“There are guards patrolling all over Idris,” said Helen. “You’ll need to be armed and prepared.”
“Then we’ll start getting armed now.” Ja
ce winked at Magnus. “Prepare to be helped, warlock, whether you like it or not.”
“Not,” Magnus grumbled, subsiding into his blanket, but he was smiling. And the look Alec gave Jace and Clary was more eloquent than any speech.
“Wait.” Aline held up a hand. She was shuffling through a pile of papers on the table. “I’ve got the schedules of the patrols here. They’re sweeping different locations in Idris to make sure they’re ‘clear’ of Downworlders.” She spoke the words with distaste. “They’re doing Lake Lyn today and tonight.” She looked up. “You can’t go now.”
“We can deal with some guards,” Jace said.
“No,” said Magnus. “It’s too dangerous. You could deal with ten guards, or twenty, but this is going to be fifty or a hundred—”
“A hundred,” said Helen, looking over Aline’s shoulder. “At least.”
“I won’t let you take the risk,” Magnus said. “I’ll wear myself out using my magic to drag you back.”
“Magnus.” Clary sounded appalled.
“What does the schedule say?” asked Julian. “When can they go?”
“Tomorrow, dawn,” said Aline. “They should have dispersed by then.” She set the papers down. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’s what we need to do. We’ll spend today setting up and getting you ready. Making sure everything goes without a hitch.”
There was a general hubbub as everyone offered to pitch in, claiming one responsibility or another: Emma and Cristina were going to talk to Catarina about the possible cure, Mark and Julian were going to check maps of Brocelind to find where the areas of blight were, Clary and Jace were going to gather up their gear and weapons, and Helen and Aline were going to try to find out exactly when the patrol would be moving from Lake Lyn to Brocelind Forest. Ty and Kit, meanwhile, would start putting together lists of local warlocks who might need lake water when it was retrieved.
As everyone gathered up their things, Ty went over to the corner where Tavvy was playing and knelt down to hand him a small train. Amid the confusion, Emma slipped after him. He appeared to have offered the train as a trade for his headphones.
“Ty,” Emma said, crouching down. Tavvy was busy turning trains upside down. “I have to give you something.”
“What kind of thing?” He sounded puzzled.
She hesitated and then drew the envelope from her pocket. “It’s a letter,” she said. “From the Livvy in the other dimension—in Thule. We told her about you and she wanted to write something for you to read. I haven’t looked at it,” she added. “It’s just for you.”
Ty stood up. He was graceful as a hollow-boned bird and looked as light and fragile. “She’s not my Livvy.”
“I know,” Emma said. She couldn’t stop looking at his hands—his knuckles were raw and red. Her Julian would have noticed that already and been moving heaven and earth to find out what happened. “And you don’t have to read it. But it’s yours, and I think you should have it.” She paused. “After all, it did come from a pretty long way away.”
A look passed over his face that she couldn’t quite decipher; he took it, though, and folded it up inside his jacket.
“Thanks,” he said, and went across the room to join Kit in the DOWNWORLDERS—WARLOCKS section, where Kit was struggling with several heavy books.
“Don’t,” she heard Cristina say, and looked around in surprise. She didn’t see Cristina anywhere, but that had definitely been her voice. She glanced around; Tavvy was absorbed with his train and everyone else was hurrying to and fro. “Kieran. I know you are worried for Adaon, but you didn’t speak a word through the whole meeting.”
Oh dear, Emma thought. She realized that Cristina’s voice was coming from the other side of a bookcase, and that Cristina and Kieran had no idea she was there. If she tried to leave, though, they’d know immediately.
“These are Shadowhunter politics,” Kieran said. There was something in his voice, Emma thought. Something different. “It is not something I understand. It is not my fight.”
“It is your fight,” Cristina replied. Emma had rarely heard her speak with such intensity. “You fight for what you love. We all do.” She hesitated. “Your heart is hidden, but I know you love Mark. I know you love Faerie. Fight for that, Kieran.”
“Cristina—” Kieran began, but Cristina had already hurried away; she emerged from her side of the bookcase and saw Emma immediately. She looked surprised, then guilty, and hurried quickly from the room.
Kieran started to follow but stopped halfway across the room and leaned his hands on the table, bowing his head.
Emma started to edge out from behind the bookcase, hoping to creep to the door unnoticed. She should have known better than to try to sneak by a faerie, she realized ruefully; Kieran looked up at the first tap of her shoes on the polished wood floor. “Emma?”
“Just going,” she said. “Don’t mind me.”
“But I wish to mind you,” he said, coming out from behind the table. He was all graceful angles, pallor and darkness. Emma supposed she could see what drew Cristina to him. “I have had cause to understand how much pain I brought to you, when you were whipped by Iarlath,” he said. “I never desired that outcome, yet I did cause it. I cannot change that, but I can offer my sincere regrets and swear myself to accomplish any task that you set me.”
Emma had not been expecting this. “Any task? Like, you would be willing to learn to hula dance?”
“Is that a torture of your people?” said Kieran. “Then yes, I would submit to it, for your sake.”
Sadly Emma put aside the thought of Kieran in a grass skirt. “You fought on our side in the Unseelie Court,” she said. “You brought Mark and Cristina back safely with you, and they mean everything to me. You’ve proven yourself a true friend, Kieran. You have my forgiveness and you don’t need to do anything else to earn it.”
He actually blushed, the touch of color warming his pale cheeks. “That is not what a faerie would say.”
“It’s what I say,” Emma said cheerfully.
Kieran strode toward the door, where he paused and turned to her. “I have known how Cristina loves you, and I understand why. If you had been born a faerie, you would be a great knight of the Court. You are one of the bravest people I have ever known.”
Emma stammered a thank-you, but Kieran was already gone, like a shadow melting into the forest. She stared after him, realizing what it was she’d heard earlier in the way he said Cristina’s name, as if it were a torment that he adored: She had never heard him speak any name but Mark’s that way before.
* * *
“Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” Magnus asked as Julian prepared to leave the library.
He’d thought Magnus was asleep—he was leaning back on his couch, his eyes closed. There were deep shadows beneath them, the kind that came from multiple sleepless nights.
“No.” Julian tensed all over. He thought of the words cut onto the skin of his arm. He knew if he showed them to Magnus, the warlock would want to take the spell off him immediately, and Magnus was too weak for that. The effort might kill him.
He also knew his reaction to the thought of Magnus dying was off-kilter and wrong. It was dulled down, flattened. He didn’t want Magnus to die, but he knew he should feel more than not wanting, just as he should have felt more than flat relief at being reunited with his siblings.
And he knew he should feel more when he saw Emma. It was as if a white space of nothingness had been cut out all around her and when he stepped into it, everything went blank. It was difficult to even speak. It was worse than it had been before, he thought. Somehow, his emotions were even more damped down than they had been before Thule.
He felt despair, but it was dull and distant too. It made him want to grip the blade of a knife just to feel anything at all.
“I suppose you wouldn’t,” Magnus said. “Given that you probably don’t feel much.” His cat eyes glittered. “I shouldn’t have put that spell on you. I regret it.?
?
“Don’t,” Julian said, and he wasn’t sure if he meant don’t say that to me or don’t regret it. His emotions were too distant for him to reach. He did know he wanted to stop talking to Magnus now, and he went out into the corridor, tense and breathless.
“Jules!” He turned around and saw Ty, coming toward him along the hallway. The distant part of himself said Ty looked—different. His mind scrambled for the words “bruised/hurt/fragile” and couldn’t hold them. “Can I talk to you?”
Askew, he thought. He looks atypical for Ty. He stopped trying to find words and followed Ty into one of the vacant bedrooms along the hall, where Ty closed the door behind them, turned around, and threw his arms around Julian without a word of warning.
It was awful.
Not because being hugged by Ty was awful. It was nice, as much as Julian could sense that it was nice: His brain said this is your blood, your family, and his arms went up automatically to hug Ty back. His brother was fragile in his arms, all soft hair and sharp bones, as if he were made out of seashells and dandelion fluff and strung together with fine silk thread.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Ty said in a muffled voice. He’d pressed his head against Julian’s shoulder, and his headphones had tilted sideways. Ty reached up automatically to right them. “I was afraid we’d never all be back together again.”
“But we are back together,” Julian said.
Ty leaned back a little, his hands gripping the front of Julian’s jacket. “I want you to know I’m sorry,” he said, in the rushed tones of someone who had practiced a speech for a long time. “At Livvy’s funeral I climbed the pyre and you cut up your hands coming after me, and I thought maybe you left because you didn’t want to deal with me.”
Something in Julian’s head was screaming. Screaming that he loved his little brother more than he loved almost anything else on earth. Screaming that Ty rarely reached out like this, rarely initiated physical contact with Julian like this. A Julian who felt very far away was scrambling desperately, wanting to react correctly, wanting to give Ty what he needed so he could recover from Livvy’s death and not be wrecked or lost.