Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices #2)(190)

Mark drew his hand out of his pocket. The gold acorn glittered in the air as he threw it. It struck the opposite wall and broke open.

Cristina whirled. "Mark, what are you-?"

There was no visible change in the library, but a scent filled the room, and for a moment it was as if they stood in a glade in Faerie-Mark could smell fresh air, dirt and leaves, earth and flowers, copper-tinged water.

Kieran had tensed all over, eyes full of a mixture of hope and fear.

"Alec," Magnus said, reaching out a hand, and his voice was less a warning than a sort of stripped-down urgency-the uncanniness of Faerie had come into the room, and Magnus was moving to protect what he loved. Alec didn't move, though, only watched with steady blue eyes as a shadow rose against the far wall. A shadow with nothing to cast it.

It stretched upward. The shadow of a man, head bent, broad shoulders slumped. Cristina put her hand to the pendant at her throat and murmured something-a prayer, Mark guessed.

The light in the room increased. The shadow was no longer a shadow. It had taken on color and form and was Gwyn ap Nudd, arms crossed over his thick chest, two-colored eyes gleaming from beneath heavy brows. "Mark Blackthorn," he said, his voice a rumble. "I did not give that token to you, nor was it meant for you to use."

"Are you really here?" Mark demanded, fascinated. Gwyn seemed solid enough, but if Mark looked closely, he thought he could see the edges of the window frames through Gwyn's body . . . .

"He's a Projection," said Magnus. "Greetings, Gwyn ap Nudd, escort of the grave, father of the slain." He bowed very slightly.

"Magnus Bane," said Gwyn. "It has been a long time."

Alec kicked Magnus in the ankle-probably, Mark suspected, to keep Magnus from saying something about how it hadn't been long enough.

"I need you, Gwyn," said Mark. "We need you."

Gwyn looked disgruntled. "If I had wanted you to be able to call on me at your will, I would have given the acorn to you."

"You called on me," Mark said. "You came to me to ask me to help Kieran, and so I rescued him from the Unseelie King, and now the Riders of Mannan are hunting my brothers and sisters, who are only children."

"I have carried the bodies of countless children from the battlefield," said Gwyn. 

He did not mean to be cruel, Mark knew. Gwyn simply had his own reality, of blood and death and war. There was never a time of peace for Gwyn or the Wild Hunt: Somewhere in the world, there was always war, and it was their duty to serve it.

"If you do not help," said Mark, "then you make yourself a servant of the Unseelie King, protecting his interests, his plans."

"Is that your gambit?" Gwyn said softly.

"It's no gambit," said Kieran. "The King my father means to wage a war; if you do not move to position yourself against him, he will presume you are with him."

"The Hunt stands with no one," said Gwyn.

"And that's precisely who will believe that is true, if you do not act now," said Mark. "No one."

"The Hunt can find Livvy and Ty and Kit," said Cristina. "You are the greatest seekers the world has ever known, much greater than the Seven Riders."

Gwyn gave her a slightly incredulous look, almost as if he couldn't believe she'd spoken at all. He looked half-amused, half-exasperated by her flattery. Kieran, on the other hand, looked impressed.

"Very well," Gwyn said. "I will attempt it. I promise nothing," he added darkly, and vanished.

Mark stood staring at the place Gwyn had vanished from, the blank wall of the library, unmarked by shadows.

Cristina offered him a worried smile. Cristina was always a revelation, he thought. Gentle and honest, but astonishingly capable of plying faerie tricks if necessary. Her words to Gwyn had sounded utterly sincere.

"He might sound reluctant, but if Gwyn says he will attempt something, he will leave no stone unturned," Magnus said. He looked absolutely exhausted in a way Mark didn't remember ever having seen him look before. Exhausted, and grim. "I'm going to need your help, Alec," he said. "It's time for me to Portal to Cornwall. We need to find Emma and Julian before the Riders do."

* * *

The Council Hall clock was ringing through the Gard, sounding like the tolling of a huge bell. Diana, having finished her story some minutes ago, folded her hands atop the Consul's desk. "Please, Jia," she said. "Say something."

The Consul rose from her seat behind the desk. She wore a flowing dress whose sleeves were edged with brocade. Her back was very straight. "It sounds like the work of demons," she said in a strained voice. "But there are no demons in Idris. Not since the Mortal War."