ForSarah.Sheknowswhatshedid.

Lo!DeathhasrearedhimselfathroneInastrangecitylyingalone

FardownwithinthedimWest,Wherethegoodandthebadandtheworstandthebest

Havegonetotheireternalrest.Thereshrinesandpalacesandtowers(Time-eatentowersthattremblenot!)

Resemblenothingthatisours.Around,byliftingwindsforgot,

ResignedlybeneaththeskyThemelancholywaterslie.

NoraysfromtheholyheavencomedownOnthelongnight-timeofthattown;

ButlightfromouttheluridseaStreamsuptheturretssilently—

Gleamsupthepinnaclesfarandfree—Updomes—upspires—upkinglyhalls—

Upfanes—upBabylon-likewalls—Upshadowylong-forgottenbowers

Ofsculpturedivyandstoneflowers—Upmanyandmanyamarvellousshrine

WhosewreathedfriezesintertwineTheviol,theviolet,andthevine.

ResignedlybeneaththeskyThemelancholywaterslie.

SoblendtheturretsandshadowsthereThatallseempendulousinair,

WhilefromaproudtowerinthetownDeathlooksgiganticallydown.

Thereopenfanesandgapinggraves

Yawnlevelwiththeluminouswaves;ButnottherichestherethatlieIneachidol’sdiamondeye—Notthegaily-jewelleddead

Temptthewatersfromtheirbed;Fornoripplescurl,alas!

Alongthatwildernessofglass—NoswellingstellthatwindsmaybeUponsomefar-offhappiersea—

NoheavingshintthatwindshavebeenOnseaslesshideouslyserene.

Butlo,astirisintheair!Thewave—thereisamovementthere!

Asifthetowershadthrustaside,Inslightlysinking,thedulltide—AsiftheirtopshadfeeblygivenAvoidwithinthefilmyHeaven.

Thewaveshavenowaredderglow—Thehoursarebreathingfaintandlow—

Andwhen,amidnoearthlymoans,Down,downthattownshallsettlehence,Hell,risingfromathousandthrones,

Shalldoitreverence.

—EdgarAllanPoe,“CityintheSea”

PARTONE

FeelNoSorrow

IntheLandofFaerie,asmortalsfeelnosorrow,neithercantheyfeeljoy.

—Faerieproverb

1DEATHLOOKSDOWN

TherewasbloodontheCouncildais,bloodonthesteps,bloodonthewallsandthefloorandtheshatteredremnantsoftheMortalSword.LaterEmmawouldrememberitasasortofredmist.Apieceofbrokenpoetrykeptgoingthroughhermind,somethingaboutnotbeingabletoimaginepeoplehadsomuchbloodinthem.

They said that shock cushioned great blows, but Emma didn’t feelcushioned.Shecouldseeandheareverything:theCouncilHallfullofguards.Thescreaming.ShetriedtofightherwaythroughtoJulian.Guardssurgedupin front of her in a wave. She could hear more shouting. “Emma CarstairsshatteredtheMortalSword!ShedestroyedaMortalInstrument!Arresther!”

Shedidn’tcarewhattheydidtoher;shehadtogettoJulian.HewasstillonthegroundwithLivvy inhisarms, resistingall effortsby theguards to liftherdeadbodyawayfromhim.

“Letmethrough,”shesaid.“I’mhisparabatai,letmethrough.”“Givemethesword.”ItwastheConsul’svoice.“GivemeCortana,Emma,

andyoucanhelpJulian.”Shegasped,andtastedbloodinhermouth.Alecwasuponthedaisnow,

kneeling by his father’s body. The floor of theHall was amass of rushingfigures;amongthemEmmaglimpsedMark,carryinganunconsciousTyoutoftheHall,shoulderingotherNephilimasideashewent.Helookedgrimmerthanshe’deverseenhim.Kitwaswithhim;wherewasDru?There—shewasaloneontheground;no,Dianawaswithher,holdingherandweeping,andtherewasHelen,fightingtogettothedais.

Emmatookastepbackandalmoststumbled.Thewoodfloorwasslipperywithblood.ConsulJiaPenhallowwasstillinfrontofher,herthinhandheldoutforCortana.Cortana.TheswordwasapartofEmma’sfamily,hadbeenapartofhermemoryforaslongasshecouldrecall.ShecouldstillrememberJulian laying it in her arms after her parents had died, how she’d held theswordtoherasifitwereachild,heedlessofthedeepcutthebladeleftonherarm.

Jiawasaskinghertohandoverapieceofherself.But Julianwas there,alone,bowed ingrief, soaked inblood.Andhewas

more of herself than Cortanawas. Emma surrendered the sword; feeling ityankedfromhergrip,herwholebodytensed.ShealmostthoughtshecouldhearCortanascreamatbeingpartedfromher.

“Go,” Jia said; Emma could hear other voices, including HoraceDearborn’s, raised, demanding she be stopped, that the destruction of theMortalSwordandthedisappearanceofAnnabelBlackthornbeansweredfor.Jiawassnappingattheguards,tellingthemtoescorteveryonefromtheHall:nowwasatimeofgrief,notatimeforrevenge—Annabelwouldbefound—gowithdignity,Horace,oryou’llbeescortedout,nowisnotthetime—AlinehelpingDruandDianatotheirfeet,helpingthemwalkfromtheroom...

Emma fell to her knees by Julian. The metallic smell of blood waseverywhere. Livvywas a crumpled shape in his arms, her skin the color ofskimmedmilk.Hehadstoppedcallingforhertocomebackandwasrockingherasifshewereachild,hischinagainstthetopofherhead.

“Jules,”Emmawhispered,butthewordsatbitterlyonhertongue:thatwasher childhood name for him, and he was an adult now, a grieving parent.Livvyhadnotjustbeenhissister.Foryearshehadraisedherasadaughter.“Julian.” She touched his cold cheek, then Livvy’s colder one. “Julian, love,please,letmehelpyou....”

Heraisedhisheadslowly.Helookedasifsomeonehadflungapailfullofbloodathim.Itmaskedhischest,histhroat,spatteredhischinandcheeks.“Emma.”Hisvoicewasbarelyawhisper.“Emma,Idrewsomanyiratzes—”

ButLivvyhadalreadybeendeadwhenshehitthewoodofthedais.BeforeJulianevenliftedherintohisarms.Norune,noiratze,wouldhavehelped.

“Jules!”Helenhadfinallyforcedherwaypasttheguards;sheflungherselfdownbesideEmmaandJulian,heedlessoftheblood.Emmawatchednumblyas Helen carefully removed the broken shard of the Mortal Sword fromLivvy’sbodyandset iton theground. It stainedherhandswithblood.Herlips white with grief, she put her arms around Julian and Livvy both,whisperingsoothingwords.

Theroomwasemptyingaroundthem.Magnushadcomein,walkingveryslowly and looking pale. A long row of Silent Brothers followed him. Heascended the dais andAlec rose to his feet, flinginghimself intoMagnus’sarms.TheyheldeachotherwordlesslyasfouroftheBrotherskneltandliftedRobertLightwood’sbody.Hishandshadbeenfoldedoverhischest,hiseyescarefullyclosed.Softmurmursof“aveatquevale,RobertLightwood,”echoedbehindhimastheBrotherscarriedhisbodyfromtheroom.

TheConsulmoved toward them.Therewereguardswithher.TheSilentBrothershoveredbehindthem,likeghosts,ablurofparchment.

“Youhavetoletgoofher,Jules,”Helensaidinhergentlestvoice.“ShehastobetakentotheSilentCity.”

JulianlookedatEmma.Hiseyeswerestarkaswinterskies,butshecouldread them. “Let himdo it,” Emma said. “Hewants the last person to carryLivvytobehim.”

Helenstrokedherbrother’shairandkissedhisforeheadbeforerising.Shesaid,“Jia,please.”

The Consul nodded. Julian got slowly to his feet, Livvy cradled againsthim.Hebegantomovetowardthestairsthatleddownfromthedais,HelenathissideandtheSilentBrothersfollowing,butasEmmarosetoo,Jiaputahandouttoholdherback.

“Onlyfamily,Emma,”shesaid.I am family. Let me go with them. Let me go with Livvy, Emma screamed

silently, but she kept her mouth firmly closed: She couldn’t add her ownsadness to the existing horror. And the rules of the Silent City wereunchangeable.TheLawishard,butitistheLaw.

Thesmallprocessionwasmovingtowardthedoors.TheCohorthadgone,buttherewerestillsomeguardsandotherShadowhuntersintheroom:alowchorusof“hailandfarewell,LiviaBlackthorn,”followedthem.

TheConsulturned,Cortanaflashinginherhand,andwentdownthestepsandovertoAline,whohadbeenwatchingasLivvywascarriedaway.Emmabegantoshiverallover,ashiverthatstarteddeepdowninherbones.Shehadnever felt so alone—Julian was going away from her, and the otherBlackthornsseemedamillionmilesaway likedistant stars,andshewantedher parents with a painful intensity that was almost humiliating, and shewanted Jem and she wanted Cortana back in her arms and she wanted toforget Livvy bleeding and dying and crumpled like a broken doll as thewindowoftheCouncilHallexplodedandthebrokencrowntookAnnabel—hadanyoneelseseenitbuther?

“Emma.”Armswentaroundher,familiar,gentlearms,raisinghertoherfeet.ItwasCristina,whomusthavewaitedthroughallthechaosforher,whohadstayedstubbornlyintheHallastheguardsshoutedforeveryonetoleave,stayedtoremainbyEmma’sside.“Emma,comewithme,don’tstayhere.I’lltakecareofyou.Iknowwherewecango.Emma.Corazoncita.Comewithme.”

EmmaletCristinahelphertoherfeet.MagnusandAlecwerecomingoverto them, Alec’s face tight, his eyes reddened. Emma stood with her handclasped inCristina’s and looked out over theHall,which seemed to her anentirelydifferentplacethanithadwhentheyhadarrivedhoursago.Maybebecausethesunhadbeenupthen,shethought,dimlyhearingMagnusandAlec talking toCristina about takingEmma to thehouse that hadbeen setaside for the Blackthorns. Maybe because the room had darkened, andshadowswerethickaspaintinthecorners.

Ormaybebecauseeverythinghadchanged,now.Maybebecausenothingatallwouldeverbethesameagain.

***

“Dru?”Helenknockedgentlyonthecloseddooroftheroom.“Dru,canItalktoyou?”

Atleast,shewasfairlysureitwasDru’sroom.ThecanalhousenexttotheConsul’s residence on Princewater Street had been prepared for theBlackthorns before the meeting, since everyone had assumed they wouldspend severalnights in Idris.Helen andAlinehadbeen shown it earlierbyDiana, and Helen had appreciated the light touch of Diana’s loving hands

everywhere:Therewereflowersinthekitchen,androomshadnamestapedtothedoors—theonewithtwonarrowbedswasforthetwins,theoneforTavvyfull of books and toys Diana had brought from her own home over theweaponsshop.

Helenhadstoppedinfrontofasmallroomwithfloweredwallpaper.“ForDru,maybe?”she’dsaid.“It’spretty.”

Dianahadlookeddubious.“Oh,Druisn’tlikethat,”she’dsaid.“Maybeifthewallpaperhadbatsonit,orskeletons.”

Helenhadwinced.Alinehad takenherhand. “Don’tworry,” she’dwhispered. “You’ll get to

knowthemallagain.”She’dkissedHelen’scheek.“It’llbeeasy-peasy.”Andmaybe itwouldhavebeen,Helen thought, staring at thedoorwith

the note that saidDrusilla on it.Maybe if everything had gonewell. Grief’ssharpagonyflaredupinherchest—shefeltassheimaginedafishcaughtonahookmight feel, twistingand turning toget away from the spikeofpaindrivenintoitsflesh.

She remembered this pain from the death of her father, when only thethoughtthatshehadtotakecareofherfamily,hadtolookafterthechildren,hadgottenherthrough.Shewastryingtodothesamenow,butitwasclearthechildren—iftheycouldevenreallybecalledthat;onlyTavvywastrulyachild, and he was at the Inquisitor’s house, having thankfully missed thehorror in the Council Hall—felt awkward around her. As if she were astranger.

Which onlymade the pain pierce deeper in her chest. ShewishedAlinewaswithher,butAlinehadgonetobewithherparentsforafewhours.

“Dru,”Helensaidagain,knockingwithmoreforce.“Pleaseletmein.”ThedoorflewopenandHelenjerkedherhandbackbeforesheaccidentally

punchedDruintheshoulder.Hersisterstoodinfrontofher,glaringinherill-fitting blackmeeting clothes, too tight in thewaist and chest.Her eyesweresored-rimmeditlookedasifshehadsmearedscarleteyeshadowacrossherlids.

“Iknowyoumightwanttobealone,”saidHelen.“ButIneedtoknowthatyou’re—”

“Allright?”Drusaid,alittlesharply.Theimplicationwasclear:HowcouldIpossiblybeallright?

“Surviving.”Dru glanced away for a moment; her lips, pressed tightly together,

trembled.Helenachedtograbherlittlesisterandhugher,tocuddleDruthewayshehadyearsagowhenDruwasastubborntoddler.“IwanttoknowhowTyis.”

“He’sasleep,”saidHelen.“TheSilentBrothersgavehimasedativepotion,andMark’ssittingwithhim.Doyouwanttositwithhimtoo?”

“I . . .”Druhesitated,whileHelenwished she could think of somethingcomfortingtosayaboutTy.Shewasterrifiedofwhatwouldhappenwhenhewokeup.He’dfaintedintheCouncilHall,andMarkhadcarriedhimtotheBrothers,whowerealreadyintheGard.They’dexaminedhimineeriesilenceandstatedthatphysicallyhewashealthy,buttheywouldgivehimherbsthatwouldkeephimsleeping.Thatsometimesthemindknewwhenitneededtoshutdowntoprepareitselftoheal.ThoughHelendidn’tknowhowanightofsleep,orevenayearofit,wouldprepareTyforlosinghistwin.

“IwantJules,”Drusaidfinally.“Ishehere?”“No,”Helensaid.“He’sstillwithLivvy.IntheSilentCity.”Shewantedto

say he’d be back any moment—Aline had said the ceremony of layingsomeoneoutintheCityasapreparationforcremationwasashortone—butshedidn’twanttosayanythingtoDruthatwouldturnoutnottobetrue.

“WhataboutEmma?”Dru’s voicewaspolitebut clear: Iwant thepeople Iknow,notyou.

“I’llgolookforher,”Helensaid.ShehadbarelyturnedawayfromDru’sdoorwhenitshutbehindherwith

a small but determined click. She blinked away tears—and saw Mark,standinginthehallwayafewfeetfromher.Hehadcomeclosesosoundlesslythatshehadn’theardhimapproach.Heheldacrumpledpieceofpaperinhishandthatlookedlikeafire-message.

“Helen,” he said. His voice was rough. After all his years in the Hunt,would he grieve as faeries grieved?He looked rumpled, weary: There wereveryhumanlinesunderhiseyes,atthesidesofhismouth.“Tyisnotalone—

DianaandKitarewithhim,andhesleepson,besides.Ineededtospeakwithyou.”

“IhavetogetEmma,”Helensaid.“Druwantsher.”“Her room is just there;we can certainly get her beforewe leave,”Mark

said, indicating the farther end of the corridor. The house was paneled inhoney-coloredwood,thewitchlightlampslightingittowarmth;onanotherday,itwouldhavebeenaprettyplace.

“Leave?”Helensaid,puzzled.“IhavehadamessagefromMagnusandAlec,attheInquisitor’shouse.I

mustgoandfetchTavvyandtellhimoursisterisdead.”Markreachedoutahandforher,hisfacetwistingwithpain.“Please,Helen.Comewithme.”

***

WhenDianawasyoung,shehadvisitedamuseuminLondonwherethestarattractionwasaSleepingBeautymadeofwax.Herskinwaslikepaletallow,andherchestroseandfellasshe“breathed”withthehelpofasmallmotorimplantedinherbody.

Something about Ty’s stillness and pallor reminded her now of thewaxgirl.He laypartlycoveredwiththeblanketsonhisbed,hisonlymovementhis breath. His hands were loose and open at his sides; Diana longed fornothingmore than to see his fingersmoving, playing with one of Julian’screationsorthecordofhisheadphones.

“Is he going to be all right?” Kit spoke in a halfwhisper. The roomwaspapered in cheerful yellow, both twin beds covered in rag bedspreads. KitcouldhavesatontheemptybedthatwasmeanttobeLivvy’s,buthehadn’t.Hewascrouchedinacorneroftheroom,hisbackagainstthewall,his legsdrawnup.HewasstaringatTy.

DianaputherhandtoTy’sforehead;itwascool.Shefeltnumbthroughouther body. “He’s fine, Kit,” she said. She tugged the blanket up over Ty; hestirred and murmured, shrugging it off. The windows were open—they’dthoughttheairmightbebetterforTy—butDianacrossedtheroomtoclosethemnow.Hermotherhadalwaysbeenobsessedwiththeideathattheworstthingthatcouldhappentosomeonewascatchingachill,andapparentlyyouneverforgotwhatyourparentstoldyou.

Beyondthewindowshecouldseethecity,outlinedintheearlydusk,andtherisingmoon.Shethoughtofafigureonhorseback,ridingacrossthatvastsky.Shewondered ifGwynknewof thisafternoon’sevents,or if shewouldhavetosendhimamessage.Andwhatwouldhedoorsaywhenhereceivedit?HehadcometoheroncebeforewhenLivvy,Ty,andKitwereindanger,buthehadbeencalleduponbyMarkthen.Shestillwasn’tsureifhe’ddoneitbecause he was genuinely fond of the children, or if he had simply beendischargingadebt.

Shepaused,handon thewindowcurtain. In truth, sheknew littleaboutGwyn. As the leader of the Wild Hunt he was almost more mythic thanhuman.Shewonderedhowemotionsmustbefeltbythosesopowerfulandold they had become part of myths and stories. How could he really careaboutanymortal’slittlelifegiventhescopeofwhathehadexperienced?

Andyethehadheldherandcomfortedherinheroldbedroom,whenshehadtoldhimwhatshehadonlyevertoldCatarinaandherparentsbefore,andherparentsweredead.Hehadbeenkind—hadn’the?

Stop it.Sheturnedbackto theroom;nowwasn’t thetimetothinkaboutGwyn,evenifsomepartofherhopedhewouldcomeandcomfortheragain.NotwhenTymightwakeup anymoment into aworld of new and terriblepain.NotwhenKitwascrouchedagainstthewallasifhehadfetcheduponsomelonelybeachafteradisasteratsea.

ShewasabouttoputherhandonKit’sshoulderwhenhelookedupather.There were no marks of tears on his face. He had been dry-eyed after hisfather’sdeathtoo,sherecalled,whenhehadopenedthedooroftheInstituteforthefirsttimeandrealizedhewasaShadowhunter.

“Ty likes familiar things,” saidKit. “Hewon’tknowwherehe iswhenhewakes up. We should make sure his bag is here, and whatever stuff hebroughtfromLondon.”

“It’soverthere.”DianapointedtowhereTy’sduffelhadbeenplacedunderthebedthatshouldhavebeenLivvy’s.Withoutlookingather,Kitgottohisfeetandwentoverto it.Heunzippeditandtookoutabook—athickbook,withold-fashionedpagebinding.Silently,heplaceditonthebedjustnexttoTy’sopenlefthand,andDianacaughtaglimpseofthetitleembossedingold

across the cover and realized that even her numb heart could twinge withpain.

TheReturnofSherlockHolmes.

***

Themoon had begun to rise, and the demon towers of Alicante glowed intheirlight.

Ithadbeenmanyyears sinceMarkhadbeen inAlicante.TheWildHunthad flown over it, and he remembered seeing the land of Idris spread outbelowhimastheothersintheHuntwhoopedandhowled,amusedatflyingoverNephilimland.ButMark’shearthadalwaysbeatenfasteratthesightoftheShadowhunterhomeland;thebrightsilverquarterofLakeLyn,thegreenof Brocelind Forest, the stone manor houses of the countryside, and theglimmerofAlicanteonitshill.AndKieranbesidehim,thoughtful,watchingMarkasMarkwatchedIdris.

Myplace,mypeople.Myhome,he’d thought.But it seemeddifferent fromground level:moreprosaic, filledwith the smellof canalwater in summer,streetsilluminatedbyharshwitchlight.Itwasn’tfartotheInquisitor’shouse,buttheywerewalkingslowly.ItwasseveralminutesbeforeHelenspokeforthefirsttime:

“YousawourauntinFaerie,”shesaid.“Nene.OnlyNene,right?”“She was in the Seelie Court.” Mark nodded, glad to have the silence

broken.“Howmanysistersdidourmotherhave?”“Sixorseven,Ithink,”saidHelen.“Neneistheonlyonewhoiskind.”“Ithoughtyoudidn’tknowwhereNenewas?”“Shenever spokeofher location tome,but shehas communicatedwith

me on more than one occasion since I was sent to Wrangel Island,” saidHelen.“Ithinkshefeltsympathyinherheartforme.”

“Shehelpedhideus,andhealKieran,”saidMark.“Shespoketomeofourfaerienames.”Helookedaround;theyhadreachedtheInquisitor’shouse,thebiggest on this stretch of pavement, with balconies out over the canal. “Inever thought I would come back here. Not to Alicante. Not as aShadowhunter.”

Helensqueezedhisshoulderandtheywalkeduptothedoortogether;sheknocked, and a harried-looking Simon Lewis opened the door. It had beenyearssinceMarkhadseenhim,andhelookedoldernow:Hisshoulderswerebroader,hisbrownhairlonger,andtherewasstubblealonghisjaw.

HegaveHelena lopsidedsmile.“The last timeyouandIwerehere IwasdrunkandyellingupatIsabelle’swindow.”HeturnedtoMark.“AndthelasttimeIsawyou,IwasstuckinacageinFaerie.”

Markremembered:Simonlookingupathimthroughthebarsofthefey-wroughtcage,Marksayingtohim: Iamnofaerie. IamMarkBlackthornoftheLosAngeles Institute. Itdoesn’tmatterwhattheysayorwhattheydotome. I stillrememberwhoIam.

“Yes,” Mark said. “You told me of my brothers and sisters, of Helen’smarriage.Iwasgrateful.”Hesweptasmallbow,outofhabit,andsawHelenlooksurprised.

“IwishIcouldhavetoldyoumore,”Simonsaid,inamoreseriousvoice.“AndI’msosorry.AboutLivvy.We’regrievinghere,too.”

Simon swung the door open wider. Mark saw a grand entryway inside,withalargechandelierhangingfromtheceiling;offtotheleftwasafamilyroom,whereRafe,Max,andTavvysatinfrontofanemptyfireplace,playingwith a small stack of toys. Isabelle andAlec sat on the couch: She had herarms around his neck and was sobbing quietly against his chest. Low,hopeless sobs that struck an echo deep inside his own heart, a matchingchordofloss.

“PleasetellIsabelleandAlecwearesorryforthelossoftheirfather,”saidHelen.“Wedidnotmeantointrude.WearehereforOctavian.”

Atthatmoment,Magnusappearedfromtheentryway.Henoddedatthemandwentovertothechildren,liftingTavvyupinhisarms.ThoughTavvywasgettingawfullybigtobecarried,Markthought,butinmanywaysTavvywasyoung forhisage,as if earlygriefhadkepthimmorechildlike.AsMagnusapproachedthem,Helenbegantoliftherhands,butTavvyheldouthisarmstoMark.

In somesurprise,Mark took theburdenofhis littlebrother inhis arms.Tavvy squirmed around, tired but alert. “What’s happened?” he said.“Everyone’scrying.”

Magnus ran a hand through his hair. He looked extremely weary. “Wehaven’ttoldhimanything,”hesaid.“Wethoughtitwasforyoutodo.”

Mark took a few stepsback from thedoor,Helen followingafterhim sothattheystoodinthe lightedsquareof illuminationfromtheentryway.HesetTavvydownon thepavement.Thiswas theway theFairFolkbrokebadnews,face-to-face.

“Livvyisgone,child,”hesaid.Tavvylookedconfused.“Gonewhere?”“ShehaspassedintotheShadowLands,”saidMark.Hewasstrugglingfor

thewords;deathinFaeriewassuchadifferentthingthanitwastohumans.Tavvy’sblue-greenBlackthorneyeswerewide.“Thenwecanrescueher,”

hesaid.“Wecangoafterher,right?LikewegotyoubackfromFaerie.LikeyouwentafterKieran.”

Helenmadeasmallnoise.“Oh,Octavian,”shesaid.“She isdead,”Mark said helplessly, and sawTavvywince away from the

words.“Mortallivesareshortand—andfragileinthefaceofeternity.”Tavvy’seyesfilledwithtears.“Mark,”Helensaid,andkneltdownontheground,reachingherhandsout

to Tavvy. “She died so bravely,” she said. “She was defending Julian andEmma.Oursister—shewascourageous.”

The tears began to spill down Tavvy’s face. “Where’s Julian?” he said.“Wheredidhego?”

Helendroppedherhands.“He’swithLivvyintheSilentCity—he’llbebacksoon—letustakeyoubackhometothecanalhouse—”

“Home?”Tavvysaidscornfully.“Nothinghereishome.”Markwas aware of Simonhaving come to standbesidehim. “God, poor

kid,”hesaid.“Look,Mark—”“Octavian.” ItwasMagnus’s voice.Hewas standing in thedoorway still,

looking down at the small tearstained boy in front of him. There wasexhaustion in his eyes, but also an immense compassion: the kind ofcompassionthatcamewithgreatoldage.

He seemed as if hewouldhave saidmore, butRafe andMaxhad joinedhim. Silently they filed down the steps and went over to Tavvy; Rafe wasnearlyas tall ashewas, thoughhewasonly five.He reached tohugTavvy,

and Max did too—and to Mark’s surprise, Tavvy seemed to relax slightly,allowingtheembraces,noddingwhenMaxsaidsomethingtohiminaquietvoice.

Helen got to her feet, and Mark wondered if his face wore the sameexpressionhersdid,ofpainandshame.Shamethattheycouldnotdomoretocomfortayoungerbrotherwhobarelyknewthem.

“It’sallright,”Simonsaid.“Look,youtried.”“Wedidnotsucceed,”saidMark.“You can’t fix grief,” said Simon. “A rabbi toldme thatwhenmy father

died.Theonly thingthat fixesgrief is time,andthe loveof thepeoplewhocare about you, and Tavvy has that.” He squeezedMark’s shoulder briefly.“Takecareofyourself,”hesaid.“Sheloted’uodtza’ar,MarkBlackthorn.”

“Whatdoesthatmean?”saidMark.“It’sablessing,”saidSimon.“Somethingelsetherabbitaughtme. ‘Letit

bethatyoushouldknownofurthersorrow.’ ”Mark inclined his head in gratitude; faeries knew the value of blessings

freelygiven.Buthischest feltheavynonetheless.Hecouldnot imagine thesorrowsofhisfamilywouldbeendingsoon.

2MELANCHOLYWATERS

CristinastooddespairinglyintheextremelycleankitchenofthePrincewaterStreetcanalhouseandwishedtherewassomethingshecouldtidyup.

She’dwasheddishesthatdidn’tneedwashing.She’dmoppedthefloorandsetandresetthetable.She’darrangedflowersinavaseandthenthrownthemout, and then retrieved them from the trash and arranged themagain. Shewanted to make the kitchen nice, the house pretty, but was anyone reallygoingtocareifthekitchenwasniceandthehousewaspretty?

Sheknewtheywouldn’t.Butshehad todosomething.Shewanted tobewithEmmaandcomfortEmma,butEmmawaswithDrusilla,whohadcriedherself to sleep holding Emma’s hands. She wanted to be with Mark, andcomfortMark,buthe’dleftwithHelen,andshecouldhardlybeanythingbutgladthatatlasthewasgettingtospendtimewiththesisterhe’dmissedforsolong.

The frontdoorrattledopen,startlingCristina intoknockingadish fromthetable.Itfelltothefloorandshattered.Shewasabouttopickitupwhenshe saw Julian come in, closing the door behindhim—Locking runesweremorecommonthankeysinIdris,buthedidn’treachforhisstele,justlookedsightlesslyfromtheentrywaytothestairs.

Cristinastoodfrozen.JulianlookedliketheghostfromaShakespeareplay.He clearly hadn’t changed since theCouncilHall; his shirt and jacketwerestiffwithdriedblood.

SheneverquiteknewhowtotalktoJuliananyway;sheknewmoreabouthimthanwascomfortable,thankstoEmma.Sheknewhewasdesperatelyin

lovewithherfriend;itwasobviousinthewayhelookedatEmma,spoketoher,ingesturesastinyashandingheradishacrossatable.Shedidn’tknowhow everyone else didn’t see it too. She’d known other parabatai and theydidn’tlookateachotherlikethat.

Having such personal information about someone was awkward at thebestoftimes.Thiswasn’tthebestoftimes.Julian’sexpressionwasblank;hemovedintothehall,andashewalked,hissister’sdriedbloodflakedoffhisjacketanddriftedtothefloor.

Ifshejuststoodstill,Cristinathought,hemightnotseeher,andhemightgoupstairsandthey’dbothbesparedanawkwardmoment.Butevenasshethought it, the bleakness in his face tugged at her heart. She was in thedoorwaybeforesherealizedshe’dmoved.

“Julian,”shesaidquietly.Hedidn’tseemstartled.Heturnedtofaceherasslowlyasanautomaton

windingdown.“Howarethey?”How did you answer that? “They’rewell taken care of,” she said finally.

“Helenhasbeenhere,andDiana,andMark.”“Ty...”“Is still asleep.” She tuggednervously at her skirt. She’d changed all her

clothessincetheCouncilHall,justtofeelclean.Forthefirsttime,hemethereyes.Hiswereshotthroughwithred,though

shedidn’t rememberhaving seenhim cry.Ormaybehehad criedwhenhewasholdingLivvy—shedidn’twanttorememberthat.“Emma,”hesaid.“Issheallright?You’dknow.Shewould—tellyou.”

“She’swithDrusilla.ButI’msureshe’dliketoseeyou.”“Butissheallright?”“No,”Cristinasaid.“Howcouldshebeallright?”Heglancedtowardthesteps,asifhecouldn’timaginetheeffortitwould

taketoclimbthem.“Robertwasgoingtohelpus,”hesaid.“Emmaandme.Youknowaboutus,Iknowthatyoudo,thatyouknowhowwefeel.”

Cristina hesitated, stunned. She’d never thought Julian would mentionanyofthistoher.“MaybethenextInquisitor—”

“IpassedthroughtheGardonmywayback,”Juliansaid.“They’realreadymeeting.MostoftheCohortandhalftheCouncil.Talkingaboutwho’sgoing

tobethenextInquisitor. Idoubtit’sgoingtobesomeonewhowillhelpus.Notaftertoday.Ishouldcare,”hesaid.“ButrightnowIdon’t.”

A door opened at the top of the steps, and light spilled onto the darklanding.“Julian?”Emmacalled.“Julian,isthatyou?”

Hestraighteneda little,unconsciously,at thesoundofhervoice. “I’llberightthere.”Hedidn’tlookatCristinaashewentupthestairs,buthenoddedtoher,aquickgestureofacknowledgment.

She heard his footsteps die away, his voicemingling with Emma’s. Sheglanced back at the kitchen. The broken dish lay in the corner. She couldsweep it up. It would be the more practical thing to do, and Cristina hadalwaysthoughtofherselfaspractical.

A moment later she had thrown her gear jacket on over her clothes.Tuckingseveralseraphbladesintoherweaponsbelt,sheslippedquietlyoutthedoorandintothestreetsofAlicante.

***

EmmalistenedtothefamiliarsoundofJuliancomingupthestairs.Thetreadof his feetwas likemusic shehad always known, so familiar it had almoststoppedbeingmusic.

Emmaresistedcallingoutagain—shewasinDru’sroom,andDruhadjustfallenasleep,worn-out,stillintheclothesshe’dworntotheCouncilmeeting.Emmaheard Julian’sstep inthehall,andthenthesoundofadooropeningandclosing.

Careful not to wake Dru, she slipped out of the room. She knew whereJulian was without having to wonder: Down the hall a few doors was Ty’sborrowedbedroom.

Inside,theroomwassoftlylit.DianasatinanarmchairbytheheadofTy’sbed,herfacetightwithgriefandweariness.Kitwasasleep,proppedagainstthewall,hishandsinhislap.

Julian stood by Ty’s bed, looking down, his hands at his sides. Ty sleptwithout restlessness, a drugged sleep, hair dark against the white pillows.Still,eveninsleephekepthimselftotheleftsideofthebed,asifleavingthespacebesidehimopenforLivvy.

“...hischeeksareflushed,”Julianwassaying.“Likehehasafever.”

“Hedoesn’t,”Dianasaidfirmly.“Heneedsthis,Jules.Sleepheals.”Emma saw the open doubt on Julian’s face. She knew what he was

thinking:Sleepdidn’thealmewhenmymotherdied,ormyfather,anditwon’thealthis,either.Itwillalwaysbeawound.

DianaglancedoveratEmma.“Dru?”shesaid.Julianlookedupatthat,andhiseyesmetEmma’s.Shefeltthepaininhis

gaze likeablowtoherchest. Itwassuddenlyhardtobreathe.“Asleep,”shesaid,almostinawhisper.“Ittookalittlewhile,butshefinallycrashed.”

“IwasintheSilentCity,”hesaid.“WebroughtLivvydownthere.Ihelpedthemlayherbodyout.”

Diana reached up to put her hand on his arm. “Jules,” she said quietly.“Youneedtogoandgetyourselfcleanedup,andgetsomerest.”

“Ishouldstayhere,”Juliansaidinalowvoice.“IfTywakesupandI’mnothere—”

“Hewon’t,”Dianasaid.“TheSilentBrothersareprecisewiththeirdoses.”“Ifhewakesupandyou’restandingherecoveredinLivvy’sblood,Julian,it

won’thelpanything,”Emmasaid.Diana lookedather, clearly surprisedbytheharshnessofherwords,butJulianblinkedasifcomingoutofadream.

Emmaheldoutherhandtohim.“Comeon,”shesaid.

***

The sky was a mixture of dark blue and black, where storm clouds hadgatheredoverthemountainsinthedistance.Fortunately,thewayuptotheGard was lit by witchlight torches. Cristina slipped along beside the path,keepingtotheshadows.Theairheldtheozonetangofanoncomingstorm,makingherthinkofthebitter-pennytangofblood.

As she reached the front doors of theGard, they opened and a group ofSilent Brothers emerged. Their ivory robes seemed to glimmer with whatlookedlikeraindrops.

Cristinapressedherselfbackagainstthewall.Shewasn’tdoinganythingwrong—anyShadowhuntercouldcometotheGardwhentheyliked—butsheinstinctivelydidn’twanttobeseen.AstheBrotherspassedclosebyher,shesawthatitwasn’trainafterallsparklingontheirrobesbutafinedustingofglass.

Theymust have been in the Council Hall. She remembered thewindowsmashing inward as Annabel had disappeared. It had been a blur of noise,splintering light: Cristina had been focused on the Blackthorns.OnEmma,thelookofdevastationonherface.OnMark,hisbodyhunchedinwardasifhewereabsorbingtheforceofaphysicalblow.

TheinsideoftheGardwasquiet.Headdown,shewalkedrapidlydownthecorridors,followingthesoundofvoicestowardtheHall.Sheveeredasidetotakethestairsuptothesecond-floorseats,whichjuttedoutovertherestoftheroomlikethebalconyinatheater.TherewasacrowdofNephilimmillingaroundon thedaisbelow.Someone (theSilentBrothers?)hadclearedawaythebrokenglassandblood.Thewindowwasbacktonormal.

Clear up the evidence all youwant, Cristina thought as she knelt down topeerovertherailingofthebalcony.Itstillhappened.

ShecouldseeHoraceDearborn,seatedonahighstool.Hewasabig,bonyman,notmuscular thoughhis arms andneckwere ropywith tendons.Hisdaughter,ZaraDearborn—herhairinaneatbraidaroundherhead,hergearimmaculate—stoodbehindhim.Shedidn’tresembleherfathermuch,exceptperhaps in the tight anger of their expressions and in their passion for theCohort, a faction within the Clave who believed in the primacy ofShadowhuntersoverDownworlders,evenwhenitcametobreakingtheLaw.

CrowdedaroundthemwereotherShadowhunters,youngandold.Cristinarecognized quite a few Centurions—Manuel Casales Villalobos, JessicaBeausejours, andSamanthaLarkspear among them—aswell asmanyotherNephilim who had been carrying Cohort signs at themeeting. There werequiteafew,though,whoasfarassheknewwerenotmembersoftheCohort.LikeLazloBalogh, thecraggyheadof theBudapest Institute,whohadbeenoneofthemainarchitectsoftheColdPeaceanditspunitivemeasuresagainstDownworlders. Josiane Pontmercy she knew from the Marseilles Institute.Delaney Scarsbury taught at the Academy. A few others she recognized asfriendsofhermother’s—TriniCastelfromtheBarcelonaConclave,andLuanaCarvalho,whorantheInstituteinSãoPaulo,hadbothknownherwhenshewasasmallgirl.

TheywereallCouncilmembers.Cristinasaidasilentprayerofthanksthathermotherwasn’there,thatshe’dbeentoobusydealingwithanoutbreakof

Halphas demons in the Alameda Central to attend, trusting Diego torepresentherinterests.

“There isno time to lose,”Horace said.He exuded a sense ofhumorlessintensity, just like his daughter. “We are without an Inquisitor, now, at acriticaltime,whenweareunderthreatfromoutsideandinsidetheClave.”Heglanced around the room. “Wehope that after today’s events, those of youwhohavedoubtedourcausewillcometobebelievers.”

Cristina felt cold inside.Thiswasmore than justaCohortmeeting.Thiswas theCohort recruiting. Inside the emptyCouncilHall,where Livvyhaddied.Shefeltsick.

“Whatdoyouthinkyou’ve learned,exactly,Horace?”saidawomanwithanAustralianaccent.“Beclearwithus,sowe’reallunderstandingthesamething.”

Hesmirkedalittle.“AndreaSedgewick,”hesaid.“YouwereinfavoroftheColdPeace,ifIrecallcorrectly.”

She looked pinched. “I don’t think much of Downworlders. But whathappenedheretoday...”

“Wewere attacked,” said Dearborn. “Betrayed, attacked, inside and out.I’msureyouallsawwhatIsaw—thesigiloftheUnseelieCourt?”

Cristina remembered.AsAnnabel haddisappeared, borne away throughtheshatteredwindowof theHallas ifbyunseenhands,a single imagehadflashedontheair:abrokencrown.

The crowdmurmured their assent. Fear hung in the air like a miasma.Dearborn clearly relished it, almost lickinghis lips as he gazed around theroom.“TheUnseelieKing,strikingattheheartofourhomeland.Hesneersatthe Cold Peace. He knows we are weak. He laughs at our inability to passstricterLaws,todoanythingthatwouldreallycontrolthefey—”

“Noonecancontrolthefey,”saidScarsbury.“That’s exactly the attitude that’s weakened the Clave all these years,”

snappedZara.Herfathersmiledatherindulgently.“My daughter is right,” he said. “The fey have their weaknesses, like all

Downworlders. They were not created by God or by our Angel. They haveflaws, and we have never exploited them, yet they exploit our mercy andlaughatusbehindtheirhands.”

“Whatareyousuggesting?”saidTrini.“AwallaroundFaerie?”There was a bit of derisive laughter. Faerie existed everywhere and

nowhere:Itwasanotherplaneofexistence.Noonecouldwallitoff.Horacenarrowedhiseyes.“Youlaugh,”hesaid,“butirondoorsatallthe

entrancesandexitsofFaeriewoulddoagreatdealtopreventtheirincursionsintoourworld.”

“Isthatthegoal?”Manuelspokelazily,asifhedidn’thavemuchinvestedintheanswer.“CloseoffFaerie?”

“There is not only one goal, as you well know, boy,” said Dearborn.Suddenlyhesmiled,asifsomethinghadjustoccurredtohim.“Youknowofthe blight, Manuel. Perhaps you should share your knowledge, since theConsulhasnot.PerhapsthesegoodpeopleshouldbeawareofwhathappenswhenthedoorsbetweenFaerieandtheworldareflungwide.”

Holding her necklace, Cristina seethed silently as Manuel described thepatches of dead blighted earth in Brocelind Forest: the way they resistedShadowhuntermagic, the fact that the same blight seemed to exist in theUnseelieLandsofFaerie.Howdidheknowthat?Cristinaagonizedsilently.Ithad beenwhat Kieranwas going to tell the Council, but he hadn’t had thechance.HowdidManuelknow?

ShewasonlygratefulthatDiegohaddonewhatshehadaskedhimtodo,andtakenKierantotheScholomance.Itwascleartherewouldhavebeennosafetyforafull-bloodfaeriehere.

“TheUnseelieKingiscreatingapoisonandbeginningtospreadittoourworld—onethatwillmakeShadowhunterspowerlessagainsthim.Wemustmovenowtoshowourstrength,”saidZara,cuttingManueloffbeforehewasfinished.

“AsyoumovedagainstMalcolm?”saidLazlo.Thereweretitters,andZaraflushed—she had proudly claimed to have slainMalcolm Fade, a powerfulwarlock,thoughithadlaterturnedoutshehadlied.CristinaandtheothershadhopedthefactwoulddiscreditZara—butnow,afterwhathadhappenedwithAnnabel,Zara’sliehadbecomelittlemorethanajoke.

Dearborn rose to his feet. “That’s not the issue now, Balogh. TheBlackthorns have faerie blood in their family. They brought a creature—a

necromantichalf-deadthingthatslewourInquisitorandfilledtheHallwithbloodandterror—intoAlicante.”

“Theirsisterwaskilledtoo,”saidLuana.“Wesawtheirgrief.Theydidnotplanwhathappened.”

Cristina could see the calculations going on insideDearborn’s head—hewouldhavedearlylikedtoblametheBlackthornsandseethemalltossedintotheSilentCityprisons,butthespectacleofJulianholdingLivvy’sbodyasshediedwastoorawandvisceralforeventheCohorttoignore.“Theyarevictimstoo,” he said, “of the Fair Folk prince they trusted, and possibly their ownfaeriekin.Perhaps theycanbebroughtaround to seea reasonablepointofview.Afterall,theyareShadowhunters,andthatiswhattheCohortisabout—protectingShadowhunters.Protectingourown.”HelaidahandonZara’sshoulder.“WhentheMortalSwordisrestored,IamsureZarawillbehappytolayanydoubtsyouhaveaboutheraccomplishmentstorest.”

Zaraflushedandnodded.Cristinathoughtshelookedguiltyassin,buttherestofthecrowdhadbeendistractedbythementionoftheSword.

“TheMortal Sword restored?” said Trini. Shewas a deep believer in theAngelandhispower,asCristina’s familywas too.She lookedanxiousnow,herthinhandsworkinginherlap.“OurirreplaceablelinktotheAngelRaziel—youbelieveitwillbereturnedtous?”

“Itwillberestored,”Dearbornsaidsmoothly.“JiawillbemeetingwiththeIronSisterstomorrow.Asitwasforged,socanitbereforged.”

“ButitwasforgedinHeaven,”protestedTrini.“NottheAdamantCitadel.”“AndHeavenletitbreak,”saidDearborn,andCristinasuppressedagasp.

Howcouldheclaimsuchabrazenthing?Yettheothersclearlytrustedhim.“NothingcanshattertheMortalSwordsaveRaziel’swill.Helookeduponusand he saw we were unworthy. He saw that we had turned away from hismessage,fromourservicetoangels,andwereservingDownworldersinstead.Hebroketheswordtowarnus.”Hiseyesglitteredwithafanaticlight.“Ifweprove ourselvesworthy again, Razielwill allow the Sword to be reforged. Ihavenodoubts.”

Howdare he speak forRaziel?Howdare he speak as if hewereGod? Cristinashookwithfury,buttheothersseemedtobelookingathimasifheofferedthemalightindarkness.Asifheweretheironlyhope.

“Andhowdoweproveourselvesworthy?”saidBaloghinamoresombervoice.

“WemustrememberthatShadowhunterswerechosen,”saidHorace.“Wemustrememberthatwehaveamandate.Westandfirstinthefaceofevil,andtherefore we come first. Let Downworlders look to their own. If we worktogetherwithstrongleadership—”

“But we don’t have strong leadership,” said Jessica Beausejours, one ofZara’sCenturion friends. “Wehave JiaPenhallow,and she is taintedbyherdaughter’sassociationwithfaeriesandhalf-bloods.”

Therewasagaspandatitter.AlleyesturnedtowardHorace,butheonlyshookhishead.“IwillnotutterawordagainstourConsul,”hesaidprimly.

Moremurmurs. Clearly Horace’s pretense of loyalty hadwon him somesupport.Cristinatriednottogrindherteeth.

“Her loyalty toher family isunderstandable,even if itmayhaveblindedher,”saidHorace.“WhatmattersnowistheLawstheClavepasses.Wemustenforce strict regulations on Downworlders, the strictest of all on the FairFolk—thoughthereisnothingfairaboutthem.”

“Thatwon’tstoptheUnseelieKing,”saidJessica,thoughCristinagotthefeeling she didn’t so much doubt Horace as desire to prompt him to gofurther.

“TheissueispreventingfaeriesandotherDownworldersfromjoiningtheKing’s cause,” said Horace. “That is why they need to be observed and, ifnecessary,incarceratedbeforetheyhaveachancetobetrayus.”

“Incarcerated?”Triniechoed.“Buthow—?”“Oh, there are severalways,” saidHorace. “Wrangel Island, for instance,

could hold a host of Downworlders. The important thing is that we beginwithcontrol.EnforcementoftheAccords.RegistrationofeachDownworlder,theirnameandlocation.Wewouldstartwiththefaeries,ofcourse.”

Therewasabuzzofapproval.“We will, of course, need a strong Inquisitor to pass and enforce those

laws,”saidHorace.“Then let it be you!” cried Trini. “We have lost a Mortal Sword and an

Inquisitor tonight; let us at least replace one.We have a quorum—enough

ShadowhuntersareheretoputHoraceforwardfortheInquisitor’sposition.Wecanholdthevotetomorrowmorning.Whoiswithme?”

Achantof“Dearborn!Dearborn!”filledtheroom.Cristinahungontotherailing of the balcony, her ears ringing. This couldn’t happen. It couldn’t.Triniwasn’tlikethat.Hermother’sfriendsweren’tlikethat.Thiscouldn’tbetherealfaceoftheCouncil.

Shescrambledtoherfeet,unabletostandanothersecondofit,andboltedfromthegallery.

***

Emma’s room was small and painted an incongruously bright shade ofyellow.Awhite-paintedfour-posterbeddominatedthespace.EmmatuggedJuliantowardit,sittinghimdowngently,andwenttoboltthedoor.

“Whyareyoulockingit?”Julianraisedhishead.Itwasthefirstthinghe’dsaidsincethey’dleftTy’sroom.

“Youneedsomeprivacy,Julian.”Sheturnedtowardhim;God,thewayhelookedbrokeherheart.Bloodfreckledhisskin,darkenedhisstiffclothes,haddriedinpatchesonhisboots.

Livvy’s blood. Emma wished she’d been closer to Livvy in those lastmoments,paidmoreattentiontoher,ratherthanworryingabouttheCohort,aboutManuelandZaraandJessica,aboutRobertLightwoodandexile,aboutherownbroken,messed-upheart.ShewishedshehadheldLivvyonemoretime, marveling at how tall and grown-up she was, how she had changedfromthechubbytoddlerEmmarecalledinherownearliestmemories.

“Don’t,”Juliansaidroughly.Emmacameclosertohim;shecouldn’tstopherself.Hehadtolookupto

meethereyes.“Don’tdowhat?”“Blameyourself,”hesaid.“Icanfeelyouthinkingabouthowyoushould

havedonesomethingdifferent.Ican’tletthosekindofthoughtsin,orI’llgotopieces.”

He was sitting on the very edge of the bed, as if he couldn’t bear thethoughtoflyingdown.Verygently,Emmatouchedhisface,slidingthepalmofherhandacrosshisjaw.Heshudderedandcaughtherwrist,hard.

“Emma,”hesaid,andforoneofthefirsttimesinherlife,shecouldn’treadhis voice—it was low and dark, rough without being angry, wantingsomething,butshedidn’tknowwhat.

“WhatcanIdo,”shebreathed.“WhatcanIdo,I’myourparabatai,Julian,Ineedtohelpyou.”

He was still holding her wrist; his pupils were wide disks, turning theblue-greenofhisirisesintohalos.“Imakeplansonestepatatime,”hesaid.“Wheneverythingseemsoverwhelming,Iaskmyselfwhatproblemneedstobesolvedfirst.Whenthat’ssolved,thenextone.ButIcan’tevenbeginhere.”

“Julian,”shesaid.“Iamyourwarriorpartner.Listentomenow.Thisisthefirststep.Getup.”

Henarrowedhis eyes ather for amoment, thenobligedby rising tohisfeet. They were standing close together; she could feel the solidity andwarmthofhim.Shepushedhisjacketoffhisshoulders,thenreachedupandgripped the frontofhis shirt. Ithada texture likeoilclothnow, tackywithblood.Shepulledatitandittoreopen,leavingithangingfromhisarms.

Julian’seyeswidenedbuthemadenomovetostopher.Sherippedawaythe shirt and tossed it to the ground. She bent down and yanked off hisbloodied boots. When she rose up, he was looking at her with eyebrowsraised.

“You’rereallygoingtoripmypantsoff?”hesaid.“They have her blood on them,” she said, almost choking on thewords.

Shetouchedhischest,felthimdrawinabreath.Sheimaginedshecouldfeelthejaggededgesofhisheartbeneaththemuscle.Therewasbloodonhisskin,too:Patchesofithaddriedonhisneck,hisshoulder.TheplaceshehadheldLivvycloseagainsthim.“Youneedtoshower,”shesaid.“I’llwaitforyou.”

Hetouchedherjaw,lightly,withthetipsofhisfingers.“Emma,”hesaid.“Webothneedtobeclean.”

Heturnedandwentintothebathroom,leavingthedoorwideopen.Afteramoment,shefollowed.

Hehadlefttherestofhisclothesinapileonthefloor.Hewasstandingintheshower in justhisunderwear, letting thewater rundownoverhis face,hishair.

Swallowinghard, Emma strippeddown toherpanties and camisole andsteppedinafterhim.Thewaterwasscaldinghot,fillingthesmallstonespacewith steam.He stood unmoving under the spray, letting it streak his skinwithpalescarlet.

Emmareachedaroundhimandturnedthetemperaturedown.Hewatchedher,wordless,asshetookupabarofsoapandlathereditbetweenherhands.Whensheputhersoapyhandsonhisbodyheinhaledsharplyasifithurt,buthedidn’tmoveevenaninch.

Shescrubbedathisskin,almostdiggingher fingers inasshescrapedatthe blood. Thewater ranpinkish red into the drain. The soaphad a strongsmelloflemon.Hisbodywashardunderhertouch,scarredandmuscled,notayoungboy’sbodyatall.Notanymore.Whenhadhechanged?Shecouldn’tremembertheday,thehour,themoment.

He bent his head and she worked the lather into his hair, stroking herfingersthroughthecurls.Whenshewasdone,shetiltedbackhishead,letthewaterrunoverbothofthemuntilitranclear.Shewassoakedtotheskin,hercamisolestickingtoher.ShereachedaroundJuliantoturnthewateroffandfelthimturnhisheadintoherneck,hislipsagainsthercheek.

She froze. The shower had stopped running, but steam rose up aroundthem. Julian’s chest was rising and falling fast, as if he were close tocollapsing after a race. Dry sobs, she realized. He didn’t cry—she couldn’trememberthelasttimeshe’dseenhimcry.Heneededthereleaseoftears,shethought,buthe’dforgottenthemechanismsofweepingaftersomanyyearsofholdingback.

Sheputher arms aroundhim. “It’s all right,” she said.His skinwashotagainsthers.Sheswallowedthesaltofherowntears.“Julian—”

Hedrewbackas she raisedherhead,and their lipsbrushed—and itwasinstant,desperate,morelikeatumbleoveracliff’sedgethananythingelse.Theirmouthscollided,teethandtonguesandheat,joltsshudderingthroughEmmaatthecontact.

“Emma.”Hesoundedstunned,hishandsknottinginthesoakedmaterialofhercamisole.“CanI—?”

Shenodded, feeling themuscles inhisarms tightenashe swungherupintohisarms.Sheshuthereyes,clutchingathim,hisshoulders,hishair,her

handsslipperywithwaterashecarriedherintoherbedroom,tumblingheronto the bed. A second later he was above her, braced on his elbows, hismouth devouring hers feverishly. Everymovement was fierce, frantic, andEmma knew: These were the tears he couldn’t cry, the words of grief hecouldn’tspeak.Thiswasthereliefhecouldonlyallowhimselflikethis,intheannihilationofshareddesire.

Franticgesturesridthemoftheirwetgarments.SheandJulianwereskintoskinnow:Shewasholdinghimagainstherbody,herheart.Hishandsliddown,shakingfingersdancingacrossherhipbone.“Letme—”

Sheknewwhathewantedtosay:Letmepleaseyou,letmemakeyoufeelgoodfirst. But that wasn’t what she wanted, not now. “Come closer,” shewhispered.“Closer—”

Her hands curved over the wings of his shoulder blades. He kissed herthroat,hercollarbones.Shefelthimflinch,hard,andwhispered,“What—?”

He had already drawn away from her. Sitting up, he reached for hisclothes,pulling themonwithshakinghands. “Wecan’t,”he said,hisvoicemuffled.“Emma,wecan’t.”

“Allright—but,Julian—”Shestruggledintoasittingposition,pullingtheblanketupoverherself.“Youdon’thavetogo—”

Heleanedovertheedgeofthebedtograbhistornandbloodiedshirt.Helookedatherwithasortofwildness.“Ido,”hesaid.“Ireallydo.”

“Julian,don’t—”Buthewasalreadyup,retrievingtherestofhisclothes,yankingthemon

while she stared. He was gone without putting his boots on, almostslammingthedoorbehindhim.Emmastaredintothedarkness,asstunnedanddisorientedasifshehadfallenfromagreatheight.

***

Tywokeupsuddenly,likesomeoneexplodingthroughthesurfaceofwater,gasping for air. The noise snapped Kit out of his doze—he’d been fitfullysleeping,dreamingabouthisfather,walkingaroundtheShadowMarketwithamassivewoundacrosshisstomachthatseepedblood.

“Thisishowitis,Kit,”he’dbeensaying.“ThisislifewiththeNephilim.”

Stillhalf-asleep,Kitpushedhimselfupthewallwithonehand.Tywasamotionlessshadowonthebed.Dianawasnolongerthere—shewasprobablycatchingafewmomentsofsleepinherownroom.HewasalonewithTy.

It came to him how completely unprepared he was for all of this. ForLivvy’s death, yes, thoughhe’d seenhis own father die, andhe knew therewerestillaspectsof that losshehadn’t faced.Neverhavingcopedwiththatloss,howcouldhecopewiththisone?Andgiventhathe’dneverknownhowtohelpanyoneelse,howtooffernormalkindsofcomfort,howcouldhehelpTy?

Hewanted to shout for Julian, but something toldhimnot to—that theshoutingmightalarmTy.AsKit’seyesadjusted,hecouldseetheotherboymoreclearly:Tylooked...“disconnected”mightbethebestwordforit,asifhehadn’tquitealightedbackonearth.Hissoftblackhairseemedcrumpled,likedarklinen,andtherewereshadowsunderhiseyes.

“Jules?”hesaid,hisvoicelow.Kitpushedhimselffullyupright,hisheartbeatingunevenly.“It’sme,”he

said.“Kit.”HehadbracedhimselfforTy’sdisappointment,butTyonlylookedathim

withwidegrayeyes.“Mybag,”Tysaid.“Whereisit?Isitoverthere?”Kit was too stunned to speak. Did Ty remember what had happened?

Woulditbeworseifhedidordidn’t?“Myduffelbag,”Tysaid.Therewasdefinitestraininhisvoicenow.“Over

there—Ineedit.”The duffel bagwas under the second bed. As Kit went to retrieve it, he

glanced out at the view—the crystal spires of the demon towers reachingtowardthesky,thewaterglimmeringlike ice inthecanals, thewallsofthecity and the fields beyond.He had never been in a place so beautiful or sounreal-looking.

HecarriedthebagovertoTy,whowassittingwithhislegsdanglingoverthesideofthebed.Tytooktheduffelandstartedtorummagethroughit.

“DoyouwantmetogetJulian?”Kitsaid.“Notrightnow,”Tysaid.Kithadno ideawhat todo.He’dnever inhisentire lifehadso little idea

whattodo,infact.Notwhenhe’dfoundagolemexaminingtheicecreamin

hisfridgeatfoura.m.whenhewasten.Notwhenamermaidhadcampedoutforweeksonhissofawhenhewastwelveandspenteverydayeatinggoldfishcrackers.

Notevenwhenhe’dbeenattackedbyMantiddemons.Therehadbeenaninstinct then, a Shadowhunter sense that had kicked in and propelled hisbodyintoaction.

Nothingwas propellinghimnow.Hewas overwhelmedby the desire todropdowntohiskneesandgrabTy’shands,andholdhimthewayhehadontherooftopinLondonwhenLivvyhadbeenhurt.Atthesametime,hewasjustasoverwhelmedby thevoice inhishead that toldhimthatwouldbeaterribleidea,thathehadnocluewhatTyneededrightnow.

Ty was still rustling around in his bag. He must not remember, Kitthought with rising panic. He must have blanked out the events in theCouncil Hall. Kit hadn’t been there when Robert and Livvy died, but he’dheard enough from Diana to know what Ty must have witnessed. Peopleforgothorrible things sometimes, he knew, their brains simply refusing toprocessorstorewhatthey’dseen.

“I’llgetHelen,”hesaidfinally.“Shecantellyou—whathappened—”“Iknowwhathappened,”Tysaid.Hehadlocatedhisphone,inthebottom

of the bag. The tension left his body; his relief was clear. Kit was baffled.TherewasnosignalanywhereinIdris;thephonewouldbeuseless.“I’mgoingtogobacktosleepnow,”Tysaid.“Therearestilldrugs inmysystem. Icanfeelthem.”Hedidn’tsoundpleased.

“ShouldIstay?”Kitsaid.Tyhadtossedtheduffelbagontothefloorandlain back on the pillows. Hewas gripping the phone in his right hand, sotightly that his knuckles were white, but otherwise he showed norecognizablesignsofdistress.

HelookedupatKit.Hisgrayeyesweresilverinthemoonlight,flatastwoquarters.Kitcouldn’timaginewhathewasthinking.“Yes,I’dratheryoudid,”hesaid.“Andgotosleepifyouwant.I’llbefine.”

Heclosedhiseyes.Afteralongmoment,KitsatdownonthebedoppositeTy’s,theonethatwassupposedtobeLivvy’s.Hethoughtofthelasttimehe’dseenheralone,helpingherwithhernecklacebeforethebigCouncilmeeting,the way she’d smiled, the color and life in her face. It seemed absolutely

impossiblethatshewasgone.MaybeTywasn’ttheoneactingoddlyatall—maybetherestofthem,inacceptingthefactofherdeath,weretheoneswhodidn’tunderstand.

***

It felt like a hundredmiles between Emma’s room andhis, Julian thought.Likeathousand.Hemadehiswaythroughthehallsofthecanalhouseasifhewereinadream.

Hisshoulderburnedandached.Emmawastheonlypersonhehadeverdesired,andtheforceofthatdesire

sometimes stunned him. Nevermore than tonight. He had lost himself inher,inthem,forsometotalityoftime;hehadfeltonlyhisbodyandthepartofhisheartthatlovedandwasuninjured.Emmawasallthegoodinhim,hethought,allthatburnedbright.

Butthenthepainhadcome,andthesenseofsomethingwrong,andhehadknown.Ashehurriedtowardhisroom,feartappedagainsttheoutsideofhisconsciousness, howling to be let in and acknowledged, like skeleton handsscratchingatawindow.Itwasthefearofhisowndespair.Heknewthathewascushionedbyshocknow,thathehadonlytouchedthetipoftheicebergofgriefandhowlingloss.Itwouldcome,thedarknessandthehorror:Hehadlivedthroughitbefore,withthelossofhisfather.

And this—Livvy—would be worse. He couldn’t control his grief. Hecouldn’tcontrolhisfeelingsforEmma.Hiswholelifehadbeenbuiltaroundexertingcontroloverhimself,overthemaskheshowedtheworld,andnowitwascracking.

“Jules?”Hehadreachedhisbedroom,buthewasn’thomefree.Markwaswaiting

for him, leaning against the door. He looked bone tired, hair and clothesrumpled.NotthatJulianhadanygroundtostandon,sincehisownclothesweretornandbloody,hisfeetbare.

Julianstoppeddead.“Iseverythingallright?”Theywere going to be asking each other that constantly for quite some

time,heguessed.Anditneverwouldreallybeokay,buttheywouldreassureeachotheranywayaboutthesmallthings,themeasureoftinyvictories:yes,

Dru slept a little; yes,Ty is eating abit; yes,we’re all still breathing. JulianlistenedmechanicallyasMarkexplainedtohimthatheandHelenhadpickedupTavvy,andTavvyknewaboutLivianow,anditwasn’tgoodbutitwasallrightandTavvywassleeping.

“Ididn’twant tobotheryou in themiddleof thenight,”Marksaid, “butHelen insisted. She said otherwise the first thing thatwould happenwhenyouwokeupwasthatyou’dfreakoutaboutTavvy.”

“Sure,”saidJulian,amazedhesoundedsocoherent.“Thanksforlettingmeknow.”

Markgavehima long look. “Youwereveryyoungwhenwe lostEleanor,yourmother,” he said. “She toldme once there is a clock in the hearts ofparents.Mostof the time it issilent,butyoucanhear it tickingwhenyourchildisnotwithyouandyoudonotknowwheretheyare,orwhentheyareawake in the night and wanting you. It will tick until you are with themagain.”

“Tavvyisn’tmychild,”saidJulian.“I’mnotaparent.”Marktouchedhisbrother’scheek.Itwasalmostmoreafaerietouchthana

humanone,thoughMark’shandfeltwarmandcallousedandreal.Actually,it didn’t feel like a touch at all, Julian thought. It felt like a blessing. “Youknowyouare,”Marksaid.“Imustaskyourforgiveness,Julian.ItoldHelenofyoursacrifice.”

“My—sacrifice?”Julian’smindwasablank.“TheyearsyourantheInstituteinsecret,”saidMark.“Howyouhavetaken

careofthechildren.Thewaytheylooktoyou,andhowyouhavelovedthem.Iknowitwasasecret,butIthoughtsheshouldknowit.”

“That’sfine,”Juliansaid.Itdidn’tmatter.Nothingdid.“Wassheangry?”Mark looked surprised. “She said she felt suchpride inyou that itbroke

herheart.”It was like a tiny point of light, breaking through the darkness. “She—

did?”Markseemedabouttoreplywhenasecondhotdartofpainwentthrough

Julian’sshoulder.Heknewexactlythelocationofthattwinge.Hisheartbeatsped up; he said something toMark about seeing him later, or at least hethoughthedid,beforegoingintohisbedroomandboltingthedoor.Hewas

inthebathroominseconds,turningupthewitchlight’sbrillianceashegazedintothemirror.

Hedrewasidethecollarofhisshirttogetabetterlook—andstared.Therewashisparabatairune.Itwasstarkagainsthisskin—butnolonger

black. Within the thickly drawn lines he saw what looked like red andglowingflecks,asiftherunehadbeguntoburnfromtheinsideout.

Hegrabbedtherimofthesinkasawaveofdizzinesspassedoverhim.He’dbeen forcing himself not to think aboutwhat Robert’s deathmeant, abouttheir broken plans for exile. About the curse that would come on anyparabatai who fell in love. A curse of power and destruction. He had beenthinkingonlyofhowmuchhedesperatelyneededEmma,andnotatallofthereasonsthathecouldn’thaveher,whichremainedunchanged.

Theyhadforgotten,reachingforeachother intheabyssofgrief,as theyhadalwaysreachedforeachotheralltheirlives.Butitcouldn’thappen,Juliantoldhimself,bitingdownhardonhislip,tastinghisownblood.Therecouldbenomoredestruction.

Ithadbeguntorainoutside.Hecouldhearthesoftpatterontheroofofthehouse.Hebentdownandtoreastripofmaterialfromtheshirthe’dwornattheCouncilmeeting.Itwasstiffanddarkwithhissister’sdriedblood.

He tied it around his right wrist. It would stay there until he hadvengeance.Until therewas justice forLivvy.Until all thisbloodymesswasclearedup.Untileveryonehelovedwassafe.

Hewentbackout into thebedroomandbegan tohunt for clean clothesandshoes.Heknewexactlywhereheneededtogo.

***

Julian ran through theempty streetsof Idris.Warmsummer rainplasteredhishairtohisforeheadandsoakedhisshirtandjacket.

Hisheartwaspounding:HemissedEmmaalready,regrettedleavingher.Andyethe couldn’t stop running, as ifhe couldoutrun thepainofLivvy’sdeath.ItwasalmostasurprisethathecouldgrievehissisterandloveEmmaat the same time and feel both, neither diminishing the other: Livvy hadlovedEmmatoo.

He could imagine how thrilled Livvy would have been to know he andEmmaweretogether;ifitwerepossibleforthemtogetmarried,Livvywouldhave been wild with delight at the idea of helping plan a wedding. Thethoughtwaslikeastabbingblowtothemidsection,thetwistofabladeinhisguts.

Rainwas splashingdown into the canals, turning theworld tomist andwater. The Inquisitor’s house loomed up out of the fog like a shadow, andJulianranupthefrontstepswithsuchforcethathenearlycrashedintothefront door. He knocked and Magnus opened it, looking pinched andunusuallypale.HeworeablackT-shirtandjeanswithabluesilkrobethrownoverthem.Hishandswerebareoftheirusualrings.

When he saw Julian, he sagged a little against the doorframe.He didn’tmove or speak, just stared, as if he were looking not at Julian but atsomethingorsomeoneelse.

“Magnus,” Julian said, a little alarmed. He recalled that Magnus wasn’twell.He’dnearlyforgottenit.Magnushadalwaysseemedthesame:eternal,immutable,invulnerable.“I—”

“I’mhere onmy ownaccount,”Magnus said, in a low anddistant voice. “Ineedyourhelp.ThereisabsolutelynooneelsethatIcanask.”

“That’snotwhatI...”Julianpushedsopping-wethairoutofhiseyes,hisvoicetrailingoffinrealization.“You’rerememberingsomeone.”

Magnusseemedtoshakehimselfalittle,likeadogemergingfromthesea.“Anothernight,adifferentboywithblueeyes.WetweatherinLondon,butwhenwasitanythingelse?”

Juliandidn’tpress it. “Well, you’re right. Idoneedyourhelp.And thereisn’tanyoneelseIcanask.”

Magnussighed.“Comein,then.Butbequiet.Everyone’sasleep,andthat’sanachievement,considering.”

Ofcourse,Julianthought,followingMagnusintoacentraldrawingroom.Thiswasalsoahouseofgrief.

The interior of thehousewas grand in its scope,withhigh ceilingsandfurniturethatlookedheavyandexpensive.Robertseemedtohaveaddedlittlein terms of personality anddecoration. Therewereno family pictures, andlittleartonthewallbesidesgenericlandscapes.

“Ihaven’tseenAleccryinalongtime,”Magnussaid,sinkingontothesofaand staring into themiddle distance. Julian stood where he was, drippingontothecarpet.“OrIsabelle.Iunderstandwhatit’sliketohaveafatherwho’sa bastard.He’s still your bastard.Andhe did love them, and tried tomakeamends.Which ismore than you can say formine.”He flicked a glance atJulian.“Ihopeyoudon’tmindifIdon’tuseadryingspellonyou.I’mtryingtoconserveenergy.There’sablanketonthatchair.”

Julianignoredtheblanketandthechair.“Ishouldn’tbehere,”hesaid.Magnus’sgazedroppedtothebloodyclothtiedaroundJulian’swrist.His

expressionsoftened.“It’sallright,”hesaid.“Forthefirsttimeinalongtime,I’m feeling despair. Itmakesme lash out.My Alec lost his father, and theClavehas lostadecent Inquisitor.Butyou,you lostyourhopeof salvation.Don’tthinkIdon’tunderstandthat.”

“Myrunestartedtoburn,”Juliansaid.“Tonight.Asifithadbeendrawnonmyskinwithfire.”

Magnushunchedforwardandrubbedwearilyathisface.Linesofpainandtiredness were etched beside hismouth. His eyes looked sunken. “I wish Iknewmore about it,” he said. “What destruction this will bring to you, toEmma.Toothers.”Hepaused.“Ishouldbekindertoyou.You’velostachild.”

“I thought it would wipe everything else out,” Julian said, his voicescraped raw. “I thought there wouldn’t be anything else in my heart butagony,but there’sroominthere formetobeterrifiedforTy,andpanickedaboutDru,andthere’sroomformorehatethanIeverthoughtanyonecouldfeel.”Thepaininhisparabatairuneflared,andhefelthislegsgiveout.

He staggered and went down on his knees in front ofMagnus.Magnusdidn’t seem surprised that hewas kneeling.He only looked down at Julianwithaquiet,rarefiedpatience,likeapriesthearingaconfession.

“Whathurtsmore,”Magnusasked,“theloveorthehate?”“I don’t know,” Julian said.Hedugwet fingers into the carpet on either

sideofhisknees.Hefeltasifhewerehavingahardtimecatchinghisbreath.“I still love Emmamore than I ever thought was possible. I love hermoreeveryday,andmoreeverytimeItrytostop.IloveherlikeI’mbeingrippedinhalf.AndIwanttocutthethroatsofeveryoneintheCohort.”

“There’s an unconventional love speech,”Magnus said, leaning forward.“WhataboutAnnabel?”

“Ihateher,too,”saidJulian,withoutemotion.“There’splentyofroomformetohatethemall.”

Magnus’scateyesglittered. “Don’t think Idon’tknowwhatyou feel,”hesaid.“AndthereissomethingIcoulddo.Itwouldbeastopgap.Aharshone.AndIwouldn’tdoitlightly.”

“Please.”Kneelingonthegroundinfrontofthewarlock,Julianlookedup;he had never begged for anything in his life, but he didn’t care if he wasbegging now. “I know you’re sick, I know I shouldn’t even ask, but I havenothingelseIcandoandnowhereelseIcango.”

Magnus sighed. “Therewouldbeconsequences.Haveyoueverheard theexpression‘thesleepofreasonbringsforthmonsters’?”

“Yes,”Juliansaid.“ButI’mgoingtobeamonstereitherway.”Magnusstoodup.ForamomentheseemedtotoweroverJulian,afigureas

tallanddarkasthegrimreaperinachild’snightmare.“Please,”Juliansaidagain.“Idon’thaveanythinglefttolose.”“Yes, you do,” said Magnus. He raised his left hand and looked at it

quizzically.Cobaltsparkshadbeguntoburnatthetipsofeachofhisfingers.“Ohyes,youdo.”

Theroomlitwithbluefire,andJulianclosedhiseyes.

3ETERNALREST

The funeralwasset for noon, but Emma had been tossing andturningsincethreeorfourinthemorning.Hereyesfeltdryanditchyandherhandsshookasshebrushedherhairandwounditcarefullyintoaknotonthebackofherhead.

After Julian had left, she’d run to the window, wrapped in a sheet, andstared out inmingled shock and disbelief. She’d seen him come out of thehouseandrunintothedrizzlingrain,notevenbotheringtoslowdowntoziphisjacket.

Afterthat,therehadn’tseemedlikemuchshecoulddo.Itwasn’tlikeJulianwasindangerinthestreetsofAlicante.Still,she’dwaiteduntilsheheardhissteponthestairs,returning,andheardhisbedroomdooropenandclose.

She’d gottenup then and gone to check onTy,whowas still asleep,Kitbesidehim.She’drealizedLivvy’sduffelbagwasstillintheroomandtakenit,afraidthatitwouldhurtTytoseeitwhenhewokeup.Inherroom,she’dsat on the bed and unzipped it briefly. There hadn’t beenmuch to Livvy’sscant belongings—some shirts and skirts, a book, carefully packedtoothbrush and soap. One of the shirts had dirt on it, and Emma thoughtmaybe she should wash Livvy’s clothes,maybe that would be helpful, andthenshe’drealizedexactlywhyitwouldn’tbehelpfulanddidn’tmatterandshe’dcurledupoverthebag,sobbingasifherheartwouldcrackinhalf.

Intheend,she’dfallenintoafitfulsleepfullofdreamsoffireandblood.She’dbeenwokenupby thesoundofCristinaknockingonherdoorwithamugof tea and the unpleasant news thatHorace had been elected the new

Inquisitorinanemergencyvotethatmorning.She’dalreadytoldtherestofthefamily,whowereawakeandreadyingthemselvesforthefuneral.

The tea had about three thousand tablespoons of sugar in it,whichwasbothsweetandsweetofCristina,butitdidn’ttaketheedgeoffthebitternessoftheInquisitornews.

EmmawaslookingoutthewindowwhenCristinacameinagain,thistimecarrying a pile of clothes. She was dressed all in white, the color ofShadowhuntermourningandfunerals.Whitegearjacket,whiteshirt,whiteflowersinherloosedarkhair.

Cristinafrowned.“Comeawayfromthere.”“Why?”Emmaglancedthroughthewindow;thehousehadacommanding

view out over the lower part of the city. The walls were visible, and greenfieldsbeyond.

She could see a line of very distant figures in white, filing through thegates of the city. In the center of the green fields, two massive stacks ofkindlingroselikepyramids.

“Theyalreadybuilt thepyres,”Emmasaid,andawaveofdizzinesscameoverher.She feltCristina’swarmhandcloseoverhers,andamoment latertheywerebothsittingontheedgeofthebedandCristinawastellinghertobreathe.

“I’msorry,”Emmasaid.“I’msorry.Ididn’tmeantogotopieces.”SomeofEmma’shairhadcomedownoutofitsknot.Cristina’shandswere

skillfulasshereacheduptotuckthestrandsbackinplace.“Whenmyuncledied,”shesaid,“hewasburiedinIdris,andIcouldnotcometothefuneral,becausemymotherthoughtIdriswasstilldangerous.Whenshecamehome,Iwent tohugher andher clothes smelled like smoke. I thought: that is allthereisleftofmyunclenow,thissmokeonmymother’sjacket.”

“Ineedtobestrong,”Emmasaid.“IhavetobetherefortheBlackthorns.Julianis—”Broken,smashedup,inpieces.Missing.No,notmissing.Justnotwithme.

“YoucangrieveLivvytoo,”saidCristina.“Shewasasistertoyou.Familyismorethanblood.”

“But—”

“Griefdoesnotmakeusweak,”Cristinasaidfirmly.“Itmakesushuman.How could you comfortDru, or Ty, or Jules, if you didn’t knowwhat theymissedabouther?Sympathyiscommon.Knowingtheexactshapeoftheholesomeone’slossleavesinyourheartisrare.”

“I don’t think any of us canunderstand the shape ofwhatTy lost,” saidEmma.HerfearforTywasintense,likeaconstantbittertasteinthebackofherthroat,mixingwithhergriefforLivvyuntilshethoughtshemightchoke.

CristinagaveEmmaalastpatonthehand.“You’dbettergetdressed,”shesaid.“I’llbedowninthekitchen.”

Emmadressed in a half-dazed state.When shewasdone, she glanced atherself in themirror. Thewhite gearwas coveredwith the scarlet runes ofmourning, over and over, an overlapping pattern that became quicklymeaningless to the eye like a word that is said repeatedly becomesmeaninglesstotheear.Itmadeherhairandskinlookpaler,andevenhereyesseemedcold.Shelookedlikeanicicle,shethought,orthebladeofaknife.

IfonlyshehadCortanawithher.ShecouldgointoBrocelindandscreamand scream and slash at the air until she fell exhausted to the ground, theagonyoflossseepingfromhereveryporelikeblood.

Feelingincompletewithouthersword,sheheadeddownstairs.

***

Dianawas in thekitchenwhenTycamedownstairs.Therewasnoonewithhim,andherhandtightenedontheglassshewasholdingsofiercelythatherfingersached.

Shewasn’tsurewhatshe’dexpected.She’dsatwithTymuchofthenightasheslept,adead,silent,unmovingsleep.She’d tried torememberhowtopray toRaziel,but ithadbeensucha long time.ShehadmadeofferingsofincenseandflowersinThailandafterhersisterhaddied,butnoneofithadhelpedorcomeclosetohealingtheholeinherheartwhereAriashouldhavebeen.

And Livvy was Ty’s twin. Neither had ever known a world without theotheroneinit.Livvy’slastwordshadbeenTy,I—.Noonewouldeverknowtherestofwhatshe’dwantedtosay.Howcouldhecope?Howcouldanyone?

TheConsulhadprovidedthemallwithmourningclothes,whichhadbeenkind.Dianaworeherownwhitegownandagear jacket,andTywas in fullformalmourningdress.Elegantly cutwhite coat,white trousersandboots,hishair very stark andblack against it all. For the first timeDiana realizedthatwhenTygrewuphewasgoingtobestunning.She’dthoughtabouthimasanadorablechildforsolongithadnevercrossedhermindthatonedaythemoreadultconceptofbeautyorhandsomenessmightbeappliedtohim.

He frowned.Hewasvery,very,pale,almost thecolorofbleachedpaper,but his hair was neatly brushed and he looked otherwise put together andalmostordinary.“Twenty-threeminutes,”hesaid.

“What?”“Itwill take us twenty-threeminutes to get down to the Fields, and the

ceremoniesbeginintwenty-five.Whereiseveryone?”Diana almost reached for her phone to text Julian before remembering

phonesdidn’tworkinIdris.Focus,shetoldherself.“I’msurethey’reontheirway—”

“IwantedtotalktoJulian.”Tydidn’tsounddemanding;hesoundedmoreas if he were trying to remember a significant list of things he needed, inproperorder.“HewentwithLivvytotheSilentCity.Ineedtoknowwhathesawandwhattheydidtoherthere.”

Iwouldn’thavewantedtoknowthose thingsaboutAria,Dianathought,andimmediatelychidedherself.ShewasnotTy.Tytookcomfortfromfacts.Hehated the unknown. Livvy’s body had been taken away and locked behindstonedoors.Ofcoursehewouldwanttoknow:Hadtheyhonoredherbody,hadtheykeptherthings,hadtheycleanedthebloodfromherface?Onlybyknowingwouldhebeabletounderstand.

Therewasaclatterof feeton thestairs.Suddenly thekitchenwas fullofBlackthorns.TymovedtostandoutofthewayasDrucamedown,red-eyedinagear jacketasizetoosmall.Helen,carryingTavvy,bothoftheminwhite;AlineandMark,Alinewithherhairupandsmallgoldearringsintheshapeofmourningrunes.DianarealizedwithastartshehadbeenlookingforKieranbesideMark,expectinghimtherenow,andhadforgottenhewasgone.

CristinafollowedandthenEmma,bothsubdued.Dianahadputouttoastandbutterandtea,andHelenputTavvydownandwenttogethimsome.No

oneelseseemedinterestedineating.Ty glanced anxiously at the clock. A moment later Kit was downstairs,

lookinguncomfortableinawhitegearjacket.Tydidn’tsayanything,orevenglanceoverathim,butthetensioninhisshouldersrelaxedslightly.

To Diana’s surprise, the last to come down the stairs was Julian. Shewantedtorunovertohimtoseeifhewasallright,butithadbeenalongtimesincehe’d letherdo that. If he everhad.He’d alwaysbeen a self-containedboy,loathtoshowanynegativeemotioninfrontofhisfamily.

She saw Emma glance at him, but he didn’t return her glance. He waslooking around the room, sizing up everyone’s moods, whatever mentalcalculationshewasmakinginvisiblebehindtheshieldofhisblue-greeneyes.

“Weshouldgo,”hesaid.“They’llwaitforus,butnotlong,andweshouldbethereforRobert’sceremony.”

There was something different about his voice; Diana couldn’t place it,exactly.Theflatnessofgrief,mostlikely.

Everyone turned toward him. He was the center, Diana thought, thefulcrum on which the family turned: Emma and Cristina stood back, notbeingBlackthorns,andHelen lookedrelievedwhen Julianspoke,as if she’dbeendreadingtryingtocorralthegroup.

TavvywentovertoJulianandtookhishand.Theywentoutthedoorinasilentprocession,ariverofwhiteflowingdownthestonestepsofthehouse.

Dianacouldn’thelpthinkingofhersisterandhowshehadbeenburnedinThailand and her ashes sent back to Idris for burial in the Silent City. ButDiana hadn’t been there for the funeral. At the time, she’d thought she’dneverreturntoIdrisagain.

AstheypassedalongthestreettowardSilversteelBridge,someonethrewopenawindowoverhead.Alongwhitebannermarkedwithamourningrunetumbledout;Tyraisedhishead,andDianarealizedthatthebridgeandthenthestreet, all theway to thecitygates,were festoonedwithwhitebanners.Theystrodebetweenthem,evenTavvylookingupandaroundinwonder.

PerhapstheyflewmostlyforRobert,theInquisitor,buttheywerealsoforLivvy. At least the Blackthorns would always have this, she thought, thisremembranceofthehonorthathadbeenshowntotheirsister.

ShehopedtheelectionofHoraceasInquisitorwouldn’ttaintthedayevenmore. Through all her life she had been aware of the uneasy truce not justbetween Shadowhunters and Downworlders but between those among theNephilimwhothoughtDownworldersshouldbeembracedbytheClave—andthose who did not. Many had celebrated when Downworlders had finallyjoined the Council after the DarkWar. But she had heard the whispers ofthosewhohadnot—thoselikeLazloBaloghandHoraceDearborn.TheColdPeacehadgiventhemthelibertytoexpressthehateintheirhearts,confidentthatallright-thinkingNephilimagreedwiththem.

Shehadalwaysbelievedtheywerewrong,buttheelectionofHoracefilledherwithfearthatthereweremoreNephilimthanshehadeverdreamedwhowereirretrievablysoakedinhatred.

As they stepped onto the bridge, something brushed against Diana’sshoulder.Shereacheduptoflickitawayandrealizeditwasawhiteflower—oneofthekindthatgrewonlyinIdris.Shelookedup;cloudswerescuddingacrossthesky,pushedbyabriskwind,butshesawtheoutlineofamanonhorsebackvanishbehindoneofthem.

Gwyn.The thoughtofhim lita sparkofwarmth inherheart.Sheclosedherhandcarefullyaroundthepetals.

***

TheImperishableFields.Thatwaswhat theywerecalled, thoughmostpeoplecalled themsimply

theFields.TheystretchedacrosstheflatplainsoutsideAlicante,fromthecitywallsthathadbeenbuiltaftertheDarkWartothetreesofBrocelindForest.

ThebreezewassoftanduniquetoIdris;insomewaysEmmapreferredthewindoff theocean inLosAngeles,with its sidewaysbiteof salt.Thiswindfelt too gentle for the day of Livvy’s funeral. It liftedherhair andblewherwhitedressaroundherknees;itmadethewhitebannersthatwereraisedoneithersideofeachpyredriftlikeribbonsacrossthesky.

The ground sloped down from the city toward the woods, and as theyneared the funeral pyres Cristina took Emma’s hand. Emma squeezed backgratefully as they came close enough to the crowd for Emma to see peoplestaringandhearthemuttersrisearoundthem.Therewassympathyforthe

Blackthorns,certainly,butalsoglaresforherandJulian;JulianhadbroughtAnnabelintoIdris,andEmmawasthegirlwhohadbrokentheMortalSword.

“AbladeaspowerfulasCortanahasnobusinessinthehandsofachild,”saidawomanwithblondhairasEmmapassedby.

“Thewholethingsmacksofdarkmagic,”saidsomeoneelse.Emmadecidedtotrynottolisten.Shestaredstraightahead:Shecouldsee

Jia standing between the pyres, all in white. Memories of the Dark Warfloodedoverher.Somanypeopleinwhite;soverymanyburningpyres.

Beside Jia stood a woman with long red hair who Emma recognized asClary’s mother, Jocelyn. Beside her was Maryse Lightwood, her black hairloose downher back. Itwas liberally threadedwith gray. She seemed to bespeaking intently to Jia, though they were too far away for Emma to hearwhattheyweresaying.

Bothpyreswere finished, though thebodieshadnotbeenbrought fromthe Silent City yet. Quite a few Shadowhunters had gathered—no onewasrequiredtoattendfunerals,butRoberthadbeenpopular,andhisandLivvy’sdeathsshockingintheirhorror.

Robert’sfamilystoodclosetothepyreontheright—theceremonialrobesoftheInquisitorhadbeendrapedacrossthetop.Theywouldburnwithhim.SurroundingthekindlingwereAlecandMagnus,SimonandIsabelle,all inritualmourningclothes,evenlittleMaxandRafe.IsabellelookedupatEmmaassheapproachedandwavedagreeting;hereyeswereswollenfromcrying.

Simon, beside her, looked tense as a drawn bowstring.Hewas glancingaround,hisgazedartingamongthepeopleinthecrowd.Emmacouldn’thelpbutwonderifhewaslookingforthesamepeopleshewas—thepeoplewhobyallrightsoughttobeherewhenRobertLightwoodwaslaidtorest.

WherewereJaceandClary?

***

TheShadowhuntershadrarelyseemedasalientoKitastheydidnow.Theywereeverywhere,dressedintheirwhite,acolorheassociatedwithweddingsand Easter. The banners, the runes, the glittering demon towers in thedistance—allofitcombinedtomakehimfeelasifhewereonanotherplanet.

Not to mention that the Shadowhunters didn’t cry. Kit had been tofuneralsbefore,andseenthemonTV.Peopleheldhandkerchiefsandsobbedintothem.Butnothere;heretheyweresilent,pulledtaut,andthesoundofbirdswaslouderthanthesoundoftalkingorcrying.

NotthatKitwascryinghimself,andnotthathehadcriedwhenhisfatherdied.Heknewitwasn’thealthy,buthisfatherhadalwaysmadeitsoundliketo break down in grief meant you would be broken forever. Kit owed toomuchtotheBlackthorns,especiallyTy,tolethimselfshatteroverLivvy.Shewouldn’thavewantedthat.ShewouldhavewantedhimtobethereforTy.

One after another theNephilim came up to the Blackthorns and offeredtheircondolences. Julianhadplacedhimselfat theheadofhis family likeashieldandwascoollyfendingoffallcordialattemptstotalktohisbrothersandsisters,whostoodinagroupbehindhim.Julianseemedcolderandmoreremoved than usual, but that wasn’t surprising. Grief hit everyone indifferentways.

Itdidmeanhe’dletgoofTavvy’shand,though,soTavvyhadgoneovertostandnexttoDru,pressinghimself intoherside. Italso leftTyonhisown,and Kit made his way over to the other boy, feeling resplendently silly inwhiteleatherpantsandjacket.Heknewitwasaformalmourningoutfit,butitmadehimfeellikehewascosplayingsomeoneinaneightiesmusicvideo.

“Funeralsarealwayssosad,”saidawomanwhohadintroducedherselfasIrinaCartwright,staringatJulianwithadeeppityingstare.Whenhedidn’trespond,sheshiftedhergazetoKit.“Don’tyouthink?”

“Iwouldn’tknow,”saidKit.“Myfatherwaseatenbydemons.”Irina Cartwright looked discomfited and hurried away after a fewmore

trite phrases. Julian raised an eyebrow at Kit before greeting the nextmourner.

“Doyoustillhave.. .thephone?”KitaskedTy,andfeltimmediatelylikean idiot.Whowent up to someone at their twin sister’s funeral and askedthemiftheyhadtheirphone?EspeciallywhentherewasnosignalanywhereinIdris?“Imean.Notthatyoucancall.Anyone.”

“There’sonephoneinIdristhatworks.It’sintheConsul’soffice,”saidTy.Hedidn’tlooklikehewascosplayinganeightiesmusic-videostar;helookedicyandstrikingand—

Theword“beautiful”blinkedonandoffinKit’sheadlikeaflickeringneonsign.Heignoredit.

Elegant. Ty looked elegant. People with dark hair probably just lookednaturallybetterinwhite.

“It’snotthephonesignalIneed,”saidTy.“It’sthephotosonthephone.”“PhotosofLivvy?”Kitasked,confused.Ty stared at him. Kit remembered the days in London, in which they’d

been working together, solving—well, solvingmysteries. LikeWatson andHolmes.Hehadn’teverfeltlikehedidn’tunderstandTy.Buthefeltitnow.

“No,”Tysaid.He glanced around. Kit wondered if the growing number of people was

botheringTy.Hehated crowds.Magnus andAlecwere standingwith theirkids near the Consul; they were with a beautiful black-haired girl witheyebrowsjustlikeAlec’sandaboy—well,hewasprobablyinhistwenties—withuntidybrownhair.TheboygaveKitaconsideringlookthatseemedtosay you look familiar. Several people had done the same. Kit guessed it wasbecause he looked like Jace, if Jace had suffered a sudden and unexpectedheight,muscle,andoverallhotnessreduction.

“I need to talk to you, later,” Ty said, his voice low, andKitwasn’t surewhethertobeworriedorgrateful.Asfarasheknew,Tyhadn’treallytalkedtoanyonesinceLivvydied.

“Youdon’t—wanttotalktoyourbrother?ToJulian?”“No. I need to talk to you.” Ty hesitated, as if he was about to say

somethingelse.There was a low, mournful sound as if of a horn blowing, and people

turned to stare back at the city. Kit followed their gazes and saw that aprocession was leaving the gates. Dozens of Silent Brothers in theirparchment uniforms,walking in two lines on either side of two biers. ThebierswerecarriedatshoulderheightbyCouncilguards.

Theywere toodistant forKit toseewhichbierwasLivvy’s:Hecouldseeonlyabody lyingoneachplatform,wrapped inwhite.Andthentheycamecloser, andhe saw that onebodywasmuch smaller than the other, andheturnedtoTywithoutbeingabletostophimself.

“I’msorry,”hesaid.“I’msosorry.”

Tywaslookingtowardthecity.Oneofhishandswasopeningandclosing,hislongfingerscurlingunder,butotherthanthatheshowednosignsofanyemotion.“Therereallyisn’tanyreasonforyoutobesorry,”hesaid.“Sopleasedon’tbe.”

Kitstoodwithoutspeaking.Therewasacoldtensioninsidehim,afearhecouldn’tshake—thathehadlostnotjustLivvybutTyaswell.

***

“Theyhaven’tcomebackyet,”Isabellesaid.Shewascomposed,immaculatein gear, a white silk band holding back her hair. Shewas holding Simon’shand,herknucklesaswhiteastheflowerinherlapel.

Emma had always thought of grief as a claw. The claw of a massivemonsteryoucouldn’tsee,thatreacheddownoutoftheskyandseizedholdofyou,punchingoutyourbreath,leavingonlyapainyoucouldn’twriggleawayfromoravoid.Youjusthadtoendureitforaslongastheclawhadyouinitsgrasp.

ShecouldseethepainofitinIsabelle’seyes,behindhercalmexterior,andpartofherwantedtoreachoutandhugtheothergirl.ShewishedClarywerehere—ClaryandIsabellewerelikesisters,andClarycouldcomfortIzzyinthewayonlyabestfriendcould.

“Ithoughtyouknew,”Simonsaid,hiseyebrowswrinkledashelookedatEmma. She thought of Clary saying that she couldn’t tell Simon about hervisionsofdeath,thathe’dfallapart.“Ithoughttheytoldyouwheretheyweregoing.”

Nooneseemedtobepayingmuchattentiontothem—JiawasstilldeepinconversationwithJocelynandMaryse,andtheotherShadowhunterspresenthaddescendedonJulianandtheotherstooffercondolences.“Theydid.TheywenttoFaerie.Iknow.”

Simon and Isabelle moved instinctively closer to her. She hoped theydidn’tlooktoomuchasiftheywerehuddling,sharingsecrets,sincethatwasexactlywhatwashappening.

“It’sjustthatIthoughtthey’dbebackbynow,”Emmasaid.“They’remeanttogetbacktomorrow.”Isabellemadeacooingnoise,and

bentdowntoscoopupMax.Sheheldhiminherarms,nuzzlingherchininto

his hair. “I know—it’s awful. If there had only been a way to get them amessage...”

“We couldn’t exactly ask the Clave to delay the funeral,” said Simon.Shadowhunter bodies weren’t embalmed; they were burned as soon aspossible,beforetheybegantodecay.

“Jaceisgoingtobewrecked,”saidIzzy.SheglancedbackoverhershouldertowhereherbrotherwasholdingRafebythehand,lookingupatMagnusastheytalked.“EspeciallynottohavebeenhereforAlec.”

“Grieflastsalongtime,”saidEmma,herthroattight.“Lotsofpeoplearethereforyouinthebeginning,whenitfirsthappens.IfJaceisthereforAleclater, after all the noise of the funeral and all the platitudes from totalstrangersgoaway,that’llbebetteranyway.”

Izzy’seyessoftened.“Thanks.Andtrynot toworryaboutClaryand Jace.Weknewwewouldn’tbeabletobeintouchwiththemwhiletheyweregone.Simon—he’sClary’sparabatai.Hewouldfeel it ifanythinghadhappenedtoher.AndAlecwouldaswell,aboutJace.”

Emma couldn’t argue the strength of the parabatai bond. She glanceddown,wondering—

“They’ve come.” It wasMagnus, reaching to takeMax from Isabelle. HegaveEmmaanoddsidewayslookthatshecouldn’tread.“TheBrothers.”

Emmaglancedover.Itwastrue:Theyhadglidedalmostsoundlesslyintothecrowd,parting it like theRedSea.Shadowhunters fellbackas thebierscarrying Livvy and Robert passed among them, and stopped between thepyres.

Livvylaypaleandbloodless,herbodyswathedinawhitesilkdress,whitesilk binding her eyes. Her gold necklace glittered at her throat. Her longbrownhairwasscatteredwithwhiteflowers.

Livvy dancing on her bed, wearing a pale green chiffon dress she’d bought atHiddenTreasures.Emma,Emma,lookatmynewdress!Emmastruggledagainstthememory, against the cold truth: This was the last dress she would seeLivvywear.Thiswasthelasttimeshewouldseeherfamiliarbrownhair,thecurveofhercheek,herstubbornchin.Livvy,myLivvy,mywiselittleowl,mysweetlittlesister.

Shewanted to scream,but Shadowhunters didn’t cry out at death. Theyspoketheoldwordsinstead,handeddownthroughtheages.

“Ave atque vale.” The murmur went through the crowd. “Ave atque vale,RobertLightwood.Aveatquevale,LiviaBlackthorn.”

Isabelle and Alec turned to face their father’s bier. Julian and the otherBlackthornswerestillpinned inbywell-wishers.Foramoment,EmmawasalonewithSimon.

“I talked to Clary before she left,” she said, thewords feeling like a hotpressureinthebackofherthroat.“Shewasworriedsomethingbadwasgoingtohappen.”

Simonlookedpuzzled.“Whatkindofbadthing?”Emma shook her head. “Just—if she doesn’t come back when she’s

supposedto—”Simonlookedatherwithtroubledeyes,butbeforehecouldsayanything,

Jiasteppedforwardandbegantospeak.

***

“Shadowhunters die young,” said someone in the crowd. Julian didn’trecognize the man: He was probably in his early forties, with thick blackeyebrows.HeworeapatchonhisgearwiththesymboloftheScholomanceonit,but littleelsedifferentiatedhimfromthedozensofotherpeoplewhohadcomeuptoJuliantotellhimtheyweresorryhissisterwasdead.

“Butfifteen—”Themanshookhishead.Gladstone,Julianrecalled.HislastnamewasGladstone.“Robertlivedafulllife.Hewasadistantcousinofmine,youknow.Butwhathappenedtoyoursistershouldneverhavehappened.Shewasonlyachild.”

MarkmadeastranglednoisebehindJulian.JuliansaidsomethingpolitetosendGladstoneonhisway. Everything felt distant,muffled, as if he or theworldhadbeenwrappedincottonpadding.

“Ididn’tlikehim,”saidDru,afterGladstonehadgone.Theskinunderhereyeswasshinyandtightwheretearshadlefttracesthatcouldn’tbewashedaway.

Itwasas if thereweretwoJulians.Onewas JulianBefore, the Julianwhowouldhavereachedover tocomfortDru, ruffleherhair. JulianNowdidn’t.

Heremainedmotionlessasthecrowdstartedtosurgeaparttomakewayforthefuneralprocession,andsawHelenliftTavvyupintoherarms.

“He’sseven,”hesaidtoher.“He’stoooldtobecarriedeverywhere.”Shegavehimahalf-surprised,half-reproachfullookbutsaidnothing.The

Silent Brothers were walking between them with their biers, and theBlackthornfamilystilledastheairfilledwiththechantoftheNephilim.

“Aveatquevale,LiviaBlackthorn.Hailandfarewell.”Drujammedtheheelsofherhandsintohereyes.Alineputanarmaround

her.JulianlookedforTy.Hecouldn’tstophimself.Markhadgoneover toTyandwas talking tohim;Kit stoodbesidehim,

hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched, altogether wretched. Tyhimself was staring at Livvy’s bier, a spot of red burning on each of hischeeks. On the way down from the city, he had peppered Julian withquestions:WhotouchedherintheSilentCity?Didtheywashthebloodoffher?Didtheybrushherhair?Didtheytakehernecklace?Didtheyletyouhaveherclothes?Whopickedthedressforhertobeburiedin?Didtheyclosehereyesbeforetheytiedthesilkoverthem?untilJulianhadbeenexhaustedandnearsnapping.

Laddershadbeenplacedbesidethepyres,eachoneamassivestackoflogsand kindling. A Silent Brother took Livvy’s body and began to climb theladder.Whenhereachedthetop,helaidherbodydown;atthesecondpyre,aSilentBrotherwasdoingthesamewithRobertLightwood’scorpse.

DianahadalsogonetostandbesideTy.Therewasawhite flowertuckedintohercollar,paleagainstherdarkskin.Shesaidsomethingquietlytohim,andTylookedupather.

Julian ached inside, a physical ache, as if he’d been punched in thestomachandwasjustnowgettinghisbreathback.Hecouldfeelthebloodyclothtiedaroundhiswrist,likeacircleoffire.

Emma. He looked for her in the crowd, saw her standing beside Simon.Cristinahadcometostandwiththem.Theladdershadbeendrawnaway,andthe Sil