Emma looked at Julian, who shrugged, as if to say he hadn’t expected the Queen to say anything else.

“There is one last thing,” said Julian. “Helen. I don’t want to wait for the Cold Peace to be over to get her back.”

The Queen looked briefly annoyed. “There are things I cannot do, little Nephilim,” she snapped, and it was the first thing she’d said that Emma really believed.

“You can,” he said. “Swear that you will insist to the Clave that Helen and Aline be your ambassadors. Once Kieran has finished his duty and given your message to the Council, his role is ended. Someone else will have to go back and forth from Faerie for you. Let it be Helen and her wife. They will have to bring them back from Wrangel Island.”

The Queen hesitated a moment, and then inclined her head. “You understand, they have no reason to do as I say unless they are awaiting aid from me and mine,” she said. “So when you have the Black Volume, yes, you may make that a condition of my assistance. Kieran, I authorize you to make such a demand, when the time comes.”

“I will make it,” said Kieran, and looked at Mark. Emma could almost read the message in his eyes. Though not for you.

“Lovely,” said the Queen. “You could be heroes. The heroes who ended the Cold Peace.”

Cristina stiffened. Emma remembered the other girl saying to her, It has always been my hope that one day I might be part of brokering a better treaty than the Cold Peace. Something more fair to Downworlders and those Shadowhunters who might love them.

Cristina’s dream. Mark and Julian’s sister. Safety for the Blackthorns when Helen and Aline returned. The Queen had offered them all their desperate hopes, their secret wishes. Emma hated to be afraid, but at that moment, she was afraid of the Queen.

“Is it finally settled, fussing children?” asked the Queen, her eyes glowing. “Are we agreed?”

“You know we are.” Julian almost flung the words. “We’ll start looking, though we have no idea where to begin.”

“People go to the places that mean something to them.” The Queen cocked her head to the side. “Annabel was a Blackthorn. Learn about her past. Know her soul. You have access to the Blackthorn papers, to histories no one else can touch.” She rose to her feet. “Some of my folk visited them once when they were young and happy. Fade had a house in Cornwall. Perhaps it still stands. There could be something there.” She began to descend the steps. “And now it is time to speed your journey. You should return to the mundane world before it is too late.” She had reached the foot of the steps. She turned, magnificent in her finery, her imperiousness. “Come in!” she called. “We have been awaiting you.”

Two figures appeared in the doorway of the room, flanked on either side by knights in the Queen’s livery. One Emma recognized as Nene. There was a look on her face, one of respect and even a little fear, as she came in. She was escorting beside her the formidable figure of Gwyn ap Nudd. Gwyn wore a formal doublet of dark velvet, against which his massive shoulders strained.

Gwyn turned to Mark. His eyes, blue and black, fixed on him with a look of pride. “You saved Kieran,” he said. “I should not have doubted you. You did everything I could have asked of you, and more. And now, for one last time, you will ride with me and the Wild Hunt. I shall take you to your family.”

* * *

The five of them followed the Queen, Nene, and Gwyn down a series of tangled corridors until one ended in a sloping tunnel down which blew fresh, cool air. It opened into a green space: There was no sign of trees, only grass studded with flowers, and above them the night sky whirling with multicolored clouds. Emma wondered if it was still the same night that they’d arrived at the Seelie Court, or if a whole day had passed underground. There was no way of knowing. Time in Faerie moved like a dance whose steps she didn’t know.

Five horses stood in the clearing. Emma recognized one as Windspear, Kieran’s mount, who he had ridden into battle with Malcolm. He whinnied when he caught sight of Kieran, and kicked at the sky.

“This is what the phouka promised me,” Mark said in a low voice. He stood behind Emma, his eyes fixed on Gwyn and the horses. “That if I came to Faerie, I would ride with the Wild Hunt again.”

Emma reached out and squeezed his hand. At least for Mark, the phouka’s promise had come true without a bitter sting in its tail. She hoped the same for Julian and Cristina.

Cristina was approaching a red roan, which skittishly kicked at the dirt. She murmured softly to the horse until it calmed, and swung herself up onto its back, reaching to stroke the horse’s neck. Julian pulled himself onto a black mare whose eyes were an eerie green. He looked unfazed. Cristina’s eyes were glowing with delight. She met Emma’s gaze and grinned as if she could barely contain herself. Emma wondered how long Cristina must have dreamed of riding with a faerie host.

She hung back, waiting to hear Gwyn call her name. Why were there only five horses, not six? She got her answer when Mark swung himself up onto Windspear and reached down to pull Kieran up after him. The elf-bolt around Mark’s throat gleamed in the multicolored starlight.

Nene came up to Windspear then, and reached for Mark’s hands, ignoring Kieran. Emma couldn’t hear what she was whispering to him, but there was deep pain on her face; Mark’s fingers clung to hers for a moment before he released them. Nene turned and went back into the hill.

Silent, Kieran settled himself into place behind Mark, but he didn’t touch the other boy.

Mark half-turned in his seat. “Are you worried?” he asked Kieran.

Kieran shook his head. “No,” he said. “Because I am with you.”

Mark’s face tightened. “Yes,” he said. “You are.”

Beside Emma, the Queen laughed softly. “So many lies in just three words,” she said. “And he did not even say ‘I love you.’ ”

A dart of anger went through Emma. “You would know lies,” she said. “In fact, if you ask me, the biggest lie the Fair Folk have ever told is that they don’t tell them.”

The Queen drew herself up. She seemed to be looking down at Emma from a great height. The stars wheeled behind her, blue and green, purple and red. “Why are you angry, girl? I have offered you a fair bargain. Everything you might desire. I have given you fair hosting. Even the clothes on your back are Faerie clothes.”

“I don’t trust you,” Emma said flatly. “We bargained with you because we had no choice. But you have manipulated us every step of the way—even the dress I’m wearing is a manipulation.”

The Queen arched an eyebrow.

“Besides,” Emma said, “you allied yourself with Sebastian Morgenstern. You helped him wage the Dark War. Because of the war, Malcolm got the Black Volume and my parents died. Why shouldn’t I blame you?”

The Queen’s eyes raked Emma, and now Emma could see in them what the Queen had been at pains to hide before: her anger, and her viciousness. “Is that why you have set yourself as the protector of the Blackthorns? Because you could not save your parents, you will save them, your makeshift family?”

Emma looked at the Queen for a long moment before she spoke. “You bet your ass it is,” she said.