فصل 22

22

THE WORST AND THE BEST

The Silent City was empty, full of the echoes of past dreams and whispers. The torches in the walls were lit, casting a golden glow over the spires of bone and mausoleums of rhodolite and white agate.

Emma walked unhurried among the bones of the dead. She knew she should be anxious, perhaps hurrying, but she couldn’t remember why, or what she was seeking. She knew she was wearing gear—battle gear, black and silver as a starry sky. Her boots echoing on the marble were the only sound in the City.

She passed through a familiar room with a high, domed ceiling. Marble of all colors flowed together in patterns too intricate for the eye to follow. On the floor were two interlocking circles: This was where she and Julian had become parabatai.

Beyond that room was the Star Chamber. The parabolic stars glimmered on the floor; the Mortal Sword hung point-down behind the basalt Judges’ Bar, as if waiting for her. She took hold of it and found it featherlight. Crossing the room, she stepped into the square of the Speaking Stars.

“Emma! Emma, it’s me, Cristina.” A cool hand was holding hers. She was tossing and turning; there was a searing pain at her throat.

“Cristina,” she whispered, her lips dry and cracked. “Hide the Sword. Please, please, hide it.” There was a click. The floor beneath her opened along an invisible seam, two slabs of marble rolling smoothly apart. Revealed beneath them was a square compartment containing a stone tablet, on which was painted a crude parabatai rune. It was neither fine work nor beautiful, but it radiated power.

Gripping the hilt of Maellartach, Emma brought it down, point first. The blade split the tablet apart and Emma staggered back in a cloud of dust and power.

It is severed, she thought. The bond is severed.

She felt no joy and no relief. Only fear as a whispering voice called her name: “Emma, Emma, how could you?” She turned to see Jem in his Silent Brother robes. A red stain was spreading slowly across his chest. She cried out as he fell. . . .

“Emma, talk to me. You’re going to be all right. Julian’s going to be all right.” Cristina sounded on the verge of tears.

Emma knew she was in a bed, but it felt as if huge manacles had chained down her arms and legs. They were so heavy. Voices rose and fell around her: She recognized Mark’s voice, and Helen’s.

“What happened to them?” Helen said. “They appeared just a few moments after you, but in totally different clothing. I don’t understand.” “Neither do I.” Mark sounded wretched. Emma felt his hand brush her hair. “Emma, where have you been?” Emma stood before the silver mirror. She saw herself reflected back: pale hair, runed skin, all familiar, but her eyes were the dull red of the moon in Thule.

Then she was falling, falling through the water. She saw the great monsters of the deep, shark-finned and serpentine-toothed, and then she saw Ash rise up through the water with his black wings gleaming silver and gold, and the monsters fell back from him in fear. . . .

She woke with a hoarse cry, struggling against the seaweed that dragged her down, into deeper water—she realized she was struggling against sheets that were wound around her, and sagged back, gasping for breath. Hands were on her shoulders, then brushing back her hair; a soft voice was saying her name.

“Emma,” Cristina said. “Emma, it’s all right. You’ve been dreaming.”

Emma opened her eyes. She was in her room in the Institute; blue paint, familiar mural on the wall of swallows in flight over castle towers, sunlight spilling through an open window. She could hear the sounds of the sea, of music playing in another room.

“Cristina,” Emma whispered. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

Cristina made a hiccuping noise and threw her arms around Emma, hugging her tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry we left Faerie without you, it’s all I’ve been able to think about. I should never, never have left you—” As if from a great distance, Emma remembered the Unseelie Court. How the flames had cut them off from Cristina and the others, how she had nodded at her, giving her permission to save herself, the others. “Tina!” she exclaimed, patting her friend on the back. Her voice was hoarse, her throat oddly sore. “It’s all right, I told you to go.” Cristina sat back, her nose and eyes pink. “But where did you go? And why did you keep calling me the Rose of Mexico?” She wrinkled up her forehead in puzzlement.

Emma made a noise that was half laugh, half gasp. “I have a lot to tell you,” she said. “But first, I just have to know”—she caught Cristina’s hand—“is everyone alive? Julian, all the others—” “Of course!” Cristina looked horrified. “Everyone’s alive. Everyone.”

Emma squeezed Cristina’s hand and let go. “What has the blight done to Magnus? Are we too late?” “It’s odd that you should ask. Alec and Magnus arrived here yesterday.” Cristina hesitated. “Magnus isn’t doing well at all. He’s very ill. We’ve been in contact with the Spiral Labyrinth—” “But they still think it’s the ley lines.” Emma started to swing her legs out of the bed. A wave of dizziness swamped her, and she braced herself against the pillows, breathing hard.

“No, no, they don’t. I realized it was the blight in Faerie. Emma, don’t try to get up—” “What about Diana?” Emma demanded. “She was in Idris—”

“She isn’t anymore.” Cristina looked grim. “That’s another long story. But she’s fine.” “Emma!” The door burst open and Helen flew in, all disarrayed fair hair and anxious eyes. She flew to hug Emma, and Emma felt another wave of dizziness go over her: She thought of Thule, and how Helen had been separated from her family forever there. She would never forgive the Clave for exiling Helen to Wrangel Island, but at least she was back. At least this was a world where it was possible to be lost and then return.

Helen hugged Emma until she waved her arms to indicate that she needed oxygen. Cristina fussed as Emma once against tried to get up and succeeded in propping herself against the pillows just as Aline, Dru, Tavvy, Jace, and Clary crowded in.

“Emma!” Tavvy exclaimed, having no time for sickroom protocols, and jumped up onto the bed. Emma hugged him gently and ruffled his hair while the others gathered around; she heard Jace ask Cristina if Emma had been talking and whether she seemed coherent.

“You shaved,” she said, pointing at him. “It’s a big improvement.”

There was a scrum of hugging and exclaiming; Clary came last and smiled down at Emma the same way she’d once smiled at her outside the Council Hall, the first time they’d ever met, when Clary had helped dispel the fears of a terrified child.

“I knew you’d be all right,” Clary said, her voice pitched so low only Emma could hear her.

There was a knock on the door, which barely opened into the crowded room. Emma felt a flare like a match tip against her left arm, and realized with a shock of joy what it was, just as Julian stepped into the room, leaning on Mark’s shoulder.

Her parabatai rune. It felt like forever since it had sparked with life. Her eyes met Julian’s and for a moment she was unaware of anything else: just that Julian was there, that he was all right, that there were bandages on his left arm and visible under his T-shirt but it didn’t matter, he was alive.

“He just woke up about an hour ago,” Mark said as the others beamed at Julian. “He’s been asking for you, Emma.” Aline clapped her hands together. “Okay, now that we’ve gotten the hugging and stuff out of the way, where were you two?” She indicated Emma and Julian with an accusatory wave of her hand. “Do you know how terrified we were when Mark and Cristina and the others suddenly appeared and you weren’t with them, and then you suddenly popped out of nowhere all beaten up and wearing strange clothes?” She gestured to Emma’s night table, where her Thule clothes lay neatly folded.

“I . . . ,” Emma began, and broke off as Aline marched out of the room. “Is she mad?” “Worried,” Helen said diplomatically. “We all were. Emma, you had a broken collarbone, and Julian had broken ribs. They should be better now—it’s been three days.” The exhaustion and worry of those three days told in the dark circles beneath her eyes.

“And you were incoherent,” said Jace. “Julian was out cold at first, but you kept shouting about demons and black skies and a dead sun. Like you’d been to Edom.” Jace’s eyes were narrowed. He wasn’t far off, Emma thought; Jace could be silly when he felt like it, but he was smart.

Aline stomped back into the room. She had quite a stomp for a woman who was built along delicate lines. “Also, what is this?” she demanded, holding up the Mortal Sword.

Tavvy made a delighted noise. “I know that one! It’s the Mortal Sword!”

“No, the Mortal Sword is broken,” Dru said. “That’s got to be something else.” She frowned. “What is it, Jules?” “It’s the Mortal Sword,” Julian said. “But we have to keep its existence here an absolute secret.” Another hubbub broke out. Someone pounded on the door; it turned out Kit and Ty were in the corridor. They’d been downstairs with Kieran, Alec, and Magnus and had just found out Emma was awake. Cristina scolded everyone in Spanish for making noise, and Jace wanted to hold the Mortal Sword, and Julian indicated to Mark that he could stand on his own, and Aline stuck her head into the hallway to say something to Ty and Kit, and Emma looked at Julian, who was looking directly back at her.

“All right, stop,” Emma said, throwing her hands up. “Give me and Julian a second alone to talk. Then we’ll tell you everything.” She frowned. “But not in my bedroom. It’s crowded and giving me privacy issues.” “The library,” Clary said. “I’ll help set it up, and get you some food. You must be starving, even though we gave you a few of these.” She tapped the Nourishment rune on Emma’s arm. “Okay, come on, clear the room. . . .” “Give Ty a hug for me,” Emma said to Tavvy as he hopped down. He looked dubious about the transference of hugs, but filed out with everyone else.

And then the room was quiet and empty except for Emma and Julian. She slid out of bed, and this time she managed to stand without dizziness. She felt the slight twinge of her rune and thought: It’s because Julian’s here, I’m drawing strength from him.

“Do you feel it?” she said, touching her left bicep. “The parabatai rune?”

“I don’t feel much,” he said, and Emma’s heart sank. She’d known it, really, from the moment he’d walked in, but she hadn’t realized how much hope she still had hanging on the idea that somehow, the spell might have been broken.

“Turn around,” she said dully. “I have to get dressed.”

Julian raised his eyebrows. “I have seen it all before, you know.”

“Which does not entitle you to further viewing privileges,” said Emma. “Turn. Around.” Julian turned around. Emma fished into her closet for the least Thule-esque clothes she had and eventually fished out a flowered dress and vintage sandals. She changed, watching Julian as he watched the wall.

“So just to be clear, the spell is back,” she said once the dress was on. Quietly, she picked up the vest she’d worn in Thule, took Livvy’s letter, and transferred it to the pocket of her dress.

“Yes,” he said, and she felt the word like a needle in her heart. “I had some dreams, dreams with emotions in them, but by the time I woke up . . . they faded. I know that I felt, even how I felt, but I can’t feel it. It’s like knowing I had a wound, but I can’t remember what the pain was like.” Emma kicked her feet into her sandals and twisted her hair up into a knot. She suspected she probably looked pallid and horrible, but did it matter? Julian was the only person she wanted to impress, and he didn’t care.

“Turn around,” she said, and he turned. He looked grimmer than she would have thought, as if the spell being unbroken was bitter to him, too. “So what are you going to do?” “Come here,” he said, and she came close to him with a little reluctance as he began to unwind the bandages on his arm. It was hard not to remember the way he’d spoken to her in Thule, the way he’d placed each bit of himself, his hope and yearning and desire and fear, in her hands.

I’m not myself without you, Emma. Once you dissolve dye in water, you can’t take it back out. It’s like that. I can’t take you out of me. It means cutting out my heart, and I don’t like myself without my heart.

The bandages came free and he extended his forearm to her. She sucked in her breath. “Who did this?” she demanded.

“I did,” he said. “Before we left Thule.”

Across the skin of his inner arm, he had cut words: words that had healed now, into red-black scars.

YOU ARE IN THE CAGE.

“Do you know what this means?” he said. “Why I did this?”

Her heart felt like it was breaking into a thousand pieces. “I do,” she said. “Do you?” Someone knocked on the door; Julian jumped back and began hurriedly rewrapping his arm.

“What’s up?” Emma called. “We’re almost ready.”

“I just wanted to tell you to come down,” Mark said. “We are all eager to hear your story, and I’ve made my famous doughnut sandwiches.” “I’m not sure ‘Tavvy likes them’ is exactly what most people mean when they say ‘famous,’ ” Emma said.

Julian, her Julian, would have laughed. This Julian just said, “We’d better go,” and walked past her to the door.

At first Cristina thought Kieran’s hair had turned white from shock or annoyance. It took a few minutes for her to realize it was powdered sugar.

They were in the kitchen, helping Mark as he put together plates of apples and cheese and “doughnut sandwiches”—truly horrible concoctions involving doughnuts cut in half and filled with peanut butter, honey, and jelly.

Kieran liked the honey, though. He licked some off his fingers and started to peel an apple with a small, sharp knife.

“Guácala.” Cristina laughed. “Gross! Wash your hands after you lick them.”

“We never washed our hands in the Hunt,” said Kieran, sucking honey from his finger in a way that made Cristina’s stomach feel fluttery.

“That’s true. We didn’t,” Mark agreed, slicing a doughnut in half and sending up another cloud of powdered sugar.

“That is because you lived like savages,” said Cristina. “Go wash your hands!” She steered Kieran to the sink, whose taps still confused him, and went over to dust sugar off the back of Mark’s shirt.

He turned to smile at her, and her stomach flipped again. Feeling very odd, she left Mark and went back to cutting cheese into small cubes as Kieran and Mark squabbled fondly about whether or not it was disgusting to eat sugar directly out of the box.

There was something about being with both of them that was sweetly, calmly domestic in a way she hadn’t felt since she’d left home. Which was odd, because there was nothing ordinary at all about either Mark or Kieran and nothing normal about how she felt about the two of them.

She had, in fact, hardly seen either of them since they’d returned from Faerie. She’d spent her time in Emma’s room, worried that Emma would wake up and she wouldn’t be there. She’d slept on a mattress next to the bed, though she hadn’t slept all that much; Emma had tossed restlessly night and day and called out over and over: for Livvy, for Dru and Ty and Mark, for her parents, and most often, for Julian.

That was another reason Cristina wanted to be in the room with Emma, one she had not admitted to anyone. In her incoherent state, Emma was calling out to Julian that she loved him, for him to come and hold her. Any of those statements might be written off as the love felt between parabatai—but then again, they might not be. As a keeper of Emma and Julian’s secret, Cristina felt she owed it to them both to protect Emma’s unconscious confidences.

She knew Mark felt the same: He’d been with Julian, though he reported that Julian cried out much less. It was one of the few things Mark had said to her since they’d gotten back from Faerie. She’d been avoiding both Mark and Kieran deliberately—Diego and Jaime were in prison, the Consul was under house arrest, the Dearborns were still in power, and Emma and Julian were unconscious; she was far too frayed to deal with her mess of a love life at the moment.

She hadn’t realized till this moment quite how much she’d missed them.

“Hello!” It was Tavvy, bouncing into the kitchen. He’d been subdued the last few days while Julian had been sick, but he’d recovered with the admirable elasticity of children. “I’m supposed to carry sandwiches,” he added with the air of someone who has been given a task of great importance.

Mark gave him a plate of the doughnuts, and another to Kieran, who shepherded Tavvy out of the room in the manner of one growing used to being surrounded by a large family.

“I wish I’d had a camera,” Cristina said after they left. “A photograph of a haughty prince of Faerie carrying a plate of terrible doughnut sandwiches would be quite a memento.” “My sandwiches are not terrible.” Mark leaned back against the counter with an easy grace. In blue jeans and a T-shirt, he looked entirely human—if you didn’t note his sharply pointed ears. “You really care about him, don’t you?” “About Kieran?” Cristina felt her pulse speed up: with nerves and with closeness to Mark. They had spoken only of surface things for days. The intimacy of discussing their actual feelings was making her heart race. “Yes. I—I mean, you know that, don’t you?” She felt herself blush. “You saw us kiss.” “I did,” Mark said. “I did not know what it meant to you, nor to Kieran, either.” He looked thoughtful. “It is easy to be carried away in Faerie. I wanted to reassure you I was not angry or jealous. I am truly not, Cristina.” “All right,” she said awkwardly. “Thank you.”

But what did it mean that he wasn’t angry or jealous? If what had happened with her and Kieran in Faerie had happened among Shadowhunters, she would have considered it a declaration of interest. And would have worried that Mark was upset. But it hadn’t been, had it? It might have meant nothing more to Kieran than a handshake.

She trailed a hand along the smooth top of the counter. She could not help but remember a conversation she had had with Mark once, here in the Institute. It felt so long ago. It came back to her like a lucid dream: There was nothing rehearsed about the look Mark gave her then. “I meant it when I said you were beautiful. I want you, and Kieran would not mind—” “You want me?”

“Yes,” Mark said simply, and Cristina looked away, suddenly very aware of how close his body was to hers. Of the shape of his shoulders under his jacket. He was lovely as faeries were lovely, with a sort of unearthliness, as quicksilver as moonlight on water. He didn’t seem quite touchable, but she had seen him kiss Kieran and knew better. “You do not want to be wanted?” In another time, the time before, Cristina would have blushed. “It is not the sort of compliment mortal women enjoy.” “But why not?” said Mark.

“Because it makes it sound like I am a thing you want to use. And when you say Kieran would not mind, you make it sound as if he would not mind because I do not matter.” “That is very human,” he said. “To be jealous of a body but not a heart.”

“You see, I do not want a body without a heart,” she said.

A body without a heart.

She could have both Mark and Kieran now, in the way that Mark had suggested so long ago—she could kiss them, and be with them, and bid them good-bye when they left her, because they would.

“Cristina,” Mark said. “Are you all right? You seem—sad. I would have hoped to reassure you.” He touched the side of her face lightly, his fingers tracing the shape of her cheekbone.

I don’t want to talk about this, Cristina thought. They had spent three days speaking of nothing important save Emma and Julian. Those three days and the peace of them felt delicate, as if too much discussion of reality and its harshness might shatter everything.

“We don’t have time to talk now,” she said. “Perhaps later—”

“Then let me say one thing.” Mark spoke quietly. “I have been long torn between two worlds. I thought I was a Shadowhunter, told myself I was only that. But I have realized my ties to Faerie are stronger than I thought. I cannot leave half my blood, half my heart, in either world. I dream it might be possible to have both, but I know it cannot be.” Cristina turned away so as not to see the look on his face. Mark would choose Faerie, she knew. Mark would choose Kieran. They had their history together, a great love in the past. They were both faeries, and though she had studied Faerie and yearned toward it with all her heart, it was not the same. They would be together because they belonged together, because they were beautiful together, and there would be pain for her when she lost them both.

But that was the way for mortals who loved the folk of Faerie. They always paid a heavy price.

It was, Emma discovered, not actually possible to hate a doughnut sandwich. Even if her arteries might pay for it someday down the line. She ate three.

Mark had placed them with care on platters, which sat in the middle of one of the big library tables—something about the desire to please in the gesture touched Emma’s heart.

Everyone else was crowded around the long table, including Kieran, who sat quietly, his face blank, beside Mark. He wore a simple black shirt and linen pants; he looked nothing like he had the last time Emma had seen him, in the Unseelie Court, covered in blood and dirt, his face twisted with rage.

Magnus looked different than he had the last time she’d seen him, too. And not in a good way. He had come down to the library leaning heavily on Alec, his face gray and tight, sharply drawn with pain. He lay on a long couch by the table, a blanket around his shoulders. Despite the blanket and the warm weather, he shivered often. Every time he did, Alec would bend down over him and smooth his hair back or draw the blankets up more tightly over his shoulders.

And every time Alec did, Jace—sitting across the table, beside Clary—would tense, his hands curling into useless fists. Because that was what being parabatai meant, Emma knew. Feeling someone else’s pain as if it was your own.

Magnus kept his eyes closed while Emma told the story of Thule, Julian interjecting quietly when she forgot a detail or glossed over something he thought was necessary. He didn’t push her, though, at the harder parts—when she had to talk about how Alec and Magnus had died or about Isabelle’s last stand with the Mortal Sword. About Clary’s death at Lilith’s hands.

And about Jace. His eyes widened incredulously when Emma spoke of the Jace who lived in Thule, who had been bound to Sebastian for so long he would never be free. Emma saw Clary reach over to grip his hand tightly, her eyes shining with tears the way they hadn’t when her own death had been described.

But the worst, of course, was describing Livvy. Because while the other stories were horrors, knowing about Livvy in Thule reminded them that there was a horror story in this world that they could neither change nor reverse.

Dru, who had insisted on sitting at the table with everyone else, said nothing when they described Livvy, but tears streaked silently down her cheeks. Mark went ashen. And Ty—who looked thinner than Emma remembered him, bitten down like a ragged fingernail—made no sound either. Kit, who was sitting beside him, tentatively put his hand over Ty’s where it lay on the table; Ty didn’t react, though he didn’t draw away from Kit either.

Emma went on, because she had no choice but to go on. Her throat was aching badly by the time she finished; gray-faced, Cristina pushed a glass of water toward her and she took it gratefully.

A silence had fallen. No one seemed to know what to say. The only sound was the faint tinny chime of the music coming from Tavvy’s headphones as he played with a train set in the corner—they were Ty’s headphones, really, but he’d put them gently on Tavvy’s head before Emma had started talking.

“Poor Ash,” Clary said. She was very pale. “He was—my nephew. I mean, my brother was a monster, but . . .” “Ash saved me,” said Emma. “He saved my life. And he said it was because he liked something I said about you. But he stayed because he wanted to stay in Thule. We offered to bring him back. He didn’t want to come.” Clary smiled tightly, her eyes sparkling with tears. “Thank you.”

“Okay, let’s talk about the important part.” Magnus turned to Alec with a furious look on his face. “You killed yourself? Why would you do that?” Alec looked startled. “That wasn’t me,” he pointed out. “It’s an alternate universe, Magnus!” Magnus grabbed Alec by the front of his shirt. “If I die, you are not allowed to do anything like that! Who would take care of our kids? How could you do that to them?” “We never had kids in that world!” Alec protested.

“Where are Rafe and Max?” Emma whispered to Cristina.

“Simon and Isabelle are looking after them in New York. Alec checks in every day to see if Max is getting sick, but he seems fine so far,” Cristina whispered back.

“You are not allowed to hurt yourself, under any circumstances,” Magnus said, his voice gruff. “Do you understand that, Alexander?” “I would never,” Alec said softly, stroking Magnus’s cheek. Magnus clasped Alec’s hand against his face. “Never.” They all looked away, letting Magnus and Alec have their moment in privacy.

“I see why you clawed at me when I tried to lift you up,” Jace said to Emma. His golden eyes were dark with a regret she could only begin to understand. “When you first came through the Portal. You were lying on the ground, and I—you were bleeding, and I thought I should carry you to the infirmary, but you clawed at me and screamed like I was a monster.” “I don’t remember it,” Emma said honestly. “Jace, I know you’re a completely different person than him, even if he did look like you. You can’t feel bad or responsible for what someone who wasn’t you did.” She turned to look at the rest of the table. “The Thule versions of us aren’t really us,” she added. “If you think of them as copies of you, it’ll drive you crazy.” “That Livvy,” said Ty. “She isn’t mine. She isn’t my Livvy.”

Kit gave him a quick, startled look. The other Blackthorns looked puzzled, but—though Julian raised his hand, then lowered it again, as if he meant to protest—no one spoke.

Perhaps it was better for Ty to know and to understand that the Livvy in Thule wasn’t the same Livvy he’d lost. Still, Emma thought of the letter, now in her pocket, and felt its weight as if it were made of iron rather than paper and ink.

“It is terrible to believe that there can be such darkness so close to our own world,” Mark said in a low voice. “That we evaded this future by such a thin margin.” “It wasn’t just chance, Mark,” said Helen. “It was because we had Clary, because we had Jace, because we had good people working together to make things right.” “We have good people now,” Magnus said. “I have seen good people fall and fail in the past.” “Magnus, you and Alec came here because you thought you might learn how to cure yourself,” Helen began.

“Because Catarina told us to,” Magnus corrected. “Believe me, I don’t just pop out to California for my health under normal circumstances.” “There’s nothing normal about any of this,” said Emma.

“Please,” Helen said. “I know this was an awful story, and we’re all upset, but we have to focus.” “Wait a second,” Magnus said. “Does this mean Max is turning into a tiny little demon? Do you know how many preschool waiting lists he’s on? He’ll never get into the Little Red School House now.” Aline threw a lamp. No one was expecting it, and the result was quite spectacular: It shattered against one of the dormer windows, and pieces of ceramic flew everywhere.

She stood up, dusting off her hands. “Everyone, BE QUIET AND LISTEN TO MY WIFE,” she said. “Magnus, I know you make jokes when you’re scared. I remember Rome.” She gave him a surprisingly sweet smile. “But we have to focus.” She turned to Helen. “Go on, honey. You’re doing great.” She sat back down and folded her hands.

“She definitely has a temper,” Emma whispered to Cristina. “I like it.”

“Remind me to tell you about the frittata,” Cristina whispered back.

“The important thing here,” said Helen, “is the blight. We didn’t realize how important it was—that the blighted areas will become doorways for demons. That our warlocks”—she looked at Magnus—“will turn into demons. We have to close up these doorways and destroy the blight, and we can’t expect any help from Idris.” “Why?” said Julian. “What’s going on? What about Jia?”

“She’s under house arrest in Idris,” Aline said quietly. “Horace is claiming he caught her meeting with faeries in Brocelind. She and Diana were arrested together, but Diana escaped.” “We heard about some of this from Diana,” said Clary. “After she escaped from Idris, Gwyn brought her here and she filled us in on what happened to her in Alicante.” “Why isn’t she still here?” asked Emma. “Why did she leave?”

“Look at this.” Mark pushed a piece of paper across the table; Julian and Emma leaned in to read it together.

It was a message from the Clave. It said that Diana Wrayburn was missing, believed to be under the influence of faeries. All Institutes should be on the lookout for her, for her own good, and alert the Inquisitor as soon as she was spotted.

“It’s all nonsense,” said Aline. “My father says they’re afraid of Diana’s influence and didn’t want to just name her as a traitor. They’re even lying about what happened to the Inquisitor. They’re claiming he lost his arm in a battle with Downworlders when they were clearing them out of Idris.” “His arm?” echoed Emma, bewildered.

“Diana cut the Inquisitor’s arm off,” said Jace.

Emma upset her glass of water. “She did what?”

“He was threatening her,” said Clary grimly. “If Gwyn hadn’t been around to get her out of Alicante, I don’t know what would have happened.” “It was badass,” said Jace.

“Well, good for her,” said Emma. “That definitely calls for a large tapestry one of these days.” “Fifty bucks says the Inquisitor develops a high-tech robot arm that shoots laser beams,” said Kit. Everyone looked at him. “It always happens in movies,” he explained.

“We’re Shadowhunters,” said Julian. “We’re not high-tech.”

He sat back in his chair. Emma could see the bandages under his sleeve when he moved.

YOU ARE IN THE CAGE.

She shivered.

“We wanted Diana to stay here with us, but she thought that would make us a target,” said Helen. “She went to hide out with Gwyn, though she’s meant to check back in a few days.” Emma privately hoped Diana and Gwyn were having a fabulous romantic time in a treetop or something. Diana deserved it.

“It’s awful all over,” said Alec. “The Downworlder registry is almost complete—with, of course, some notable exceptions.” He indicated Helen and Aline with a nod.

“Quite a few Downworlders have managed to escape the Registry, moi included,” said Magnus. “Alec threatened to kill me if I even considered putting my name on some sinister list of the Cohort’s undesirables.” “There was no actual threatening,” said Alec, in case anyone was wondering.

“Well, all Downworlders have been removed from Idris, including the ones who were teachers at Shadowhunter Academy,” Mark said.

“Rumors are running wild among Downworlders of sneak attacks by Shadowhunters. It’s like the bad old days before the Accords,” Magnus said.

“The Iron Sisters have cut off communication with the Cohort,” said Aline. “The Silent Brothers haven’t said anything yet, but there was a statement from the Iron Sisters that they didn’t accept Horace’s authority. Horace is furious and keeps hounding them, especially because they have the shards of the Mortal Sword.” “There’s more,” said Cristina. “Diego, Divya, and Rayan have been arrested, along with many others.” Her voice was strained.

“They’re throwing everyone in prison who disagrees with them,” said Aline.

In a small voice, Dru said, “Jaime went to try to save his brother, but he wound up in prison too. We heard about it from Patrick Penhallow.” Emma looked at Cristina, who was biting her lip unhappily.

“Since we have no help from the Clave, and perhaps active opposition, what do we do?” Julian said.

“We do what Tessa told you to do in Thule,” said Magnus. “I trust Tessa; I always have. Just as you trusted Livvy when you found her in Thule. They might not be exact copies of us, these alternate selves, but they are not so different, either.” “So we pour some of the water of Lake Lyn on the blighted areas, and save some to cure the warlocks,” said Helen. “The big problem being how we get to Lake Lyn past the Cohort guards who are all over Idris. And then how we get back out—” “I will do it,” Magnus said, sitting up. The blanket fell loosely around him. “I will—” “No!” Alec said sharply. “You are not risking yourself, Magnus, not in your condition.” Magnus opened his mouth to object. Clary leaned across the table, her eyes entreating. “Please, Magnus. You’ve helped us so many times. Let us help you.” “How?” Magnus said gruffly.

Jace rose to his feet. “We’ll go to Idris.”

Clary stood up too; she only reached to Jace’s bicep, but her determination was clear. “I can create Portals. We can’t get into Alicante, but we don’t need to—just into Idris. We’ll go to Lake Lyn, then Brocelind, and get back as fast as we can. We’ll go as many times as we need to so we can get enough water.” “There are guards patrolling all over Idris,” said Helen. “You’ll need to be armed and prepared.” “Then we’ll start getting armed now.” Jace winked at Magnus. “Prepare to be helped, warlock, whether you like it or not.” “Not,” Magnus grumbled, subsiding into his blanket, but he was smiling. And the look Alec gave Jace and Clary was more eloquent than any speech.

“Wait.” Aline held up a hand. She was shuffling through a pile of papers on the table. “I’ve got the schedules of the patrols here. They’re sweeping different locations in Idris to make sure they’re ‘clear’ of Downworlders.” She spoke the words with distaste. “They’re doing Lake Lyn today and tonight.” She looked up. “You can’t go now.” “We can deal with some guards,” Jace said.

“No,” said Magnus. “It’s too dangerous. You could deal with ten guards, or twenty, but this is going to be fifty or a hundred—” “A hundred,” said Helen, looking over Aline’s shoulder. “At least.”

“I won’t let you take the risk,” Magnus said. “I’ll wear myself out using my magic to drag you back.” “Magnus.” Clary sounded appalled.

“What does the schedule say?” asked Julian. “When can they go?”

“Tomorrow, dawn,” said Aline. “They should have dispersed by then.” She set the papers down. “I know it’s not ideal, but it’s what we need to do. We’ll spend today setting up and getting you ready. Making sure everything goes without a hitch.” There was a general hubbub as everyone offered to pitch in, claiming one responsibility or another: Emma and Cristina were going to talk to Catarina about the possible cure, Mark and Julian were going to check maps of Brocelind to find where the areas of blight were, Clary and Jace were going to gather up their gear and weapons, and Helen and Aline were going to try to find out exactly when the patrol would be moving from Lake Lyn to Brocelind Forest. Ty and Kit, meanwhile, would start putting together lists of local warlocks who might need lake water when it was retrieved.

As everyone gathered up their things, Ty went over to the corner where Tavvy was playing and knelt down to hand him a small train. Amid the confusion, Emma slipped after him. He appeared to have offered the train as a trade for his headphones.

“Ty,” Emma said, crouching down. Tavvy was busy turning trains upside down. “I have to give you something.” “What kind of thing?” He sounded puzzled.

She hesitated and then drew the envelope from her pocket. “It’s a letter,” she said. “From the Livvy in the other dimension—in Thule. We told her about you and she wanted to write something for you to read. I haven’t looked at it,” she added. “It’s just for you.” Ty stood up. He was graceful as a hollow-boned bird and looked as light and fragile. “She’s not my Livvy.” “I know,” Emma said. She couldn’t stop looking at his hands—his knuckles were raw and red. Her Julian would have noticed that already and been moving heaven and earth to find out what happened. “And you don’t have to read it. But it’s yours, and I think you should have it.” She paused. “After all, it did come from a pretty long way away.” A look passed over his face that she couldn’t quite decipher; he took it, though, and folded it up inside his jacket.

“Thanks,” he said, and went across the room to join Kit in the DOWNWORLDERS—WARLOCKS section, where Kit was struggling with several heavy books.

“Don’t,” she heard Cristina say, and looked around in surprise. She didn’t see Cristina anywhere, but that had definitely been her voice. She glanced around; Tavvy was absorbed with his train and everyone else was hurrying to and fro. “Kieran. I know you are worried for Adaon, but you didn’t speak a word through the whole meeting.” Oh dear, Emma thought. She realized that Cristina’s voice was coming from the other side of a bookcase, and that Cristina and Kieran had no idea she was there. If she tried to leave, though, they’d know immediately.

“These are Shadowhunter politics,” Kieran said. There was something in his voice, Emma thought. Something different. “It is not something I understand. It is not my fight.” “It is your fight,” Cristina replied. Emma had rarely heard her speak with such intensity. “You fight for what you love. We all do.” She hesitated. “Your heart is hidden, but I know you love Mark. I know you love Faerie. Fight for that, Kieran.” “Cristina—” Kieran began, but Cristina had already hurried away; she emerged from her side of the bookcase and saw Emma immediately. She looked surprised, then guilty, and hurried quickly from the room.

Kieran started to follow but stopped halfway across the room and leaned his hands on the table, bowing his head.

Emma started to edge out from behind the bookcase, hoping to creep to the door unnoticed. She should have known better than to try to sneak by a faerie, she realized ruefully; Kieran looked up at the first tap of her shoes on the polished wood floor. “Emma?” “Just going,” she said. “Don’t mind me.”

“But I wish to mind you,” he said, coming out from behind the table. He was all graceful angles, pallor and darkness. Emma supposed she could see what drew Cristina to him. “I have had cause to understand how much pain I brought to you, when you were whipped by Iarlath,” he said. “I never desired that outcome, yet I did cause it. I cannot change that, but I can offer my sincere regrets and swear myself to accomplish any task that you set me.” Emma had not been expecting this. “Any task? Like, you would be willing to learn to hula dance?” “Is that a torture of your people?” said Kieran. “Then yes, I would submit to it, for your sake.” Sadly Emma put aside the thought of Kieran in a grass skirt. “You fought on our side in the Unseelie Court,” she said. “You brought Mark and Cristina back safely with you, and they mean everything to me. You’ve proven yourself a true friend, Kieran. You have my forgiveness and you don’t need to do anything else to earn it.” He actually blushed, the touch of color warming his pale cheeks. “That is not what a faerie would say.” “It’s what I say,” Emma said cheerfully.

Kieran strode toward the door, where he paused and turned to her. “I have known how Cristina loves you, and I understand why. If you had been born a faerie, you would be a great knight of the Court. You are one of the bravest people I have ever known.” Emma stammered a thank-you, but Kieran was already gone, like a shadow melting into the forest. She stared after him, realizing what it was she’d heard earlier in the way he said Cristina’s name, as if it were a torment that he adored: She had never heard him speak any name but Mark’s that way before.

“Is there anything you want to talk to me about?” Magnus asked as Julian prepared to leave the library.

He’d thought Magnus was asleep—he was leaning back on his couch, his eyes closed. There were deep shadows beneath them, the kind that came from multiple sleepless nights.

“No.” Julian tensed all over. He thought of the words cut onto the skin of his arm. He knew if he showed them to Magnus, the warlock would want to take the spell off him immediately, and Magnus was too weak for that. The effort might kill him.

He also knew his reaction to the thought of Magnus dying was off-kilter and wrong. It was dulled down, flattened. He didn’t want Magnus to die, but he knew he should feel more than not wanting, just as he should have felt more than flat relief at being reunited with his siblings.

And he knew he should feel more when he saw Emma. It was as if a white space of nothingness had been cut out all around her and when he stepped into it, everything went blank. It was difficult to even speak. It was worse than it had been before, he thought. Somehow, his emotions were even more damped down than they had been before Thule.

He felt despair, but it was dull and distant too. It made him want to grip the blade of a knife just to feel anything at all.

“I suppose you wouldn’t,” Magnus said. “Given that you probably don’t feel much.” His cat eyes glittered. “I shouldn’t have put that spell on you. I regret it.” “Don’t,” Julian said, and he wasn’t sure if he meant don’t say that to me or don’t regret it. His emotions were too distant for him to reach. He did know he wanted to stop talking to Magnus now, and he went out into the corridor, tense and breathless.

“Jules!” He turned around and saw Ty, coming toward him along the hallway. The distant part of himself said Ty looked—different. His mind scrambled for the words “bruised/hurt/fragile” and couldn’t hold them. “Can I talk to you?” Askew, he thought. He looks atypical for Ty. He stopped trying to find words and followed Ty into one of the vacant bedrooms along the hall, where Ty closed the door behind them, turned around, and threw his arms around Julian without a word of warning.

It was awful.

Not because being hugged by Ty was awful. It was nice, as much as Julian could sense that it was nice: His brain said this is your blood, your family, and his arms went up automatically to hug Ty back. His brother was fragile in his arms, all soft hair and sharp bones, as if he were made out of seashells and dandelion fluff and strung together with fine silk thread.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Ty said in a muffled voice. He’d pressed his head against Julian’s shoulder, and his headphones had tilted sideways. Ty reached up automatically to right them. “I was afraid we’d never all be back together again.” “But we are back together,” Julian said.

Ty leaned back a little, his hands gripping the front of Julian’s jacket. “I want you to know I’m sorry,” he said, in the rushed tones of someone who had practiced a speech for a long time. “At Livvy’s funeral I climbed the pyre and you cut up your hands coming after me, and I thought maybe you left because you didn’t want to deal with me.” Something in Julian’s head was screaming. Screaming that he loved his little brother more than he loved almost anything else on earth. Screaming that Ty rarely reached out like this, rarely initiated physical contact with Julian like this. A Julian who felt very far away was scrambling desperately, wanting to react correctly, wanting to give Ty what he needed so he could recover from Livvy’s death and not be wrecked or lost.

But it was like pounding on soundproofed glass. The Julian he was now couldn’t hear. The silence of his heart was almost as profound as the silence he felt around Emma.

“That’s not it,” he said. “I mean, that wasn’t it. We left because of the Inquisitor.” Distant Julian was bruising his hands slamming them against the glass. This Julian struggled for words and said, “It’s not your fault.” “Okay,” Ty said. “I have a plan. A plan to fix everything.”

“Good,” Julian said, and Ty looked surprised, but he didn’t see it. He was scrambling to hold on, to try to find the right words, the feeling words to say to Ty, who had thought Julian had gone away because he was angry. “I’m sure you have a great plan. I trust you.” He let go of Ty and turned toward the door. Better to be done than to risk saying the wrong thing. He would be all right as soon as the spell was off him. He could talk to Ty then.

“Jules . . . ?” Ty said. He stood uncertainly by the arm of the sofa, fiddling with the cord of his headphones. “Do you want to know . . . ?” “It’s great that you’re doing better, Ty,” Julian said, not looking at Ty’s face, his eloquently moving hands.

It was only a few seconds, but by the time Julian made it out into the hallway he was breathing as hard as if he had escaped from a monster.