* * *
Thunder rumbled in the distance, but in front of the Institute, there was only silence, profound as a shout.
Even Diana seemed struck speechless. In the quiet, Emma could hear the sounds of Livvy and the others up in the training room, their voices and laughter.
Jules's expression was flat. Calculating. His hand on Mark's shoulder was a tight grip now. I want you to rescue him, Mark Hunter.
Anger swelled quickly inside Emma; unlike Jules, she didn't bite it back. "Mark is not of the Wild Hunt any longer," she said hotly. "Don't call him 'Hunter.' He isn't one."
"He is a Shadowhunter, isn't he?" asked Gwyn. Now that he had made his bizarre request, he seemed more relaxed. "Once a hunter, always a hunter of some sort."
"And now you wish me to hunt for Kieran?" Mark spoke in a strange, halting tone, as if he were having difficulty getting the words out past his anger. "Why me, Gwyn? Why not you? Why not any of you?"
"Did you not hear me?" said Gwyn. "He is held captive by his father. The Unseelie King himself, in the depths of the Court."
"And is Mark indestructible, then? You think he can take on the Unseelie Court where the Wild Hunt can't?" It was Diana; she had moved down a step, and her dark hair blew in the desert wind. "Yours is a famous name, Gwyn ap Nudd. You have ridden with the Wild Hunt for hundreds of mortal years. There are many stories about you. Yet never had I heard that the leader of the Wild Hunt had succumbed to madness."
"The Wild Hunt is not subject to the rule of the Courts," said Gwyn. "But we fear them. It would be madness not to. When they came to take Kieran, I, and all my Hunters, were forced to swear a life oath that we would not challenge the trial or its outcome. To attempt to rescue Kieran now would mean death for us."
"That's why you've come to me. Because I didn't swear. Because even if I did, I can lie. A lying thief, that's what you want," Mark said.
"What I wanted was one I could trust," said Gwyn. "One who has not sworn, one who would dare the Court."
"We want no trouble with you." It was Julian, keeping his voice level with an effort that Emma suspected only she could sense. "But you must see that Mark cannot do what you're asking. It is too dangerous."
"We of the Folk of the Air do not fear danger, nor death," said Gwyn.
"If you don't fear death," said Julian, "then let Kieran meet it."
Gwyn recoiled at the coldness in Julian's voice. "Kieran is not yet twenty."
"Neither is Mark," said Julian. "If you think we're afraid of you, you're right. We'd be fools not to be. I know who you are, Gwyn-I know you once made a man eat his own father's heart. I know you took the Hunt from Herne in a battle over Cadair Idris. I know things that would surprise you. But I am Mark's brother. And I will not let him risk himself in Faerie again."
"The Wild Hunt is a brotherhood as well," Gwyn said. "If you cannot bring yourself to help Kieran out of love, Mark, do it out of friendship."
"Enough," Diana snapped. "We respect you here, Gwyn the Hunter, but this discussion is at an end. Mark will not be taken from us."
Gwyn's voice was a bass rumble. "What if he chooses to go?"
They all looked at Mark. Even Julian turned, dropping his hand slowly from Mark's shoulder. Emma saw the fear in his eyes. She imagined it was echoed in her own. If Mark still loved Kieran-even a little bit-
"I do not choose it," said Mark. "I do not choose it, Gwyn."
Gwyn's face tightened. "You have no honor."
Light speared through gaps in the clouds overhead. The storm was moving toward the mountains. The gray illumination cast a film across Mark's eyes, rendering them unreadable. "I thought you were my friend," he said, and then he turned and stumbled back into the Institute, the door slamming shut behind him.
Gwyn began to dismount, but Diana raised her hand, palm out. "You know you cannot enter the Institute," she said.
Gwyn subsided. For a moment, as he gazed at Diana, his face looked lined and old, though Emma knew he was ageless. "Kieran is not yet twenty," he said again. "Only a boy."
Diana's face softened, but before she could speak, Gwyn's horse reared up. Something flew from Gwyn's hand and landed on the step below Diana's feet. Gwyn leaned forward, and his horse exploded into motion, its mane and tail blurring into a single white flame. The flame shot toward the sky and vanished, disappearing into the night's fretwork of clouds.