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“Why didn’t Janus kill those Shadowhunters?” the Queen asked, an edge to her voice that made Dru’s skin prickle. “He was born Nephilim, in his world. He is in Idris even now, and yet they live. I fear he may retain an attachment to their kind.”

“Oh?” Byrne looked amused. “Is it that you fear he will fall in love with Alicante and remain there?”

The Queen looked irritated. “No. He will return. He cannot bear to be long away from his pet. The Fairchild girl. Another Shadowhunter he cares too much for.”

“I would not fear he cares for any of them save her.” Shadows cast by the fire danced across Byrne’s face. “It is not mercy that stays his hand. He has his orders, just as I do. The Shadowhunters beneath Lake Lyn are needed.”

Dru’s gaze flicked sideways to Ash. He couldn’t see through the spy hole, but he was clearly listening, expressionless. Had he known that the Queen wanted the Shadowhunters dead? There was no way to tell. And Byrne had said they were needed, but Dru couldn’t imagine what that meant. It was better than being killed, but being needed for whatever Janus and his allies were planning sounded unpromising.

The Queen’s eyes slitted as she regarded Byrne. “Needed by Janus, or by those you represent?”

Byrne’s smile was dark, humorless. “Let us speak plainly, my lady. The Princes of Hell require them for the ritual. Surely Janus told you of this when he first brought the idea of an alliance with Hell’s Princes to your door.”

Princes of Hell? Dru didn’t mean to grab hold of Ash’s arm. It happened before she could think, and she gripped tight, as if he were the only thing steadying her in a swaying world. She shot a glance at Ash and saw the clear shock on his face. He hadn’t known, either.

There were no greater, more powerful demons than Hell’s Princes, and nothing in the universe more dangerous. They had existed since the beginning of worlds; Magnus’s own father was the Prince Asmodeus, and Magnus and Alec had once summoned Azazel himself. But why would Janus go to them? Had he really forged an alliance between them and the Court of Seelie?

The Queen’s expression did not change, but there was a flicker in her eyes. “I know you have had many encounters with them, Lord Byrne, but take care you do not trust them. It is in the nature of demons to be dishonest. They invented lying.”

Byrne’s dark eyes glimmered with a strange amusement. “Indeed, but their interests align with yours and the Huntsman’s. They have no reason to lie. You want the same thing, daughter of Bathsheba.”

Bathsheba? Perhaps the name of a past Seelie Queen?

“Oh?” The word was a warning. “I know that, like myself, they have a vested interest in the end of Shadowhunters. But what I do not trust is that they share the same end you and I seek: seeing my son on the throne of a united Faerie.”

Beside her, Dru felt Ash’s arm go rigid under her hand.

Byrne traced a pattern on the air with a lazy hand. “They have not just promised to set your son on the High King’s throne, they have signed a binding agreement to do it. Even Princes of Hell can be bound. As long as your son will cooperate, you have nothing to concern yourself with.”

The Queen laughed. “Ash will have to cooperate,” she said. “He knows well what happens when a King or Queen of Faerie dies, or abdicates a throne. The land is tied to the monarch and it will slowly die unless a new monarch comes. And Janus will not interfere,” she added. “The Princes of Hell corrupted his love for the boy some time ago for just that reason.”

Dru couldn’t help herself—she gasped. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was already too late. The Queen’s eyes had narrowed; she was rising to her feet, her blue gaze darting around the room. It came to rest on the spy hole.

“Someone is listening to us,” she snapped. She seemed to be staring directly at Dru. “Little mice in the walls.” She raised her voice. “Guards!”

Dru leaped back from the spy hole, letting go of Ash, her heart hammering frantically. Ash spun around and yanked her toward him almost violently, his face white as paper as he stared down at her. His voice was low and desperate. “Run, Dru. Get to the corridor and run.”

He let her go, and Dru bolted for the door in the wall. As she reached it, she heard the sound of something rattling. She turned on the threshold, halfway into the mossy corridor, and saw that Ash had thrown open the doors between his mother’s room and the antechamber.

She saw him raise his head, saw him smile, and was reminded of the way a Shadowhunter checked the sharpness of a blade before they went into battle.

“Mother,” he said, his voice drawling and polite. “I do apologize for barging in. It seems this discussion concerns me. I thought I should be part of it.”

Dru couldn’t hear what the Queen said in return, but it didn’t matter. A moment later, Ash had stepped across the threshold; at the same time, Dru felt herself pulled backward into the corridor by an invisible force. The door in the wall vanished, fading back into a mirror, leaving Dru alone in the dark.

Ash

Ash stood with his hands clasped behind his back as the Queen dismissed Byrne from her chambers. He could half hear her telling Byrne that they would resume their conversation later, that it was important she speak with her son alone.

Ash kept his gaze fixed politely ahead, his expression bland. But inside, he was straining with all he had to hear the sound of Dru’s feet in the corridor outside. He knew he couldn’t; it was impossible, and yet the terror would not leave him. The moment his mother had heard Dru’s gasp, fear had circled his heart like a band of ice.

Run, he had said. Without thought or hesitation. He’d seen Dru’s lips part in surprise at the word, had braced himself for her usual stubbornness, her intractable determination to frustrate him at every turn.

But she had gone. She was safe, he told himself now, as Byrne departed the room with a last obsequious bow to the Queen. She would be halfway to her room. He could not dwell on what might happen otherwise, or he would shatter. His mother would read the truth on his face, and there was nothing worse than the thought of the Queen discovering how he truly felt about Dru.

Save perhaps the thought of Dru discovering it herself.

“Now, my son.” The Queen’s voice snapped him out of his reverie. “You felt the need to spy on me. I understand. We have kept you very far away from our plans, haven’t we, my darling?”