"There is someone who is lying," he said. "Taking credit for Malcolm's death. She is doing it so that she can get control of an Institute. Our Institute." He took a deep breath. "Her name is Zara Dearborn."
The name electrified her, as he had suspected it would. "Dearborn," she breathed.
"The Inquisitor who tortured you," said Julian. "His descendants are no better. They will all be there now, carrying their signs shaming Downworlders, shaming those who stand up to the Clave. They would bring an awful darkness down on us. But you can prove them liars. Discredit them."
"Surely you could tell them the truth--"
"Not without revealing how I know. I saw you kill Malcolm in the Seelie Queen's scrying glass. I'm telling you this because I am desperate--if you heard Malcolm speaking of the Cold Peace, you must know contact with faeries is forbidden. What I did would be considered treason. I'd take the punishment for it, but--"
"Your brothers and sisters couldn't bear that," she finished for him. She turned back toward him just as he leaned away from the book. Were her eyes more like Livvy's or Dru's? They were blue-green and depthless. "I see things have not changed as much as all that. The Law is still hard, and is still the Law."
Julian could hear the hate in her voice, and knew he had her.
"But the Law can be circumvented." He leaned across the table. "We can trick them. And shame them. Force them to confront their lies. The Dearborns will pay. They'll all be there--the Consul, the Inquisitor, all those who have inherited the power that was abused when they hurt you."
Her eyes glittered. "You will make them acknowledge it? What they did?"
"Yes."
"And in return--?"
"Your testimony," he said. "That's all."
"You wish me to come to Idris with you. To stand before the Clave and Council, and the Inquisitor, as I did before?"
Julian nodded.
"And if they call me mad, if they declare I am lying, or under Malcolm's duress, you will stand for me? You will insist I am sane?"
"Magnus will be with you every step of the way," Julian said. "He can stand beside you on the dais. He can protect you. He is the warlock representative on the Council, and you know how powerful he is. You can trust him even if you don't trust me."
It was not a real answer, but she took it for one. Julian had known she would.
"I do trust you," she said with wonder. She came forward and picked up the Black Volume, hugging it to her chest. "Because of your brother's letter. It was honest. I had not thought of an honest Blackthorn before. But I could hear the truth in how he loves you. You must be worthy of such love and trust, to have inspired it in one so truthful." Her eyes bored into him. "I know what you want--what you need. And yet now that I have come to you, you have not once asked for it. That should count for something. Though you failed my trial, I understand it now. You were acting for your family." He could see her swallow, the muscles moving in her thin, scarred throat. "You swear that if the Black Volume is given to you, you will keep it hidden from the Lord of Shadows? You will use it only to help your family?"
"I swear on the Angel," said Julian. He knew how powerful an oath on the Angel was, and Annabel would know it too. But he was speaking only the truth, after all.
His heart was beating in swift and powerful hammer-blows. He was blinded by the light of what he could imagine, what the Queen could do for them if they gave her the Black Volume: Helen, Helen could come back, and Aline, and the Cold Peace could end.
And the Queen knows. She knows . . .
He forced the thought back. He could hear Emma's voice, a whisper in the back of his mind. A warning. But Emma was good in her heart: honest, straightforward, a terrible liar. She didn't understand the brutality of need. The absoluteness of what he would do for his family. There was no end to its depth and breadth. It was total.
"Very well," Annabel said. Her voice was strong, forceful: He could hear the unbreakable cliffs of Cornwall in her accent. "I will come with you to the City of Glass and speak before the Council. And if I am acknowledged, then the Black Volume will be yours."
29
ULTIMA THULE
The sun was shining in Alicante.
The first time Emma had been in Idris, it had been winter, cold as death, and there had been death all around--her parents had just been killed, and the Dark War had ravaged the city. They hadn't been able to burn the bodies of Shadowhunters killed in the streets fast enough, and the corpses had stacked up in the Hall like discarded children's toys.
"Emma." Julian was pacing the long corridor in the Gard, lined with doors, each leading to the office of a different official. Alternating between the doors were windows letting in the bright light of late summer, and tapestries depicting significant events in Shadowhunter history. Most had small woven banners across the tops, describing what they were: THE BATTLE OF THE BUND, VALENTINE'S LAST STAND, THE PARIS ENGAGEMENT, THE UPRISING. "Do you remember . . . ?"
She did remember. They'd stood in this exact place five years ago, listening to Lucian Graymark and Jia Penhallow discuss the exile of Mark and Helen, before Emma had thrown open the door to shout at them. It was one of the few times she'd seen Julian lose control. She could hear his voice in her head, even now. You promised the Clave would never abandon Mark while he was living--you promised!
"Like I could forget," she said. "This is where we told the Consul we wanted to be parabatai."
Julian touched her hand with his. It was only a brush of fingers--they were both conscious anyone could come down the corridor at any moment.
Getting to Alicante had been difficult--Magnus had managed the Portal, though it seemed to have taken the last of his energy in a way that frightened Emma. He had been kneeling by the time the familiar swirling lights had formed, and he'd had to lean on Mark and Julian to rise.
Still he had brushed off all concerns and informed them that they needed to go through the Portal quickly. Idris was warded and Portaling there was a complex business, since someone had to be on the other side to receive you. It was doubly complex now since Kieran was with them, and though Jia had waived the anti-Faerie protections on the Gard temporarily, the window for safe travel was short.
Then the Portal had terrified Annabel.
She had never seen one before, and despite everything she had been through, despite all the awful magic she had seen Malcolm wreak, the sight of the whirling chaos inside the doorway made her scream.
In the end, after the Shadowhunters had all entered the Portal, she went through with Magnus, clutching the Black Volume in her hands, her face hidden against his shoulder.
Only to be met on the other side by a crowd of Council members and the Consul herself. Jia had blanched when she saw Annabel and said in an astonished voice, "Is that really her?"
Magnus had locked eyes with the Consul for a moment. "Yes," he said firmly. "It is. She is."
There was a babble of questions. Emma couldn't blame the assembled Council members. There had been quite a few questions for Julian when he'd emerged from the library and told a waiting Magnus and Emma that Annabel was coming with them to Idris.
As he'd outlined his plan, Emma had caught sight of the expression on Magnus's face. The warlock had looked at Julian with a mixture of astonishment, respect, and something that might have looked a little like horror.
But it had probably just been surprise. After all, Magnus had seemed sanguine enough, and had immediately set about sending a fire-message to Jia to let her know what to expect.
Emma had drawn Julian aside while blue sparks flew from Magnus's fingers. "What about the book?" she'd whispered. "What about the Queen?"
Julian's eyes glittered. "If this works, Annabel will give us the Black Volume," he'd replied in a whisper, and he'd been looking at the library door as if Annabel, behind it, were the answer to all their prayers. "And if not--I have a plan for that, too."
There'd been no chance to ask him what the plan was: Annabel had stepped out of the libr
ary, looking fearful and shy. She looked even more fearful now as the hubbub rose around her: Kieran drew some of the fire by stepping up to announce himself as the envoy of the Seelie Queen, sent to speak on the behalf of the Seelie Court to the Council of Shadowhunters. He'd been expected, but there was still a burst of more excited talking.
"Put the wards back up," said the Consul, inclining her head to Kieran. Her expression was polite, but the message was clear: Though Kieran was there to help them, all full-blood faeries were still going to be treated with extreme suspicion by the Clave.
Mark and Cristina moved to Kieran's side protectively, while Magnus spoke quietly with the Consul. After a moment, she nodded, and gestured at Emma and Julian.
"If you want to speak to Robert, go ahead," she said. "But keep it short--the meeting is soon."
Emma was unsurprised, as she and Julian headed toward the Gard's offices, to see that Livvy, Ty, Kit, and Dru had flanked Annabel protectively. Ty, especially, had his chin jutting out, his hands in fists. Emma wondered if he felt responsible for Annabel because his letter had brought her to them, or if he felt some kind of kinship for those at odds with the Clave's standards for "normalcy."
A door swung open. "You can come in now," said a guard. It was Manuel Villalobos, wearing his Centurion uniform. His start of surprise at seeing them was quickly hidden by a smirk. "An unexpected pleasure," he said.
"We're not here to see you," said Julian. "Though nice to know you're opening doors for the Inquisitor these days. Is he here?"
"Let them in, Centurion," Robert called, which was all the permission needed for Emma to shove by Manuel and stalk down the hallway. Julian followed her.
The short hall ended in the Inquisitor's office. He was sitting behind his desk, looking much the same as he had the last time Emma had seen him at the Los Angeles Institute. A big man only now beginning to show the marks of age--his shoulders were a little hunched, his dark hair woven thickly with gray--Robert Lightwood cut an imposing figure behind his massive mahogany desk.
The room was largely unfurnished aside from the desk and two chairs. There was an unlit fireplace, above whose mantel hung one of the series of tapestries on display in the hall outside. This one said THE BATTLE OF THE BURREN. Figures in red clashed with figures in black--Shadowhunters and the Endarkened Ones--and above the melee, a dark-haired archer was visible standing on a tipped boulder, holding a drawn bow and arrow. To anyone who knew him, it was very clearly Alec Lightwood.
Emma wondered what thoughts went through Robert Lightwood's mind as he sat each day in his office and looked at the portrait of his son, a hero of a now-famous battle. Pride, of course, but there must also be some wonder, that he had created this person--these people, really, for Isabelle Lightwood was no slouch in the heroics department--who had become so fierce and amazing in their own right.
Someday Julian would have that pride, she thought, in Livvy and Ty and Tavvy and Dru. But her parents had never had a chance to feel it. She'd never had a chance to make them proud. She felt the familiar wave of bitterness and resentment, pressing against her heart.
Robert gestured for them to be seated. "I hear you wanted to talk to me," he said. "I hope this isn't meant to be some sort of distraction."
"Distraction from what?" Emma asked, settling herself into the uncomfortable wing-backed chair.
"Whatever you're up to." He sat back. "So what is it?"
Emma's heart seemed to flip. Was this a good idea, or a terrible one? It felt as if everything in her had been armoring against this moment, against the idea that she and Julian would have to spread their feelings out under the feet of the Clave for them to tread on.
She watched Julian as he leaned forward and began to speak. He seemed absolutely calm as he spoke of his and Emma's early friendship, their affection for each other, their decision to be parabatai, brought on by the Dark War and the loss of their parents. He made it sound like a reasonable decision--no one's fault--who could have blamed them, any of them? The Dark War had stricken them all with loss. No one could be at fault for overlooking details. For mistaking their feelings.
Robert Lightwood's eyes began to widen. He listened in silence as Julian spoke of his and Emma's growing feelings for each other. How they both had realized what they felt separately, struggled in silence, confessed their emotions, and finally decided to seek the Inquisitor's assistance and even the exercise of the Law.
"We know we've broken the Law," Julian finished, "but it was not intentional, or under our control. All we want is your help."
Robert Lightwood got to his feet. Emma could see the glass towers through his window, glimmering like burning banners. She could hardly believe that just that morning they'd been fighting the Riders in the courtyard of the London Institute. "No one's ever asked me if they could be exiled before," he said, finally.
"But you were exiled yourself, once," said Julian.
"Yes," Robert said. "With my wife, Maryse, and Alec, when he was a toddler. And for good reason. It's a lonely thing, exile. And for someone as young as Emma . . ." He glanced at them. "Does anyone else know about you?"
"No." Julian's voice was calm and firm. Emma knew he was trying to protect those who had guessed or been told--but it unnerved her anyway, the way he could sound so absolutely sincere when he was lying.
"And you're sure? This isn't a crush, or just--parabatai feelings can be very intense." Robert sounded awkward as he clasped his hands behind his back. "They're easy to misconstrue."
"We," said Julian, "are absolutely sure."
"The usual measure would be separation, not exile." Robert looked from one of them to the other as if he still couldn't quite believe what was in front of him. "But you don't want that. I can see that already. You wouldn't have come to me if you thought I could only offer you the standard measures--separation, stripping of your Marks."
"We can't risk breaking the Law, and the punishments that entails." Julian's voice was still calm, but Emma could see his hands, white-knuckled, gripping his chair arms. "My family needs me. My brothers and sisters are still young, and they have no parents. I've raised them and I can't leave them. It's out of the question. But Emma and I know we can't trust ourselves just to stay away from each other."
"So you want to be separated by the Clave," said Robert. "You want exile, but you don't want to wait to be caught. You've come to me so you can choose which of you leaves, and for how long, and what punishment the Clave, directed by me, will decide on."
"Yes," said Julian.
"And though you're not saying it, I think you want some of what exile will do for you," said Robert. "It'll deaden your bond. Maybe you think it'll make it easier for you to stop loving each other."
Neither Emma or Julian spoke. He was uncomfortably close to the truth. Julian was expressionless; Emma tried to school her features to match his. Robert was tapping his fingertips together.
"We just want to be able to be normal parabatai," said Julian finally, but Emma could hear the silent words beneath the audible ones: We will never give each other up, never.
"It's quite something to ask." Emma strained to hear anger or reproach or disbelief in the Inquisitor's voice, but he sounded neutral. It frightened her.
"You had a parabatai," she said in desperation. "Didn't you?"
"Michael Wayland." Robert's tone was wintry. "He died."
"I'm so sorry." Emma had known that, but the sympathy was sincere. She could imagine little more horrible than Julian dying.
"I bet he would have wanted you to help us," Julian said. Emma had no idea if he spoke from knowledge of Michael Wayland or just intuition, that skill he had of reading the look in people's eyes, the truth in the way they frowned or smiled.
"Michael would have--yes," Robert murmured. "He would have. By the Angel. Exile will be a heavy burden for Emma. I can try to limit the terms of the punishment, but you'll still lose some of your Nephilim powers. You'll need permission to enter Alicante. There will be some Marks you can
't use. Seraph blades won't light for you."
"I have Cortana," said Emma. "That's all I need."
There was sadness in Robert's smile. "If there's a war, you can't fight in it. That's why my exile was lifted--because Valentine returned and began the Mortal War."
Julian's expression was so tight that his cheekbones seemed to stand out like knife blades. "We won't accept the exile unless Emma's allowed to keep enough of her Nephilim power to be safe," he said. "If she's hurt because of this exile--"
"The exile is your idea," said Robert. "Are you sure you'll be able to fall out of love?"
"Yes," Julian lied. "Separation would be the first move, anyway, wouldn't it? We're just asking for a little extra surety."
"I've heard things," Robert said. "The Law against parabatai falling in love exists for a reason. I don't know the reason, but my guess is that it's significant. If I thought you knew what it was--" He shook his head. "But you can't possibly. I could speak with the Silent Brothers . . . ."
No, Emma thought. They'd risked so much already, but if Robert learned of the curse, they'd be in very dangerous waters. "Magnus said you would help us," she said, in a soft voice. "He said we could trust you and that you'd understand and keep it secret."
Robert looked up at the tapestry that hung over his mantel. At Alec. He touched the Lightwood ring on his finger; a likely unconscious gesture. "I trust Magnus," he said. "And I owe him a great deal."
His gaze was distant. Emma wasn't sure if he was thinking about the past or considering the future; she and Julian sat tensely while he considered. Finally, he said, "All right. Give me a few days--the two of you will have to remain in Alicante while I look into managing the exile ceremony, and you must stay in separate houses. I need to see a good faith effort to avoid each other. Is that clear?"
Emma swallowed hard. The exile ceremony. She hoped Jem could be there: Silent Brothers were the ones who presided over ceremonies, and even though he no longer was one, he had been at her parabatai ceremony with Julian. If he could be there for this, she would feel a little less alone.
She could see Julian's expression: He looked much as she felt, as if relief and dread were warring inside him. "Thank you," he said.
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