran took a step toward her, carefully, as if afraid of frightening her. "Might I see your arm again?"

She held her arm out. He took it--she wondered if he had ever touched her deliberately before. It felt like the touch of cool water in summer.

Cristina felt a slight shiver up her spine as he studied her injury. She wondered what he had looked like when both of his eyes had been black. They were even more startling now than Mark's, the contrast between the dark and the shimmering silver, like ice and ash.

"The shape of a ribbon," he said. "You say you were tied together during a revel?"

"Yes," said Cristina. "By two girls. They knew we were Nephilim. They laughed at us."

Kieran's grip on her tightened. She remembered the way he'd clung to Mark in the Unseelie Court. Not as if he were weak and needed help. It was a grip of strength, a grip that held Mark in place, that said, Stay with me, it is my command.

He was a prince, after all.

"That sort of binding spell is one of the oldest," he said. "Oldest and strongest. I do not know why someone would play such a prank on you. It is quite vicious."

"But do you know how to undo it?"

Kieran dropped Cristina's hand. "I was an unwanted son of the Unseelie King. I received little schooling. Then I was thrown into the Wild Hunt. I am no expert on magic."

"You're not useless," Cristina said. "You know more than you think you do."

Kieran looked as if she'd startled him once again. "I could speak to my brother, Adaon. I am meant to ask him about taking the throne. I could inquire of him as

to whether he knows anything of binding spells or how to end them."

"When do you think you will talk to him?" asked Cristina. An image came into her mind of the way Kieran, asleep, had clung to her hand in the Seelie Court. Trying not to blush, she glanced down at her bandage, tugging it back into place.

"Soon," he said. "I have tried to reach him already, but not yet with success."