فصل 27

27

FAR AND FREE

They streamed in through the open doors of the Sanctuary, one after another: Downworlders and Shadowhunters in a seemingly never-ending cascade.

First came the vampires with their paper-white faces and cold elegance, enchanted black umbrellas held aloft as they took the few steps from their tinted-window cars to the Sanctuary doors, eager to escape the sun. Emma recognized Lily Chen among them, on the arm of a tall vampire with dreadlocks. A gaggle of blond Swedish vampires came in chatting with the Lindquists, who ran the Stockholm Institute.

There were werewolves from all over the world: Luke Garroway, scruffy and bearded in his flannel jacket, Clary’s mother, Jocelyn, at his side. Werewolves in kilts and hanboks and qipaos. Maia Roberts and Bat Velasquez—Emma felt a pang, thinking of the other version of them in Thule: still together, still hand in hand.

There were warlocks, too, more than Emma had ever seen in one place. Catarina Loss, blue-skinned and white-haired: She marched in with Tessa and Jem, wearing nurse’s scrubs, and looked around her thoughtfully. Her eyes lit on Kit, and she gazed at him with a quiet recognition that he, absorbed in talking to Ty, didn’t notice.

Hypatia Vex, with her bronze hair and dark skin, regal and curious. Warlocks with bat’s wings, with hooves and gills and rainbow eyes, with delicate antennae and curving stag’s horns. A bat-faced woman who went up to Cristina and began muttering in Spanish. A dark-skinned warlock with a white mark on his cheek in the shape of a spiderweb.

And there were Shadowhunters. Emma had seen many Shadowhunters gathered together before—she’d been to quite a few Council meetings—but it was gratifying to see how many had answered Julian’s call. He stood at the front of the room, where the Blackthorns and their friends had hastily assembled a long table. A rolled-up banner hung on the wall behind it. Julian leaned calmly against the table, but Emma could sense the tension running through him like electrical lines as the Shadowhunters began to file into the Sanctuary.

Julie Beauvale and Beatriz Mendoza, their parabatai runes glimmering on their forearms. Marisol Garza, wearing white in memory of Jon Cartwright. Magnus and Alec had just arrived with Maryse and their kids, and were standing by the door opposite Aline and Helen, greeting the Downworlders while the two women greeted the Shadowhunters. Kadir Safar of the New York Conclave gave Diana a somber nod before going to speak with Maryse, who was dandling little blue Max on her lap while Rafe ran around them both in circles.

The Romeros had come from Argentina, the Pederosos from Brazil, the Keos from Cambodia, and the Rosewains from Northern England. A dark-haired, petite woman darted over to Cristina and hugged her tightly. Cristina’s mom! Emma had an urge to bow in acknowledgment of the woman who had named Perfect Diego.

“It’s cool to see the Alliance in action,” said Mark, who had been helping the others set up rows of chairs. He had put on a somber dark suit jacket in an attempt to look more serious. Like the careful arrangement of the food at the meeting the other day, the small gesture made Emma’s heart spark with tenderness. There were many ways to serve your family, she thought. Julian’s way was in large and passionate gestures; Mark’s were smaller and quieter, but meaningful just the same. “Alec seems to know every Downworlder in the place.” It was true—Alec was greeting a werewolf girl who spoke in excitable French and asked him something about Rafael; a tall, dark-haired vampire wearing a T-shirt with Chinese characters on it slapped him on the back, and Lily and Maia darted over to confer with him in low voices.

Mark suddenly straightened up. Emma followed his gaze and saw that several faeries had come into the room. She laid her hand on Mark’s arm, wondering if he remembered the last time he had been in this Sanctuary, when the Wild Hunt had returned him to his family.

Kieran had turned around—he had been speaking with Julian in a low voice—and was staring as well: Gwyn had come in, of course, which everyone expected, but following him were several others. Among the dryads and pixies and nixies Emma recognized several piskies, the Fair Folk she and Julian had encountered in Cornwall. Behind them came a tall phouka in a JUSTICE FOR KAELIE T-shirt, and after him, a woman in a long green cloak, her face hidden but a bit of white-blond hair escaping nonetheless.

Emma turned to Mark. “It’s Nene.”

“I must speak with her.” Mark gave Emma’s shoulder a pat and vanished across the room to greet his aunt. Emma caught sight of both Kieran and Cristina watching him, though Cristina had been firmly captured by her mother and clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

Emma glanced over at Julian again. He had moved behind the table and was standing with his arms at his sides. Helen and Aline had joined him behind the table as well. The rest of the family was clustered in a group of chairs at the left of the room, Kit and Ty together, Dru with her hand on Tavvy’s shoulder, turning around to squint at a figure who’d just come into the Sanctuary.

It was Cameron. He was alone, slouching a little as if he hoped no one would see him, though his bright red hair was like a beacon. Emma couldn’t help herself; she darted over to him.

He looked surprised as she bore down on him and caught his hands in hers. “Thank you for coming, Cameron,” she said. “Thank you for everything.” “The rest of my family doesn’t know,” he said. “They’re pretty much—”

“On the Cohort’s side, I know,” said Emma. “But you’re different. You’re a good guy. I know that for sure now, and I’m sorry if I ever hurt you in the past.” Cameron looked even more alarmed. “I don’t think we should get back together,” he said.

“Oh, definitely not,” said Emma. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” She glanced over at Julian, who was waving and giving Cameron a thumbs-up from behind the table. Looking terrified, Cameron bolted for the safety of the seats.

Someday maybe she’d tell him about Thule.

Maybe.

She waved to Simon and Isabelle as they came in, holding hands. Isabelle made an immediate beeline for her mother and Max.

Simon regarded Kieran with a look of surprised recognition before crossing the room to talk to Vivianne Penhallow, the dean of Shadowhunter Academy. Sometimes Emma wondered if Simon had enjoyed his time at the Academy. She wondered if she would like it there. But there was no point thinking about the future now.

She glanced over at Julian. The wide doors were still open and a breeze was passing through, and for a moment Emma saw Livvy—not as she had been in Thule, but the Livvy of this world—like a vision or a hallucination, standing behind Julian, her hand on his shoulder, her ethereal hair rising in the wind.

Emma closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, Julian was alone. As if he could feel her gaze, Julian glanced at Emma. He looked incredibly young to her for a moment, as if he were still the twelve-year-old boy who had hiked a mile back and forth every week from the highway, dragging heavy bags, to make sure his brothers and sisters had groceries.

If only you had told me, she thought. If only I had known when you needed help.

She couldn’t be Julian’s parabatai, or his partner, now. She couldn’t smile at him as Clary smiled at Jace, or put a reassuring hand against his back the way Alec did to Magnus, or take his hand as Aline had taken Helen’s.

But she could be his ally. She could stand with the others at the front of the room and face the crowd, at least. She began to cross the room toward the table.

Mark reached Nene at the same time that Helen did. Their aunt seemed agitated, her long pale fingers working at the emerald material of her cloak. Her eyes darted between them as they approached, and she gave a small, stiff nod. “Miach,” she said. “Alessa. It is good to see you well.” “Aunt Nene,” Helen said. “It is good of you to come, and—is everything all right?”

“I was ordered to remain at Court after the Queen returned from Unseelie,” said Nene. “She has been furious and untrusting since that time. For me to be here, I disobeyed a direct order of my monarch’s.” She sighed. “It is possible I can never return to the Court.” “Nene.” Helen looked horrified. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I wished to,” Nene said. “I have lived in fear of the Queen all my life. I lived in fear of what I wished for—to depart the Court and live as one of the wild fey. But you, my niece and nephew—you live between worlds, and you are not afraid.” She smiled at them, and Mark wanted to point out that he was afraid half the time. He didn’t.

“I will do what I can to help you here,” she said. “Your cause is righteous. It is time for the Cold Peace to come to an end.” Mark, who hadn’t realized Julian had been promising an end to the Cold Peace, made a slight choking noise.

“Adaon,” he said. “I know Helen wrote to you of him. He saved our lives—”

“I wished to bring you the news myself. Adaon is well,” said Nene. “He has become something of a favorite of the Seelie Queen and has risen quickly in the Court.” Mark blinked. He hadn’t been expecting this. “A favorite of the Seelie Queen?”

“I think Mark wants to know if he’s the Seelie Queen’s lover,” said Helen, with her usual bluntness.

“Oh, most likely. It’s quite surprising,” said Nene. “Fergus is much put out, as he was the favorite once.” “Greetings, Nene,” said Kieran, striding up to them. He had changed out of his jeans and looked every bit the faerie prince, as Mark had first seen him, in creamy linen and fawn breeches. His hair was a dark, night-ocean blue. “It is good to see you well. How is Adaon my brother? Not too much under the thumb of the Queen?” “Only if he wants to be,” said Nene cheerfully.

Kieran looked puzzled. Mark put his face in his hands.

“Emma!”

Halfway to the table, Emma turned and found Jem approaching her, a shy smile on his face. She had seen him come in earlier, with Tessa, who was now seated beside Catarina Loss. She blinked at him as he reached her; it felt like centuries since she’d seen him, the awful day of Livvy’s funeral.

“Emma.” Jem took her hands in his. “Are you all right?”

He sees how tired I look, she thought. My puffy eyes, rumpled clothes, who knows what else. She tried to smile. “I’m really glad to see you, Jem.” The light from the chandelier illuminated the scars on his cheekbones. “That’s not really an answer to my question,” he said. “Tessa told me about Thule. You have been on quite a journey.” “I guess we all have,” she said in a low voice. “It was awful—but we’re back now.”

He squeezed her hands and released them. “I wanted to thank you,” he said. “For all the help you and your friends have rendered us in curing the warlock illness. You have been a better friend to me than I have been to you, mèi mei.” “No—you’ve helped me so many times,” Emma protested. She hesitated. “Actually, there is a question I want to ask you.” Jem put his hands in his pockets. “Of course, what is it?”

“Do you know how to strip a Shadowhunter’s Marks?” Emma said.

Jem looked stunned. “What?” He glanced around the room as if to make sure no one was looking at them; most people had taken their seats and were thankfully looking toward the front of the room expectantly. “Emma, why would you ask me about something so awful?” She thought quickly. “Well—the Cohort. Maybe the way to remove them from power is not—not to hurt them, but to make them not Shadowhunters anymore. And you were a Silent Brother, so you could do it, or . . .” Her voice trailed off at the horrified look on his face.

“Emma, not every decision rests on your shoulders. The Clave will be restored, and they will deal with the Cohort.” Jem’s voice gentled. “I know you are worried. But as a Silent Brother, I have been part of the ceremony of stripping the Marks from a Shadowhunter before. It is something so horrible that I would never repeat it. I would never do it. Not under any circumstances.” Emma felt as if she were choking. “Of course. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“It’s all right.” There was so much understanding in his voice, it broke her heart. “I know you are afraid, Emma. We all are.” She looked after him as he walked away. Despair was making it hard for her to breathe. I am afraid, she thought. But not of the Cohort.

Of myself.

Emma took her place behind the table at the front of the room; Mark had also joined the small group, and she stood beside him, some distance from Julian. The doors had been closed and the torches lit, and row after row of faces stared back at them from the lines of chairs set up in the middle of the room. They had run out of chairs, in fact, and quite a few Downworlders and Shadowhunters were leaning against the walls, watching.

“Thank you all for responding to my summons,” Julian said. Emma could feel his nerves, his tension, speeding the pace of her own blood through her veins. But he showed none of it. There was an easy command in his voice, the room falling silent as he spoke without him needing to shout. “I won’t drag out any explanations or introductions. You know who I am. You know my sister and brother; you know Aline Penhallow and Emma Carstairs. You know that Aline’s mother, our Consul, has been illegally taken into custody. You know that Horace Dearborn has seized power in Idris—” “He was voted in,” said Kwasi Bediako, the warlock Emma had noticed before with the white spider mark on his face; Cristina had whispered to her that Bediako was the High Warlock of Accra. “We cannot pretend otherwise.” “No one voted for him to throw my mother in jail,” said Aline. “No one voted for him to remove the Consul from power so he could be in charge.” “There are others in jail, as well,” said Cristina’s mother. Cristina, sitting beside her, turned bright red. “Diego Rocio Rosales has been jailed! For nothing!” Kieran glanced at her, a small smile at the corner of his mouth.

“As has my cousin Divya,” said Anush Joshi, a young man with a jagged black haircut and an anxious face. “What do you plan to do about it? Intercede with the Council?” Julian glanced briefly down at his hands, as if gathering himself. “Everyone—all of us here—have always accepted a certain amount of prejudice from the Clave as normal, through choice or necessity.” The room was quiet. No one disagreed, but there were many eyes cast down, as if in shame.

“Now the Cohort has changed what we thought of as normal,” Julian said. “Never before have Downworlders been driven from Idris. Never before have Shadowhunters jailed other Shadowhunters without even the pretense of a trial.” “Why do we care what Shadowhunters do to each other?” demanded the phouka in the Kaelie T-shirt.

“Because that’s step one, and what they do to Downworlders will be worse,” Emma said, surprising herself; she hadn’t meant to speak, only to stand by Julian. “They’ve already registered many of you.” “So you’re saying we need to fight them?” said Gwyn in his rumbling voice. “This is a call to arms?” Julie Beauvale rose to her feet. “They may not be a good Clave, but they are still Shadowhunters. There are a lot of people who follow the Cohort who are scared. I don’t want to hurt those people, and their fear is real, especially now that Jace and Clary are dead. They were our heroes, and I knew them—” “Julie,” Beatriz hissed. “Sit down.”

“Jace and I were personally very close,” Julie went on. “I wouldn’t hesitate to call him my best friend, and I—” “Julie.” Beatriz took Julie by the tail of her shirt and hauled her back into her seat. She cleared her throat. “I think that what Julie meant is that you’re saying the Cohort wants to destroy the government, but I’m guessing, given all the secrecy, that you also want to destroy the government, and I . . . don’t know how we do that without hurting innocent people.” There was a hum of conversation. In the shadows, Emma saw them—she didn’t know when they’d come in, but a single Iron Sister and a single Silent Brother stood motionless against the far wall, their faces in shadow.

A slight chill went through her. She knew the Iron Sisters were against the Cohort. She didn’t know about the Silent Brothers. They both seemed like emissaries of the Law, standing there in their silence.

“We’re not suggesting destroying the government,” Julian said. “We’re saying it’s being destroyed right now, already, from within. The Clave was built to give all Shadowhunters a voice. If we are all voiceless, then it is not our government. The Law was enacted to protect us and to allow us to protect others. When Laws are bent and broken to put the innocent in danger, then it is not our Law. Valentine wanted to rule the Clave. Sebastian wanted to burn it down. We only want to return our rightful Consul to power, and to allow the government of Shadowhunters to be what it should be—not a tyranny, but a representation of who we are and what we want.” “Those are some pretty words,” said the French werewolf who’d been talking to Alec earlier. “But Jace and Clary were beloved of your people. They will want a war against those who harmed them.” “Yes,” said Julian. “I’m counting on that.”

There was no gesture, no signal that Emma could see, but the doors of the Sanctuary opened and Jace and Clary walked in, as if on cue.

At first there was no reaction from the crowd. The light from the torches was bright, and neither of the two were in gear: Jace wore jeans and Clary a plain blue dress. As they passed through the crowd, people blinked at them until finally Lily Chen, looking annoyed, stood up and said, in a loud, bored voice, “I cannot believe my own eyes. Isn’t that Jace Herondale and Clary Fairchild, back from THE DEAD?” The reaction that ripped through the crowd was electric. Clary looked over with some alarm as the roar grew; Jace just smirked as the two of them joined Emma and the others behind the long table. Lily had resumed her seat and was examining her nails.

Julian was calling for people to be quiet, but his voice was drowned out by the noise. Feeling that this was an area in which she could excel, Emma jumped up onto the table and shouted. “EVERYONE,” she yelled. “EVERYONE SHUT UP.” The decibel level fell immediately. Emma could see Cristina giggling, her hand over her mouth. Beside her, Jace shot finger guns at Julie Beauvale, who had turned bright pink.

“Good to see you, bestie,” he said.

Simon’s shoulders were shaking. Isabelle, who had been watching with a half smile, patted his back.

Clary scrunched her nose at Jace and then turned to the crowd. “Thank you,” she said, her voice low but carrying. “We’re glad to be here.” The room fell pin-drop silent.

Emma jumped down from the table. Julian was surveying the assembly, hands looped behind his back, as if wondering what he thought of the situation he’d architected. People were staring, rapt and silent, at Clary and Jace. So this is what it’s like to be heroes, Emma thought, looking at the expressions on the faces of the crowd. To be the ones with angel blood, the ones who’ve literally saved the world. People look at you as if . . . almost as if you’re not real.

“Inquisitor Lightwood sent us to Faerie,” Clary said. “To seek a weapon in the possession of the Unseelie King, one that would be deadly to Shadowhunters. We discovered that the Unseelie King had opened a Portal to another world, one without angelic magic. He was using the earth from that other world to create the blight you have heard of—the one eating through Brocelind Forest.” “That blight was eradicated the night before last,” said Jace. “By a team of Nephilim and Fair Folk, working together.” Now the silence broke: There was a buzz of confused voices.

“But we are not the only Nephilim working with faeries,” said Clary. “The current King of Unseelie, Oban, and the Cohort have been working together. It was the Cohort who arranged for him to be put on the throne.” “How do we know that’s true?” shouted Joaquin Acosta Romero, of the Buenos Aires Institute. He was sitting beside the French werewolf girl, his arm around her shoulders.

“Because they have done nothing but lie to you,” said Mark. “They told you Jace and Clary were dead. They told you faeries slaughtered them. Here they stand, alive.” “Why would the Unseelie Court agree to be part of a scheme in which they were blamed for murder?” said Vivianne Penhallow.

Everyone looked expectantly at Julian.

“Because the Cohort and the Unseelie King have already agreed on exactly what both of them will get from this parley,” he said. “The parley is a performance. That is why Horace is Projecting it so every Shadowhunter can see it. Because the performance is more important than the outcome. If he is seen to get what he wants from the Fair Folk, then confidence in the Cohort will grow so strong that we will never have a chance to unseat them.” Emma tried to hide a smile. You’re really back, Julian, she thought.

“This is a government that will murder its own to control its own,” said Jace. The smirk was gone from his face, and any pretense at amusement: His expression was stony and cold. “This time, it was us. By luck, we survived and are standing here to tell you our story. The Inquisitor is meant to uphold the Law. Not to hide behind it as an alibi for murdering their own.” “What about murdering those who aren’t Shadowhunters?” called a naga sitting near some of the Keo family.

“We’re against that, too,” said Jace.

“We’ve had bad members of our government before,” said Julian. “But this is different. They’ve broken the system that might fix the situation. They’re manipulating the Clave, manipulating us all. They are creating the illusion of threats to control us all through fear. They claim that faeries murdered Jace and Clary so they can declare an unjustified war—and under the cloak of that chaos, they put our Consul in prison. Who can speak against the war now?” A blond Nephilim raised a hand. “Oskar Lindquist here,” he said. “Stockholm Institute. Are you saying we shouldn’t go to Alicante? The parley is scheduled for tomorrow. If we do not arrive there tonight, we will be considered deserters. Traitors.” “No,” Julian said. “In fact, we need you to join the other Shadowhunters in Alicante as if everything is normal. Do nothing to alarm the Cohort. The parley is going to take place on the Imperishable Fields. We—the resistance—are going to interrupt it, with everyone watching. We will present our proof, and when that is done, we need you there to stand up for us and hold the Clave accountable for what they’ve done.” “We’re the proof,” Jace added, indicating himself and Clary.

“I think they knew that,” Emma muttered. She saw Jem, in the audience, give her an amused look, and tensed. It is something so horrible that I would never repeat it. I would never do it. Not under any circumstances.

She determinedly put his words out of her mind. She couldn’t think about that right now.

“Why do this during the parley?” called Morena Pedroso, the head of the Rio Institute. A bored-looking girl about Dru’s age, with long brown hair, sat beside her. “Why not confront them sooner?” “Horace wants—no, he needs—everyone to see him triumph over the Unseelie forces,” said Julian. “Every Shadowhunter in Idris is going to be watching him via a massive Projection.” There was a murmur of surprise among the Downworlders. “That means they’ll be able to see and hear not just him but, if we join him—us. This is our chance. The Cohort is bringing everyone together in a way we don’t have the power to do. This is our opportunity to show all Shadowhunters what the Cohort truly is.” “And what if it comes to a battle? We’ll be fighting other Shadowhunters,” said Oskar Lindquist. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who doesn’t want that.” “Hopefully we can do this without a fight,” said Julian. “But if it comes to one, we must be ready.” “So you have a plan for Shadowhunters,” called Hypatia Vex. She looked over at Kit and Ty and winked; Emma wondered what that was about but didn’t have time to dwell on it. “What about us? Why did you bring Downworlders here?” “To witness,” said Julian. “We’re aligned here. We’re on the same side against the Cohort. We know we’re better, stronger, when Downworlders and Shadowhunters work together. And we wanted you to know that even if the Cohort are loud and hateful, they’re a minority. You have allies.” He glanced around the room. “A few of you will be with us. Kieran Kingson. Magnus Bane. But as for the rest of you—after the Shadowhunters pass through the Portals to Idris, you will need to return home to your people. Because if you don’t hear from us after the parley, you can assume we were defeated. And if we are defeated, you’re in danger.” “We can withstand the Cohort,” said Nene, and Mark looked at her in surprise. “There are many fewer of them than there are Downworlders.” “If we lose, it won’t be only the Cohort you need to fear,” said Julian. “Once good Shadowhunters can no longer stand up to them, they will begin to destroy and control Downworlders. And while they do that, there will be nobody left to stand against the tide of evil from other worlds. They care so much about their prejudice, their imagined purity, and their Laws, that they have forgotten our mandate: Protect this world from demons.” A whisper went around the room; a sound of horror. I have seen the world overrun by demons, Emma wanted to say. There is no place there for Downworlders.

“We’re an army. A resistance,” Emma said. “We are seeking justice. It won’t be pretty, but it’ll only get worse. The longer we wait, the more damage they’ll do and the more blood will be spilled stopping them.” “Horace doesn’t want a war,” said Diana. “He wants glory. If it looks like he’s facing danger, I believe he’ll back off.” “If we’re an army, what are we called?” said Simon.

Julian turned and unpinned the rolled-up canvas hanging on the wall behind him, which had been held in place with tacks. A gasp went up as it unfurled.

Image

Julian had painted a banner, the kind an army would carry before it in wartime. The central item was a saber, point down, painted a shimmering pale gold. Behind the saber spread a pair of angel’s wings, while all around it clustered symbols of Downworld—a star for vampires, a spell book for warlocks, a moon for werewolves, and a four-leaf clover for faeries.

Dangling from the hilt of the saber was a locket with a circle of thorns on the front.

“We are called Livia’s Watch,” Julian said, and Emma saw Ty sit up straighter in his chair. “We carry this banner in honor of my sister, so that all who have been hurt by the Cohort will not be forgotten.” Jace swept his gaze around the room. “If there is anyone who doesn’t want to fight alongside us, they can depart now. No hard feelings.” The room was silent. Not a chair moved. Not a single person rose. Still leaning against the wall near the doors, the Iron Sister and Silent Brother who had come to observe the proceedings were motionless.

Only Emma heard Julian’s low exhale of relief. “Now,” he said. “Let’s finalize the plan.”

Dru, sitting on a hillock of grass, watched as a dozen warlocks created Portals on the Institute’s front lawn.

It certainly wasn’t something she’d ever thought she was going to see. The occasional warlock or Portal, sure, but not this many of them at one time.

Through the Portals, she could see the fields in front of the walls of Alicante: It was impossible to Portal directly into the Shadowhunter city without advance permission; the closest you could get was the front gates. Which was fine anyway, because the Shadowhunters needed to check in with the Cohort and make sure Dearborn knew they were there. Dru was a little disappointed—she’d been hoping they’d be rushing into the city, swords flashing, but that wasn’t Julian’s style. If he could get what he wanted without a fight, he would.

A few feet away, Tavvy was humming, running an old toy car up and down a smooth-sided rock.

She’d sat by herself during the meeting, though Kit had given her an encouraging smile at one point. And she had seen Julian look at her when he’d said “Livia’s Watch.” He’d looked at them all, scattered through the room: Mark and Helen, Dru and Tavvy, and last of all, Ty.

Dru had been worried since the night before, when Ty had come out of that weird cave by the beach. Kit had followed him and hadn’t been there, as she had, to see the look on Ty’s face when he’d first stepped outside. It was a hard look to explain. Half as if he might cry and half as if he might break down the way he sometimes did when things overwhelmed him. Livvy had always been able to calm him down, but Dru didn’t know if she could do the same. She was no replacement for Livvy.

Then Kit had come outside, and Ty’s expression had changed, as if he’d realized something. And Kit seemed relieved, and Dru wanted to be relieved too.

She’d worried about Ty when Julian had revealed the banner, and there had been Livvy’s locket, the one Ty wore now, curled around a saber. And when Julian had said the words “Livia’s Watch,” hot tears had burned the back of Dru’s eyes. She’d felt proud but also hollow where the piece inside her that had been Livvy had been lost to the darkness.

Julian stood by the Sanctuary doors, speaking to the dark-haired Iron Sister who had come to the meeting. The last of the Shadowhunters were passing through the Portals. Some of the Downworlders remained inside the Sanctuary, avoiding the sun; others stood and looked at the ocean and chatted among themselves. Maryse Lightwood stood by the Portal Magnus had created, smiling as she watched Max and Rafe run in circles around Alec.

Rocks and sand crunched: Dru looked up and saw Julian standing over her, silhouetted by the sun. “Hey, kiddo,” he said.

“What’s going on with the Iron Sisters and Silent Brothers?” said Dru. “Are they on our side?” “The Iron Sisters have already rejected the Cohort,” said Julian. “They’re backing us up. Sister Emilia even had a good idea about the Mortal Sword. The Silent Brothers are—well, not neutral. They don’t like the Cohort either. But any defection on their part will be more obvious and might tip our hand. They’re going to station themselves in Alicante to keep an eye on things and prevent the Cohort from getting suspicious.” This was one of the things Dru loved about Julian. He didn’t talk down to her, not even about strategy.

“Speaking of Alicante,” she said. “It’s time for us to go, huh?”

She’d known this was coming. Julian had told her about it before the meeting. She’d thought she’d be all right with it, considering that she wanted to get into Alicante, and this was pretty much the only way it was going to happen.

Not that Julian knew that. She screwed her face into a woeful expression. “I don’t see why you have to leave us behind.” “I’m not leaving you behind,” Julian said. “I’m sending you ahead. You are part of Livia’s Watch. Don’t forget it.” Dru continued to scowl. Tavvy was still playing with his car, but he was also watching them out of the corner of his eye. “Semantics are nobody’s friend.” Julian knelt down in front of her. Dru was surprised; she wouldn’t have thought he’d want to get his knees dirty when he was wearing nice clothes, but apparently he didn’t care.

“Dru,” he said. “I can’t leave you here. It isn’t safe. And I can’t take you where we’re going. There could be a battle. A big one.” “I can fight,” Dru said.

Julian put his fingers under her chin and lifted her face so that she was looking directly at him. She wondered if this was what it was like for most kids to look at their parents. This was the face she associated with praise and scoldings, with late-night nightmare assistance and hot chocolate when it was needed and Band-Aids when those were called for. Julian had held her hand through the application of her first Marks. He was the one who stuck her terrible drawings to the fridge with magnets. He never forgot a birthday.

And he was still a kid himself. It was the first time she’d been able to look at him and see it. He was young, younger than Jace and Clary or Alec and Magnus. And yet he’d stood up in front of that Sanctuary full of people and told them what they were going to do, and they’d listened.

“I know you can fight,” he said. “But if I think you’re in danger, I don’t know if I can.”

“What about Kit and Ty?”

He grinned at her. “Don’t tell them, but Magnus promised to make sure they don’t get near the actual battle.” Dru gave a reluctant smile. “It’s going to suck not knowing if you guys are okay.”

“We’ll all be wearing Familias runes,” said Julian. “Tavvy, too. So that’s something. If you need to know how one of us is, activate yours.” His eyes darkened. “Dru, you know I’d protect you to my last breath, right? I’d give my last drop of blood for you. So would Emma.” “I know,” Dru said. “I love you, too.”

He pulled her into a quick hug, then stood up and offered his hand. She let him pull her to her feet and dusted herself off as he picked up Tavvy. She trailed along behind the two of them as they headed toward Maryse, Max, and Rafe. She didn’t want to look as if she were in any way eager to go to Alicante. She felt a little bad about deceiving Julian, but if there was anything she’d learned from Kit and Ty in the past weeks, it was that sometimes you had to trick a trickster at his own game.

“But why are the small ones going?” said Gwyn as Diana stood watching Max, then Rafe, then Tavvy pass through the Portal to Alicante. “It was my understanding that Julian wished to keep them all together.” Diana sighed and slipped her hand into Gwyn’s. “It’s because he loves them that he’s sending them away. Battle is no place for a child.” “We have children in the Wild Hunt. As young as eight years, sometimes,” said Gwyn.

“Yes, but we’ve also covered how that’s a bad thing, Gwyn.”

“Sometimes I forget all the lessons you teach me,” said Gwyn, but he sounded amused. Dru was just stepping through the Portal to Alicante: She turned at the last moment and looked back at Julian. Diana saw him nod encouragingly as Dru stepped into the whirlwind and was gone. “It is not certain there will be a battle, either.” “It is not certain there won’t be,” Diana said. Julian had turned away from the Portal; the encouraging look he’d worn for Dru and Tavvy was gone, and he looked hollow and sad. He headed toward the Institute doors.

The false faces we wear for the ones we love, Diana thought. Julian would bleed out for these children and never ask for a bandage in fear that the question would upset them. “The children will be safe with Maryse. And not being frightened for them will free up Julian and the rest of us to do what we need to do.” “And what is it you need to do?”

Diana tipped her head back to look up at Gwyn. “Be warriors.”

Gwyn touched a curl of her hair. “You are a warrior every day.”

Diana smiled. Julian had reached the Sanctuary doors and had turned there, looking out on the group in front of the Institute: a motley collection of warlocks, Shadowhunters, and a group of werewolves playing hacky sack. “Time to come in,” he said, his voice carrying over the sound of the sea. “The real meeting’s about to start.” * * *

From the window of the Gard, Manuel could see Shadowhunters streaming in through the Great Gate, the main entrance to the city of Alicante. All the exits were guarded now and warded against the imaginary threat of encroaching Unseelie faeries.

“It does not seem the Blackthorns’ meeting was a success,” said Horace. He could see out the window from the Inquisitor’s big desk. It was odd, Manuel thought; he still didn’t think of Horace as the Inquisitor. Perhaps because he had never really cared who the Inquisitor or the Consul was. They were positions of power and therefore desirable, but they held no inherent meaning. “The families he invited to his little insurrection are still arriving.” Zara entered without knocking, as was her usual style. She wore her Centurion gear, as she always did. Manuel found it pretentious. “The Rosewains are here, and the Keos, and the Rosaleses.” She was fuming. “They all arrived at once, through Portals. It’s like they’re not even trying to hide it.” “Oh, I don’t know,” said Manuel. “If we hadn’t been tipped off about the meeting, I don’t think we’d have noticed. Too many people coming and going.” “Don’t compliment Julian Blackthorn,” said Zara, scowling. “He’s a traitor.”

“Oh, clearly,” said Manuel. “But now we get to punish them, which I’m going to enjoy.”

“I’m sure you are.” Zara gave him a superior look, but Manuel knew she was going to enjoy the punishment of the Blackthorns just as much as he was. They both hated Emma. Of course, Manuel had good reason—she’d shown him disrespect at the last Council Hall meeting—while Zara was merely jealous.

“We will make an example of them,” said Horace. “After the parley. Not the younger Blackthorns—no one likes to see a child die, even if the seeds of evil are in them. But Julian certainly, and that half-breed brother and sister of his. The Carstairs girl, of course. Aline Penhallow is a tricky question—” The door opened. Manuel looked around curiously; there was only one other visitor to Horace’s office who, like Zara, never bothered knocking.

A tall, blond Shadowhunter stepped into the room. Manuel had seen him earlier, coming through the Great Gates. Oskar Lindquist, having separated himself from the rest of his equally blond family.

Horace glanced up. His eyes glittered. “Shut the door behind you.”

Oskar made a sound between a growl and a laugh, closing and locking the office door. There was a slight shimmer in the air as he turned and began to change. It was like watching water spill over a painting, distorting and altering the lines of it.

Zara made a low noise of disgust as Oskar’s head fell back and his body spasmed, his hair turning a dark brownish-black and falling to spill over his shoulders, his spine compacting as he shrank down into a smaller frame, the lines of his jaw softening into a new, familiar outline.

Annabel Blackthorn looked at them out of steady blue-green eyes.

“So, how was the meeting?” Horace said. “We surmised it hadn’t gone well, considering the number of Shadowhunters returning to Idris.” “I believe it went as intended.” Horace wrinkled his brow as Annabel sat stiffly in a chair opposite his desk. Zara watched her warily; Horace kept referring to Annabel as the Unseelie King’s gift to him, but perhaps Zara didn’t consider it a gift. “Except for the fact that I was there.” “No one guessed you weren’t Oskar?” said Zara.

“Obviously not.” Annabel was studying her hands as if they were unfamiliar to her. “Their plan is simple to the point of rudimentary. Which could be seen as an advantage—less to go wrong.” Horace leaned forward, arms resting on his desk. “Are you saying we should be worried?”

“No,” Annabel said, touching the etched glass vial at her throat thoughtfully. Red liquid swirled within it. “The element of surprise was their only advantage. Foolish of them to assume they would not be betrayed.” She sat back in her chair. “Let us begin with the basics. Jace Herondale and Clary Fairchild are still alive. . . .” * * *

Emma stood at the doorway of the Institute. The last of the Downworlders had gone, and they would all be leaving for Brocelind soon. Brother Shadrach had assured Julian and the others that all the guards in Idris had been recalled to the city for the parley. The forest would be deserted.

The afternoon sun glimmered on the sea, and distantly she wondered if, after today, she would ever see the Pacific Ocean again. Long ago her father had told her that the lights that danced on the surface of seawater came from glowing jewels beneath, and that if you reached under the surface, you could catch a jewel in your hand.

She held her hand out in front of her now, palm up, and thought of Jem’s words, and then of Diana’s.

Their runes began to burn like fire, as if they had fire in their veins instead of blood. Black lines spread over their bodies and they became monstrous—physically monstrous.

Across the inside of her forearm, where the skin had been pale and smooth, was a dark webbing of black lines, like cracks in marble, nearly the size of the palm of her hand.