She lifted her hand to his face, her fingers tracing the scars there. Jem dropped a kiss on her wrist.
“If my words comforted you, we are even,” he said. “Your voice is the music I love best in all the world.”
“You see,” Alec muttered darkly to Lily.
“We do love an eloquent babe,” said Lily.
Tessa leaned close to Jem and whispered, in the language she’d learned for him: “Wŏ ài nĭ.”
And at that moment, looking into her eyes, Jem caught a flash of movement and then stillness in the dark. The faerie woman with the dandelion hair had been coming toward the children, pushing her little cart full of poisons. She stopped at the sight of Jem. She recognized him, as he did her.
“Mother Hawthorn,” said the warlock girl Tessa had talked to. “Have you come to tell us a story?”
“Yes,” said Jem. He rose to his feet and advanced on her. “We want to hear a story. We want to hear why you hate the Herondales.”
Mother Hawthorn’s eyes widened. Her eyes were colorless and pupil-less, as if her eyesockets were filled with water. For a moment Jem thought she would run, and he tensed to spring after her. Tessa and Alec were ready to come for her, as well. Jem had waited too long to wait another moment.
Then Mother Hawthorn looked around at the children and shrugged her thin shoulders.
“Ah well,” she said. “I have waited more than a century to boast of a trick. I suppose it doesn’t matter now. Let me tell you the story of the First Heir.”
They found a solitary campfire, with no children to hear a dark tale save Rafael, solemn faced and silent in the protective curve of Alec’s arm. Jem sat down with his friends and his best beloved to listen. Light and shadows danced a long dance together, and by the strange fireside of the Shadow Market, an old woman wove a tale of Faerie.
“The Seelie Court and the Unseelie have always been at war, but there are times in war that wear the mask of peace. There was even a time that the King of the Unseelie Court and the Queen of the Seelie Court made a secret truce and had a union to seal it. They conceived a child together and agreed that one day that child would inherit both the Seelie and Unseelie thrones, and unite all Faerie. The King wished all his sons to be raised as pitiless warriors, and he believed this First Heir would be the greatest of them all. Since the child would have no mother in the Unseelie Court, he engaged my services, and I thought myself honored. I have always been fond of children. Once they called me the great faerie midwife.
“The King of the Unseelie Court had not expected a daughter, but when the child was born, a daughter she was. She was given into my hands in the Unseelie Court on the day she came into the world, and from that day to this day, the light of her eyes was the only light I wished for.
“The Unseelie King was displeased with his daughter, and the Seelie Queen was enraged that he would not, being displeased, give her back. There came a prophecy from our soothsayers that the day the First Heir reached for their full power, all of Faerie would fall under shadow. The King was murderously angry, and the Queen was terrified, and all the shades and shadows and rushing waters in my land seemed to threaten the head that I loved. The war between Seelie and Unseelie raged all the more fiercely for the brief peace, and the faerie folk whispered that the First Heir was cursed. And so she fled, fearing for her life.
“I did not call her the First Heir. Her name was Auraline, and she was the loveliest thing that ever walked.
“She took refuge in the mortal world, and she found it beautiful. She was always searching for the beauty in life, and it always made her sad to find ugliness instead. She liked to go to the Shadow Market and mingle with the Downworlders and mundanes who did not know of her birth and would not call her cursed.
“After visiting the Shadow Market for many decades, she met a magician there who made her laugh.
“He called himself Roland the Astonishing, Roland the Extraordinary, Roland the Incredible, as if he were something special, when she was the unique one. I hated that insolent boy from the moment I laid eyes on him.
“When he was not calling himself one of his foolish magician’s names, he called himself Roland Loss, but that was another lie.”
“No,” Tessa said, very softly. “It wasn’t.”
Nobody heard her but Jem.
“There was a warlock woman he said he loved as a mother, but Roland was no warlock, nor a mundane with the Sight. He was something far more deadly than that. I learned this warlock’s secret. She took a Shadowhunter child across the seas to America and raised him, pretending he was not Nephilim. Roland was descended from that child: Roland was drawn to our world because his blood called him to it. That boy’s true name was Roland Herondale.
“Roland suspected enough of his heritage, and he paid to learn more at the Market. He told Auraline all his secrets. He said he couldn’t go to the Nephilim and be one of them, lest it endanger the warlock woman he loved like a second mother. He said instead he would become the greatest magician in the world.
“Auraline lost all caution. She told him of the prophecy, and the danger attached to it.
“Roland said they were both lost children, and they could be lost together. He said he didn’t mind being lost, if he could be lost with her. She swore the same. He lured her away from my side. He told her to come live with him in the mortal world. He doomed her, and called it love.
“They ran away together, and the King’s fury was a fire that would have consumed a forest. He wanted the prophecy kept secret, which meant he needed Auraline back under his thumb or killed. He sent his trusted messengers to every corner of the world hunting her, even the bloodthirsty Riders of Mannan. He had all the worst eyes of Faerie looking for her. I kept watch for her myself, and love made my eyes the sharpest. I found her a dozen times, though I never told the King where she was. I will never forgive him for turning against her. I went to every Shadow Market and watched them together, my shining First Heir and that awful boy. Oh, how she loved him, and oh, I hated him.
“I was at a Shadow Market not long after Roland and Auraline went away together, and there I saw another angel boy, proud as God. He told me of his high position among the Nephilim, and I knew that his parabatai was another Herondale. I played a cruel trick on him. I hope he paid for his arrogance in blood.”
“Matthew,” whispered Tessa, the name sounding unfamiliar in her mouth, spoken for the first time in years.
Matthew Fairchild had been parabatai to Tessa’s son, James Herondale. Jem had known that this faerie had tricked Matthew to do a terrible deed, but he had thought it was only spite, not revenge.
Even this faerie woman’s voice sounded tired. Jem remembered feeling that way, near the end of his days as a Silent Brother. He remembered being that hollow.
“But what does that matter now?” asked the woman, as if speaking to herself. “What did it matter then? Long years passed. Auraline spent decade after decade with her magician in the filth of the mundane world, my girl born to a golden throne. They were together all the days of his life. Auraline shared what she could of her faerie power with Roland, and he stayed young longer, and lived longer, than most of their filthy kind could. She wasted her magic, like someone prolonging the life of a flower: they can only make the flower last for a little more time, before it withers. At last Roland grew old, and older, in the way of mortals, until he reached an end, and Auraline met the end with him. A faerie can choose the season of their own death. I knew how it would be, when I first beheld them together. I saw her death in his laughing eyes.
“My Auraline. When Roland Herondale died, she laid down her golden head on the pillow next to her mortal love and never rose again. Their child wept for them both and threw flowers on their grave. Auraline could have lived for century after century, but she was hunted to the point of desperation, and she threw her life away for a foolish mortal love.
“Their child wept, but I never wept. My eyes stayed dry as the dust and dead flowers on their grave. I hated Roland from the day he took her from me. I hate all Nephilim for her sake, and the Herondales most of their kind. Whatever the Shadowhunters touch is brought to destruction. Auraline’s child had a child. There is still a First Heir in the world. When the First Heir rises, in all the awful glory bought by the blood of Seelie and Unseelie and Nephilim, I hope destruction comes to the Shadowhunters as well as Faerie. I hope the whole world is lost.”
Jem thought of Roland and Auraline’s descendant Rosemary, and the man she’d loved. They might have a child by now. The curse the faeries had talked about had already claimed lives. This danger was far greater than he had ever suspected. Jem had to protect Rosemary from the Unseelie King and the Riders who brought death. If there was a child, Jem had to save that child. Jem had already failed to save so many.
Jem rose and left Mother Hawthorn. He went to the barbed-wire edge of the Market, moving desperately fast, as if he could race back into the past and save those he had lost there.
When he stopped, Tessa caught him. She held him in her arms, and when he stopped trembling she drew his head down to hers.
“Jem, my Jem. It’s all right. I thought it was a very beautiful story,” she said.
“What?”
“Not her story,” said Tessa. “Not the story of her warped sight and terrible choices. I can see the story behind hers. The story of Auraline and Roland.”
“But all the people who were hurt,” Jem murmured. “The children we loved.”
“My James knew the power of a love story, as well as I do,” said Tessa. “No matter how dark and hopeless the world seemed, Lucie could always find beauty in a story. I know what they would have thought.”
“I’m sorry,” said Jem instantly.
He would not speak to her about children. He had loved Tessa’s children, but they had not been his. Tessa had lost so much already. He could not ask her to lose more. She was enough for him: she always would be.
“Auraline grew up in horror. She felt cursed. And he was lost and wandering. They seemed destined for misery. Only they found each other, Jem. They were together and happy, all the days of their lives. Her story is just like mine, because I found you.”
Tessa’s smile lit the night. She always brought hope when he was in despair, as she had brought words when everything within him was silence. Jem put his arms around her and held on tightly.
“I hope you learned what you needed to learn tonight,” Alec told Jem and Tessa when they reached their rooms.
Jem had looked upset when he bolted from the fireside, but he and Tessa had seemed different when they returned.
“I hope they’re all right,” Alec said quietly to Lily when Jem and Tessa went off to prepare for their midnight visit to the warlock’s house.
“Of course Tessa’s fine,” said Lily. “You do realize she gets to go to the Jem-nasium anytime she wants?”
“I’m never talking to you again if those names don’t stop,” Alec told her, gathering his arrows and tucking daggers and seraph blades into his weapons belt. He found himself thinking of the heartbroken way Jem said parabatai. It made him remember the shadow that hung over his father, the wound where a parabatai should be. It made him think of Jace. Ever since he could remember, Alec had loved and felt responsible for his family. There had never been any choice, but with Jace it was different. Jace, his parabatai, the first person who’d ever chosen him. The first time Alec had decided to choose someone back, to take on another responsibility. The first choice, opening the door to all the others.
Alec took a deep breath and tapped out Miss u into his phone.
He immediately received back Miss u too and let himself take a breath, the ache in his chest easier now. Jace was there, waiting for him in New York with the rest of his family. Talking about feelings wasn’t so bad.
Then he received another text.
R U OK?
In rapid succession, Alec received several more texts.
R U IN SOME KIND OF TROUBLE?
DID U GET HIT IN UR HEAD!
Then he got a text from Clary.
Why did Jace get a text from you and look very pleased but then suddenly very worried? Is something going on?
Talking about feelings was the worst. Once you did it, everybody immediately wanted you to do it more.
Alec typed out a grouchy I’m fine and then called out cautiously, “Rafe?”
Rafael popped immediately up from his bed.
“Would you like the phone back?” asked Alec. “Here it is. Take it. Don’t worry if any more texts arrive. Just show me if there are any more pictures.”
He didn’t know how much Rafael understood of what he said. He suspected not much, but Rafe certainly understood the gesture of Alec offering his phone. He held out his hands eagerly.
“You’re a good kid, Rafe,” said Alec. “Take that phone away.”
“Are we going to smuggle our way into the house in laundry carts?” Lily asked Alec excitedly.
Alec blinked at her. “No, we’re not. What laundry carts? I’m a straightforward person. I’m going to knock on the door.”
He stood, with Lily, on the cobbled street before that great gray house. Jem and Tessa were waiting on the roof. Alec had literally used rope to tie Rafe to Jem’s wrist.
“I know Rafe stole your phone,” said Lily, “but who stole your sense of adventure?”
Alec waited, and the door opened. A warlock blinked up at him. He looked as if he was in his early thirties, a businessman with close-cropped blond hair and no visible warlock mark until he opened his mouth and Alec saw his forked tongue.
“Oh, hello,” he said. “Are you another of Clive Breakspear’s men?”
Alec said: “I’m Alec Lightwood.”
The warlock’s face cleared. “I see! I’ve heard of you.” He winked. “Fond of warlocks, aren’t you?”
“Some of them,” said Alec.
“Want your cut, I expect?”
“That’s right.”
“No problem,” the warlock told him. “You and your vampire friend should come in, and I’ll explain what I’ll want in return. I think the vampire will be very amused. They don’t like werewolves, do they?”
“I don’t like most people,” Lily said helpfully. “But I do love murder!”
The warlock waved his hand to let them through the wards, and led them through a hexagonal hall with a ceiling carved in a shape like a plaster jelly mold. The green quartz of the floor shone like jade. There were no signs of ruin or decay here. The warlock obviously had money.
There were several doors, all painted white, set in the many walls. The warlock chose one and led Alec and Lily down rough-hewn stone steps into the dark. The smell hit Alec before the sight did.
There was a long stone passage, with flaming torches on the walls and with grooves on either side for filth and blood. Along the passageway were rows of cages. Eyes shone from behind the bars, catching the firelight in the same way Juliette’s eyes had shone from her throne in the Shadow Market. Some cages were empty. In others were huddled shapes that were not moving.
“So you’ve been taking werewolf women, and the Shadowhunters have been helping you,” said Alec.
The warlock nodded, with a cheery smile.
“Why werewolves?” Alec asked grimly.
“Well, warlocks and vampires can’t bear children, and faeries find it difficult,” said the warlock in a practical tone. “But the werewolves whelp more easily, and there’s a great deal of animal strength. Everybody says that Downworlders can’t bear warlock children, that their bodies always reject them, but I thought of putting a little magic in the mix. People whisper about a warlock born from a Shadowhunter woman, and that’s probably a myth, but it got me thinking. Imagine the power a warlock
might have, with a werewolf mother and a demon father.” He shrugged. “Seems worth trying. Of course, you do use up the werewolf women at a terrible rate.”
“How many have died?” Lily asked casually. Her expression was unreadable.
“Oh, a few,” the warlock admitted genially. “I’m always in need of fresh supply, so I’m happy to pay you to snatch more. But these experiments haven’t been going as well as I’d like. Nothing has worked yet. You’re, uh, close to Magnus Bane, aren’t you? I’m probably the most powerful warlock you’ll ever meet, but I hear he’s pretty good too. If you can get him to come on in an assisting capacity, you’ll be very well rewarded. So will he. I think you’ll both be very happy.”
Alec said: “Yeah, I hope so.”
It wasn’t the first time someone had assumed Magnus was for sale. It wasn’t the first time someone had assumed that because Alec was connected to Magnus, Alec was sullied.
That used to make Alec angry. It still did, but he’d learned to use it.
The warlock turned his back to Alec, surveying the cages as if selecting a product from a market stall. “So, what do you say?” he asked idly. “Do we have a deal?”
“I don’t know yet,” said Alec. “You don’t know my price.”
The warlock laughed. “What is it?”
Alec scythed the warlock’s feet out from under him, so he fell to his knees. He drew his seraph blade and held it to the man’s throat.
“All the women go free,” he said. “And you are under arrest.”
Alec realized why the warlock were burning torches, and not witchlight or electricity, when a torch tumbled out of the wall and onto the straw. He had to leap to stamp out the fire.
The warlock was good, Alec thought, as the world went orange with not just fire but magic, criss-crossing from the bars, blinding Alec with its light.
The Land I Lost (Ghosts of the Shadow Market Book 7) Page 8