Oddly touched, she smiled at him. “Do you think that we’ll ever hear anything from Idris?”

“Ever is a long time.” He folded his arms on his knees. There had been no communication so far. Alec—the Consul—had sent a fire-message to Idris the day the Cold Peace was officially dissolved, but there had been no response. They couldn’t even be sure it had been received; the wards around Idris now were thicker and stronger than any wards seen before. The Shadowhunter homeland had become both prison and fortress. “Zara is very stubborn. It could be a long time.” Diego paused. “Alec offered me the position of Inquisitor. Of course there has to be a vote, but—”

Cristina flung her arms around his wide shoulders. “Congratulations! That’s wonderful!”

But Diego didn’t look entirely happy. “I feel as if I do not deserve to be Inquisitor,” he said. “I knew the Council guards, the ones who work in the Gard, were under the sway of the Cohort. I said as much to Jaime when they came in escorting Zara and the other prisoners. But I did not raise an objection. I believed it could not be possible that I alone saw a potential problem.”

“No one could have foreseen what happened,” said Cristina. “No one would have imagined that suicide gambit, and nothing else would have worked, even if they did have the guards on their side. Besides, being the Inquisitor isn’t a favor or reward. It is a service you give. It’s a way of paying back the world.”

He started to smile. “I suppose so.”

She winked. “Also, I’m happy to know that if I need someone to bend the Law in my favor, I will have a powerful friend.”

“I see you have learned way too much from the Blackthorns,” Diego said darkly.

A shadow passed over them—darker than a cloud, and too large to be a seagull. Drawing back from Diego, Cristina tipped her head back. A flying figure soared through the sky, shimmering white against the dark blue. It circled, and then began to descend, preparing to alight on the sand.

Cristina bolted to her feet and began to scramble down the rocks toward the beach.

*

The sun had dipped to touch the edge of the horizon. It was a massive glowing ball of orange and red now, illuminating the ocean with bands of metallic gold.

Julian stood at the high-water mark, a defined darker stripe on the sands. Emma was beside him, her pale gold hair escaping the clip she’d put in to hold it back; secretly, he was pleased. He loved her hair. He loved being able to stand next to her like this, to take her hand and have no one blink. In fact, nearly everyone they knew seemed so extremely fine with it that he wondered if many of them hadn’t already had suspicions.

Maybe they had. He didn’t mind.

He’d been painting again—Emma, when he could get her to sit still and be a model. He had painted her for so long in secret, the paintings his only outlet for his feelings, that painting her moving and laughing and smiling, a blur of golds and blues and ambers, was almost more than his heart could take.

He painted Ty, down by the water’s edge, and Dru looking thoughtful or scowling, and Helen and Aline together, and Mark with his eyes raised to the sky as if he were always looking for the stars.

And he painted Livvy. He painted the Livvy he had always known and loved, and sometimes he painted the Livvy in Thule who had helped heal his heart from the wound of his sister’s loss.

It would never be entirely healed. It would always hurt, as his mother’s death did, as his father’s death did. As Arthur’s death did. He would be as everyone was, especially Shadowhunters: a patchwork of love and grief, of gains and losses. The love helped you accept the grief. You had to feel it all.

He knew that now.

“Can I talk to you, Jules?”

Julian turned, still holding Emma’s hand; it was Mark. The gold light of the sun made his golden eye shine brighter; Julian knew he was still mourning Kieran’s loss, but at least now, on the beach with his family, he was smiling.

“No worries,” Emma said with a smile. She kissed Julian’s cheek and headed down the beach to talk to Clary, who was standing with Jace.

Mark shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Jules,” he said again. “Alec has offered me a job—helping run the Alliance—and I’m not sure whether I should take it. I feel like I should stay here and help Helen and Aline while you have your travel year so you don’t have to worry. You took care of everything for so long. I should be taking care of things now.”

Julian felt a rush of love for his brother—if there had ever been any jealousy, it was gone. He was only glad to have Mark back.

He put his hands on his brother’s shoulders. “Take the job,” he said.

Mark looked surprised. “Take it?”

“You don’t need to worry. Things aren’t the way they were anymore,” Julian said, and for the first time, as he said the words aloud to his brother, he truly believed them. “In the past, I had to take care of things because there was no one else who could do it. But now Helen and Aline are home. They want to take care of the Institute, the kids—it’s all they wanted for years.” He dropped his voice. “You’ve always been part of two worlds. Faerie and Nephilim. This sounds like a way you can make having both a strength. So do it. I want you to be happy.”

Mark pulled him into a fierce hug. Julian held his brother, with the tide crashing over both their feet, held him as tightly as he had imagined clinging to him during all the years he was away.

“Mark! Mark!”

The brothers drew away from each other; Julian turned in surprise to see Cristina racing toward them along the beach, zigzagging between the startled partygoers. Her cheeks were bright red with excitement.

She reached them and seized hold of Mark’s hand.

“Mark, mira,” she said, her voice rising with excitement. “Look!”

Julian craned his head back—everyone was, the whole party transfixed by the sight of a Faerie horse circling over them. A white horse with scarlet eyes, two gold hooves and two silver. It was Windspear, and Kieran was on his back.

The sun was setting in a final blaze as Windspear landed on the beach, sand puffing up around his hooves. Max yelled in delight at the sight of the pony, and Magnus grabbed him back hastily as Kieran leaped down from the horse’s back. He was all in dark blue, the sort of elaborate costume Julian could only barely begin to understand—there was definitely velvet and silk involved, and some kind of dark blue leather, and rings on all his fingers, and his hair, too, was dark blue. He looked ethereal and startling and a little bit alien.

He looked like a King of Faerie.

His eyes roved restlessly around the group of partygoers and locked in on Mark and Cristina. Slowly, Kieran began to smile.

“Remember,” Mark said, his hand in Cristina’s, whispering in a voice so low Julian wondered if he was supposed to hear it at all. “Remember that all of this is real.”

He and Cristina began to run. Windspear took off into the air, circling happily overhead. Julian saw Emma, standing near the chocolate fountain, clasp her hands together in delight as Mark, Kieran, and Cristina threw themselves into each other’s arms.

*

“So,” Alec said. He and Magnus had found shelter in the lee of a large rock, its surface worn to a granular texture by years of salt and wind. Magnus, leaning against it, looked young in a way that made Alec’s heart break with a mixture of love and nostalgia. “Since I’m the Consul now, I guess I make the rules.”

Magnus raised an eyebrow. In the distance, Alec could hear the sounds of the party: people laughing, music, Isabelle calling to Max and Rafe. She’d been put in charge of watching them while Alec and Magnus took a moment to themselves. Alec knew that by the time they got back, both kids would be covered in glittery eyeliner, but some sacrifices were worth the makeup remover.

“Was that flirting?” Magnus said. “Because I have to tell you I’m more in than I thought I would be.”

“Yes,” said Alec. He paused. “No. A little bit.” He laid a hand over Magnus’s heart, and Magnus looked at him with thoughtful green-gold eyes, as if sensing that Alec was serious. “I mean I make all the rules. I’m in charge now.”

“I told you already I was in,” Magnus said.

Alec slid his hand up to cup his boyfriend’s jaw. There was light stubble on Magnus’s skin, which Alec always loved. It made him think of the way Magnus looked when he first woke up, before the rest of the world saw him, before he put on his clothes like armor, when he was just Alec’s.

“We could get married,” he said. “In warlock blue and Shadowhunter gold. The way we always wanted.”

An incredulous smile spread over Magnus’s face. “You’re really asking me . . . ?”