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“I know you’re aware of Shadowhunters,” he said. “A lot of people are, especially Downworlders and mundanes with the Sight. Which is what you thought you were, correct?” “I never thought I was a mundane,” said Kit. Didn’t Shadowhunters understand how it sounded when they used that word?
The Shadowhunter world is made up of families, each of which has a name that they cherish. Each family has a history we pass on to each successive generation. We bear the glories and the burdens of our names, the good and the bad our ancestors have done, through all our lives. We try to live up to our names, so that those who come after us will bear lighter burdens.”
“As far as Shadowhunters go, I’m a pretty big deal. Not to intimidate you.”
Oh Jace.
You’re fifteen years old. You might think you want to die, but trust me—you don’t.”
You’re a Herondale. Which, by the way, means that not only are you part of a stunningly good-looking family, but you’re also part of a family that owns a lot of valuable property, including a London town house and a manor in Idris, which you’re probably entitled to part of. You know, if you were interested.”
Cristina was finishing her caramel corn and looking sadly into the bag as if hoping more would appear.
“This is the best patrol we’ve ever done,” he said. “I have never been awarded a fish before.”
That was the worst thing: that he was right, that they still worked so perfectly together as parabatai. As warrior partners. As a matched pair of soldiers who could never, ever be parted.
It was at times like this he wished he was any good at flirting. He wasn’t. He had never in his life felt a flicker of desire for any girl who wasn’t Emma, so it was something he’d never learned to do.
“You should never have come here,” she said. “It’s not safe for either of you.” Kit looked bewildered. “You mean him,” he said, indicating Julian with a tilt of his head. “It’s not safe for him.” “Not for you, either, baby boy,” said a gravelly voice behind them.
“We’re not causing any trouble,” said Julian. “We came here to do business.” “Nephilim don’t ‘do business’ at Shadow Markets,” said Barnabas. “I think you’ll find they do,” said Julian. “A friend of mine bought some arrows here not that long ago. They turned out to be poisoned. Any ideas about that?” Barnabas jabbed a squat finger at him. “That’s what I mean,” he said. “You can’t turn it off, even if you want to, this thinking you get to ask the questions and make the rules.”
“Born a Shadowhunter, always a Shadowhunter,” he said. “You cannot wash the taint from your blood. I’m telling you for the last time, boy—leave the Market. And don’t come back.”
Johnny Rook hadn’t been much of a prize, but he was Kit’s father. You only got one father.
“Don’t poke me with any of your weird little magic wands,” he said.
“Ty isn’t weird,” Kit added. “He’s just autistic.”
“They hate me now,” Kit said. “Everyone I used to know.” “No,” said Julian. “They’re afraid of you. There’s a difference.”
He held his forearm out trustingly, wrist turned upward so the blue veins were exposed to the boy who’d held a knife to his throat not that long ago.
“I’m Zara Dearborn,” she said, finally, rolling her eyes. “I’m sure you’ve heard about me. I’m Diego’s fiancée.”
OH SHIT.
No one mentioned that technically, they had the Clave if they ran into trouble. But Clary and Jace had learned to be wary of the Clave when they were young, and it appeared that getting older hadn’t dimmed their suspicions.
“I’ll crash the wedding,” Emma suggested. “I’ll jump out of the cake, but not in a sexy way. Like, with grenades.”
“No one can read someone else’s mind or guess all their reasons,” he said. “Not even you, Emma.” He shut the door in her face.
“Passion is not easy. Nor is the lack of it.”
“You look sad,” said Mark. “I am sorry to have brought up the matter of love.” He touched her cheek. “In another life, perhaps. You and I.” Emma let her head fall back against the footboard. “In another life.”
“You’re Kit Herondale,” she said. “The lost Herondale.” “I didn’t realize I was lost,” said Kit. “I never felt lost.”
“Were you running away?” he said. “I was going for a walk,” said Kit. “No, you’re lying,” said Ty, eyeing Kit’s duffel bag. “You were running away.” Kit sighed and let his head fall back with a thump. “Why do you care what I do?” “I’m a Shadowhunter. We help people.” “Now you’re lying,” said Kit, with conviction.
Kit remember the first time he’d met Ty. Ty hadn’t been sitting on him then, but he had been holding a dagger to Kit’s throat. Kit had looked at him and forgotten the knife and thought, Beautiful.
It was Mark who reached for her, usually—for the small, quiet things, the hand on the shoulder, the brushing away of a stray eyelash, a quick embrace. There was an exquisite pain in watching that, more than there would have been in seeing them passionately embracing. After all, when you were dying of thirst, it was the sip of water you dreamed about, not the whole reservoir.
“Stop trying to make us feel guilty,” Samantha snapped. “We’re the ones who’ve been out all day trying to clean up the mess you made, trusting Malcolm Fade, like you could trust a Downworlder. Didn’t you people learn anything from the Dark War? The faeries stabbed us in the back. That’s what Downworlders do, and Mark and Helen will do it to you, too, if you’re not careful.”
FUCK THESE MOTHERFUCKERS.
Kit had always thought of his father as a small-time con man, a lovable rogue, a sort of Han Solo type, swindling his way across the galaxy. But lovable rogues didn’t get torn apart by demons the moment their elaborate protection spells fell apart.
There was no way to gently separate Jules and Emma. The mere action of separating them at all was like an act of violence, a tear in the fabric of the world.
“Whatever gods have done this,” Kieran whispered, “they are gracious to bring me the one my soul loves, in my last moments.”
“You won’t cut my son’s throat,” said the Unseelie King, gazing down at Julian with a look of disdain. “You’re a Shadowhunter. You have a code of honor.” “You’re thinking of Shadowhunters the way they used to be,” said Julian. “I came of age in the Dark War. I was baptized in blood and fire.”
“You have always been arrogant, whelp, thinking you belonged in the Court with the rest of us. I am the King’s favorite, not you. You earned no special place in his heart or the hearts of the Court.” “Yet they liked me better,” Kieran said quietly.
You have always needed Kieran so badly, you never had the chance to think about what you wanted with him before.”
My family loved you. More than they ever did me. You twisted a knife in their hearts.”
“I would rather be mad my way than yours,” said Arthur. “You had so much. Love once, and power, and immortal life, and you have thrown it away as if it were trash by the side of the road.” He glanced toward the twitching thing on the altar. “I wonder if she will still love you, the way you are now.”
“Mark and I,” Emma, said, looking very steadily at Mark. “We broke up.” Kit wondered if Mark had known that. He wasn’t able to hide the look of astonishment on his face.
There was something about being the focus of Tiberius’s gaze that was frightening and thrilling all at once.
“He gets like this when he’s uncomfortable. Sarcastic.” “Who knew that was an inherited trait?”
“One of them stabbed me.” “Which one?” Magnus asked. Barnabas pointed at Kit. “Dreadful business,” Magnus said. His left hand was down by his side. Surreptitiously, he gave Kit a thumbs-up.
“It seems to me we have two choices,” said Magnus. “You fight me, and you will not win, believe me, because I am very angry and I am older than any of you. And then I tell the Council. Or you let me walk away with these Nephilim children, we don’t fight, and I don’t report you to the Council. Thoughts?”
“I remember when I met him,” Alec said. He’d found two boxes and was dumping bandages into one, jars of powder into another. “When he arrived from Idris. He was skinny and he had bruises and he had these big eyes. He was arrogant, too. He and Isabelle used to fight….” He smiled at the memory. “But to me everything about him said, ‘Love me, because nobody ever has.’ It was all over him, like fingerprints. “He was worried about meeting you,” Alec added. “He’s not used to having living blood relatives. He cared what you thought. He wanted you to like him.”
“The Herondales have always been famous for their good looks,” said Bridget, “but if you ask me, the Lightwoods are the more sexually charismatic of the bunch.”
“My father does not have fans.” Kieran leaned against the edge of the table. “He has subjects. And enemies.” “And sons.” “His sons are his enemies,” said Kieran, without inflection.
“The Lightwood family motto is ‘We mean well.’ ” “Very funny.” Julian looked over at her. “No, really, it actually is.” “Seriously? So what’s the Herondale family motto? ‘Chiseled but angsty’?” He shrugged. ‘If you don’t know what your last name is, it’s probably Herondale’?” Emma burst out laughing. “What about Carstairs?” she asked, tapping Cortana. “ ‘We have a sword’? ‘Blunt instruments are for losers’?” “Morgenstern,” offered Julian. “ ‘When in doubt, start a war’?” “How about ‘Has even one of us ever been any good, like ever, seriously’?”
“You were not born for this life, of politics and plots and lies. Your brother is. Julian thrives at it. But you do not wish to make these kinds of bargains, where you ruin your soul to serve a greater good. You are kinder than that.”
“Your brother would burn the world if it saved his family. Some are like that. But you are not.”
I needed you for so long, Kieran. I needed you so much, and that kind of need, it bends you and warps you. It makes you desperate. It makes you not choose.” Kieran had frozen. “You’re saying you didn’t choose me?” “I’m saying the Wild Hunt chose us. I’m saying if you are finding strangeness in me, and distance, it is because I cannot help but ask myself, over and over: In another world, in another situation, would we still have chosen each other?” He looked hard at the other boy. “You are a gentry prince. And I am half-Nephilim, worse than the lowest chaff, tainted in blood and lineage.”
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Julian smiled at her blandly—the sort of smile that made everyone love him and trust him, that made him seem harmless. Forgettable even. But Emma saw through it to the razor blades beneath.
