Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices #2)(130)

"He did swear to you," said Mark. He ducked his head, as if he were ashamed of what he was saying. "It is possible that if you order him to do something, he'll have to do it."

"I don't want to do that."

"Cristina."

"No, Mark," she said firmly. "I know this binding spell affects you, too. And upsetting Kieran affects the chances he'll testify. But I won't force him into anything."

"Aren't we already?" Mark said. "Lying to him about the situation so he'll talk to the Clave?"

Cristina's fingers crept to her injured wrist. The skin felt odd under her fingertips: hot and swollen. "And after he testifies? You'll tell him the truth, right?"

Mark rose to his feet. "By the Angel, yes. What do you take me for?"

"Someone in a difficult situation," said Cristina. "As we all are. If Kieran doesn't testify, innocent Downworlders may die; the Clave may sink further into corruption. I understand the need for deception. That doesn't mean I like it-or that you do either."

Mark nodded, not looking at her. "I had better search for him," he said. "If he'll agree to be helpful, he's our best way to fix this." He indicated his wrist.

Cristina felt a slight ache inside. She wondered if she had hurt Mark; she hadn't meant to. "Let's see what kind of range this has," she said. "How far from each other we can go without it hurting."

Mark stopped in the doorway. The clean, sharp planes of his face looked cut from glass. "It already hurt me to be away from you," he said. "Perhaps that was meant to be the joke."

He was gone before Cristina could answer.

She got to her feet and went to the counter where the powders and medicines were. She had a rough idea of medicinal Shadowhunter work: Here were the leaves that had anti-infection properties, here the poultices that kept swelling down.

The door of the infirmary opened while she was unscrewing a jar. She looked up: It was Kieran. He looked flushed and windblown, as if he'd been outside. There were patches of color on his high cheekbones.

He looked as discomfited to see her as she was to see him. She set the jar down carefully and waited.

"Where is Mark?" he said.

"He went to find you." Cristina leaned against the counter. Kieran was quiet. A faerie sort of quiet: inward, considering. She had a feeling many people would feel compelled to fill that silence. She let him have it; let him draw the silence into himself, shape and decipher it.

"I should apologize," he said finally. "It was uncalled for to accuse you and Mark of having arranged the binding spell. Foolish, too. You have nothing to gain from it. If Mark did not want to be with me, he would say so."



       
         
       
        

Cristina said nothing. Kieran took a step toward her, carefully, as if afraid of frightening her. "Might I see your arm again?"

She held her arm out. He took it-she wondered if he had ever touched her deliberately before. It felt like the touch of cool water in summer.

Cristina felt a slight shiver up her spine as he studied her injury. She wondered what he had looked like when both of his eyes had been black. They were even more startling now than Mark's, the contrast between the dark and the shimmering silver, like ice and ash.

"The shape of a ribbon," he said. "You say you were tied together during a revel?"

"Yes," said Cristina. "By two girls. They knew we were Nephilim. They laughed at us."

Kieran's grip on her tightened. She remembered the way he'd clung to Mark in the Unseelie Court. Not as if he were weak and needed help. It was a grip of strength, a grip that held Mark in place, that said, Stay with me, it is my command.

He was a prince, after all.

"That sort of binding spell is one of the oldest," he said. "Oldest and strongest. I do not know why someone would play such a prank on you. It is quite vicious."

"But do you know how to undo it?"

Kieran dropped Cristina's hand. "I was an unwanted son of the Unseelie King. I received little schooling. Then I was thrown into the Wild Hunt. I am no expert on magic."

"You're not useless," Cristina said. "You know more than you think you do."

Kieran looked as if she'd startled him once again. "I could speak to my brother, Adaon. I am meant to ask him about taking the throne. I could inquire of him as to whether he knows anything of binding spells or how to end them."

"When do you think you will talk to him?" asked Cristina. An image came into her mind of the way Kieran, asleep, had clung to her hand in the Seelie Court. Trying not to blush, she glanced down at her bandage, tugging it back into place.