The italicized text at the beginning comes directly from Lady Midnight (page 518 in the hardcover edition).

"No." Kieran, sounding desperate, whirled fluidly towards Iarlath. He dropped to the ground, kneeling, his hands outstretched. "I beg you," he said. "As a prince of the Unseelie Court, I beg you. Do not hurt Mark. Do what you will with me instead."

Iarlath snorted. "Whipping you would incur your father's wrath. This will not. Get to your feet, child-prince. Do not shame yourself further."

Kieran staggered upright. "Please," he said, looking not at Iarlath, but at Mark.

"Hold," Gwyn said suddenly.

All eyes turned to Gwyn, Mark with tentative hope, Kieran with desperation, and Iarlath with rage.

"You cannot protect the Blackthorn boy this time," Iarlath spat. "He broke our laws. The king has given me leave to decide his punishment."

"You have every right to decide his punishment," Gwyn agreed. "But Kieran has every right to stand in as Mark's champion."

Iarlath's head looked about ready to explode, Emma noted with grim satisfaction. "He is a prince of the Unseelie Court-"

"He is a member of the Wild Hunt," Gwyn countered. "His father demanded that he not be mistreated, but he is still just as subject to punishments as any other Hunter. If Kieran had shared these secrets, he would have faced this whipping. If he is willing to take it for Mark, then by our own rules, he must be allowed to."

Iarlath's fuming was obvious. "I cannot whip a prince of my court," he stated. "But the sentence must be filled."

"Gwyn," Kieran said. His voice was quiet and just on this side of begging. Emma maybe felt sorry for him just a little bit.

Gwyn sighed. "Then I will fill the sentence," he said, holding out a hand. "Give me the whip."

Iarlath's eyes went wide. Mark's did as well, unmistakable horror shining in them. But Kieran's eyes showed nothing but relief. If it meant Mark would remain untouched, he was glad to face this whipping. Emma didn't like the guy, but she had to admit, he did seem to care for Mark.

Disappointment and fury fairly oozing from him, Iarlath handed Gwyn the whip. "Prepare yourself, Kieran of the Hunt," Gwyn said, and Kieran knelt by the tree that Iarlath had created. Gwyn gripped the whip tightly and began to raise his arm.

"No," Mark burst out suddenly. "No, Kieran-"

"Mark," Kieran replied, his voice gentle. He turned to face him, emotion shining in his bicolored eyes.

"Kieran has made his choice, Mark," Gwyn said softly. "Do not dishonor it."

Mark's jaw worked furiously, but he stayed put. Gwyn raised the whip high, then let it fall.

"One."

Kieran didn't make a sound, but Mark did, a pained keening like he'd been the one whipped. He tensed like he was going to rush forward.

"There must be no interference," Gwyn said, looking at Julian.

Julian nodded and wrapped his arms around Mark from behind, holding him tightly. Mark began to fight his hold, but Julian didn't let go.

Gwyn raised his arm again, then let the whip fall.

"Two."

Somehow, Kieran didn't make a sound until the eighth lash, and that was only a tiny, pained huff. Mark was fighting Julian furiously, but Julian was resolute. Emma could read the pain in his face, but she didn't think anyone else would be able to.

On the thirteenth lash, Kieran let out a little whimper, and on the sixteenth, a little cry. His back was covered in blood. Still, Gwyn raised the whip.

On the nineteenth lash, Kieran made a horrible sobbing noise. The sound Mark let out was equally pained as he struggled against Julian, but Emma was watching Gwyn. He raised his arm once more, and let the whip fall. Kieran made a noise Emma never wanted to hear again, but that wasn't what she was focusing on.

"Twenty," Gwyn said, sounding exhausted. "The sentence has been filled."

Julian must have loosened his grip on Mark, because a second later he was sprinting the short distance to Kieran's side, gently taking him in his arms. Kieran's back was a raw, bloody mess, but somehow he'd managed to stay conscious. Emma saw his trembling fingers grip Mark's shirt, clutching it like a lifeline.

"The sentence has been filled," Iarlath repeated, sounding disgusted. "We will leave you now."

"I will return for Kieran at this time tomorrow," Gwyn said, looking at Julian, then over at Mark holding Kieran with desperation and tenderness. "You may tend to his wounds here."

As Gwyn and Iarlath left, and Mark clung to Kieran like he was worried he might disappear, Emma realized that was Gwyn's way of giving them a small bit of mercy.

"Mark."

Mark looked up at Julian, wondering if he'd said his name before and Mark just hadn't noticed. Judging by his tone, Mark thought that was possible.

"Mark, we should bring Kieran inside."

Yes. They should bring Kieran inside. They had to tend to his wounds, bandage them, because they were bleeding all over his back and all over Mark's hands. Kieran's blood was on Mark's hands.

It seemed fairly apt.

Emma was there, suddenly, although Mark hadn't noticed her before. "Come on," she said quietly, putting a hand on Mark's shoulder. "Let Julian carry Kieran."

"I will carry Kieran," Mark said.

Julian and Emma shared a look, but Mark barely noticed. He was focused on Kieran instead, who had finally slipped into unconsciousness, who was so horribly still-

"I will carry Kieran," he repeated, gathering Kieran up in his arms and standing.

Emma ran forward to open the door, letting Mark carry Kieran in without pausing. "Should we bring him to the infirmary?" Julian asked.

"I will bring him to my room," Mark said.

Julian didn't protest. Mark carried Kieran up the stairs, ignoring the shocked looks on the faces of his siblings. He heard Emma talking to them, but it sounded very distant.

"Mark?"

Mark jerked as he reached the doorway of his room. Apparently, somewhere along the way, Julian had been replaced by Cristina. Mark hadn't noticed.

"Is there anything you need?" Cristina asked. "Any supplies?"

"Bandages," Mark said after a moment. "And herbs. Gearwe, and string-of-sovereigns, and heart-of-the-earth."

Cristina looked at him blankly. "Mark, I don't know what any of those herbs are."

Mark carefully laid Kieran on the bed, pushing the covers to the floor. He tried to think of what the herbs were called in the human world, what mundanes called them. It was a struggle to focus, a struggle to think, but Kieran needed him to figure it out.

"Yarrow," he finally said. "And moneywort. And selfheal."

Cristina nodded and left the room. Mark stared at Kieran, blood oozing from his back onto the sheets, and finally remembered that there was a sink in the adjoining bathroom, where he could get water and begin to clean the wounds.

But that would mean taking his eyes off Kieran, and Mark couldn't bring himself to do it.

Kieran had always been fairly well-treated in the Hunt. Many had disliked him, but no one had acted on it the way they'd acted on their dislike for Mark. Kieran was a prince, even if he'd been given up by his father. Kieran was gentry, had an unmistakable aura of superiority, and he was rarely touched. Mark had never seen him so wounded.

He knew, consciously, that Kieran must have been wounded like this before. There were scars on his body, scars that Mark had traced by moonlight, scars that Kieran refused to talk about. But those scars had been on his body when Mark met him. Mark had never seen Kieran wounded so deeply that his skin would scar. He had never seen Kieran bloody and broken like this.

And, to twist the knife, Kieran had taken this punishment for him.

Of course, Kieran had also been the only reason Mark would have faced the punishment at all. If he hadn't told Iarlath and Gwyn about Mark's conversation with Cristina, they never would have visited, and there never would have been a whipping. But it had been clear that Kieran had wanted nothing more than for Mark to come back to Faerie, and for that, Mark couldn't blame him, not when a part of him wanted to return to Faerie as well. The second the sentence of twenty lashes had been declared, Kieran had fought. He had done wrong, but he had tried to make it right.

"Mark?" Cristina stepped into the bedroom. "I have bandages, and Julian and Emma found all the herbs you wanted."

"Thank you," Mark said. His voice was surprisingly hoarse. "Could you fill a basin with water?"

Cristina set the bandages and herbs down on the bed, then ducked into the bathroom. She came out a moment later with a bowl of water and a towel. "I can hold the bowl while you clean his back," she offered.

"Thank you, Cristina," Mark replied, wetting the towel and gently setting it on Kieran's back. The water was temperate, but even in unconsciousness, Kieran flinched from it as if it were freezing. Mark steeled himself and began to wipe away the blood, hardening his heart against Kieran's tiny noises of pain.

When Mark finished, he set the bloody towel back in the bowl and took up the herbs. "What are you going-" Cristina began, but she stopped speaking when Mark put the first handful of herbs in his mouth.

The taste exploded across his tongue, bitter and disgusting, but Mark wasn't doing this for the taste. Once he deemed the herbs had been chewed enough, he spat them out into his palm and smeared the paste over Kieran's back.

Kieran had done this for him, back in the Hunt, when Mark had been tormented by other Hunters. Mark had done it for Kieran a few times too, when he'd been wounded enough to warrant it. Mark wasn't sure if it was enough to treat wounds as grave as these, but he could think of nothing else to do.

There were enough of the herbs for Mark to spread a thin layer over all of Kieran's wounds. "Can you get fresh water?" he asked Cristina as he picked up the first of the bandages.

"Of course," Cristina replied, picking up the bowl and ducking into the bathroom. It was full when she returned a moment later. Mark submerged the bandages for a moment, then wrung as much of the water out of them as he could, until they were just slightly damp. Then he laid them over Kieran's back, over the poultice. Kieran's face was still tight with pain, but Mark didn't know what else he could do.

"You love him," Cristina said quietly.

"He betrayed me," Mark said in an equally quiet voice.

"What did he do?" Cristina asked. "Emma just told me he was whipped."

"He overheard me talking to you," Mark said. "When I told you about Gwyn and his cloak. It is against ours laws for me to share such information, and Kieran was… jealous, I believe. He went back to Gwyn and Iarlath and told them what I had said, so they would punish me. He wanted me dragged back to the Hunt."

"Dragged back to him," Cristina said quietly.

Mark bowed his head.

"But then why was he whipped?"

"Iarlath sentenced me to twenty lashes for my crime," Mark explained. "And Kieran stood in as my champion. He was whipped in my stead."

"It sounds like he loves you too."

"He betrayed me."

"Because he wanted you back. And when it went wrong, he tried to fix it." Cristina sighed. "Mark, I don't know much about your relationship with Kieran, but it is clear that he cares very deeply for you, and I think you care deeply for him."

"He told me once that I was all he loved under the sky," Mark said quietly. "And he cannot lie."

"And do you love him?"

Mark's lips pulled up into a smile, though he felt no humor. "I can lie. What value can you place on my words?"

"I don't think you would lie to me," Cristina said.

Mark raked a hand through his hair. Cristina had cut it, but Kieran's hair was overlong without Mark to care for it. "I think I do. I think I love him."

"Will you return to him, after we catch the killer?"

Mark couldn't hear any judgment in Cristina's voice, but nor could he imagine that she didn't feel any. How could he return to Kieran, when he had the chance to stay? What sort of person would leave their family again, after being able to return to them?

And yet, the Hunt had been his life for so long, for years beyond count, and Kieran had been a large part of that life. Mark did not want to leave it - leave him - behind.

"I do not know," he finally said. It was the only true answer he could give.

Kieran didn't wake for hours after the whipping. Mark had never seen him so weak. And when he did finally wake, it was slowly, groggily, as Mark had never seen him wake before. Kieran always woke abruptly, switching from sleep to wakefulness in an instant. This delayed awakening was wrong.

"Mark?" Kieran asked. There was pain in his voice, and a thread of confusion. He had never been in Mark's bedroom before, Mark realized. He had no way of knowing where he was.

"Worry not," Mark said, trying to keep his voice low and soothing. "You are safe here."

"Where-" Kieran started to move, then a flash of pain crossed his face. "What-"

"Do you not remember?" Mark asked. "You are in my bedroom, in the Shadowhunter Institute in Los Angeles."

"I was whipped," Kieran said slowly. "I-" Panic filled his eyes, and they sought Mark's. "Mark, I did not know what Iarlath was going to do. I thought he would send you back to Faerie. I did not think he would-"

"You just thought he would take my choice from me," Mark said. "That choice is mine to make."

Kieran swallowed. Mark saw the bob of his throat. "My Mark, I-"

"Peace, Kieran, I know you meant no harm," Mark said, suddenly exhausted. "In truth, you need not worry so that I will remain in the human world. I have not made my choice yet."

"If you do stay, we may never see each other again," Kieran said. "I do not know when I would be able to visit."

"You have found time to visit while I have been here with my family," Mark said. "Would that not be able to continue?"

"You are no fool, Mark, do not pretend to be one," Kieran said, his voice suddenly sharp. "I am here because of your investigation. Once it is over, the Hunt will have no reason to linger."

"Could you not slip away?" Mark asked. "We slipped away sometimes ourselves, and Gwyn is fond of us. Could we not continue meeting as such?"

"And live a life in snatches?" Kieran countered. "I will not be your secret shame, Mark. The faerie you spare time for when you are not too busy with your Shadowhunter family, or your little princess. I will have all of your heart, or I will have none of it."

"Kieran-"

But Kieran was offended now, and Mark knew from experience that it would be difficult to talk him down again. "Can you think a relationship between us could ever last, if you are here, in an Institute? Among Nephilim, who would damn me in an instant because of the actions of some of my kind? You would never be allowed to visit me, except in secret."

"Peace, Kieran," Mark begged him. "You are still wounded, and I have made no decision yet. We need not worry about this now."

To Mark's surprise, Kieran did subside. Mark was under no illusions that this discussion was over, but this was more than he had expected.

"How long until I must return to the Hunt?" Kieran asked after a moment.

"Hours yet," Mark said, eager to answer so simple a question. "Gwyn will not return until night. You have time to rest and regain your strength."

"And what of your family?" Kieran asked. "And your investigation? I cannot imagine you have much time to waste."

"Helping you is no waste of time," Mark replied. "And my siblings are still investigating. Once you return to the Hunt, I will return to their side."

Kieran hummed. "And what do your siblings think of harboring a faerie? Your Cold Peace will not be kind to them if they are discovered."

"They won't be," Mark said. "And the Cold Peace would punish them just as harshly for harboring me."

"Sed lex dura lex," Kieran said in an almost sing-song voice. "Is that not your Shadowhunter saying?"

"Lex malla, lex nulla," Mark countered. "The Blackthorn family has not always agreed with the Covenant."

A hint of a smile crossed Kieran's face. "So you have always had that wildness to you. No wonder you did so well in the Hunt."

A part of Mark was proud, but another part wanted to be offended. That part, he knew, was his Shadowhunter side, and it had grown louder since he'd rejoined his family. If he returned to the Hunt, he wondered how hard it would be to silence it again.

"You should rest," Mark said. "You are badly wounded."

"I will heal quickly," Kieran dismissed. "You know that as well as I. This is not my first time being whipped."

"My heart aches to see you like this," Mark admitted in a whisper. He didn't dare call Kieran weak aloud, but he was fairly certain Kieran knew what he meant.

"And my heart is gladdened that it is I who is wounded and not you," Kieran replied. "I did not mean for this to happen, my Mark."

And Kieran had said it, so it could not be a lie.

"Rest," Mark told Kieran again. "Rest and heal. I will be here when you wake."

The words didn't have the weight of a faerie promise, not when Mark's mortal tongue wasn't bound to truth, but Kieran closed his eyes anyway. In a few minutes, he was asleep. Mark leaned forward and brushed Kieran's dark hair away from his forehead, then he let out a deep sigh.

"Mark?" a small voice asked. Mark turned to see Tavvy in the doorway, lingering behind the threshold.

"Yes, little one?"

"Julian and Emma said your friend got hurt," Tavvy says. "And I thought…" Tavvy pulled a gray bear out from behind his back. Mark recognized the bear Cristina had given Tavvy after Mark accidentally ripped his previous stuffed animal.

"Cristina said that Oso helped her when she was sad or not feeling well," Tavvy explained. "And Mr. Limpet always helped me. If your friend is hurt, maybe Oso can help him."

Part of Mark wanted to cry, while another part of him wished Kieran were awake so Mark could see his reaction to being offered a stuffed bear by a small child. "Thank you," he told Tavvy. "Kieran rests now, but when he wakes, I will make sure he knows of your generosity."

Tavvy stepped into the room, handing Oso to Mark. His eyes fixed on Kieran and an expression of concern passed across his little face. A child so young should have no reason for such worry, but Tavvy was a Shadowhunter, and there was no use in wishing for things that would never be.

"Will he be okay?" Tavvy asked in a small voice.

"He will be," Mark said, and he knew it had to be true, because he could not survive anything else.

Kieran slept for nearly two hours, and when he woke, it was clear he was in less pain than he had been. "What herbs are these?" he asked, twisting to look at his back. "They do their job well."

"Gearwe, string-of-sovereigns, and heart-of-the-earth," Mark replied. "I know there are more that could help, but I knew these could be found in the Institute."

"I am lucky to have one such as you to take care of me," Kieran said. "And I know not what I have done to deserve such luck."

"I am the one who is lucky to have you," Mark said, picking up Kieran's hand and brushing a kiss across his knuckles. "You have always protected me, and when I was the one wounded, you tended to me with such care. It is all I can do to return the favor."

"It was a favor freely given," Kieran said quietly. "You do not need to return it."

"And yet I wish to."

Kieran's lips twitched into the hint of a wry smile. "There are times when it is very clear that you have not lived in Faerie. A favor freely given does not require repayment, and thus if you do return it, you would hold the other in your debt. It will absolve nothing you owe, because you cannot absolve something that does not exist."

"Then my care for you is another favor freely given," Mark said. "You owe me nothing, Kieran."

"Oh, to be mortal and to lie," Kieran sighed, beginning to push himself upright.

"Kier, are you sure-"

"I will not lie back like an invalid if I do not need to," Kieran said, sitting up and wincing. "And your herbs are helping me to heal. I will be well again soon. And I-" He stopped short, frowning.

"Kier?"

"What is this?"

Mark had almost forgotten about Oso. Seeing the look on Kieran's face as he beheld it lifted a measure of tension from his shoulders.

"That is Oso," Mark said. "Tavvy's stuffed bear. He thought it might be of use to you."

"Of use to me?" Kieran repeated. "What am I to use it for?"

"Mortal children take comfort from toys such as these, especially when they are unwell," Mark explained. "Tavvy thought that, in your injured state, you might take comfort in Oso."

Kieran stared at the bear. "When I was a child," he said, and Mark understood why he put such distance in the words when Kieran was hardly old enough to be an adult, "my father never gave me toys such as this. The only playthings I had were swords and knives." Kieran lifted the bear by the arm. "I would never be encouraged to take comfort in something like this."

"You need not do anything with it," Mark said. "Tavvy is but a child, so his help is childish too."

"Childish, perhaps, but well-meant," Kieran replied. "There are not many in Faerie who would offer something of their own to bring comfort to a stranger. I will thank him for his kindness if I see him."

"He will ask if the bear helped."

"And I will tell him it did."

Mark frowned. "Faeries cannot utter lies, even well-meaning ones."

"The bear itself could bring no comfort," Kieran said. "But its offering did. It is no lie, Mark."

"Merely a twisting of the truth."

Kieran shrugged, then winced. "Faeries cannot lie, but we rarely say anything that is more than half true."

"I know that well," Mark said quietly. One of the first things he had learned with the Hunt was how to pick the threads of truth out of a statement that was specifically woven to obscure them. Faeries couldn't lie outright, but they were no more truthful than mortals.

"Did you ever lie?" Kieran asked after a moment. "In the Hunt? You grew well-versed at speaking Faerie half-truths, but were there things that you said that had no truth to them at all?"

"A few," Mark said after a long moment. "But I did it only rarely."

"Such a skill, and you used it only rarely," Kieran said with a sigh. "Any lord or lady of Faerie would kill to be able to speak lies outright."

"We value truth in the mortal world," Mark said. "Lying is considered… unkind. Unfair. And in Faerie, where no one else could do it… I suppose I fell out of the habit."

There was silence for a long moment, then…

"Did you ever lie to me?"

"No," Mark answered, too quickly to know if it were a truth or a lie.

Kieran leaned his head back against the wall. "I suppose that is all the answer I could hope for."

"Kier-"

"Were you lying earlier?" Kieran asked. "When you said you had not yet made your decision?"

"I was not."

"And yet the way you speak about your brother…" Kieran's lips twisted into what almost looked like a smile, if the smile were absolutely devoid of any hint of humor. "If I had a brother I cared for so deeply, who cared for me so deeply, I would not leave him for the world."

Mark swallowed. "The decision is not an easy one."

"I know," Kieran said. "And I am selfish, Mark. I still want you to pick me."

Mark cupped one hand under Kieran's chin. "There is part of me that wishes to pick you."

"And part of you that wishes to stay with your family," Kieran finished softly.

"My heart is split across two places," Mark said. "No matter which place I choose, I leave half of it behind."

"It is your choice to make, and it needs not be made yet," Kieran said, but there was sorrow in his voice, like he already knew Mark would not choose him.

Mark hated to think that Kieran was more than likely correct.

Mark had no idea what woke him, but when he jerked upright in the chair by his bedside, he realized that the bed was empty but for a stuffed bear, and Kieran was gone.

Instantly awake, Mark ran to the bathroom and checked inside, but it was empty. He looked around the whole room, but he could find no one else in it. All he found was an acorn resting on his pillow, looking far more innocent than he knew it to be.

Carefully, Mark cracked the acorn open. The note inside seemed too large to have fit in such a small container, but Mark had spent years in Faerie, and such things no longer surprised him. He unrolled the small scroll and read the cramped writing inside.

My Mark,

I have business to attend to in Faerie, and my wounds have healed enough to allow me to attend to it. I will not trespass upon your family's kindness any longer, nor will I delay you in your investigation.

Know that I will forever cherish the half a heart you leave with me, and all I ask in return is that you are kind to my whole heart, which you will always carry.

Forever yours,

Kieran

Mark read the note once more, lips pressed together, then he rolled the scroll back up, nestled it back in its acorn, and dropped the whole thing in his pocket. He looked around the room, noting that it still smelled faintly of Kieran, and then he went to the door and left.

He only wished Kieran had stayed to say goodbye, because he was fairly certain they both knew it might be quite some time before they met again.