“You make it sound so simple,” Julian said. “If you do not plan on putting Kieran on the throne, why drag him in here?”

“I have another use for him,” said the Queen. “I require an envoy. One whose identity they know.” She turned to Kieran. “You will be my messenger to the Clave. You will swear loyalty to one of these Shadowhunters, here. Because of that, and because you are the Shadow King’s son, when you speak to the Council, they will know you are speaking from me, and that they will not be tricked again as they were with the liar Meliorn.”

“Kieran must agree to this plan,” said Mark. “It must be his choice.”

“Well, it is his choice, certainly,” said the Queen. “He can agree, or he can most likely be murdered by his father. The King does not like it when condemned captives escape him.”

Kieran muttered something under his breath and said, “I will swear loyalty to Mark. I will do as he bids me do, and follow the Nephilim for his sake. And I shall argue with Adaon for your cause, though it is his choice in the end.”

Something flickered in Julian’s eyes. “No,” he said. “You will not do this for Mark.”

Mark looked at his brother, startled; Kieran’s expression tensed. “Why not Mark?”

“Love complicates things,” said Julian. “An oath should be free of entanglements.”

Kieran looked as if he might explode. His hair had gone completely black. With an angry look at Julian, he strode toward the Shadowhunters—and knelt in front of Cristina.

Everyone looked surprised, none more than Cristina. Kieran tossed his dark hair back and looked up at her, a challenge in his eyes. “I swear fealty to you, Lady of Roses.”

“Kieran Kingmaker,” said Mark, looking at Kieran and Cristina with an absolutely unreadable look in his eyes. Emma couldn’t blame him. He must be constantly waiting for Kieran to remember what he had forgotten. She knew he would be dreading the pain the memories would bring them both.

“I am not doing this because of Adaon or the Cold Peace,” said Kieran. “I am doing it because I want my father dead.”

“Reassuring,” muttered Julian, as Kieran rose to his feet.

“It is settled, then,” said the Queen, looking satisfied. “But so that you understand: You may promise my assistance and my goodwill to the Council. But I will not make war on the Shadow Throne until I hold the Black Volume.”

“What if he makes war on you?” Julian said.

“He will make war on you first,” said the Queen. “That much I know.”

“What if we don’t find it?” said Emma. “The book, I mean.”

The Queen sliced her hand lazily through the air. “Then the Clave will still have my goodwill,” she said. “But I will not add my folk to their army until I have the Black Volume.”

Emma looked at Julian, who shrugged, as if to say he hadn’t expected the Queen to say anything else.

“There is one last thing,” said Julian. “Helen. I don’t want to wait for the Cold Peace to be over to get her back.”

The Queen looked briefly annoyed. “There are things I cannot do, little Nephilim,” she snapped, and it was the first thing she’d said that Emma really believed.

“You can,” he said. “Swear that you will insist to the Clave that Helen and Aline be your ambassadors. Once Kieran has finished his duty and given your message to the Council, his role is ended. Someone else will have to go back and forth from Faerie for you. Let it be Helen and her wife. They will have to bring them back from Wrangel Island.”

The Queen hesitated a moment, and then inclined her head. “You understand, they have no reason to do as I say unless they are awaiting aid from me and mine,” she said. “So when you have the Black Volume, yes, you may make that a condition of my assistance. Kieran, I authorize you to make such a demand, when the time comes.”

“I will make it,” said Kieran, and looked at Mark. Emma could almost read the message in his eyes. Though not for you.

“Lovely,” said the Queen. “You could be heroes. The heroes who ended the Cold Peace.”

Cristina stiffened. Emma remembered the other girl saying to her, It has always been my hope that one day I might be part of brokering a better treaty than the Cold Peace. Something more fair to Downworlders and those Shadowhunters who might love them.

Cristina’s dream. Mark and Julian’s sister. Safety for the Blackthorns when Helen and Aline returned. The Queen had offered them all their desperate hopes, their secret wishes. Emma hated to be afraid, but at that moment, she was afraid of the Queen.

“Is it finally settled, fussing children?” asked the Queen, her eyes glowing. “Are we agreed?”

“You know we are.” Julian almost flung the words. “We’ll start looking, though we have no idea where to begin.”

“People go to the places that mean something to them.” The Queen cocked her head to the side. “Annabel was a Blackthorn. Learn about her past. Know her soul. You have access to the Blackthorn papers, to histories no one else can touch.” She rose to her feet. “Some of my folk visited them once when they were young and happy. Fade had a house in Cornwall. Perhaps it still stands. There could be something there.” She began to descend the steps. “And now it is time to speed your journey. You should return to the mundane world before it is too late.” She had reached the foot of the steps. She turned, magnificent in her finery, her imperiousness. “Come in!” she called. “We have been awaiting you.”

Two figures appeared in the doorway of the room, flanked on either side by knights in the Queen’s livery. One Emma recognized as Nene. There was a look on her face, one of respect and even a little fear, as she came in. She was escorting beside her the formidable figure of Gwyn ap Nudd. Gwyn wore a formal doublet of dark velvet, against which his massive shoulders strained.

Gwyn turned to Mark. His eyes, blue and black, fixed on him with a look of pride. “You saved Kieran,” he said. “I should not have doubted you. You did everything I could have asked of you, and more. And now, for one last time, you will ride with me and the Wild Hunt. I shall take you to your family.”

*

The five of them followed the Queen, Nene, and Gwyn down a series of tangled corridors until one ended in a sloping tunnel down which blew fresh, cool air. It opened into a green space: There was no sign of trees, only grass studded with flowers, and above them the night sky whirling with multicolored clouds. Emma wondered if it was still the same night that they’d arrived at the Seelie Court, or if a whole day had passed underground. There was no way of knowing. Time in Faerie moved like a dance whose steps she didn’t know.

Five horses stood in the clearing. Emma recognized one as Windspear, Kieran’s mount, who he had ridden into battle with Malcolm. He whinnied when he caught sight of Kieran, and kicked at the sky.

“This is what the phouka promised me,” Mark said in a low voice. He stood behind Emma, his eyes fixed on Gwyn and the horses. “That if I came to Faerie, I would ride with the Wild Hunt again.”

Emma reached out and squeezed his hand. At least for Mark, the phouka’s promise had come true without a bitter sting in its tail. She hoped the same for Julian and Cristina.

Cristina was approaching a red roan, which skittishly kicked at the dirt. She murmured softly to the horse until it calmed, and swung herself up onto its back, reaching to stroke the horse’s neck. Julian pulled himself onto a black mare whose eyes were an eerie green. He looked unfazed. Cristina’s eyes were glowing with delight. She met Emma’s gaze and grinned as if she could barely contain herself. Emma wondered how long Cristina must have dreamed of riding with a faerie host.