They sat for a moment in silence, both of them looking out over the Imperishable Fields. “When you were a Silent Brother,” Emma said abruptly, “did you burn people?”

Jem looked over at her. His eyes were very dark. “I helped light the pyres,” he said. “A clever man I knew once said that we cannot understand life, and therefore we cannot hope to understand death. I have lost many I loved to death, and it does not get easier, nor does watching the pyres burn.”

“We are dust and shadows,” Emma said. “I guess we’re all ashes, too.”

“It was meant to make us all equal,” said Jem. “We are all burned. Our ashes all go to build the City of Bones.”

“Except for criminals,” said Emma.

Jem’s brow furrowed. “Livia was hardly that,” he said. “Nor you, unless you are thinking of committing a crime?”

I already have. I’m criminally in love with my parabatai. The desire to say the words, to confess to someone—to Jem, specifically—was like a pressure behind Emma’s eyes. She said hastily, “Did your parabatai ever pull away from you? When you, you know, wanted to talk?”

“People do strange things when they’re grieving,” said Jem gently. “I was watching from a distance, earlier. I saw Julian climb to the top of the pyre for his brother. I know how much he has always loved those children. Nothing he says or does now, in these first and worst days, is who he is. Besides,” he added, with a slight smile, “being parabatai is complicated. I hit my parabatai in the face once.”

“You did what?”

“As I said.” Jem seemed to enjoy her astonishment. “I struck my parabatai—I loved him more than anyone else in the world I’ve ever loved save Tessa, and I struck him in the face because my heart was breaking. I can hardly judge anyone else.”

“Tessa!” Emma exclaimed. “Where is she?”

Jem’s hand made a fist in the grass. “You know of the warlock illness?”

Emma recalled hearing of Magnus’s weakness, the swiftness with which his magic was depleted. That it wasn’t just him, it was other warlocks too.

“Is Tessa sick?” she said.

“No,” Jem said. “She was ill, but recovered.”

“Then the warlocks can get better?”

“Tessa is the only one who has conquered the sickness. She believes she is protected by her Shadowhunter blood. But more and more warlocks are falling ill now—and those who are older, who have used more magic and more powerful magic, are sickening first.”

“Like Magnus,” Emma whispered. “How much does Tessa know about it? What have they figured out?”

“Tessa thinks it might be connected to the spells Malcolm Fade used to raise Annabel,” said Jem. “He used the ley lines to power his necromantic magic—if they’re poisoned with that darkness, it might be communicating that poison to any warlock who uses them.”

“Can’t warlocks just not use them?”

“There are only a few sources of power,” said Jem. “Ley lines are the easiest. Many of the warlocks have stopped using them, but it means they’re exhausting their powers very quickly, which is also unhealthy.” He gave her an unconvincing smile. “Tessa will solve it,” he said. “She found Kit—she’ll discover the answer to this as well.”

Jem bent his head. He kept his hair short, and Emma could see the marks of his Silent Brother scars, where runes of silence had once been placed, along his cheek.

“I wanted to talk to you about Kit, actually,” he said. “It’s partly why I came.”

“Really? Because of Kit? He’s all right, as far as I know. Sad, like the rest of us.”

“Kit is more than just a Herondale,” he said. “The Herondales are important to me, but so are the Carstairs and Blackthorns. But Tessa and I knew Kit was in danger from the first time we found out what his heritage was. We rushed to find him, but Johnny Rook had hidden him well.”

“His heritage? Johnny Rook was a con man and Kit says his mother was a showgirl in Vegas.”

“Johnny was a con man, but he also had some Shadowhunter blood in his family—from a long time back, probably hundreds of years. That’s not what’s significant about Kit, though. What’s significant is what he inherited from his mother.” He hesitated. “Kit’s mother’s family has been hunted by faeries for many generations. The Unseelie King has been bent on their destruction, and Kit is the last of their line.”

Emma fell sideways onto the grass. “Not more faeries,” she groaned.

Jem smiled, but his eyes were troubled. “Kit’s mother was murdered by a Rider,” he said. “Fal. I believe you knew him.”

“I believe I killed him,” said Emma. She pushed herself back up to sit beside Jem. “And now I’m glad. He murdered Kit’s mom? That’s awful.”

“I cannot tell you as much as I wish I could,” said Jem. “Not quite yet. But I can tell you there is faerie blood in Kit’s family. Kit’s mother was hunted, and so was her father, on through the generations. Kit is alive because his mother went to great lengths to conceal the fact that he was born. She covered every link between them, and when she died, the King thought the line died with her.”

“And that’s changed?” said Emma.

“We fear it might have,” said Jem. “Tessa and I left Kit with you at the Institute because the warlock sickness was already beginning. We did not know then whether it was something that could spread to humans. We also needed to be in the Spiral Labyrinth and they would not let us bring Kit. We always intended to return for him—we had no idea the Riders would be dispatched to find you. We cannot know whether or not they recognized him. He looks a great deal like his mother.”

“I don’t think so,” said Emma. Kit looked just like Jace, in her opinion.

“So are you going to take Kit with you now?” said Emma. “We don’t want to lose him, but if you have to—”

“The warlock sickness has only worsened. Tessa and I are working day and night in the Spiral Labyrinth to find a cure. And there is something else.” He hesitated. “Tessa is pregnant.”

“Oh! Congratulations!” It was the first good news Emma had gotten in what felt like forever.

Jem smiled the sort of smile that made it look as if a light had turned on inside him. He had been alone so long, Emma knew, imagining that he would never have a family. To have a wife now and a baby on the way—the very ordinary sort of miracles that made up an ordinary life—must be extraordinary for him.

“It is wonderful,” he said. He laid a hand on hers. “I trust you, Emma. I wish only to ask you to look out for Kit, and if you see something suspicious—if you see any signs of a search—please tell me. I will come at once.”

“Should I send a fire-message?” Emma said, her happiness over the baby fading.

“Sometimes it is not possible to send a fire-message. There are easier ways.” He pressed something into her hand. A simple silver ring with a clear stone set into it. “It’s glass,” he said. “Smash the ring and Tessa will know; she has the matching one.”

Emma slid the ring onto her finger. She thought of Kit, standing faithfully beside Ty at the funeral. She thought of his pale curls and blue eyes and gamine face; should she have guessed he had faerie blood somewhere? No. He didn’t look like Mark. He looked like a Herondale. Like that was all he was. “You can trust me,” she said. “I’ll look out for Kit. Is there anything I can do about the ley lines?”

“It would be useful to have a Shadowhunter in Los Angeles checking out the locus point of Malcolm’s magic,” said Jem. “When you get home, contact Catarina Loss. She may want your help.”

“I will,” Emma said. “It’s good for me to have a purpose, I think. Livvy’s dead—Jace and Clary are on a mission and can’t be reached—and Horace Dearborn is the Inquisitor. It’s like there’s no hope for anything now.”

“There is always hope,” said Jem. “When I was very young, it was still permitted to take spoils—the property of Downworlders could be confiscated by any Shadowhunter. I knew a man who kept the heads of slaughtered faeries in the Institute he ran.”

Emma made a nauseated noise.

“There has ever been this strain of poison running through the dark heart of the Clave. But there are many more who know Downworlders are our brothers. We are all children under the Angel.” He sighed. “And though I cannot remain with you, simply smash this ring and I will come, no matter how distant I may be.” He put an arm around her and hugged her close for a moment. “Take care, mèi mei.”

“What does that mean?” Emma asked. But he was already gone, vanishing into the trees as swiftly as he’d come.

*

Kit stood and watched the smoke rising in the distance through the window of the room he shared with Ty.