Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices #2)(44)

His eyes, like Mark's, were two different colors, in his case blue and black. His face was terrifyingly familiar. It was Gwyn ap Nudd, the lord and leader of the Wild Hunt. And he did not look pleased.





7


SEAS WITHOUT A SHORE


Before Julian or Emma could speak, the front door of the Institute slammed open. Diana was there, with Mark just behind her, still in his training clothes. Diana, in a white suit, looked as beautiful and formidable as always.

Gwyn's towering brindled horse reared as Mark approached the top of the steps. Catching sight of Emma and Jules as they strode toward him, Mark looked more than a little surprised. Emma's cheeks felt as if they must be burning, though when she looked at Julian, he seemed unruffled, cool as always.

They joined Mark just as Diana swept to the top of the steps. The four Shadowhunters stared down at the Hunter-his horse's eyes were blood-red, and so was the armor that Gwyn wore: tough crimson leather, torn here and there by claw marks and the rips made by weapons.

"Because of the Cold Peace, I cannot bid you welcome," Diana said. "Why are you here, Gwyn Hunter?"

Gwyn's ancient gaze glided up and down Diana; there was no malice in it or arrogance, only the faerie appreciation for something beautiful. "Lovely lady," he said, "I do not think we have met."

Diana looked momentarily nonplussed. "Diana Wrayburn. I'm the tutor here."

"Those who teach are honored in the Land Under the Hill," said Gwyn. Under his arm he carried a massive helmet decorated with a stag's antlers. His hunting horn lay across the pommel of his saddle.

Emma boggled. Was Gwyn hitting on Diana? She didn't know faeries did that, exactly. She heard Mark make an exasperated noise.

"Gwyn," he said, "I give you fair greetings. My heart is gladdened to see you."

Emma couldn't help wondering if any of that was true. She knew Mark had complicated feelings for Gwyn. He'd spoken of them sometimes, during the nights in her room, head on his hand. She had a clearer picture of the Wild Hunt now than she'd ever had before, of its delights and horrors, of the strange path Mark had been forced to make for himself between the stars. 

"I would that I could say the same," said Gwyn. "I bring dark news from the Unseelie Court. Kieran of your heart-"

"He is not of my heart any longer," interrupted Mark. It was a faerie expression, "of my heart," the closest they might come to saying "girlfriend" or "boyfriend."

"Kieran Hunter has been found guilty of the murder of Iarlath," said Gwyn. "He stood trial at the Court of the Unseelie, though it was a short affair."

Mark flushed, tensing all over. "And the sentence?"

"Death," said Gwyn. "He will die at the moon's rise, tomorrow night, if there is no intervention."

Mark didn't move. Emma wondered if she should do something-move closer to Mark, offer comfort, a gentling hand? But the expression on his face was unreadable-if it was grief, she didn't recognize it. If it was anger, then it was unlike any anger he had shown before.

"That is sad news," Mark said finally.

It was Julian who moved then, stepping to his brother's side. Julian put a hand on Mark's shoulder; Emma felt relief flood through her.

"Is that all?" Gwyn said. "Have you nothing else to say?"

Mark shook his head. He looked fragile, Emma thought worriedly. As if you could see through his skin to the bones underneath. "Kieran betrayed me," he said. "He is nothing to me now."

Gwyn looked at Mark in disbelief. "He loved you and he lost you and he tried to get you back," he said. "He wanted you to ride with the Hunt again. So did I. You were one of our best. Is that so terrible?"

"You saw what happened." Mark did sound angry now, and Emma herself could not help but remember: the twisted quickbeam tree she had leaned against while Iarlath whipped Julian and then her, and Kieran and Mark and Gwyn watched. The pain and the blood, the lashes like fire against her skin, though nothing had hurt as much as watching Julian be hurt. "Iarlath whipped my family, my friend. Because of Kieran. He whipped Emma and Julian."

"And now you have given up the Hunt for them," said Gwyn, his two-colored eyes flicking toward Emma, "and so, there is your vengeance, if you wanted it. But where is your compassion?"

"What do you want of my brother?" Julian demanded, his hand still on Mark's shoulder. "Do you want him to grieve visibly for your amusement? Is that why you came?"

"Mortals," Gwyn said. "You think you know so much, yet you know so little." His large hand tightened on his helmet. "I do not want you to grieve for Kieran. I want you to rescue him, Mark Hunter."