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There was something about flying that was indescribable, the vertigo when you looked down, the air pressure so high up, the feel of wind on your skin. It felt like how her older cousins described the time they had snuck down to Lake Lyn to wade and had ended up daring each other to drink the water, and had stumbled home feeling nauseous and translucent as colours whirled around them.
When Kieran finally pulled them down to land on an outcrop of rock somewhere on a mountain Cristina wanted to holler and whoop, scream her lungs out until even her mother could hear her. What ended up happening was more of a breathless giggle, high pitched and girlish even to her ears. She could feel Mark behind her, breathing fast and practically vibrating with something more than delight. In front of her Kieran’s smugness was palpable as he swung one leg over and slid down from his steed.
“Enjoyable?”
“Very.” Cristina said, trying half heartedly to contain herself.
“I do not think I will ever grow weary of the sky.” Mark murmured. He sounded sad. “Thank you, Kieran.”
“It was a pleasure.” the prince said, offering an arm to Cristina. “Do you require assistance reaching the ground, princess?”
Mark’s head shot up, his contemplation disrupted. “Why don’t you offer me help down?” he asked, his smile warping his offended tone into something affectionate.
Kieran gave Mark a prim look. “Because I have faith in your ability to get off a horse, you, who rode among the clouds for years.”
Cristina’s feet hit the rock before Mark could bicker back. “No clouds, but I did take riding lessons for years. Shadowhunters aren’t car friendly unless they have to be.”
Kieran seemed almost startled, but he recovered quickly and moved on to Mark. “It seems you are in fact the one in need of help, Mark Blackthorn.”
Mark grabbed Kieran’s hand and gracefully dismounted. “My hero.” he said, with a quick grin, the sort that Cristina associated with pretty boys and roguery, the sort that was so easy for Mark sometimes.
Cristina had wandered to the front of the horse, if that was what the rightly dubbed Windspear was. He was too still, too quick, too big and just a little wrongly proportioned. Like someone had drawn a horse from memory and gotten it almost right.
Dark eyes regarded her and she moved to the side, then back around again a few times until she was certain. Normal horses had whites to their eyes, visible when they were distressed or looking away. Windspear had none.
“Your curiosity gets the better of you again, Shadowhunter.” Kieran commented, and Cristina felt a pang in her chest.
“I’m sorry, I did not mean to offend. I simply was….”
“Curious.” Kieran finished. He could sound so cold sometimes, seemingly at the drop of a hat.
“There is nothing wrong with an interest in the world around you.” Mark said, and Cristina appreciated his defense. “Do faeries not love watching the world turn as well?”
“It so often gets us in trouble.” Kieran said softly. “Are you only here to stare, Shadowhunter?”
Cristina wasn’t about to let Kieran’s mood ruin the evening. They had been doing so well, they were getting along so well. “Mark asked me to come with him. Then you asked us if we wanted to see the mountains. I was asked and I accepted, out of curiosity, yes, but also out of a liking for you and because I thought it was in Mark’s best interest. Please stop being rude or I will reconsider coming along in the future. And I do not think you’d like that.”
Kieran was silent for a second, his navy hair shadowing his fine face. It was a bright night, with a full moon, but it was still not quite bright enough. Cristina had always loved the sun best and Mark seemed made for it, gold and electrum and summer sea blue. Kieran alone looked entirely comfortable in the dark.
“What did you think I would do to Mark, that you must be here to protect his interests?” he asked finally, sounding less like someone trying to start a bar brawl.
Cristina shrugged. “Steal him away, hide him in a tower, elope with him. He needs someone big and strong to protect him.” It was a gamble, though Cristina only realized it once the words were half way out of his mouth. Sometimes talking with Mark or Kieran was like talking around marbles. Other times it was as easy as flying.
Luckily Kieran laughed and then pounced. Mark, who had been standing petting Windspear wistfully and watching with an older brother’s eye from conflict, abruptly found himself being bodily pulled forward. Cristina could see the brief panic in his eyes, and then the choice to let Kieran settle his arms around his chest, holding him loosely in place against his own body.
“I think you have to make good on your boast now.” Mark told Cristina. “Please, save me. I’m but a vulnerable Shadowhunter boy being kidnapped by an evil faery.”
Kieran laughed again, and so did Cristina. It was an utterly inappropriate thing to say, an utterly inappropriate game to play. But they were already in too deep and if Mark didn’t mind…
“Are you sure?” Cristina asked. I don’t want to hurt you, she thought, or remind you of things you’d rather not be reminded of. Memory runs deep.
“I want to give you a chance to save yourself.” she said.
“I am helpless and in need of rescue.” Mark confirmed, smiling lightly, giving Cristina the okay.
“Save him, Princess.” Kieran said with relish. Cristina wasn’t sure what was going through his head, but at least he was having fun.
Like a true Shadowhunter, she assessed the situation first. One immobile hostage, gazing at her soulfully, one predator still hostage taker, whose arms had move up to settle on Mark’s shoulders, his pale hands practically caressing Mark’s collarbone. One not quite horse she wasn’t turning her back to. An awful lot of rock to one side and a rather sheer drop on the other.
Cristina edged around until she wasn’t a more advantageous position and Kieran matched her. His hair was the colour of frost, or glacial pools. There was a gleam in Mark’s bicoloured eyes that Cristina couldn’t decipher, so she filed it away and made her move, rushing at them.
Kieran back pedaled but he couldn’t move fast enough with Mark. Cristina could have tackled them, but that seemed both additionally unrespectable and unlikely to result in a victory. So she pushed off a rock and angled to the left, running past them and grabbing Mark’s arm as she did so.
His hand closed around her and she thought for a second she might be able to pull him away. But Kieran dug his heels in and held tight to Mark’s torso, leaving Cristina pulling futilely at an arm.
Mark was still impassive and stubbornly neutral, or at least not moving, which in practice gave Kieran an advantage.
“Do you want to be rescued or not?” Cristina asked him. His fingers were tightly laced with hers, their callouses interlocking.
“Are you so close to giving up?” Kieran asked from somewhere behind Mark’s halo of curls. He seemed to be getting very invested in this….. whatever they were doing.
Role playing the Cold Peace. With the actual Mark Blackthorn. On a mountainside. At midnight.
“Never!” Cristina declared after an unfortunate pause, and she redoubled her efforts. Some part of her that was still functioning with something approximating sanity told her she needed to be careful not to dislocate Mark’s arm. Perhaps noting the same danger he closed his fingers more tightly around her hand and tensed his arm.
“There’s something you need to consider.” Mark told her, eyes wide. Cristina made an inquiring noise. Mark smiled, and Cristina hesitated. She was nothing if not raised to be cautious. But Mark’s grip was inescapable, or at least impossible to escape before he threw himself backwards and yanked his arm in, the motion too sudden and violent for any of them to stop.
Cristina was so busy falling she almost didn’t register his words.
“Perhaps I have split loyalties.”
She had never been one for dark humor. But she had to admit it was funny in a ridiculous sort of way, Mark’s imprisonment and the Clave’s fears played out like a game. The hilarity of the three of them, together, doing this of all things was hard to ignore.
They hit the ground.
Kieran, furthest back, took the brunt of the fall, but the was quick enough to roll a little so his head didn’t hit the unforgiving rock and Mark didn’t land on him. That would have been hard to explain
Cristina was lucky. She had something almost soft to land on. Admittedly, that something was Mark.
Her head collided with his chest, her legs tangled with his, her jeans scraping the ground. Her hands ended up somewhere around his stomach, and she could feel muscle under his shirt.
She rolled off him quickly and ended up face to face with Kieran’s shin. He was trying to extricate his other leg from underneath Mark. When that was accomplished he folded both his legs underneath him, and leaned over Mark and Cristina, still lying prone on the ground. His beautiful face and hanging hair filled Cristina’s vision.
“Does this mean I win?”
“I think,” Cristina said slowly, sitting upright, “it means Mark wins.”
“I agree with Tina.” Mark said. He was staring at his hands, folded on his chest, and smiling contentedly, like her Auntie Sofí’s cat. The starlight played through his hair, even as it gleamed off of Kieran’s.
Kieran opened his mouth, and then closed it as a moonlight shadow loomed over them. A man, standing behind Kieran, tall, solidly built, with features just a little too keen and ears that tapered to delicate points. His eyes shone, pitch black and pale blue.
“Gwyn.” Mark sounded awed and angry and sad.
“I came to fetch Kieran.” Gwyn Ap Nudd said, inclining his head to Mark. His gaze was on Cristina though.
She felt like she was being watched by a dozen eyes rather than two. It was unsettling, that much attention on her. She shivered and then Gwyn looked away, his regard sliding off her like water.
Kieran was standing, ramrod straight. “I have to take the Shadowhunters back to their beds.”
“You have to get back to the Hunt.” Gwyn said, mild but stern. “I can take Mark and his friend home.”
“I-” Kieran started, and then shut up again. His expression was still enough of a strident objection.
Gwyn raised an eyebrow. Kieran didn’t move.
“Kieran.”
“Kieran, I have given you much leeway so far, allowing you to wander though your father would most surely object to it. Leave now, or I will be be less generous in the future.” Gwyn didn’t sound like the sort of person who took great joy in anger. But in Cristina’s experience those who disliked it were often the best at it.
Kieran lowered his gaze. “You will return Mark and Cristina to their Institute safely?”
“Have I really given you such reason to mistrust me, young prince?”
Mark muttered something, to soft to hear and probably inhuman besides. Gwyn’s eyes softened.
“They will be safe. You have my word.”
Kieran looked relieved for a split second and then cool and collected, like he was an unruffled lake once for. He bowed to Gwyn and went over to Windspear. “Blackthorn, Rosales.” he said politely, an acknowledgment with no meaning behind it. Cristina hoped it was a way of saying they’d see each other later.
Gwyn Ap Nudd held up a hand to stop him. “Next time you and a young Shadowhunter must play a game over Mark’s favor, mayhaps you should do it away from any watchful eyes.” he advised, gesturing at the wide sky, the mountain range, the valley below.
Kieran’s face tightened into a scowl, almost fearful. “We were safe, unless you think someone could spy on a Hunter and two Nephilim without their knowledge.”
“I did.” Gwyn gestured for Kieran to go. “Simply mind yourself in the future.” With one last look at them, and a posture markedly different from that of the wild boy of a few minutes prior, Kieran galloped off, into the sky. It worried at her heart to see him go.
Mark offered Cristina a hand up, and she realized she was still sitting on the ground. She accepted it hastily, and brushed off her jeans once she was back on her feet.
“Cristina Rosales.” Gwyn Ap Nudd said. It was not a true question, but Cristina felt obliged to answer anyways, even though she also felt as tongue tied as a child. This was Gwyn Ap Nudd, who led the Wild Hunt since time immemorial. He was here, he knew her name.
“Yes?” she said, perhaps too quietly. Gwyn have her another assessing look, and then a short nod.
“Mark. We should return you to your abode, before it grows much later. I have matters I wish to discuss with you two.”
Mark’s head was held high, his gaze level. “If you wish, Gwyn.” he said evenly.
Gwyn’s cloak whipped around him as he turned, to where a great dark horse stood, though it hasn’t seconds before.
Mark’s posture was impeccable, but he looked -justifiably- troubled. Cristina wasn’t sure exactly what emotions the Wild Hunt still stirred in him, longing, hope, fear. But she did not think it could be easy. She held out her hand, like she would to Emma if they were going walking down the beach. Mark took it, and Cristina was only slightly concerned about ending up on the ground again. She trusted Mark.
Together they walked after Gwyn, hand in hand under the moon.
Cristina had been right about one thing, all those months ago. Los Angeles was very interesting.