Kieran looked dazed. “I went to meet him, to speak of the binding spell and of his possible accession to the throne.”
“And blood was spilled? But why?” Mark touched Kieran’s cheek gently. “If we had known there might be a fight, we never would have suggested you talk to him on our behalf. And why did you go alone? Why did you not tell me, or bring me with you?”
Kieran closed his eyes for just a moment, turning his cheek into the cup of Mark’s palm. “I did not want to risk you,” he said in a low voice.
Mark met Cristina’s eyes, over Kieran’s shoulder. “It wasn’t Adaon who wanted a fight,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “It was Erec.”
Kieran opened his eyes, gently drawing Mark’s hand away from his face, lacing his fingers through Mark’s as he did. “He must have followed Adaon to our meeting place,” he said. “I never even had the chance to tell Adaon of our plans for him, and the throne.” His eyes darkened. “Mark, there is something you must know—”
Magnus burst into the vestibule, Alec behind him. They were both out of breath. “What’s going on?” Alec asked.
“Where are the children?” Kieran said. “The little ones, and the blue child with the small horns?”
Alec blinked. “Bridget’s watching them,” he said. “Why?”
“I will explain in more detail when I can,” said Kieran. “For now, you must know this. The King my father has sent the Seven Riders to find the Black Volume, and they are here in London. I imagine he believes the location of the Black Volume is known by those in this Institute. The danger is great. We are safe within these walls for now, but—”
Mark had gone white. “But Livvy and Ty aren’t within these walls,” he said. “They went with Kit to get the ingredients for the binding spell. They’re somewhere in the city.”
There was a babble of voices, Alec snapping out a question, Magnus gesturing. But the pain and shock—not just hers, but Mark’s—was graying out Cristina’s vision, however much she tried to cling onto consciousness. She tried to say something but the words disappeared, everything sliding up and away from her as she tumbled into the shadows.
She wasn’t sure whether it was Mark or Kieran who caught her as she fell.
* * *
Rain clouds had replaced blue sky over London. Ty, Kit, and Livvy had decided to walk back from Hypatia’s after picking up Magnus’s ingredients, rather than wait in the fussy, damp line for the riverboat.
Kit was enjoying himself kicking his way through puddles on the Thames Path, which wound like a granite snake along the side of the river. They’d passed the Tower of London again, and Ty had pointed out Traitor’s Gate, where condemned criminals had once entered the tower to have their heads chopped off.
Livvy had sighed. “I wish Dru was with us. She would have liked that. She’s hardly come out of her room lately.”
“I think she’s afraid someone will make her babysit if she does,” said Kit. He wasn’t sure he had a clear impression of Dru yet—more a blurred sense of a round face, flushed cheeks, and a lot of black clothes. She had the Blackthorn eyes, but they were usually focused on something else.
“I think she’s keeping a secret,” Livvy said. They’d passed Millennium Bridge, a long iron line stretching across the river, and were nearing an older-looking bridge, painted a dented red and gray.
Ty was humming to himself, lost in thought. The river was the same color as his eyes today, a sort of steely-gray, touched with bits of silver. The white band of his headphones was around his neck, trapping his unruly black hair under it. He looked puzzled. “Why would she do that?”
“It’s just a feeling I have,” said Livvy. “I can’t prove it . . . .” Her voice trailed off. She was squinting into the distance, her hand up to shield her face from the gray afternoon light. “What’s that?”
Kit followed her glance and felt a coldness pass through him. Shapes were moving through the sky, a line of racing figures, silhouetted against the clouds. Three horses, clear as paper outlines, with three riders on their backs.
He looked around wildly. Mundanes were all around, paying little to no attention to the three teenagers in jeans and hooded raincoats hurrying along with their bags full of magic powders.
“The Wild Hunt?” Kit said. “But why—?”
“I don’t think it’s the Wild Hunt,” said Livvy. “They ride at night. It’s broad daylight.” She put her hand to her side, where her seraph blades hung.
“I don’t like this.” Ty sounded breathless. The figures were incredibly close now, skimming the top of the bridge, angling downward. “They’re coming toward us.”
They turned, but it was too late. Kit felt a breeze ruffle his hair as the horses and their riders passed overhead. A moment later there was a clatter as the three landed in a neat pattern around Kit, Livvy, and Ty, cutting off their retreat.
The horses were a glimmering bronze in color, and their riders were bronze-skinned and bronze-haired, wearing half masks of gleaming metal. They were beautiful, bizarre and unearthly, entirely out of place in the shadows of the bridge as the water taxis skated by and the road above hummed with traffic.
They were clearly faeries, but nothing like the ones Kit had seen before in the Shadow Market. They were taller and bigger, and they were armed, despite the edicts of the Cold Peace. Each wore a massive sword at his waist.
“Nephilim,” said one, in a voice that sounded like glaciers breaking apart. “I am Eochaid of the Seven Riders, and these are my brothers Etarlam and Karn. Where is the Black Volume?”
“The Black Volume?” Livvy echoed. The three of them had squeezed tighter against the wall of the path. Kit noticed people giving them odd glances as they passed by, and he knew they looked as if they were staring at nothing.
“Yes,” said Etarlam. “Our King seeks it. You will give it up.”
“We don’t have it,” said Ty. “And we don’t know where it is.”
Karn laughed. “You are but children, so we are inclined to be lenient,” he said. “But understand this. The Riders of Mannan have done the bidding of the Unseelie King for a thousand years. In that time many have fallen to our blades, and we have spared none for any reason, not for age or weakness or infirmity of body. We will not spare you now.” He leaned over the mane of his horse, and Kit saw for the first time that the horse had a shark’s eyes, inky and flat and deadly. “Either you know where the Black Volume is, or you will make useful prisoners to tempt those who do. Which will it be, Shadowhunters?”
23
S
KIES OF
F
IRE
“I win again.” Jaime threw down his cards: all hearts. He grinned triumphantly at Dru. “Don’t feel bad. Cristina used to say I had the devil’s luck.”
“Wouldn’t the devil have bad luck?” Dru didn’t mind losing to Jaime. He always seemed pleased, and she didn’t care one way or the other.
He’d slept on the floor at the side of her bed the night before, and when she’d woken up, she’d rolled over and looked down at him, her chest full of happiness. Asleep, Jaime looked vulnerable, and more like his brother, though she thought now that he was better-looking than Diego.
Jaime was a secret, her secret. Something important she was doing, whether the others knew it or not. She knew he was on an important mission, something he couldn’t talk much about; it was like having a spy in her room, or a superhero.
“I will miss you,” he said frankly, linking his fingers together and stretching out his arms like a cat stretching in the sun. “This is the most fun, and the most rest, I have had in a long time.”
“We can stay friends after this, right?” she said. “I mean, when you’re done with your mission.”