Cordelia glanced over at Alastair. To her pleased surprise, Alastair rolled his eyes. In fact, if Charles had been hoping for a round of applause, it did not come: the room was silent.

Charles cleared his throat. “But of course there are many brave Shadowhunters who should be acknowledged, in addition to myself. Christopher Lightwood, of course, as well as Cordelia Carstairs and James Herondale.”

Tatiana Blackthorn shot to her feet. The bird on her hat trembled, but in that moment she did not seem ridiculous, as she often did. She seemed menacing. “James Herondale is a fraud!” she cried in a hoarse voice. “He has ties to demons! No doubt he worked in concert with them to orchestrate these attacks!”

Lucie made a choking sound. A murmur of astonishment raced around the room. Inquisitor Bridgestock looked absolutely flabbergasted. Cordelia looked over at James: he sat frozen, utterly expressionless. Christopher had his hand on James’s shoulder, but James had not moved.

Matthew’s hands closed into fists. “How dare she—”

Tatiana seemed to tower over the crowd. “Deny it, boy!” she shouted at James. “Your grandfather was a demon.”

Cordelia tried not to look at any of the Merry Thieves, or Lucie, either. Surely Tatiana couldn’t know about Belial? Surely she was only repeating what the whole Clave was already aware of—that Tessa was a warlock, and therefore, James had demon blood.

James kicked his chair back and stood, turning to face the room. Behind him, Will and Tessa stood stunned; Tessa was gripping Will’s shoulder, as if entreating him not to move. “I will not deny it,” he said, in a voice that dripped contempt. “Everyone knows it. It is true, it has always been true, and no one here has tried to hide it.”

“Don’t you see?” Tatiana raged. “He conspired with the enemy! I have been collecting evidence of his plots—”

“Then where is that evidence?” demanded Will. He was flushed with anger. “Damn it, Tatiana—”

“It was in my house,” she hissed. “In my house in Idris, I gathered it all, but then this boy, this demon’s spawn, burned my house to the ground! Why else would he do that, save to protect his secret?”

Cordelia felt as if her heart had stopped. She dared not look at any of the others—not Lucie, or Matthew, or Thomas. She could not even look at James.

“Tatiana,” Gabriel Lightwood said, rising to his feet, and Cordelia thought, Of course, he is her brother. “Tatiana, this makes no sense. Why have we heard nothing about this fire if it transpired? In fact, how do you know about it?”

Tatiana’s face twisted with rage. “You’ve never believed in me, Gabriel. Even when we were children, you didn’t believe anything I said. You know as well as I do that there is a Portal between Blackthorn Manor and Chiswick House. I went through this morning to get some papers and found the manor a smoldering heap of ash!”

It was Gideon’s turn to rise up. Recent grief had cut deep lines into his face; the look he turned on his sister was flinty. “That bloody house was a firetrap because you refused to look after it. It was going to burn down eventually. It is very ill done for you to try to drag James into this, very ill done!”

“Enough! All of you!” shouted Bridgestock. He had moved to the lectern, and his voice echoed loudly through the room. “James Herondale, is there any truth to what Mrs. Blackthorn says?”

“Of course there isn’t—” Will began.

Tatiana’s voice rose to a scream. “He told Grace he did it. Ask her what James said!”

“Oh God,” whispered Matthew. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, his fingers white. Lucie had dropped her pen and notebook: her hands were shaking.

Grace began to get to her feet. Her eyes were cast down. Someone in the crowd shouted that a trial by the Mortal Sword would clear things up; Tessa was still clutching Will, but looked sick to her stomach.

Cordelia chanced a look at James. He was the color of old ashes, his eyes blazing, his head thrown back. He would not defend himself, she thought. He would never explain.

And then there was Grace. What if Grace intended to tell the truth? Charles would throw her over just as he had done to Ariadne. He had no loyalty. She would be easy prey for her mother, then. She had so very much to lose.

“The fact is,” Grace began, in a voice barely above a whisper, “the—the truth is that James—”

Cordelia bolted to her feet. “The truth is that James Herondale did not burn down Blackthorn Manor last night,” she said, in a voice so loud she thought they could probably hear her on Fleet Street. “James cannot have been in Idris. He was with me. In my bedroom. All night.”

The gasp of shock that went around the room would almost have been satisfying, under other circumstances. Sona slumped against Alastair, burying her head in his chest. Heads whipped around; curious eyes fixed on Cordelia. Her heart beat like a trip-hammer. Anna gazed at her with a dumbfounded look. Will and Tessa seemed thunderstruck.

Matthew put his face in his hands.

Bridgestock was staring at Cordelia in amazement. “Are you quite sure about this, Miss Carstairs?”

Cordelia lifted her chin. She knew that she was compromised now, in the eyes of all the Enclave. More than compromised, she was ruined. She would never be married. She would be lucky if she was received at parties. Shadowhunters were less strict than mundanes about such matters, but a young woman who spent the night alone with a young man, in her bedroom no less, was not marriage material.

“Obviously, I am sure,” she said. “Which aspect do you think I am confused about?”

Bridgestock flushed. Rosamund Wentworth looked as if today had turned out to be her birthday. Cordelia did not dare glance at James.

Tatiana was spluttering. “Grace, tell them—”

In a clear voice, Grace said, “I’m sure Cordelia is correct. James must be innocent.”

Tatiana screamed. It was a horrible sound, as if she had been stabbed. “No!” she wailed. “If it wasn’t James, it was one of you!” She stabbed her finger at the crowd, identifying the Thieves. “Matthew Fairchild, Thomas Lightwood, Christopher Lightwood! One of them, one of them is responsible, I know it!”

Murmurs of speculation swept through the crowd. Bridgestock was calling out for order. As the chaos mounted, the front doors of the Sanctuary opened, and Charlotte Fairchild, the Consul, marched into the room.

She was a small woman, her dark brown hair gathered into a simple knot. There was gray at her temples. She wore a high-necked white blouse and a dark skirt; everything about her was neat and small, from her boots to her gold-rimmed spectacles. “I’m sorry to arrive late,” she said, in the practiced tone of someone used to pitching her voice loudly to be heard over a room full of men. “I was planning to be here earlier, but I was required to remain in Idris in order to investigate a fire that claimed Blackthorn Manor last night.”

“I told you! I told you they did it!” Tatiana cried.

Charlotte pressed her lips together. “Mrs. Blackthorn, I spent several hours with a group of Alicante guards, picking through the wreckage of your home. There were many items present that were associated with and imbued with necromantic magic and demonic magic, both of which are forbidden to Shadowhunters.”

Tatiana’s face folded up like old paper. “I had to have those things!” she wailed, in a voice like a broken child’s. “I had to use those things, I had to have them, for Jesse—my son died and none of you would help me! He died, and none of you would help me bring him back!” She gazed around the room with wet, hateful eyes. “Grace, why won’t you help me?” she shrieked, and crumpled to the floor.

Grace picked her way across the room to Tatiana. She laid a hand on her adoptive mother’s shoulder, but her face was stony. Cordelia could see no sympathy in it for Tatiana’s plight.

“I can confirm what Charlotte says.” It was Magnus Bane, who had gotten gracefully to his feet. “In January Mrs. Blackthorn attempted to hire me to help bring her son back from the dead. I declined, but saw much evidence of her dedication to the study of the necromantic arts. What many would call black magic. I should have said something then, but my heart was wrung with pity. Many wish to bring back their beloved dead. Few ever get very far.” He sighed. “When such objects fall into the hands of the untutored, it can be dangerous. Certainly that explains the tragic and entirely accidental fire that destroyed Mrs. Blackthorn’s manor house.”

There were yet more exclamations among the crowd. “Laying it on a bit thick, isn’t he?” Lucie murmured.

“Hardly matters—as long as the Clave believes it,” Matthew said.

Will inclined his head to Magnus; Cordelia had the feeling that there was a friendship there that went back a long way. Amid the uproar, Charlotte gestured at Inquisitor Bridgestock to take Tatiana into custody.

A hand fell on Cordelia’s shoulder. She looked up and saw James. Everything inside her chest seemed to tighten up, as if her heart were contracting. He was pale, two spots of color burning on his cheeks.

“Cordelia,” he said. “I need to talk to you. Right now.”

* * *

James slammed the door of the drawing room shut behind him and spun to face Cordelia. His hair actually seemed to have exploded, she thought, with a sort of bleak amusement. It was sticking out darkly in all directions.

“You cannot do this to yourself, Daisy,” he said, with a cold desperation. “You must take it back.”

“There is no taking it back,” she said, as James paced in front of the fireplace. There was no fire lit, but the room was not chilly: outside the sun shone brightly, and the world went about its business on a bright London day.

“Cordelia,” James said. “You will be ruined.”

“I know that.” A cold calm had descended upon her. “That is why I said what I said, James. I needed to be believed, and no one would believe that I would say such a terrible thing about myself unless it was true.”