“This thing,” Will said cheerily to Thomas, “is bloody heavy.”

“Is that the Mortal Sword?” said Alastair, looking incredulous.

“We had the Mortal Sword with us in Paris—we brought it as a show of good faith, to demonstrate that we would be nothing but truthful to the vampires of Marseilles. We hurried home as soon as we finished our business with them. Good to see you, young Alastair. I heard what you did for Thomas. Very thoughtful.”

“Just reporting what I saw,” said Alastair, who seemed in danger of retreating into his usual sulk.

“Oh, indeed,” said Will, a gleam in his eye. “Now, for the bad news—”

“We asked if we could do this privately,” said Tessa. “Just the four of us. But the Inquisitor wouldn’t hear of it. He insists on being present.”

“Technically, darling, being present during interrogations is his job,” said Will.

Tessa sighed. “I’m sure at one point in history there’s been a pleasant, grandfatherly sort of Inquisitor, and we’ve just never met them,” she said. “Will, dear, I’m going to check in with Gabriel and Cecily. Lucie’s off at James and Cordelia’s—the minx ducked out last night and left a note. We’ll have to remind her about showing proper respect to one’s aunt and uncle and asking permission before disappearing in the middle of the night to pay social calls.”

She smiled affectionately at Will and gave Thomas an encouraging look before letting herself out of the Sanctuary.

“Thanks for coming here straight from Paris,” Thomas said, feeling grim.

“I thought, better to get it over with,” said Will. “Bit of trial by the Sword before breakfast, what?”

Alastair looked dismayed; Thomas, who was used to his uncle’s ways, shrugged. “You’ll get used to it,” he said to Alastair. “The more alarming the situation, the more frivolous my uncle’s demeanor becomes.”

“Is that right?” said Alastair bleakly.

“It is right,” said Will. “I do not believe my nephew is a murderer; therefore, he has nothing to fear from the Mortal Sword.”

“He might have something to fear from the Inquisitor,” said Alastair. “Bridgestock desperately wants it to be a Shadowhunter. He needs it to be, so he can have been right about the whole situation. If you let him run the interrogation—”

“I won’t,” Will said quietly.

The door of the Sanctuary pushed open a bit, and Matthew poked his head through. Thomas could see that behind him there was a press of people: he thought he saw Christopher, and Eugenia behind him, stretching for a glimpse through the doors. He wondered what time it was—morning, he thought, but beyond that it was anyone’s guess.

“Hullo, Thomas,” Matthew said with a smile, then looked over at Alastair and added in an icy voice, “Carstairs.”

“Fairchild,” said Alastair in an equally cold tone. Thomas thought perhaps Alastair was relieved to have some normalcy in this situation, even if it was just his and Matthew’s mutual contempt.

“Certainly not.” Inquisitor Bridgestock stalked into the Sanctuary, followed by Charlotte. It was a jolt to see Charlotte in her formal Consul robes. Beside her, Bridgestock was wrapped in the official black and gray of the Inquisitor—a long black cloak, figured with gray runes, a silver brooch at his chest, black boots with metal buckles. Thomas’s stomach swooped and fell; Bridgestock meant business. “Get out, Fairchild.”

Charlotte shot a glare at Bridgestock and turned to Matthew. “You’d better go, darling,” she said gently. “It’ll be all right. Charles Portaled back home this morning too, if you want to see him.”

“Not particularly,” said Matthew, and gave Thomas a mournful look as the Sanctuary door was shut between them. He mouthed something at Thomas that could have been encouragement, or could have been a recipe for lemon biscuits. Thomas had never learned lipreading.

Charlotte looked after her son for a moment before turning her attention to the matter at hand. “Thomas Lightwood,” she said. “Alastair Carstairs. This is to be a trial by the Mortal Sword. Do you understand what that entails?”

Thomas nodded. Alastair merely looked angry, which as Thomas would have guessed, earned them an explanation from the Inquisitor.

“The Mortal Sword is one of the gifts of Raziel,” he said pompously. “It compels any Shadowhunter holding it to tell the truth. It is our great weapon against corruption and evil in our own ranks. Thomas Lightwood, come forth and take the Sword.”

“I will bring it to him,” said Will, and now he didn’t sound jovial. His blue eyes were serious as he unsheathed the Sword from its scabbard and carried it to Thomas. “Lay your hands out palms up, my boy,” he said. “You will not be wielding the Sword. It will be testing you.”

Thomas held out his hands. He could sense Alastair watching him, tension stringing him tight. The whole Sanctuary seemed to be holding its breath. Thomas told himself he was innocent, but as the Sword descended toward him, doubts began to punch holes through his self-assurance. What if the Sword could see down into his soul, see every secret, everything he’d ever tried to hide?

Will placed the Sword, the blade flat, on Thomas’s upturned palms. Thomas sucked in a breath—the weight of the Sword was greater than he had imagined. It felt like a weight not just in his hands but dragging at his whole body, at his heart and blood and stomach. He wanted to gag but fought the feeling back.

He heard Bridgestock chuckle. “Look at him,” he said. “Big as a horse, that boy, but even he can’t withstand the force of Maellartach.”

Will was very still. Thomas stared at him desperately. Will Herondale was a man who, though not directly related to Thomas by blood, was essentially his family—his uncle, someone who could be trusted, kind and funny. As Thomas had gotten older, he’d begun to understand that behind that kind exterior was a smart and strategic thinker. He wondered how Will was going to play this particular situation.

Will looked him straight in the eye. “Did you murder Lilian Highsmith?”

Matthew and Christopher were herded down the corridor by a gaggle of muttering Enclave members—Gideon and Sophie, Eugenia, Gabriel and Cecily among them. Matthew couldn’t count the number of adults who had come up to him this morning and squeezed his shoulder, assuring him that everything would turn out fine for Thomas.

Of course, there were also the others—those who stared accusingly and shot dark, suspicious glances. Matthew was just glad that Christopher didn’t seem to notice even when people glared at him.

“I can’t say I care for leaving Thomas behind,” Christopher said, casting a mournful look over his shoulder as they were shepherded into the Institute’s main entryway. The double doors were open, and even more Enclave members were massed in the courtyard. Matthew could see the Pouncebys and Wentworths, all scowling.

“We’ve got no choice, Kit,” said Matthew. “At least Will and my mother are there along with Bridgestock. And Tom’s innocent.”

“I know,” Christopher said. He glanced around at the packed crowd and shivered a little. Maybe he noticed more than Matthew had thought. “D’you think James is all right?”