Lord of Shadows The Dark Artifices 2

Magnus kissed Alec and ruffled his hair with infinite tenderness. He bent to kiss Max, too, and Rafe, and straightened up to begin to create the Portal. Light sparked from and between his fingers, and the air before him seemed to shimmer.

Tavvy had sagged into a bundle of hopelessness against Julian’s chest. Jules held him closer, the muscles in his arms tensing, and murmured soothing words. Mark wanted to go over to them but couldn’t seem to make his feet move. They seemed, even in their unhappiness, a perfect unit who needed no one else.

The melancholy thought vanished a moment later as pain shot up Mark’s arm. He grabbed at his wrist, his fingers encountering agonizing soreness, the slickness of blood. Something’s wrong, he thought, and then, Cristina.

He bolted. The Portal was growing and shimmering in the center of the room; through its half-formed door, Mark could see the outline of the demon towers as he darted by and into the corridor.

Some sense in his blood told him he was getting closer to Cristina as he ran, but to his surprise, the pain in his wrist didn’t fade. It pulsed again and again, like the warning beam from a lighthouse.

Her door was closed. He set his shoulder against it and shoved without bothering to try the knob. It flew open and Mark half-fell inside.

He choked, eyes stinging. The room smelled as if something inside it had been burning—something organic, like dead leaves or rotted fruit.

It was dark. His eyes adjusted quickly and he made out Cristina and Kieran, both standing by the foot of the bed. Cristina was clutching her balisong. A massive shadow loomed over them—no, not a shadow, Mark realized, moving closer. A Projection.

A Projection of the King of the Unseelie Court. Both sides of his face seemed to gleam with unnatural humor, both the beautiful, kingly side, and the hideous, defleshed skull.

“You thought to summon your brother?” the King sneered, his gaze on Kieran. “And you thought I would not feel you reaching into Faerie, searching for one of my own? You are a fool, Kieran, and always have been.”

“What have you done to Adaon?” Kieran’s face was bloodless. “He knew nothing. He had no idea I planned to summon him.”

“Worry not about others,” said the King. “Worry about your own life, Kieran Kingson.”

“I have been Kieran Hunter for a long time,” said Kieran.

The King’s face darkened. “You should be Kieran Traitor,” he said. “Kieran Betrayer. Kieran Kin-Slayer. All are better names for you.”

“He acted in self-defense,” said Cristina sharply. “If he hadn’t killed Erec, he would have been killed himself. And he acted to protect me.”

The King gave her a brief look of scorn. “And that in itself is a traitorous act, foolish girl,” he said. “Placing the lives of Shadowhunters above the lives of your own people—what could be worse?”

“Selling your son to the Wild Hunt because you worried that people liked him better than they liked you,” said Mark. “That’s worse.”

Cristina and Kieran looked at him in astonishment; it was clear they hadn’t heard him come in. The King, though, evinced no surprise. “Mark Blackthorn,” he said. “Even in his choice of lovers, my son gravitates to the enemies of his people. What does that say about him?”

“That he knows better than you who his people are?” Mark said. Very deliberately, he turned his back on the King. It would have been a hanging offense in the Court. “We must get rid of him,” he said, in a low voice, to Kieran and Cristina. “Should I get Magnus?”

“He is only a Projection,” Kieran said. His face was drawn. “He cannot hurt us. Nor can he remain forever. It is an effort for him, I think.”

“Do not turn your back on me!” the King roared. “Do you think I do not know your plans, Kieran? Do you think I do not know you plan to stand up and betray me before the Council of Nephilim?”

Kieran turned his face away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at his father. “Then cease to do what I know you are doing,” he said, in a shaking voice. “Parlay with the Nephilim. Do not make war on them.”

“There is no parlay with those who can lie,” snarled the King. “And have done, and will do again. They will lie and spill the blood of our people. And once they are done with you, do you think they will let you live? Treat you like one of them?”

“They have treated me better than my own father has.” Kieran raised his chin.

“Have they?” The King’s eyes were dark and empty. “I took some memories from you, Kieran, when you came to my Court. Shall I give them back?”

Kieran looked confused. “What use could you possibly have for my memories?”

“Some of us would know our enemies,” said the King.

“Kieran,” Mark said. The look in the King’s eyes made fear roil in the pit of his stomach. “Do not listen. He seeks to hurt you.”