فصل 25

25

BY LIFTING WINDS

Sunlight poured into the library through every available window: They had all been flung open. It lay in squares on the floor and painted the table in bright stripes. It turned Mark’s and Helen’s hair to white gold, made Jace into a tousled bronze statue, and lit Magnus’s cat eyes to tourmaline as he sat curled on the couch, looking pale but energized and drinking Lake Lyn water out of a crystal vial with a brightly colored straw.

He was leaning against Alec, who was grinning ear to ear and scolding Magnus to drink more water. Emma wouldn’t have thought it was possible to do both at once, but Alec was used to multitasking.

“This water is making me drunk,” Magnus complained. “And it tastes awful.”

“It contains no alcohol,” said Diana. She looked tired—not surprising, after her journey to and from Idris—but composed as always, in a tailored black dress. “It might have a slight hallucinatory effect, though.” “That explains why I can see seven of you,” Magnus said to Alec. “My ultimate fantasy.” Dru covered Tavvy’s ears, though Tavvy was playing with a Slinky Alec had given him and appeared deaf to the world.

Magnus pointed. “That one of you over there is extremely attractive, Alexander.” “That’s a vase,” said Helen.

Magnus squinted at it. “I’d be willing to buy it from you.”

“Maybe later,” said Helen. “Right now we should all focus on what Diana has to tell us.” Diana took a sip of coffee. Emma had tea; everyone else was mainlining caffeine and sugar. Alec had gone out in a state of mad happiness and bought dozens of cinnamon rolls, doughnuts, and pies for breakfast. This had had the effect of getting everyone to rush at top speed to the library, including Kit and Ty. Even the most secretive fifteen-year-old boy wasn’t immune to glazed apple fritters.

“I told some of you last night, but it’s probably best I explain it again,” she said. “We were able to get a great deal of water from Lake Lyn with the help of the Wild Hunt; they are currently distributing it to warlocks all over the world.” “The Clave and Council have noticed nothing,” said Helen. “Aline spoke to her father this morning and he confirmed it.” Aline was in the office now, tracking the progress of the deliveries of the lake water to warlocks in even the remotest places.

Emma raised her Styrofoam cup of tea. “Good job, Diana!”

A cheer went around the table; Diana smiled. “I could not have done it without Gwyn,” she said. “Or without Kieran. It is faeries who have helped us.” “The Children of Lilith will indeed be in debt to the Children of the Courts after this day, Kieran Kingson,” said Magnus, staring intently in what he clearly thought was Kieran’s direction.

“That was a very nice speech, Bane,” said Jace. “Unfortunately, you’re talking to a doughnut.” “I appreciate the sentiment regardless,” said Kieran. He had blushed at Diana’s words and the tops of his cheekbones were still pink. It made a nice contrast with his blue hair.

Diana cleared her throat. “We brought the lake water to the blight,” she said. “It seemed to stop it from spreading, but the land is still ruined. I don’t know if it will heal.” “Tessa says it will stop affecting the warlocks,” said Cristina. “That the land will always be scarred, but the sickness will no longer spread.” “Did you see anything else in Idris?” Julian asked. Emma looked at him sideways; it hurt to look at him too directly. “Anything else we should know?” Diana turned the cup in her hands around thoughtfully. “Idris feels—empty and strange with no Downworlders there. Some of its magic has fled. A Brocelind without faeries is just a forest. It is as if a piece of the soul of Idris is gone.” “Helen—” It was Aline, slamming the door behind her; she looked disheveled and worried. In her hand was a piece of slightly charred paper—a fire-message. She stopped dead as she seemed to realize how many other people were in the library. “I just talked to Maia in New York. A mob of Shadowhunters descended on a group of harmless faeries and slaughtered them. Kaelie Whitewillow is dead.” Aline’s voice was tight with strain.

“How dare they?” Magnus sat up straight, his face alive with fury. He slammed the vial down on the table. “The Cold Peace wasn’t enough? Banishing Downworlders who have lived in Idris for centuries wasn’t enough? Now it’s murder?” “Magnus—” Alec began, clearly worried.

Blue flame shot from Magnus’s hands. Everyone jerked backward; Dru grabbed Tavvy. Kieran flung an arm across Cristina to shield her; so did Mark, at the same time. No one looked more startled than Cristina.

Emma raised an eyebrow at Cristina across the table. Cristina blushed, and both Mark and Kieran quickly dropped their arms.

The blue flame was gone in a moment; there was a streak of char on the table, but no other damage. Magnus looked down at his hands in surprise.

“Your magic’s back!” said Clary.

Magnus winked at her. “Some say it was never gone, biscuit.”

“This can’t go on,” Jace said. “This attack was in revenge for our deaths.”

Clary agreed. “We have to tell people we’re alive. We can’t let our names become instruments of vengeance.” A hubbub of voices broke out at the table. Jace was looking sick; Alec had a hand on his parabatai’s shoulder. Magnus was grimly studying his hands, still blue at the fingertips.

“Be realistic, Clary,” Helen said. “How do you plan to reveal yourselves and still keep yourselves safe?” “I don’t care about being safe,” Clary said.

“No, you never have,” Magnus pointed out. “But you are a significant weapon against the Cohort. You and Jace. Don’t take yourselves out of the equation.” “A message from Idris came while I was in the office,” said Aline. “The parley with the Unseelie King and Horace Dearborn will take place on the Imperishable Fields in two days.” “Who’s going to be there?” said Emma.

“Just the Cohort and the King,” she said.

“So they could say anything at all to each other, and we wouldn’t know?” said Mark.

Aline frowned. “No, that’s the odd thing. The letter said the parley would be Projected throughout Alicante. Everyone in the city will be able to see it.” “Horace wants to be observed,” Julian said, half to himself.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked him.

He frowned, clearly puzzled and frustrated. “I don’t—I’m not entirely sure—”

“Manuel spoke of this in Faerie,” said Mark, as if suddenly remembering something. “Did he not, Kieran? He said to Oban: ‘When every Shadowhunter sees you meet and achieve a mutually beneficial peace, all will realize that you and Horace Dearborn are the greatest of leaders, able to achieve the alliance your forefathers could not.’ ” “Oban and Manuel knew this would happen?” said Emma. “How could they have known?” “Somehow, this is the unfolding of the Cohort’s plan,” said Magnus. “And that can’t be good.” He frowned. “It only involves half of Faerie. The Unseelie half.” “But they are the half who are trying to destroy Nephilim. The half that opened the Portal to Thule and brought the blight,” said Mark.

“And it is a fact that many Shadowhunters will simply think that it is another sign the Fair Folk are evil,” said Cristina. “The Cold Peace made little distinction between Seelie and Unseelie, though it was only the Seelie Court who fought on Sebastian Morgenstern’s side.” “It was also only the Seelie Court who accepted the terms of the Cold Peace,” said Kieran. “In the King’s mind, it has been war between Unseelie and Nephilim since then. Clearly, Oban and the Cohort are planning to make that war a reality. Oban does not care about his people, and neither does Horace Dearborn. They plan for the parley to fail before all, and Dearborn and Oban will tear power from the ruins.” Julian was still frowning, as if trying to solve a puzzle. “Power does come from wartime,” he said. “But . . .” “Now that the warlocks are cured, it’s time for us to stop hiding,” Jace said. “We need to intercede in Idris—before this sham parley.” “Intercede?” said Julian.

“A team of us will go in,” said Jace. “The usual suspects—we’ll bring Isabelle and Simon, Bat and Maia and Lily, the core group we trust. We’ll have the advantage of surprise. We break into the Gard, free the Consul, and take the Inquisitor prisoner. We get him to confess what he’s done.” “He won’t confess,” Julian said. “He’s a true believer. And if he dies for his cause, so much the better for him.” Everyone looked at Julian in some surprise.

“Well, you can’t be suggesting we let the Cohort go on as they are,” Cristina said.

“No,” said Julian. “I am suggesting we raise a resistance.”

“There aren’t enough of us,” said Clary. “And those who oppose the Cohort are scattered all over. How are we to know who is loyal to Horace and who isn’t?” “I was in the Council room before Annabel killed my sister,” Julian said. Emma felt her spine freeze; surely the others would notice how flatly he spoke about Livvy? “I saw how people reacted to Horace. And at the funeral, too, when he spoke. There are those who oppose him. I’m suggesting we reach out to Downworlders, to faeries, to warlocks, and to the Shadowhunters we know are against the Cohort, to form a bigger coalition.” He’s thinking of Livvy in Thule, Emma realized. Her rebels—Downworlders and Shadowhunters together. But he should say rebels, then. Freedom fighters. Livvy inspired people to fight— Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kieran get up and quietly leave the room. Mark and Cristina watched him go.

“It’s too dangerous,” said Jace, sounding truly regretful. “We could bring a traitor into our midst. We can’t just go off your guesses about what people believe—” “Julian is the smartest person I know,” said Mark firmly. “He isn’t wrong about how people feel.” “We believe him,” said Alec. “But we can’t take the risk of bringing someone into our confidence who might spill our secrets to the Cohort.” Julian’s face was still, only his eyes moving, roving up and down the table, studying the faces of his companions. “What the Cohort has going for them is that they’re together. They’re united. We’re individually throwing ourselves into danger to spare others from danger. What if instead we all stood together? We would be far more powerful—” Jace cut him off. “It’s a good idea, Julian, but we just can’t do it.”

Julian went quiet, though Emma sensed he had more to say. He wasn’t going to push it. Maybe if he were more himself he would—but not this Julian.

Alec rose to his feet. “Magnus and I had better head to New York for tonight. If we’re all going to go to Idris, we should get the kids to my mom. We can bring Simon and Izzy back with us.” “We’ll stay here,” said Jace, indicating himself and Clary. “This place is still vulnerable to an attack by the Cohort. We’ll be the first line of defense.” “We should all be ready,” Clary said. “If it’s okay, Helen, we’ll go up to the weapons room, see if we need to requisition anything—” She paused. “I guess we can’t reach out to the Iron Sisters, can we?” “They oppose the government in Idris,” said Aline. “But they’ve shut themselves up in the Adamant Citadel. They haven’t yet responded to any messages.” “There are other ways to get weapons,” said Ty. “There’s the Shadow Market.”

Emma tensed, wondering if anyone was going to point out that the Shadow Market was technically off-limits to Shadowhunters.

No one did.

“Good idea,” said Jace. “Weapons are gettable if we need them—there are weapons caches in every church and holy building in Los Angeles, but—” “But you’re not fighting demons,” said Kit. “Are you?”

Jace gave him a long look; it was hard to miss their resemblance when they were at close quarters. “Not the usual kind,” he said, and he and Clary headed to the weapons room.

Mark was on his feet too; he headed out of the room with Cristina by his side, and Ty and Kit followed shortly after. Dru left with Tavvy and his Slinky. Amid the scattering, Magnus looked across the table at Julian, his cat’s eyes sharp.

“You stay,” he said. “I want to talk to you.”

Helen and Aline looked curious. Alec raised an eyebrow. “All right,” he said. “I’ll go call Izzy and let her know we’re on our way back.” He glanced over at Aline and Helen. “I could use some help packing. Magnus isn’t quite up to it yet.” He’s lying to get them out of the room, Emma thought. The invisible communication between Alec and Magnus was easy to read: She wondered if people could see the same with her and Julian. Was it clear when they were silently conversing? Not that they’d been doing that since they’d gotten back from Thule.

Magnus started to turn to Emma, but Julian shook his head minutely. “Emma knows,” he said. “She can stay.” Magnus sat back while the others filed out of the room. In a moment it was empty except for the three of them: Emma, Julian, and Magnus. Magnus was regarding the two Shadowhunters quietly, his steady eyes moving from Julian to Emma and back again.

“When did you tell Emma about the spell, Julian?” Magnus asked, his voice deceptively bland. Emma suspected there was more to the question than was immediately obvious.

Julian’s dark eyebrows drew together. “As soon as I could. She knows I want you to take it off me.” “Ah,” Magnus said. He leaned back against the sofa. “You begged for that spell,” he said. “You were desperate, and in danger. Are you sure you want me to remove it?” The bright sunlight turned Julian’s eyes to the color of tropical oceans in magazines; he wore a long-sleeved shirt that matched his eyes, and he was so beautiful it made her heart stutter in her chest.

But it was a statue’s beauty. His expression was nearly blank; she couldn’t read him at all. They had barely spoken since that night in her room.

Maybe it had been enough time now that he had forgotten what it meant to feel; maybe he didn’t want it anymore. Maybe he hated her. Maybe it was best if he did hate her, but Emma could never believe it would be best if he never felt anything again.

After an excruciating moment of silence, Julian reached down and drew up his left sleeve. His forearm was bare of bandages. He stretched his arm out to Magnus.

YOU ARE IN THE CAGE.

The color drained from Magnus’s face. “My God,” he said.

“I cut this into my arm in Thule,” Julian said. “When I had my emotions back, I was able to realize how miserable I’d been without them.” “That is—brutal.” Magnus was clearly shaken. His hair had gotten quite shaggy, Emma thought. It was rare to see Magnus less than perfectly coiffed. “But I suppose you’ve always been determined. I talked to Helen while you were missing—she confirmed for me that you’d been running the Institute for quite a while on your own. Covering up for Arthur, who never recovered from his experience in Faerie.” “What does that have to do with the spell?” said Julian.

“It sounds as if you’ve always had to make hard choices,” said Magnus. “For yourself, and for the people you care about. This seems like another hard choice. I still know less than I wish I did about the outcome of the parabatai curse. A friend of mine has been looking into it, though, and from what he’s told me, the threat is very real.” He looked pained. “You may be better off as you are.” “I’m not,” Julian said. “And you know this isn’t emotionality talking.” Despite the bitterness of the words, his tone was flat. “Without my emotions, without my feelings, I’m a worse Shadowhunter. I make poorer decisions. I wouldn’t trust someone who felt nothing for anyone. I wouldn’t want them to make decisions that affected other people. Would you?” Magnus looked thoughtful. “Hard to say. You’re very clever.”

Julian didn’t look as if the compliment affected him one way or the other. “I wasn’t always clever in the way you mean. From the time I turned twelve, when my father died and the kids became my responsibility, I had to learn how to lie. To manipulate. So if that’s cleverness, I had it. But I knew where to stop.” Magnus raised his eyebrows.

“Julian without feelings,” said Emma, “doesn’t know where to stop.”

“I liked your idea earlier,” Magnus said, looking at Julian curiously. “Raising a resistance. Why didn’t you push it more?” “Because Jace wasn’t wrong,” Julian said. “We could be betrayed. Normally I’d be able to think past that. Imagine a solution. But not like this.” He touched his temple, frowning. “I thought I’d be able to think more clearly, without feelings. But the opposite is true. I can’t think at all. Not properly.” Magnus hesitated.

“Please,” Emma said.

“You’ll need a plan,” Magnus said. “I know your plan before was exile, but that was when Robert could help you. Horace Dearborn won’t.” “Dearborn won’t, but another Inquisitor might. We must overthrow the Cohort in any case. There’s a chance the next Inquisitor might be reasonable,” said Julian.

“They don’t have a history of being reasonable,” said Magnus. “And we don’t really know the time frame here.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I have an idea,” he said finally. “You won’t like it.” “What about one we would like?” Emma suggested.

Magnus gave her a dark look. “There are a few things that will, in an emergent situation, break your bond. Death, which I don’t recommend. Being bitten by a vampire—hard to arrange, and can also end in death. Having your Marks stripped off and being turned into a mundane. Probably the best option.” “But only the Silent Brothers can do that,” said Emma. “And we can’t get near them right now.” “There’s Jem,” Magnus said. “He and I have both seen Marks stripped. And he was a Silent Brother himself. Together, we could make it happen.” He looked slightly ill. “It would be painful and unpleasant. But if there was no other choice—” “I’ll do it,” Emma said quickly. “If the curse starts to happen, then strip my Marks. I can take it.” “I don’t . . . ,” Julian began. Emma held her breath; the real Julian would never let her offer this. She had to get him to agree before Magnus took off the spell. “I don’t like the idea,” Julian said at last, looking almost puzzled, as if his own thoughts surprised him. “But if there’s no other choice, all right.” Magnus gave Emma a long look. “I’ll take this as a binding promise,” he said after a pause. He stretched out a ringed hand. “Julian. Come here.” Emma watched in an agony of anticipation—what if something went wrong? What if Magnus couldn’t remove the spell?—as Julian went over to the warlock and sat down on a chair facing him.

“Brace yourself,” said Magnus. “It’ll be a shock.”

He reached out and touched Julian’s temple. Julian started as a spark of light flew from Magnus’s fingers to brush against his skin; it vanished like a firefly winking out, and Julian flinched back, suddenly breathing hard.

“I know.” Julian’s hands were shaking. “I already went through it in Thule. I can—do it again.” “It made you sick in Thule,” Emma said. “On the beach.”

Julian looked at her. And Emma’s heart leaped: In that look was everything, all of her Julian, her parabatai and best friend and first love. In it was the shining connection that had always bound them.

He smiled. A careful smile, thoughtful. In it she saw a thousand memories: of childhood and sunshine, playing in the water as it rushed up and down the beach, of Julian always saving the best and biggest seashells for her. Carefully holding her hand in his when she’d cut it on a piece of glass and was too young for an iratze. He’d cried when they stitched it up, because he knew she didn’t want to even though the pain was awful. He’d asked her for a lock of her hair when they both turned twelve, because he wanted to learn to paint the color. She remembered sitting on the beach with him when they were sixteen; the strap of her swimsuit had fallen down and she recalled the sharp hitch of his breath, the way he’d looked away quickly.

How had she not known? she thought. How he felt. How she felt herself. The way they looked at each other wasn’t the way Alec looked at Jace, or Clary at Simon.

“Emma,” Julian whispered. “Your Marks . . .”

She shook her head, tears bitter in the back of her throat. It’s done.

The look on his face broke her heart. He knew there was no point arguing that he should be the one to have his Marks stripped instead, Emma thought. He could read her again, just like she could read him.

“Julian,” Magnus said. “Give me your arm. The left one.”

Julian tore his gaze away from Emma’s and offered his scarred arm to Magnus.

Magnus ran his blue-sparking fingers with surprising gentleness along Julian’s forearm, and the incised letters, one by one, faded and disappeared. When he was done, he released Julian and looked between him and Emma. “I’ll give you a small piece of good news,” he said. “You weren’t parabatai when you were in Thule. That was an injury to your bond that’s healing. So you have a small cushion of time during which the bond will be weaker.” Thank the Angel. “How long?” Emma said.

“That depends on you. Love is powerful, and the more you’re together, and let yourself feel what you do, the stronger it’ll be. You need to stay away from each other. To not touch each other. Not speak to each other. Try not to even think about each other.” He waved his arms like an octopus. “If you find yourselves thinking fondly of each other, for God’s sake stop yourselves right away.” They both stared at him.

“We can’t do that forever,” Emma said.

“I know. But hopefully, when the Cohort is gone, we’ll have a new Inquisitor who can gift you with exile. And hopefully it’ll happen soon.” “Exile is a pretty bitter gift,” Julian said.

Magnus’s smile was full of sorrow. “Many gifts are.”

It wasn’t hard to find Kieran. He hadn’t gone very far; he was standing in the hallway near one of the windows that looked out over the hills. He had his palm pressed flat against the glass, as if he could touch the sand and desert flowers through the barrier.

“Kieran,” Mark said, stopping before he reached him. Cristina stopped too; there was something remote in Kieran’s expression, something distant. The awkwardness that had been between all of them since the night before was still there too, forbidding simple gestures of comfort.

“I fear my people will be murdered and my country will be destroyed,” Kieran said. “That all the beauty and magic of Faerie will be dissolved and forgotten.” “Faeries are strong and magical and wise,” said Cristina. “They have lived through all the ages of mortals. These—these culeros cannot wipe them out.” “I will not forget the beauty of Faerie and neither will you,” said Mark. “But it will not come to that.” Kieran turned to look at them with unseeing eyes. “We need a good King. We need to find Adaon. He must take the throne from Oban and end this madness.” “If you want to find Adaon, we will find him. Helen knows how to reach Nene. She can ask Nene to find him in the Seelie Court,” said Cristina.

“I did not want to presume she would do that for me,” Kieran said.

“She knows how dear you are to me,” said Mark, and Cristina nodded in agreement. Helen, part-faerie herself, would surely understand.

But Kieran only half-closed his eyes, as if in pain. “I thank you. Both of you.” “There is no need to be so formal—” Cristina began.

“There is every need,” Kieran said. “What we had last night—I was happy in those moments, and I know now we will not ever have it again. I will lose one of you and possibly I will lose both of you. In fact, it seems the most likely outcome.” He looked from Mark to Cristina. Neither of them moved or spoke. The moment stretched on and on; Cristina felt paralyzed. She longed to reach out to both of them, but perhaps they had already decided? Perhaps it truly was impossible, just as Kieran said. Surely he would know. And Mark looked agonized—surely he would not look like that if he did not have the same fears she did? And Kieran— Kieran’s mouth set in a hard line. “Forgive me. I must go.”

Cristina watched him hurry away, vanishing into the shadows at the end of the corridor. Outside the window, she saw Alec and Magnus emerge from the back door of the Institute into the bright sunlight. Clary and Jace followed. It was clear they were bidding Magnus and Alec good-bye for now.

Mark leaned his back against the window. “I wish Kieran understood he would be a great King.” The light through the window edged his pale hair with gilt. His eyes burned amber and sapphire. Her golden boy. Though Kieran’s silver darkness was just as beautiful, in its own way.

“We must talk in private, Mark,” Cristina said. “Meet me outside the Institute tonight.” * * *

Emma and Julian left the library in silence, and made it back to her room in the same silence before Julian finally spoke.

“I should leave you here,” he said, gesturing at her door. He sounded as if his throat hurt—gruff and husky. His sleeve was still rolled up to the elbow, showing the healed skin of his forearm. She wanted to touch it—to touch him, to reassure herself he was back to himself. Her Julian again. “Will you be all right?” How could I be all right? She reached for the knob blindly, couldn’t make herself turn it. The words Magnus had spoken whirled in her brain. Curse, Marks stripped, stay away from each other.

She turned around, pressing her back against the wood of the door. Looked at him for the first time since they’d been in the library. “Julian,” she whispered. “What do we do? We can’t live without talking to each other or even thinking about each other. It’s not possible.” He didn’t move. She drank in the sight of him like an alcoholic promising themselves this was the last bottle. She had kept it together for what felt like so long by telling herself that when the spell was over, she’d have him back. Not as a romantic partner, even, but as Jules: her best friend, her parabatai.

But perhaps they had just exchanged one kind of cage for another.

She wondered if he thought the same. His face was no longer blank: It was alive with color, emotion; he looked stunned, as if he’d come up too quickly from a deep sea dive and the pain of the bends had just struck him.

He took her face in his hands. His palms curved against her cheeks: He held her with a light, gentle wonder that she associated with the reverent handling of precious and breakable objects.

Her knees went weak. Amazing, she thought; Julian under the spell could kiss her bare skin and she felt hollow inside. This Julian—her real Julian—touched her face lightly and she was swamped by a yearning so strong it was almost pain.

“We have to,” he said. “In Alicante, before I went to Magnus to ask him to put the spell on me, it was because I knew—” He swallowed hard. “After we almost—on the bed—I felt my rune starting to burn.” “That’s why you ran out of the room?”

“I could feel the curse.” He ducked his head. “My rune was burning. I could see flames under my skin.” “You didn’t tell me that part.” Emma’s mind whirled; she remembered what Diana had said in Thule: Their runes began to burn like fire. As if they had fire in their veins instead of blood.

“This is the first time it mattered,” he said. She could see everything that had seemed invisible to her before: the bruise-dark shadows under his eyes, the lines of tension beside his mouth. “Before this, I had the spell on me, or we were in Thule and nothing could happen. We weren’t parabatai there.” She caught at his left wrist. He flinched; it wasn’t pain, though. She knew that instinctively. It was the intensity of every touch; she felt it too, like the reverberation of a bell. “Are you sorry that Magnus took the spell off you?” “No,” he said immediately. “I need to be at my best right now. I need to be able to help with what’s happening. The spell made me into a person I don’t want to be. A person I don’t like or even trust. And I can’t have someone I don’t trust around you—around the kids. You matter too much to me.” She shivered, still holding his wrist. His palms were rough against her cheeks; he smelled of turpentine and soap. She felt as if she were dying; she had lost him, gained him back, was losing him again.

“Magnus told us we had a cushion of time. We just have to—to do what he says. Stay away from each other. It’s all we can do for now,” Julian said.

“I don’t want to stay away from you,” she whispered.

His eyes were fixed on her, relentless sea-glass blue. Dark as the sky in Thule. His voice was restrained, quiet, but the raw hunger in his gaze was like a scream.

“Maybe if we kiss one last time,” he said roughly. “Get it out of our systems.” Did someone dying of thirst refuse water? All Emma had to do was nod and they fell into each other with such force that her bedroom door rattled in its frame. Anyone could come along the hall and see them, she knew. She didn’t care. She grabbed his hair, the back of his shirt; her head hit the door as their mouths crashed together.

She opened her lips under his, making him moan and swear and pull her up against him, harder and harder, as if he could smash their bones to pieces against each other, fuse them into a single skeleton. She clawed his shirt into fistfuls in her hands; his fingers raked her sides, tangled in her hair. Emma was aware of how close they were to something truly dangerous—she could feel the strain in his body, not from the effort of holding her, but of holding himself back.

She felt behind her for the knob of the door. Twisted it. It swung open behind her and they stumbled apart.

It felt like having her skin ripped away. Like agony. Her rune ached with a deep pain. Halfway into her room, she hung on to the door as if nothing else would keep her standing.

Julian was gasping, disheveled; she felt as if she could hear his heart beating. Maybe it was her own, a deafening drumbeat in her ears. “Emma—” “Why?” she said, her voice shaking. “Why would something this horrible happen because of the parabatai bond? It’s supposed to be something so good. Maybe the Queen was right and it’s evil.” “You don’t—trust the Queen,” Julian said breathlessly. His eyes were all pupil: black with a rim of blue. Emma’s heart beat like a supernova, a collapsing dark star of frustrated longing.

“I don’t know who to trust. ‘There is a corruption at the heart of the bond of parabatai. A poison. A darkness in it that mirrors its goodness.’ That’s what the Queen said.” The hand at Julian’s side clenched into a fist. “But the Queen—”

It’s more than the Queen. I should tell him. What Diana said in Thule about parabatai. But Emma held back: He was in no state to hear it, and besides, they both knew what they needed to do.

“You know what has to happen,” she said finally, her voice barely more than a whisper. “What Magnus said. We have a little time. We need to not—not push it.” His eyes were bleak, haunted. He didn’t move. “Tell me to go away,” he said. “Tell me to leave you.” “Julian—”

“I will always do what you ask me to do, Emma,” he said, his voice harsh. The bones of his face seemed suddenly too sharp and pronounced, as if they were cutting through his skin. “Please. Ask me.” She remembered the time all those years ago when Julian had put Cortana in her arms and she had held it so tightly it had left a scar. She remembered the pain and the blood. And the gratitude.

He had given her what she needed then. She would give him what he needed now.

She raised her chin. It might hurt like death, but she could do this. I am of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durendal.

“Go away, Julian,” she said, putting every ounce of steel she could into the words. “I want you to go away and leave me alone.” Even though he had asked her to say it, even though he knew it wasn’t her real wish, he still flinched as if the words were arrows piercing his skin.

He gave a short, jerky nod. Turned with sharp precision. Walked away.

She closed her eyes. As his footsteps receded down the hall, she felt the pain in her parabatai rune fade, and told herself that it didn’t matter. It would never happen again.

Kit was lurking about in the shadows. Not because he wanted to, precisely; he liked to think he’d turned over a new leaf and was less prone to lurking and planning underhanded deeds than he used to be.

Which, he realized, might be an exaggeration. Necromancy was pretty underhanded, even half-hearted participation in necromancy. Maybe it was like the tree falling in the forest: If no one knew about your necromantic activities, were they still underhanded?

Pressing himself back against the wall of the Institute, he decided that they probably were.

He’d come outside to talk to Jace, not realizing when he saw Jace heading out the back door that he was on his way to join Clary, Alec, and Magnus. Kit realized he’d wandered into their good-byes, and scrunched himself awkwardly into the shadows, hoping not to be noticed.

Clary had hugged Alec and Magnus, and Jace had given Magnus a friendly high five. Then he’d grabbed hold of Alec and they’d hugged each other for what seemed like hours or possibly years. They’d patted each other on the back and clung on while Clary and Magnus looked on indulgently.

Being parabatai did seem like intense stuff, Kit thought, rolling his shoulders to get rid of the crick in his neck. And oddly, it had been a long time since he’d thought about being Ty’s parabatai. Maybe it was because Ty was in no shape to make that kind of decision.

Maybe it was something else, but he pushed away from the thought as Alec and Jace let go of each other. Jace stepped back, sliding his hand into Clary’s. Magnus raised his hands, and the blue sparks flew from his fingers to create the whirling door of a Portal.

The wind that blew from it kicked up dust and sand; Kit squinted, barely able to see as Alec and Magnus stepped through. When the wind died down, he saw that Alec and Magnus were gone, and Jace and Clary were headed back to the Institute, hand in hand.

Kit closed his eyes and banged his head silently against the wall.

“Do you do that because you enjoy it, or because it feels good when you stop?” said a voice.

Kit’s eyes popped open. Jace was standing in front of him, muscular arms crossed, an amused look on his face. Clary must have gone inside.

“Sorry,” Kit muttered.

“Don’t apologize. It doesn’t make any difference to me if you want to scramble your brains like eggs.” Grumbling, Kit stepped out of the shadows and stood blinking in the sun, dusting off his shirt. “I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t want to interrupt all the good-bye hugging,” he said.

“Alec and I are unafraid to express our manly love,” said Jace. “Sometimes he carries me around like a swooning damsel.” “Really?” said Kit.

“No,” said Jace. “I’m very heavy, especially when fully armed. What did you want to talk to me about?” “Actually, that,” said Kit.

“My weight?”

“Weapons.”

Jace looked delighted. “I knew you were a Herondale. This is excellent news. What do you want to discuss? Types of swords? Two-handed versus one-handed? I have a lot of thoughts.” “Having my own weapon,” said Kit. “Emma has Cortana. Livvy had her sabers. Ty likes throwing knives. Julian’s got crossbows. Cristina has her balisong. If I’m going to be a Shadowhunter, I should have a weapon of choice.” “So you decided?” Jace said. “You’re going to be a Shadowhunter?”

Kit hesitated. He didn’t know when exactly it had happened, but it had. He’d realized it on the beach with Shade, when he’d feared for a moment that he wasn’t Nephilim after all. “What else would I be?” Jace’s mouth curled up at the corners in a cheeky grin. “I never doubted you, kid.” He ruffled Kit’s hair. “You don’t have any training, so I’d say archery and crossbows and throwing knives are out for you. I’ll find you something. Something that says Herondale.” “I could slay with my deadly sense of humor and wicked charm,” said Kit.

“Now that says Herondale.” Jace looked pleased. “Christopher—can I call you Christopher?” “No,” said Kit.

“Christopher, family for me was never blood. It was always the family I chose. But it turns out it’s nice to have someone I’m related to in this world. Someone I can tell boring family stories to. Do you know about Will Herondale? Or James Herondale?” “I don’t think so,” said Kit.

“Excellent. Hours of your time will be ruined,” said Jace. “Now I’m off to find you a weapon. Don’t hesitate to come to me any time if you need advice about life or weaponry, preferably both.” He saluted sharply and jogged off before Kit could ask him what you were supposed to do if someone you really cared about wanted to raise the dead in an ill-advised manner.

“Probably for the best,” he muttered to himself.

“Kit! Kit! Pssst,” someone hissed, and Kit jumped several feet in the air and spun around to see Drusilla leaning out of an upper window and gesturing at him. “You said we could talk.” Kit blinked. Unfolding events had blown his agreement with Dru cleanly out of his mind. “All right. I’ll come up.” As he jogged up the steps toward Dru’s floor, he wondered where Ty was. Kit had been used to going everywhere with him—to finding Ty in the hallway, reading, when he got up in the morning, and to going to bed only after they’d both worn themselves out researching or sneaking around the Shadow Market under the amused eye of Hypatia. Though Ty didn’t care for the clamor of the Shadow Market, everyone at it seemed to love him, the extremely polite Shadowhunter boy who didn’t display weapons, didn’t threaten, just calmly asked if they had this or that that he was looking for.

Ty was remarkable, Kit thought. The fact that tensions were escalating among Downworlders and Shadowhunters didn’t seem to touch him. He was entirely focused on one thing: the spell that would bring back Livvy. He was happy when the search was going well and frustrated when it wasn’t, but he didn’t take his frustrations out on others.

The only person he was unkind to, Kit thought, was himself.

In the past days, though, since Julian and Emma had woken up, Ty had been harder to find. If he was working on something, he hadn’t included Kit in it—a thought that hurt with surprising intensity. Still, they did have plans for that night, so that was something.

It wasn’t hard to find Dru’s room: She was hovering in the doorway, dancing up and down with impatience. On catching sight of Kit, she ushered him inside and shut the door behind him, locking it for emphasis.

“You’re not planning on murdering me, are you?” he asked, raising both eyebrows.

“Ha-ha,” she said darkly, and plonked herself down on the bed. She was wearing a black T-shirt dress with a screaming face on it. Her hair had been done up in braids so tight they stuck out perpendicular to her head. It was hard to recall her dressed as the vampy businesswoman who’d tricked Barnabas Hale. “You know perfectly well what I want to talk to you about.” Kit leaned his back against the desk. “Ty.”

“He isn’t okay,” Dru said. “Not like he seems. Did you know that?”

Kit expected himself to say something defensive, or to deny that anything unusual was going on. Instead he slumped back against the desk, as if he’d put down a heavy weight but his legs were still shaking from carrying it. “It’s like—I don’t know how—people just aren’t seeing it,” he said, so relieved to be able to say the words that it almost hurt. “He isn’t doing well. How could he be?” When Dru spoke again, her voice was gentler. “None of us are okay,” she said. “Maybe that’s part of it. When you’re hurting, it’s sometimes hard to see how other people might be hurting differently or worse.” “But Helen—”

“Helen doesn’t know us that well.” Dru tugged a lock of her hair. “She’s trying,” she admitted. “But how can she see how Ty’s different now when she doesn’t know how he was before? Mark’s been caught up in faerie stuff, and Julian and Emma weren’t here. If anyone will notice, now that things have settled down a little, Julian will.” Kit wasn’t sure how you could describe “society probably on the edge of a war” as “settled down,” but he sensed the Blackthorns had a different scale for these things than he did.

“I mean, in some ways, he is okay,” said Kit. “I think that’s what’s confusing. It seems like he’s functioning and doing normal, everyday stuff. He eats breakfast. He washes his clothes. It’s just that the only thing getting him through all that is—” He broke off, his palms suddenly sweaty. He’d almost said it. Jesus Christ, he’d almost broken his promise to Ty just because Dru was a friendly face to talk to.

“Sorry,” he said into the silence. Dru was looking at him quizzically. “I didn’t mean anything.” She narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “You promised him you wouldn’t say,” she said. “Okay, how about I guess what he’s up to, and you tell me if I’m right or wrong?” Kit shrugged wearily. There was no way she was going to guess it anyway.

“He’s trying to communicate with Livvy’s ghost,” she said. “The Thule story made me think of it. People who die, they exist in other forms. Whether it’s as ghosts or in other dimensions. We just can’t . . . reach them.” She blinked very quickly and looked down.

“Yeah,” Kit heard himself say, as if at an enormous distance. “That’s it. That’s what he’s doing.” “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.” Dru looked unhappy. “If Livvy’s passed on, if she’s in a good place, her spirit won’t be here on earth. I mean, they say ghosts can appear sometimes briefly for something important . . . or if they’re called in the right way. . . .” Kit thought of Robert Lightwood’s parabatai, at the side of his burning pyre. Something important.

“I could try to talk to him,” Dru said in a small voice. “Remind him that he still has a sister.” Kit thought of the night Dru had come with them to con Barnabas. Ty had seemed lighter, happy to have her there even if he wouldn’t admit it. “We’re going tonight to—” No. Better not to tell her about Shade. “To get the last piece of what we need for the spell,” he lied rapidly. “We’re meeting down at the highway at ten. If you turn up there, you can threaten to tell on us unless we let you come with us.” Dru wrinkled up her nose. “I have to be the bad guy?”

“Come on,” said Kit. “You’ll get to boss us around. Don’t tell me you won’t enjoy it a little bit.” She grinned. “Yeah, probably. Okay, deal. I’ll see you there.”

Kit turned to unlock the door and let himself out. Then paused. Without looking at Dru, he said, “I’ve spent my whole life lying and tricking people. So why is it so hard for me to lie to this one person? To Ty?” “Because he’s your friend,” said Dru. “What other reason do you need?”

Opening the drawer that held his paints had meaning to Julian again. Each tube of paint carried its own promise, its own personality. Tyrian red, Prussian blue, cadmium orange, manganese violet.

He returned to the fabric canvas he’d left blank the night before. He dumped the paint tubes he’d selected onto the tabletop. Titanium white. Raw umber. Naples yellow.

They were colors he always used to paint Emma’s hair. The memory of her went through him like a knife: the way she’d looked in the doorway of her bedroom, her face white, eyelashes starred with tears. There was a horror in not being able to touch the person you loved, to kiss them or hold them, but an even worse horror in not being able to comfort them.

Leaving Emma, even after she’d asked him to, had felt like wrenching himself apart: His emotions were all too new, too raw and intense. He had always sought comfort in the studio, though he had found none the night before, when trying to paint had felt like trying to speak a foreign language he’d never learned.

But everything was different now. When he picked up the paintbrush, it felt like an extension of his arm. When he began to paint in long, bold strokes, he knew exactly the effect he wanted. As the images took shape, his mind quieted. The pain was still there, but he could bear it.

He didn’t know how long he’d been painting when the knock came on the door. It had been a long time since he’d been able to fall into the dizzy dream-state of creating; even in Thule, he’d had only a short time with the colored pencils.

He placed the brushes he’d been using in a glass of water and went to see who it was. He half-expected it to be Emma—half-hoped it was Emma—but it wasn’t. It was Ty.

Ty had his hands in the front pockets of his white sweatshirt. His gaze flickered across Julian’s face. “Can I come in?” “Sure.” Julian watched Ty as he ambled around the room, glancing at the paintings, before coming to study Julian’s new canvas. Ty had long wanted this room as an office or darkroom, but Julian had always held on to it stubbornly.

Not that he’d kept Ty out of it. When Ty was younger, experimentation with paints and paper had kept him distracted for hours. He never drew anything concrete, but he had an excellent sense of color—not that Julian was biased. All his paintings turned out as intense swirls of interleaving pigments, so bright and bold they seemed to jump off the paper.

Ty was looking at Julian’s canvas. “This is Livvy’s sword,” he said. He didn’t sound annoyed—more questioning, as if he weren’t quite sure why Julian would be painting it.

Julian’s heart skipped a beat. “I was trying to think of what would best symbolize her.” Ty touched the gold pendant at his throat. “This always makes me think of Livvy.” “That’s—that’s a good idea.” Julian leaned against the center island. “Ty,” he said. “I know I haven’t been here for you since Livvy died, but I’m here now.” Ty had picked up an unused brush. He ran his fingers over the bristles, touching them to each fingertip as if lost in the sensation. Julian said nothing: He knew Ty was thinking. “It’s not your fault,” Ty said. “The Inquisitor sent you away.” “Whether it was my fault or not, I was still gone,” said Julian. “If you want to talk to me about anything now, I promise to listen.” Ty looked up, his brief gray gaze like a light touch. “You’ve always been there for us, Jules. You did everything for us. You used to run the whole Institute.” “I—”

“It’s my turn to be there for the rest of you,” said Ty, and set the brush down. “I should go. I have to meet Kit.” When he was gone, Julian sat down on a stool pulled up to a blank easel. He stared unseeingly ahead of him, hearing Ty’s voice echo in his mind.

You used to run the whole Institute.

He thought of Horace, of Horace’s determination to have the whole Shadowhunter world see him speak with the Unseelie King. He hadn’t understood why before. Without his emotions, he hadn’t been able to understand Horace’s reasons. Now he did, and he knew it was even more imperative than he had believed to stop him.

He thought of Arthur’s old office, of the hours he’d spent there at dawn, composing and answering letters. The weight of the Institute’s seal in his hand. That seal was in Aline and Helen’s office now. They’d taken what they could from Arthur’s office to help them with their new job. But they hadn’t known about the secret compartments in Arthur’s desk, and Julian hadn’t been there to tell them.

You used to run the whole Institute.

In those compartments were the careful lists he’d kept of names—every important Downworlder, every Council member, every Shadowhunter at every Institute.

He glanced at the window. He felt alive, energized—not precisely happy, but buzzing with purpose. He would finish the artwork now. Later, when everyone was asleep, his real work would begin.