Lord of Shadows The Dark Artifices 2

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.