"Mark," Kieran whispered.
"I do not love you as I love Cristina. I love you as I love you," said Mark. He bent his head. "I wish that you could see my heart. Then you would understand."
There was a rustling sound. Kieran had sunk to his own knees, level with Mark. "Would you have told me?" he said. "After the testimony?"
"Yes. I couldn't have stood it otherwise."
Kieran half-closed his eyes. Mark could see crescents of black and silver beneath his lids, fringed by his dark lashes. His hair had paled to almost a pewter color. "I believe you." He opened his eyes, looked directly into Mark's. "Do you know why I trust you?"
Mark shook his head. He could hear the water rushing in the fountain behind them, reminding him of a thousand rivers they had ridden over together, a thousand streams they had slept beside.
"Because of Cristina," said Kieran. "She would not have agreed to a dishonorable plan. I understand you were trying to help your family, your sister. I understand why you were desperate. And I believe you would not have deceived me longer than you needed." Something behind his eyes suddenly seemed very old. "I will testify," he said.
Mark started up. "Kieran, you don't-"
Kieran's hands came up to cup Mark's face. His touch was gentle. "I am not doing it for you," he said. "This will be what I do for Emma and the others. Then that debt will be paid. You and I, our debts are paid already." He leaned forward and brushed his lips against Mark's. Mark wanted to chase the kiss, the warmth of it, the familiarity. He felt Kieran's hand come down to splay itself over his chest-over the elf-bolt that hung there, below his collarbone. "We will be done with each other."
"No," Mark whispered.
But Kieran was on his feet, the warmth of his hands gone from Mark's skin. His eyes were dark, his whole body tense. Mark shot to his feet after, meaning to demand that Kieran explain what he had meant by done-just as a terrible noise split the air.
It was a noise that came from outside the Institute, though not very far at all. Not nearly far enough. A memory flashed through Mark's mind, of watching from horseback as a forest of trees was destroyed by lightning. Fire had flashed beneath him, the wrenching crash of branches and trunks like shrieks in his head.
Kieran sucked in a breath. His eyes had gone distant, unfocused. "They have come," he said. "They are near."
* * *
A crash ripped Emma out of sleep and out of Julian's arms. A crash that wasn't quite a crash; she thought at first that it sounded like two cars slamming into each other on the highway, the screech of brakes and the explosion of glass. It seemed to be coming from right outside; she bolted up and hurtled across the room to the window.
There were five of them in the courtyard. They gleamed bronze in the morning light, both horses and riders. The steeds seemed metallic, their eyes bound with bronze silk, their hooves gleaming with a high polish. The faeries who sat astride them were just as shimmering and beautiful, their armor without visible jointure so that it looked like liquid bronze. Their faces were masked, their hair long and metallic. Somehow, here in the heart of London, they looked far more terrifying than they had the first time Emma had seen them.
Julian was awake, sitting on the edge of the bed, reaching for the weapons belt that hung on the wall over the nightstand.
"They came," she said. "It's the Riders."
* * *
They raced to the library, all of them but Kit and Bridget, as Magnus had instructed. Magnus, Cristina, Ty, and Livvy were already there when Emma came bursting in with Cortana in her hand.
Julian was a few paces behind her. They'd agreed it was better not to seem as if they'd been together.
Everyone was standing at the windows, from which the curtains had been thrown back to provide an uninterrupted view of the courtyard and the front of the Institute. Magnus was leaning against the glass, arm extended, hand flat against the pane, his expression grim. There were black hollows under his eyes and he looked worryingly gaunt and exhausted.
Mark and Kieran came in as Emma hooked her sword over her back and hurried to the windows. Julian slid in beside her and stared through the glass.
The five Riders hadn't moved from the courtyard. They remained where they were, like statues. Their horses had no reins or bridles, nothing for them to hold. They sat with their swords unsheathed, held out ahead of them like a row of gleaming teeth.
Kieran came forward before Mark, crossing the room to the window, and after a moment Mark followed. They stood in a line: the Shadowhunters, the warlock, and the faerie prince, staring grimly down at the courtyard. Kieran was silent and sick-looking, his hair a pale white, the color of bones.