Queen of Air and Darkness (The Dark Artifices 3)

Helen smiled. “I want a war council,” she said. “Let’s get ready.”

27

FAR AND FREE

They streamed in through the open doors of the Sanctuary, one after another: Downworlders and Shadowhunters in a seemingly never-ending cascade.

First came the vampires with their paper-white faces and cold elegance, enchanted black umbrellas held aloft as they took the few steps from their tinted-window cars to the Sanctuary doors, eager to escape the sun. Emma recognized Lily Chen among them, on the arm of a tall vampire with dreadlocks. A gaggle of blond Swedish vampires came in chatting with the Lindquists, who ran the Stockholm Institute.

There were werewolves from all over the world: Luke Garroway, scruffy and bearded in his flannel jacket, Clary’s mother, Jocelyn, at his side. Werewolves in kilts and hanboks and qipaos. Maia Roberts and Bat Velasquez—Emma felt a pang, thinking of the other version of them in Thule: still together, still hand in hand.

There were warlocks, too, more than Emma had ever seen in one place. Catarina Loss, blue-skinned and white-haired: She marched in with Tessa and Jem, wearing nurse’s scrubs, and looked around her thoughtfully. Her eyes lit on Kit, and she gazed at him with a quiet recognition that he, absorbed in talking to Ty, didn’t notice.

Hypatia Vex, with her bronze hair and dark skin, regal and curious. Warlocks with bat’s wings, with hooves and gills and rainbow eyes, with delicate antennae and curving stag’s horns. A bat-faced woman who went up to Cristina and began muttering in Spanish. A dark-skinned warlock with a white mark on his cheek in the shape of a spiderweb.

And there were Shadowhunters. Emma had seen many Shadowhunters gathered together before—she’d been to quite a few Council meetings—but it was gratifying to see how many had answered Julian’s call. He stood at the front of the room, where the Blackthorns and their friends had hastily assembled a long table. A rolled-up banner hung on the wall behind it. Julian leaned calmly against the table, but Emma could sense the tension running through him like electrical lines as the Shadowhunters began to file into the Sanctuary.

Julie Beauvale and Beatriz Mendoza, their parabatai runes glimmering on their forearms. Marisol Garza, wearing white in memory of Jon Cartwright. Magnus and Alec had just arrived with Maryse and their kids, and were standing by the door opposite Aline and Helen, greeting the Downworlders while the two women greeted the Shadowhunters. Kadir Safar of the New York Conclave gave Diana a somber nod before going to speak with Maryse, who was dandling little blue Max on her lap while Rafe ran around them both in circles.

The Romeros had come from Argentina, the Pederosos from Brazil, the Keos from Cambodia, and the Rosewains from Northern England. A dark-haired, petite woman darted over to Cristina and hugged her tightly. Cristina’s mom! Emma had an urge to bow in acknowledgment of the woman who had named Perfect Diego.

“It’s cool to see the Alliance in action,” said Mark, who had been helping the others set up rows of chairs. He had put on a somber dark suit jacket in an attempt to look more serious. Like the careful arrangement of the food at the meeting the other day, the small gesture made Emma’s heart spark with tenderness. There were many ways to serve your family, she thought. Julian’s way was in large and passionate gestures; Mark’s were smaller and quieter, but meaningful just the same. “Alec seems to know every Downworlder in the place.”

It was true—Alec was greeting a werewolf girl who spoke in excitable French and asked him something about Rafael; a tall, dark-haired vampire wearing a T-shirt with Chinese characters on it slapped him on the back, and Lily and Maia darted over to confer with him in low voices.

Mark suddenly straightened up. Emma followed his gaze and saw that several faeries had come into the room. She laid her hand on Mark’s arm, wondering if he remembered the last time he had been in this Sanctuary, when the Wild Hunt had returned him to his family.

Kieran had turned around—he had been speaking with Julian in a low voice—and was staring as well: Gwyn had come in, of course, which everyone expected, but following him were several others. Among the dryads and pixies and nixies Emma recognized several piskies, the Fair Folk she and Julian had encountered in Cornwall. Behind them came a tall phouka in a JUSTICE FOR KAELIE T-shirt, and after him, a woman in a long green cloak, her face hidden but a bit of white-blond hair escaping nonetheless.

Emma turned to Mark. “It’s Nene.”

“I must speak with her.” Mark gave Emma’s shoulder a pat and vanished across the room to greet his aunt. Emma caught sight of both Kieran and Cristina watching him, though Cristina had been firmly captured by her mother and clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

Emma glanced over at Julian again. He had moved behind the table and was standing with his arms at his sides. Helen and Aline had joined him behind the table as well. The rest of the family was clustered in a group of chairs at the left of the room, Kit and Ty together, Dru with her hand on Tavvy’s shoulder, turning around to squint at a figure who’d just come into the Sanctuary.

It was Cameron. He was alone, slouching a little as if he hoped no one would see him, though his bright red hair was like a beacon. Emma couldn’t help herself; she darted over to him.

He looked surprised as she bore down on him and caught his hands in hers. “Thank you for coming, Cameron,” she said. “Thank you for everything.”

“The rest of my family doesn’t know,” he said. “They’re pretty much—”

“On the Cohort’s side, I know,” said Emma. “But you’re different. You’re a good guy. I know that for sure now, and I’m sorry if I ever hurt you in the past.”

Cameron looked even more alarmed. “I don’t think we should get back together,” he said.

“Oh, definitely not,” said Emma. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” She glanced over at Julian, who was waving and giving Cameron a thumbs-up from behind the table. Looking terrified, Cameron bolted for the safety of the seats.

Someday maybe she’d tell him about Thule.

Maybe.

She waved to Simon and Isabelle as they came in, holding hands. Isabelle made an immediate beeline for her mother and Max.

Simon regarded Kieran with a look of surprised recognition before crossing the room to talk to Vivianne Penhallow, the dean of Shadowhunter Academy. Sometimes Emma wondered if Simon had enjoyed his time at the Academy. She wondered if she would like it there. But there was no point thinking about the future now.

She glanced over at Julian. The wide doors were still open and a breeze was passing through, and for a moment Emma saw Livvy—not as she had been in Thule, but the Livvy of this world—like a vision or a hallucination, standing behind Julian, her hand on his shoulder, her ethereal hair rising in the wind.

Emma closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Julian was alone. As if he could feel her gaze, Julian glanced at Emma. He looked incredibly young to her for a moment, as if he were still the twelve-year-old boy who had hiked a mile back and forth every week from the highway, dragging heavy bags, to make sure his brothers and sisters had groceries.

If only you had told me, she thought. If only I had known when you needed help.

She couldn’t be Julian’s parabatai, or his partner, now. She couldn’t smile at him as Clary smiled at Jace, or put a reassuring hand against his back the way Alec did to Magnus, or take his hand as Aline had taken Helen’s.

But she could be his ally. She could stand with the others at the front of the room and face the crowd, at least. She began to cross the room toward the table.

* * *

Mark reached Nene at the same time that Helen did. Their aunt seemed agitated, her long pale fingers working at the emerald material of her cloak. Her eyes darted between them as they approached, and she gave a small, stiff nod. “Miach,” she said. “Alessa. It is good to see you well.”

“Aunt Nene,” Helen said. “It is good of you to come, and—is everything all right?”

“I was ordered to remain at Court after the Queen retu

rned from Unseelie,” said Nene. “She has been furious and untrusting since that time. For me to be here, I disobeyed a direct order of my monarch’s.” She sighed. “It is possible I can never return to the Court.”

“Nene.” Helen looked horrified. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I wished to,” Nene said. “I have lived in fear of the Queen all my life. I lived in fear of what I wished for—to depart the Court and live as one of the wild fey. But you, my niece and nephew—you live between worlds, and you are not afraid.”

She smiled at them, and Mark wanted to point out that he was afraid half the time. He didn’t.

“I will do what I can to help you here,” she said. “Your cause is righteous. It is time for the Cold Peace to come to an end.”

Mark, who hadn’t realized Julian had been promising an end to the Cold Peace, made a slight choking noise.

“Adaon,” he said. “I know Helen wrote to you of him. He saved our lives—”

“I wished to bring you the news myself. Adaon is well,” said Nene. “He has become something of a favorite of the Seelie Queen and has risen quickly in the Court.”

Mark blinked. He hadn’t been expecting this. “A favorite of the Seelie Queen?”

“I think Mark wants to know if he’s the Seelie Queen’s lover,” said Helen, with her usual bluntness.

“Oh, most likely. It’s quite surprising,” said Nene. “Fergus is much put out, as he was the favorite once.”

“Greetings, Nene,” said Kieran, striding up to them. He had changed out of his jeans and looked every bit the faerie prince, as Mark had first seen him, in creamy linen and fawn breeches. His hair was a dark, night-ocean blue. “It is good to see you well. How is Adaon my brother? Not too much under the thumb of the Queen?”