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“Brother, you think like a faerie,” said Mark, in a tone that made Julian wonder if that was a good thing or not.
“Placing the lives of Shadowhunters above the lives of your own people—what could be worse?” “Selling your son to the Wild Hunt because you worried that people liked him better than they liked you,” said Mark. “That’s worse.”
Then he vanished, and the remaining Riders followed. One moment they were there, the next gone, winking out of existence like vanishing stars. Their swords crashed to the ground with the loud clang of metal against stone. “Hey,” muttered Kit. “Free swords.”
Kit looked annoyed. “I’ve been a Herondale for like three weeks,” he said. “And I’m not sure what I’ve gotten out of it.”
“I always figured that was kind of a pity thing, you and Julian Blackthorn,” said Manuel. “I mean, look at you. You’re hot, you’re skilled, you’re a Carstairs. Julian—he spends all his time with little kids. He’s an old man at seventeen.” Emma wondered what would happen if she threw Manuel through a window. Probably it would delay the meeting.
“This is what I want and what I’ve chosen,” he said. “How dare you tell me it’s a tragedy? Magnus never pretended, he never tried to fool me into thinking it would be easy, but choosing Magnus is one of the easiest things I’ve ever done. We all have a lifetime, Zara, and none of us know how long or short it might be. Surely even you know that. I expect you mean to be rude and cruel, but I doubt you meant to sound stupid as well.” She flushed. “But if you die of old age and he lives forever—” “Then he’ll be there for Max, and that makes both of us happy,” said Alec. “And I will be a uniquely
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“The Cohort is frightening,” Diego said. “But the Cohort is not the Centurions, and not all Centurions are like Zara. Rayan, Divya, Gen are good people. Like the Clave, it is an organization that has a cancer at its heart. Some of the body is sick and some healthy. Our mission is to discover a way to kill the sickness without killing all of the body.”
“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!”
That's SO RUDE.
Emma heard Arthur’s voice in her head. Mercy is better than revenge. But it was fainter than Julian’s whispers or Dru’s sobs.
