For a terrified moment Dru was sure they were dying. As the awful light faded, she saw Emma and Julian—human-size again—crumpled together on the ground. They lay with their hands clasped together, their eyes closed, like angels who had fallen from heaven and now slept peacefully upon the earth again.
33
REVERENCE
“Wake up, Emma. It’s time to wake up.”
There was a gentle hand on her forehead, a gentle voice calling her out of the long dark.
For some time there had been only shadows. Shadows and cold after a long period of burning. The world had tilted at a distance. She had seen a place too bright to remember and figures that shone like blades in the sun. She had heard voices calling her name. Emma. Emma.
Emma means universe, Julian had said.
But she had not woken up. She had heard Julian’s voice again, this time mixed with Jem’s.
“It was a clever touch,” Jem said, “having not one meeting but two. You knew any of the Shadowhunters might be loyal to the Cohort, so you had them attend only the first meeting. That way when they reported to Horace what your plans were, he was prepared only for you to interrupt the parley. Not for the Downworlder attack.”
“Jace and Clary agreed to be the bait,” Julian said. He sounded tired, even in her dream.
“We knew Horace would do anything to get his hands on them. That way we could march them in front of everyone and prove that Horace wasn’t just wrong that they were dead—he was trying to kill them.”
There was a long pause. Emma floated in more darkness, though she could see shapes in it now, shapes and shadows.
“I knew there would be spies at the meeting,” Julian said. “I admit they surprised me by sending a demon. I didn’t even figure it out until I saw the Eidolon on the battlefield. How do you think it got into the Sanctuary? Just posing as Oskar Lindquist shouldn’t have protected it.”
“Demons have been known to use Shadowhunter blood to enter Institutes. Oskar Lindquist was found dead yesterday. It is possible his blood was used.”
“But would that grant the demon the power to be invulnerable to seraph blades?” Julian said.
There was a long pause. “I know of no magic strong enough for that.” Jem sounded troubled. “The Silent Brothers will want to know—”
Emma dragged her eyes open reluctantly, not wanting to leave the softness of the dark. “Jem?” she whispered. Her throat and mouth were incredibly dry.
“Emma!” She was pulled into a hug. Jem’s arms were strong. She pressed her head into his shoulder. It was like being hugged by her father—a memory she kept always in the back of her mind, precious and unforgotten.
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat. “Julian?” she whispered.
Jem drew back. She was able to see where she was—in a small room with two white beds, a window in the wall letting in sunshine. Julian sat on the bed opposite hers, wearing a clean T-shirt and loose pants like training garments. Someone had put her into the same clothes; her hair was tangled, and her whole body ached like a giant bruise.
Julian looked unharmed. Their eyes met and his expression softened; his back was straight and tense, his shoulders a hard line.
She wanted to go and hug him. At least to hold his hand. She forced herself not to move. She felt fragile inside, her heart thundering with love and fear. She didn’t trust herself to control her emotions.
“You’re in the Basilias,” said Jem. “I woke you, Emma, after Julian had woken. I thought you would want to see each other.”
Emma looked around. Through a window in the wall, she could see a bigger room of white-sheeted cots, about half of which were taken up with patients. Silent Brothers moved among the rows and the air smelled of healing—herbs and flowers, the medicines of the Silent City.
Their room had a low arched ceiling painted with healing runes in gold and red and black. More windows faced out onto the buildings of Alicante: the red-roofed houses, the slim needles of the demon towers.
“The children, are they all right?” Emma said. “Helen—?”
“I already asked,” Julian said. It was hard for Emma to look away from him, and also painful to look at him—he seemed different somehow. Changed. She tore her gaze free and stared at Jem, who had risen to stand by the window. “Everyone’s all right, Emma.”
“Even Kit? He saved my life—”
“He was quite drained and ill,” said Jem. “But he has recovered well. He is in the Silent City. We lost good warriors on the battlefield, but your friends are safe. You have been unconscious for three days, so you missed the funerals. But then, you’ve attended too many funerals lately as it is.”
Emma frowned. “But why is Kit in the Silent City? The Basilias—”
“Emma,” Jem said. “I did not come to you to talk about Kit. I came to talk about you and Julian.” He pushed his hair back from his face; he looked tired, the white streak in his hair more pronounced. “You asked me a long time ago about the parabatai curse. What happens when two parabatai fell in love. I told you what I knew, but I didn’t dream you were asking for yourself.”
Emma felt herself go still. She looked at Julian, who nodded.
“He knows,” Julian said in a flat sort of voice. Emma wondered what he was feeling. She couldn’t quite read him as she usually could, but they were likely both in shock. “Everyone does now.”
Emma hugged her arms around herself. “But how—”
“I wish I had known,” Jem said, “though I can understand why you did not tell me. I have spoken with Magnus. I know all that you did to try to combat the curse. No one could have struggled more. But this is not a curse that can be undone, save by the destruction of every parabatai bond in all the world.” He looked at Emma with sharp eyes, and she felt the sudden weight of how very old Jem was, and how much he knew about people. “Or at least, that’s what was believed, and every attempt to investigate the curse turned up no records of what might happen if the curse were to be realized. We only knew symptoms: increased power with runes, ability to do things no other Nephilim could do. The fact that you broke the Mortal Sword, Emma—I am sure it was partly the strength of Cortana and partly the power of the curse. But these were all things we only guessed at for many years. Then the battle of three days ago happened. What of it do you remember?”
“Emma was dying in my arms,” Julian said. His voice shook. It was strange, though—normally Emma would have felt a twinge inside her ribs, a flicker of his pain. Now she didn’t. “There was a white light—and we were giants, looking down. I don’t feel what we felt, but I remember people looking like ants running around our feet. And feeling like we were on a mission, like we were being directed. I don’t know how to explain it. Like we were being told what to do and we had no choice except to do it.”
“As if something were working through you,” said Jem. “A will greater than yours?”
Emma put her hands to her chest. “I remember now—Zara stabbed me—I was bleeding—” She remembered again the feeling of burning, and the world spinning away and down. “We were giants?”
“I need to tell you a piece of Nephilim history,” said Jem, though Emma wished he would stick more closely to the topic of Giants: Had Emma and Julian Turned into Them? “Long, long ago, in the early history of Shadowhunters, there were huge demons that threatened the earth. Much bigger than any demon we have now save what Greater Demons can sometimes become. In that time, it was possible for Shadowhunters to become true Nephilim. Giants on the earth. We have old woodcuts and drawings of them, and the writings of those who saw them battling demons.” He took a piece of paper from his pocket and read aloud: “ ‘The land that we have gone through as spies is a land that devours its inhabitants; and all the people that we saw in it are of great size. There we saw the Nephilim; and to ourselves we seemed like grasshoppers, and so we seemed to them.’ ”
“But this is history,” said Julian. “People don’t turn into giants now.”
/> A land that devours its inhabitants. Emma could not help but think of Thule and the stories of giants there.
“Most did not survive their transformations,” said Jem. “It was the ultimate sacrifice, to blaze up with heavenly fire and die destroying demons. But it was noticed that many who survived were parabatai. Shadowhunters were more likely to live through the transformation if they had a parabatai who did not transform, anchoring them to earth.”
“But we both transformed,” said Emma.
“You understand,” Jem said, “that for years we have tried to understand the parabatai curse and what it might be, but we certainly never tied it in to the time of Nephilim. The end of the time of Nephilim came when the giant demons ceased to come to earth. We don’t know why they disappeared; they simply did. Perhaps they were all slain. Perhaps they lost interest in this world. Perhaps they feared the Nephilim. This was eight hundred years ago, and many records have been lost.”
“So when we turned into giants,” said Julian, looking as if the words made him ill, “you realized the parabatai curse was tied to Nephilim somehow?”
“After the battle, we raced to turn up every record of the true Nephilim. In doing so, I discovered one tale of a terrible event. A Shadowhunter became a true Nephilim to battle a demon. Their parabatai was meant to stay behind as an anchor, but instead, they too transformed, uncontrollably. Both went wild. They slaughtered the demon and then they murdered their families and all those who tried to stop them until they burned alive from the heavenly fire.” He paused. “They were a married couple. In those days there was no Law against loving your parabatai. Some months later it happened again, this time with another pair of lovers.”
“And people didn’t know about this?” said Emma.
“Much was done to cover it up. The practice of parabatai is one of the most powerful tools the Shadowhunters possess. No one wanted to lose it. And since the great demons had vanished, it was not thought that there would be a need to employ true Nephilim again. Indeed, no one ever has, and the method by which true Nephilim were made has been lost. It could have ended there, and indeed there are no records in the Silent City of what happened, but Tessa was able to find an archive in the Spiral Labyrinth. It was the tale of two Shadowhunters who became like warlocks—powerful magicians, whose runes were unlike others’. They razed a peaceful town to the ground before they were burned to death. But I suspect they were not burned to death by the townspeople. I suspect that they died from the heavenly fire.” He paused. “Not long after the date of this tale, the Law was passed that no parabatai could fall in love.”
“That’s suspicious,” muttered Emma.
“So what you’re saying,” said Julian, “is that the Shadowhunters destroyed their own records of why they created the Law about parabatai love being forbidden? They were afraid that people would take advantage of the power—but they valued the benefits of parabatai too much to give up the ritual?”
“That is what I suspect,” said Jem, “though I do not think we will be able to prove it.”
“This can’t keep happening,” said Emma. “We need to tell everyone the truth.”
“The truth won’t stop it happening,” said Julian. He looked at her steadily. “I would have fallen in love with you even if I’d known exactly what the danger was.”
Emma’s heart seemed to trip over itself. She tried to keep her voice steady. “But if the horrible punishments are taken away,” she said, “if people don’t think they’ll lose their families, they’ll come forward. Mercy is better than revenge—isn’t it?”
“The Silent Brothers have conferred and agree with you,” said Jem. “They will make a recommendation to the Consul and the new Inquisitor when he or she is appointed.”
“But Jia—Jia is still the Consul?” said Emma.
“Yes, though she is very ill. She has been for some time. I hope she will now have the time and space to rest and get well.”
“Oh.” Emma was surprised—Jia had seemed invulnerable to her.
“The Cohort members who survived are being held in the Gard prison. You did win the battle for us, after all. Though I would not recommend trying that tactic again.”
“What’s going to happen to us?” Julian said. “Will we be punished?”
“For what happened on the field? I do not think so,” said Jem. “It was a war. You slew the Riders of Mannan, for which everyone is grateful, and you slew several Cohort members, which you might have done anyway. I think you will be curiosities now—true Nephilim have not been seen in centuries. Also, you may have to do community service.”
“Really?” said Emma.
“Not really,” said Jem, and winked at her.
“I meant about the parabatai thing,” said Julian. “We’re still breaking the Law by feeling like we do about each other. Even if they make the Laws gentler, we’ll still have to be separated, exiled even, so this never happens again.”
“Ah,” said Jem, and he leaned back against the wall, his arms folded. “When your clothes were cut from you so you could be healed, here in the Basilias, it was noticed that your parabatai runes had disappeared.”
Emma and Julian both stared at him.
“Now, a parabatai rune can be cut from your skin, and you will not lose your bond,” said Jem. “The rune is the symbol, not the bond itself. But it was curious, because there were no marks or scars where your parabatai runes had been; it was as if they had never been drawn. The Silent Brothers looked into your minds and saw the bond had been severed.” He paused. “In most cases, I would feel I was giving you bad news, but in this case, perhaps not. You are no longer parabatai.”
Neither of them moved or even breathed. Inside Emma’s chest, her heart seemed to be ringing like a bell in a vast space, the deep echo of a cavern whose roof was so high all sound vanished into silence and dreams. Julian’s face was as white as the demon towers.
“Not parabatai?” he said at last, his voice like a stranger’s.
“I’ll give you two a moment to digest the news,” Jem said, a smile curling the edge of his mouth. “I will go to speak with your family. They have been worried about you.” He left the room, and even though he wore jeans and a sweater, the shadow of robes seemed to move about him as he went.
The door closed behind Jem, and still Emma couldn’t move. The terror of letting herself believe that the horror was over, that it would be all right, kept her frozen in place. For so long she had lived with a weight on her shoulders. For so long it had been the first thing she’d thought of when she woke up and the last of her thoughts before she slept; the food of nightmares and the close of every secret fear: I will lose Julian. I will lose my family. I will lose myself.
Even in the brightest moments, she had thought she would lose one of those things. She had never dreamed she would keep them all.
“Emma,” Julian said. He had gotten to his feet, limping slightly, and Emma’s heart broke: She knew this could be no easier for him than it was for her. She rose to her feet, her legs shaking. They faced each other across the space between their two cots.
She didn’t know who broke and moved first. It could have been her, or him; they could have moved in unison as they had done for so long, still connected even though the parabatai bond was gone. They collided in the middle of the room; she flung her arms around Julian, her bandaged fingers digging into the back of his shirt.
He was here, really here, solid in her arms. He kissed her face feverishly and ran his hands through her hair. She knew tears were running down her face; she held on to him as tightly as she could, feeling him shaking in her arms. “Emma,” he was saying, over and over, his voice breaking, shattering on the word. “Emma, Emma, my Emma.”
She couldn’t speak. Instead, she traced her fingers clumsily across his back, writing out what she couldn’t say aloud, as they had for so long. A-T L-A-S-T, she wrote. A-T L-A-S-T.
The door flew open. And for the first time ever, they didn’t leap apart: They kept h
old of each other’s hands, even as their family and friends poured into the room, tearful and bright with happiness and relief.
* * *
“They are quite afraid of you in Faerie now, Cristina,” said Kieran. “They call you a slayer of kings and princes. A terrifying Shadowhunter.”
The three of them—Mark, Cristina, and Kieran—were sitting by a dry fountain in Angel Square, outside the Basilias. Cristina sat between Mark’s legs, his arms around her. Kieran leaned against his side.
“I am not terrifying,” Cristina protested.
“You terrify me,” Mark said, and Cristina turned and made a face at him. Kieran smiled but did not laugh: there seemed too much tension in him. Perhaps because it was difficult for him to be in Alicante. It had been heavily faerie-proofed during the Dark War, iron and salt and rowan strategically deployed in nearly every street. The Basilias was covered in hammered iron nails, so Mark and Cristina waited for news of Jules and Emma in the square with Kieran, letting the bright sun warm them as they rested.
After the Dark War, Mark knew, this square had been full of bodies. Corpses laid out in rows, their eyes bound with white silk, ready for burning and burial. Now it was peacefully quiet. There had been deaths in the battle three days before, and the next day a great funeral at the Fields. Jia had spoken: of the sorrow endured, of the necessity of building again and the importance of not acting in revenge against the Cohort, fifty of whom were now in the Gard jail.
“My mother is the one who is terrifying,” said Cristina, shaking her head. She was warm in Mark’s arms, and Kieran was a comforting weight against his side. If it had not been for worry over Emma and Jules, he would have been perfectly happy. “I told her about us last night.”
“You did?” Mark was agog. Cristina’s mother was terrifying—he’d heard that after the gates of the City had been opened by the Silent Brothers, she’d climbed up on one of the walls and thrown dozens of spears at the Unseelie faeries with a deadly precision that had sent redcaps scurrying away from the city. There was also a rumor that she’d punched Lazlo Balogh in the nose, but he decided not to confirm it.
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