Aline Penhallow, Head of the Los Angeles Institute:

White banners of mourning fly over our capital city today, and green flags to speed the healing of our hearts.

Heroes of the Dark War Jonathan Herondale and Clarissa Fairchild have been slain by Unseelie hands. They were on a mission for the Clave, and their deaths will be celebrated as the deaths of heroes. Their bodies have not yet been recovered.

Such a brutal breakage of the Cold Peace must be reckoned with. Starting this morning, at sunrise in Alicante, we shall consider ourselves in a state of War with Faerie-kind. Members of the Council will reach out to the Court to seek parley and reparations. If a faerie is seen outside their Lands, you are free to capture them and bring them to Alicante for questioning. If you must slay the faerie in question, you will not be in breach of the Accords.

Faeries are cunning, but we will prevail and avenge our fallen heroes. As always in a state of War, individual Shadowhunters are expected to return to Idris to report for duty within forty-eight hours. Please notify the Clave of your travel plans as Portal activity into Idris will be monitored.

Horace Dearborn, Inquisitor

NB: As our Consul, Jia Penhallow, is suspected of involvement with faeries, she is being held in the Gard tower until such time as she can be questioned.

“Jia?” Emma said in disbelief. “They jailed the Consul?”

“Aline is trying to reach Patrick,” said Helen in a low voice. “House arrest is one thing, but this is another. Aline’s frantic.”

“Who knows you’re alive?” Alec demanded, turning to Jace. “Who knows that what’s in this letter isn’t true?”

Jace looked startled. “The people in this house. Magnus—where is Magnus?”

“Sleeping,” Alec said. “So, besides us?”

“Simon and Izzy. Mom. Maia and Bat. That’s all.” He swiveled around in his chair. “Why? Do you think we should go to Alicante? Expose their lies?”

“No,” Julian said. His voice was quiet but firm. “You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Helen said.

“Because this isn’t a mistake,” said Julian. “This is a false flag operation. They believe you’re dead—they wouldn’t risk this if they didn’t—and they’re pinning the blame on Faerie to encourage a war.”

“Why would anyone want war?” said Helen. “Didn’t they see what the last one did?”

“People seize power in wars,” said Julian. “If they make faeries the enemy, they can make themselves the heroes. Everyone will forget the complaints they had about the current Council. They’ll unite behind them in a common cause. A war can begin with a single death. Here they have two—and both are famous, heroes to the Clave.”

Both Jace and Clary looked uncomfortable.

“I see a flaw in this plan,” said Jace. “They still have to fight and win a war.”

“Maybe,” said Julian. “Maybe not. It depends what their plan is.”

“I see another flaw,” said Clary. “We’re not actually dead. It’s pretty cocky of them to think they can get away with pretending we are.”

“I think they believe it,” said Emma. “The fight in the Court was chaos. They probably don’t realize who went through the Portal into Thule and who didn’t. And who knows what Manuel told them. He likes to bend the truth anyway, and without the Mortal Sword, he can bend away. I bet he wants a war.”

“But surely the Council won’t truly support the idea of a war with Faerie,” said Clary. “Or do you really think the whole Council is lost to us?”

Emma was surprised; Clary was looking at Julian as if she were deeply invested in his answer, though she was five years older. It was strange to think Julian’s sharp brilliance didn’t just belong to her, to his family.

“Enough of them are,” said Julian. “Enough of them have already gotten behind the Cohort and this message. Otherwise they wouldn’t be demanding we all return to Alicante in two days.”

“But we’re not going to do that,” said Mark. “We cannot go back to Alicante now. It is under the Cohort’s control.”

“And last time we were there, Horace sent us on a suicide mission,” Emma pointed out. “I don’t think we’d all be safe in Idris.” It was a sobering thought—Idris was their homeland, meant to be the safest place in the world for Shadowhunters.

“We’re not going,” Helen said. “Not only would it be unsafe but it would mean abandoning the warlocks to the ravages of the blight.”

“But Jace and Clary can’t go to Lake Lyn,” said Alec. His black hair was standing up in a ruffled mess, and his hands were tightened into fists. “All Portal activity is being monitored.”

“That’s why you didn’t leave at dawn,” Emma said, wondering how long Clary and Jace had been sitting here, staring at the letter in horror.

“But there has to be some way,” Jace said, gazing at Alec with desperation. “Clary and I can travel overland, or—”

“You can’t,” Emma interrupted. “There are pieces of this I don’t understand, but I can tell you one thing. The Cohort is using your deaths to get what they want. If the two of you go to Alicante and the Cohort hears about it, even a whisper, they’ll put everything they’ve got into killing you.”

“Emma’s right,” said Julian. “They have to keep believing you’re dead.”

“Then I’ll go,” Alec said. “Clary can make me a Portal to somewhere near Idris and I can cross the border on foot—”

“Alec, no. Magnus needs you here,” Clary said. “Besides, you’re the head of the Downworlder-Shadowhunter Alliance. The Cohort would love to get their hands on you.”

Kieran rose to his feet. “None of you can go,” he said. “What you Nephilim lack is subtlety. You would go galloping into Idris, bringing disaster down on all of us. Meanwhile, faeries can slip into Idris as swift as a shadow and bring back what you need.”

“Faeries?” Jace raised an eyebrow. “You seem to be one faerie. Maybe two if you count half of Helen and half of Mark.”

Kieran looked annoyed.

“Faeries are forbidden to even set foot on the soil of Idris,” said Alec. “There are probably wards up, and sensors—”

“Isn’t it convenient that there are faerie steeds who fly,” Kieran said, “and riders who ride those steeds, and that I am one?”

“This is kind of a rude way of offering help,” said Jace, and caught Clary’s eye. “But I’m all in,” he added. “Are you offering to fly into Idris and collect the water?”

Kieran had begun to pace. His dark hair had turned deep blue, threaded with white strands. “You will need more than one faerie. You will need a legion. Those who can fly into Idris, collect the water, destroy the blight, and bring the cure to warlocks all over the world. You need the Wild Hunt.”

“The Hunt?” said Mark. “Even with Gwyn as a friend of Diana’s, I do not think the Hunt would do this for Nephilim.”

Kieran drew himself up. For the first time, Emma saw some of his father in his stance and in the set of his jaw. “I am a prince of Faerie, and a Hunter,” he said. “I killed the Unseelie King with my own hands. I believe they will do it for me.”

*

On the roof, Kit could hear voices floating up from the kitchen below—raised and frantic voices. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about, though.

“A letter from Livvy,” he said, turning around to look at Ty. The other boy was sitting at the roof’s edge, his legs dangling over the side. Kit hated how close Ty was willing to get to the edges of things: Sometimes it seemed like he had no sense of spatial danger, the reality of what would happen if he fell. “The other Livvy, in the other universe.”

Ty nodded. His too-long hair fell into his eyes, and he pushed it back impatiently. He was wearing a white sweater with holes in the cuffs that he’d pushed his thumbs through, as if he were hooking the sleeves on. “Emma gave it to me. I wondered if you wanted to read it.”

“Yes,” Kit said. “I do.”

Ty held it out to him and Kit took the light envelope, looked at the scrawl on the cover. Tiberius. Did it look like Livvy’s handwriting? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t remember studying her handwriting; he knew he was forgetting the sound of her voice.

The sun was beating down on the roof, making Ty’s gold locket spark. Kit opened the letter and began to read.

Ty,

I’ve thought so many times about what I would say to you if you reappeared suddenly. If I was walking along the street and you popped out of thin air, walking along beside me like you always used to, with your hands in your pockets and your head tilted back.

Mom used to say you walked celestially, looking up at the sky as if you were scanning the clouds for angels. Do you remember that?