"Julian Blackthorn," sneered Dearborn. "My daughter told me about you--your uncle was mad, your whole family's mad, only a madman would find this a good idea--"
"Do not," said Annabel, and her voice rang out clear and strong, "speak that way to him. He is my blood kin."
"Blackthorns," said Dearborn. "Seems they're all mad, dead, or both!"
If he'd expected a laugh, he didn't get one. The room was silent.
"Sit," the Consul said to Dearborn coldly. "It appears your family has an issue with the way Nephilim are meant to comport themselves. Interrupt me again and you'll be thrown out of the Hall."
Dearborn sat, but his eyes gleamed with rage. He wasn't the only one. Emma scanned the room quickly and saw clusters of hateful glares directed at the dais. She choked back her nerves; Julian had pushed his way into the aisle and was standing facing the front of the room. "Annabel," he said, his voice low and encouraging. "Tell them about the King."
"The Unseelie King," Annabel said softly. "The Lord of Shadows. He was in league with Malcolm. It is important you all know this, because even now, he plans the destruction of all Shadowhunters."
"But the Fair Folk are weak!" A man in an embroidered gandora was on his feet, dark eyes sparking with concern. Cristina murmured into Emma's ear that he was the head of the Marrakech Institute. "Years of the Cold Peace have weakened them. The King cannot hope to stand against us."
"Not in a clash of equal armies, no," Annabel said in her small voice. "But the King has harnessed the power of the Black Volume, and he has learned how to destroy the power of the Nephilim. How to cancel out runes, seraph blades, and witchlight. You would be fighting his forces with no more power than mundanes--"
"This absolutely cannot be true!" It was a thin, dark-haired man Emma remembered from the long-ago discussion of the Cold Peace. Lazlo Balogh, head of the Budapest Institute. "She is lying."
"She has no reason to lie!" Diana was on her feet now too, her shoulders set back in a fighting stance. "Lazlo, of all the people--"
"Miss Wrayburn." The Hungarian man's expression hardened. "I think we all know you should recuse yourself from the discussion."
Diana froze.
"You fraternize with faeries," he went on, smacking his lips as he spoke. "You've been observed."
"Oh, by the Angel, Lazlo," said the Consul. "Diana has nothing to do with this other than having the bad fortune to disagree with you!"
"Lazlo's right," said Horace Dearborn. "The Blackthorns are faerie sympathizers, betrayers of the Law--"
"But we're not liars," said Julian. His voice was steel edged in ice.
Dearborn took the bait. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Your daughter didn't kill Malcolm Fade," said Julian. "Annabel did."
Zara popped to her feet like a puppet jerked upward on strings. "That's a lie!" she shrieked.
"It is not a lie," said Annabel. "Malcolm raised me from the dead. He used the blood of Arthur Blackthorn to do it. And for that, and for his torture and abandonment of me, I killed him."
Now the room exploded. Shouts echoed off the walls. Samantha and Dane Larkspear were on their feet, shaking their fists. Horace Dearborn was roaring that Annabel was a liar, that all Blackthorns were.
"Enough!" shouted Jia. "Silence!"
"La Spada Mortale." A small olive-skinned woman rose from a place near the back. She wore a plain dress, but her thick necklace sparkled with jewels. Her hair was a deep gray, worn nearly to her hips, and her voice carried enough authority to cut through the noise in the room.
"What did you say, Chiara?" Jia demanded. Emma knew her name--Chiara Malatesta, head of the Rome Institute in Italy.
"The Mortal Sword," said Chiara. "If there is a question of whether this person--if that's what she can be called--is telling the truth, ply her with Maellartach. Then we can dispense with pointless arguments about whether she's lying."
"No." Annabel's eyes darted around the room in a panic. "Not the Sword--"
"See, she's lying," said Dane Larkspear. "She fears the Sword will reveal the truth!"
"She fears the Sword because she was tortured by the Council!" Julian said. He started toward the dais, but two of the Council guards seized him, holding him back. Emma started to rise, but Helen pressed her firmly back into her seat.
"Not yet," Helen whispered. "It will make things worse--she has to at least try--"
But Emma's heart was racing. Julian was still being restrained from approaching the dais. Every nerve in her body was shrieking as Robert Lightwood moved away and returned carrying something long and sharp and silver. Something that gleamed like dark water. She saw--she felt--Julian inhale sharply; he had held the Mortal Sword himself before and knew the pain it caused.
"Don't do this!" he said, but his voice was drowned in the swell of other voices, the clamor in the room as various Shadowhunters rose to their feet, craning for a glimpse of what was going on.
"She's a filthy undead creature!" Zara shouted. "She should be put out of her misery, not standing up in front of the Council!"
Annabel blanched. Emma could feel Julian's tension, knew what he was thinking: If Magnus were here, Magnus could explain: Annabel was not a revenant. She had been brought back to life. She was a living Shadowhunter. Magnus was a Downworlder that the Clave trusted, one of the few. None of this would be happening if he'd been able to join the meeting.
Magnus, Emma thought, oh Magnus, I hope you're all right. I wish you were with us.
"The Sword will determine Annabel's fitness to give testimony," Jia said in a hard voice that carried to the back of the room. "That is the Law. Stand back and let the Mortal Sword work."
The crowd fell silent. The Mortal Instruments were the highest power the Shadowhunters knew outside of the Angel himself. Even Zara closed her mouth.
"Take your time," Robert said to Annabel. The compassion in his face surprised Emma. She remembered him forcing the blade into Julian's hands, and Julian had been only twelve. She had been angry with Robert for a long time after that, though Julian didn't appear to bear a grudge.
Annabel was panting like a frightened rabbit. She looked at Julian, who gave her an encouraging nod, and reached her hands out slowly.
When she took the Sword, a shudder went through her body, as if she'd touched an electric fence. Her face tensed--but she held the sword unharmed. Jia exhaled with visible relief. The Sword had proved it--Annabel was a Shadowhunter. The Hall remained silent, as everyone stared.
Both the Consul and the Inquisitor stepped back, giving Annabel space. She stood in the center of the dais, a lonely figure in an ill-fitting dress.
"What is your name?" Robert asked her, his tone deceptively mild.
"Annabel Callisto Blackthorn." She spoke between quick breaths.
"And who are you standing on this dais with?"
Her blue-green eyes darted desperately between them. "I don't know you," she breathed. "You are Consul and Inquisitor--but not the ones I knew. You are clearly a Lightwood, but . . ." She shook her head before her face brightened. "Robert," she said. "Julian called you Robert."
Samantha Larkspear laughed derisively, and several of the other placard-bearers joined her. "There isn't enough left of her brain to give decent evidence!"
"Be silent!" thundered Jia. "Miss Blackthorn, you knew--you were the lover of Malcolm Fade, High Warlock of Los Angeles?"
"He was only a warlock when I knew him, of no rank." Annabel's voice shook. "Please. Ask me if I killed him. I can't stand much more of this."
"What we discuss here is not your choice." Jia didn't seem angry, but Annabel visibly flinched.
"This is a mistake," Livvy whispered to Emma. "They need to just ask her about Malcolm and end this. They can't make this into an interrogation."
"It'll be fine," Emma said. "It will."
But her heart was racing. The other Blackthorns were watching with visible tension. On her other side, Emma could see Helen, gripping the arms of her seat. Aline was ru
bbing her shoulder.
"Ask her," Julian said. "Just ask her, Jia."
"Julian. Enough," Jia said, but she turned to Annabel, her dark eyes expectant. "Annabel Callisto Blackthorn. Did you kill Malcolm Fade?"
"Yes." Hate crystallized Annabel's voice, strengthened it. "I cut him open. I watched him bleed to death. Zara Dearborn did nothing. She has been lying to you all."
A gasp ran around the room. For a moment Julian relaxed, and the guards who had been holding him released their grips. Zara, red-faced, gaped from the crowd.
Thank the Angel, Emma thought. They'll have to listen now.
Annabel faced the room, the Sword in her hand, and for that moment Emma could see what Malcolm must have fallen in love with. She looked proud, delighted, beautiful.
Something sailed past her head and smashed into the lectern. A bottle, Emma thought--glass shattered outward from it. There was a gasp, and then a giggle, and then other objects began flying through the air--the crowd seemed to be flinging whatever they had to hand.
Not the whole crowd, Emma realized. It was the Cohort and their supporters. There weren't that many of them--but there were enough. And their hate was bigger than the whole room.
Emma met Julian's eyes; she saw the despair in his. They had expected better. Even after everything that they'd been through, they'd expected better, somehow.
It was true that many Shadowhunters were now on their feet shouting at the Cohort to stop. But Annabel had crumpled to her knees, her head down, her hands still gripping the Sword. She hadn't raised her hands to shield herself from the objects flying at her--they smacked into the floor and the lectern and the window: bottles and bags, coins and stones, even watches and bracelets.
"Stop!" Julian shouted, and the cold rage with which he spoke was enough to shock at least a few into silence. "By the Angel, this is the truth. She's telling you the truth! About Malcolm, about the Unseelie King--"
"How are we supposed to know that?" hissed Dearborn. "Who says the Mortal Sword works on that--that thing? She is tainted--"
"She is a monster," shouted Zara. "This is a conspiracy to try to drag us into a war with the Unseelie Court! The Blackthorns care about nothing but their lies and their filthy faerie siblings!"
"Julian," Annabel gasped, the Mortal Sword held so tightly in her hands that blood began to bloom on her skin where she gripped the blade. "Julian, help me--Magnus--where's Magnus--"
Julian struggled against the guards' hold. Robert hurried forward, his big hands outstretched. "Enough," he said. "Come with me, Annabel--"
"Leave me alone!" With a hoarse shout, Annabel flinched back from him, raising the blade in her hand. Emma was reminded suddenly and coldly of two things:
The Mortal Sword was not just an instrument of justice. It was a weapon.
And Annabel was a Shadowhunter, with a weapon in her hand.
As if he couldn't believe what was happening, Robert took another step toward Annabel, reaching out for her, as if he could calm her, convince her. He opened his mouth to speak, and she thrust the blade up between them.
It pierced through Robert Lightwood's robes and sliced into his chest.
*
Kit felt like someone who'd wandered into another family's hospital room by mistake and wasn't allowed to leave. Alec sat by Magnus's side, occasionally touching his shoulder or saying something in a low voice. Kieran stared out the window as if he could transport himself through the glass.
"Do you want . . . I mean, should someone tell the kids? Max and Rafe?" Kit asked finally.
Alec stood up and crossed the room, where a carafe of water rested on a side table. He poured himself a glass. "Not right now," he said. "They're safe in the city with my mother. They don't need--Magnus doesn't need--" He took a drink of water. "I was hoping he'd get better and we wouldn't have to tell them anything."
"You said you knew what was wrong with him," said Kit. "Is it--dangerous?"
"I don't know," Alec said. "But I do know one thing. It isn't just him. It's other warlocks too. Tessa and Jem have been looking for a cause or cure, but she's sick too--"
He broke off. A dull roar was audible; a sound like waves rising, about to crash. Alec blanched. "I've heard that sound before," he said. "Something's happening. In the Hall."
Kieran was off the windowsill in a fluid, single motion. "It is death."
"It might not be," said Kit, straining his ears.
"I can smell blood," Kieran said. "And hear screams." He climbed up on the windowsill and jerked down one of the curtains. He seized up the curtain rod, which had a sharply pointed finial, and leaped to the floor, brandishing it like a spear. His silver-black eyes gleamed. "I will not be found weaponless when they come."
"You should stay here. Both of you. I'll find out what's going on," Alec said. "My father--"
The door flew open. Kieran flung his curtain rod. Diego, who had just appeared in the doorway, ducked as it flew by and slammed into the wall, where it jammed point first.
"?Que chingados?" said Diego, looking stunned. "What the hell?"
"He thinks you're here to kill us," said Kit. "Are you?"
Diego rolled his eyes. "Things have gone bad in the Hall," he said.
"Has anyone been injured?" Alec asked.
Diego hesitated. "Your father--" he began.
Alec set his glass down and walked across the room to Magnus. He bent and kissed him on the forehead and the cheek. Magnus didn't move, only slept on peacefully, his cat's eyes closed.
Kit envied him.
"Stay here," Alec said to Kit and Kieran. Then he turned and walked out of the room.
Diego looked after him grimly. Kit felt a little sick. He had a feeling that whatever had happened to Alec's father, it hadn't been minor.
Kieran yanked his curtain rod out of the wall and pointed it at Diego. "You have delivered your message," he said. "Now go. I will protect the boy and the warlock."
Diego shook his head. "I am here to get you"--he pointed at Kieran--"and take you to the Scholomance."
"I will not go anywhere with you," said Kieran. "You have no morality. You brought dishonor upon Lady Cristina."
"You've no idea what happened between me and Cristina," added Diego in a frozen voice. Kit noticed that Perfect Diego was looking a little less than perfect. The shadows under his eyes were deep and violet, and his brown skin was sallow. Exhaustion and tension drew his fine features tight.
"Say what you will of faeries," Kieran said. "We have no greater scorn than that we hold toward those who betray a heart given into their keeping."
"It was Cristina," said Diego, "who asked me to come here and bring you to the Scholomance. If you refuse, you will be dishonoring her wishes."
Kieran scowled. "You are lying."
"I am not," said Diego. "She feared for your safety. The Cohort's hatred is at a fever pitch and the Hall runs wild. You will be safe if you come with me, but I can promise nothing otherwise."
"How would I be safe at the Scholomance, with Zara Dearborn and her friends?"
"She won't be there," said Diego. "She and Samantha and Manuel plan to remain here, in Idris, at the heart of power. Power is all they have ever wanted. The Scholomance is a place of peaceful study." He held his hand out. "Come with me. For Cristina."
Kit stared, his breath caught. It was a very strange moment. He had learned enough about Shadowhunters now to understand what it meant that Diego was a Centurion, and what laws he was breaking, offering to smuggle Kieran to the Scholomance. And he understood enough of the pride of the Fair Folk to know what Kieran was accepting if he agreed.
There was another roar of noise outside. "If you're here," Kit said cautiously, "and the Cohort attacks you, Mark and Cristina will want to protect you. And they could get hurt doing it."
Kieran set the curtain rod down on the floor. He looked at Kit. "Tell Mark where I have gone," he said. "And give Cristina my thanks."
Kit nodded. Diego inclined his head before stepping forward
and taking Kieran awkwardly by the arm. He pressed the fingers of his other hand against the Primi Ordines pin on his gear.
Before Kit could speak, Diego and Kieran vanished, a swirl of bright light streaking across the air where they had stood.
*
The guards surged forward as Jia reached to catch Robert's slumping body. Her face a mask of horror, Jia sank to her knees, reaching for her stele, carving an iratze onto Robert's limp, dangling arm.
His blood spread out around them both, a sluggishly moving pool of scarlet.
"Annabel." Julian's voice was barely a whisper of bone-deep shock. Emma could almost see the abyss of guilt and self-blame opening at his feet. He began to struggle frantically against the grip of the guards holding him. "Let me go, let me go--"
"Stay back!" Jia screamed. "All of you, stay back!" She was kneeling beside Robert, her hands wet with his blood as she tried again and again to cut the healing rune into his skin.
Two other guards pounded up the steps and halted uncertainly at her words. Annabel, her blue dress splashed with blood, held the Sword in front of her like a barrier. Robert's blood was already sinking into the blade, as if it were porous stone drinking up water.
Julian tore free of his restraints and leaped onto the bloody dais. Emma shot to her feet, Cristina seizing the back of her shirt, but to no avail: She was already clambering onto the narrow back of the bench.
Thank the Angel for all the hours she'd spent practicing on the rafters in the training room, she thought, and ran, leaping from the end of the bench into the aisle. There were voices shouting at her, to her, a roar like waves; she ignored them. Julian rose slowly to his feet, facing Annabel.
"Stay away!" Annabel shrieked, waving the Mortal Sword. It seemed to be glowing, pulsing even, in her grip, or was that Emma's imagination? "Stay away from me!"
"Annabel, stop." Julian spoke calmly, his hands up to show they were empty--empty? Emma fumed, where was his sword, where were his weapons?--his eyes wide and guileless. "This will only make things worse."
Annabel was sobbing harsh breaths. "Liar. Get back, get away from me."
"I never lied to you--"
"You told me they would give me Blackthorn Manor! You told me Magnus would protect me! But look!" She swept her arm in a wide arc, indicating the whole room. "I am tainted to them--despised, a criminal--"
"You can still come back." Julian's voice was a marvel of steadiness. "Put the Sword down."
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