Kit could taste salt on his mouth. “I don’t know . . .”

Ty reached out a hand, sweeping his arm toward the horizon, where the stars were beginning to fade into the mist. The horizon was a black line smudged with silver. “Livvy is out there,” he said. “Just past where I can reach her, but I can hear her. She says my name. She wants me to bring her back. She needs me to bring her back.” The corner of Ty’s mouth trembled. “I don’t want to do it without you. But I will.”

Kit took another step into the ocean and paused. The deeper he went, the colder it got. And wasn’t that the case with everything, he thought. There are many ways to be endangered by magic.

I could walk away, he said to himself. I could let Ty do this on his own. But I can’t tell myself that it wouldn’t be the end of our friendship, because it would. I’d end up locked out of Ty’s plans, just like Helen, just like Dru. Just like everyone else.

It felt like the air was being choked out of his lungs. He spun back toward Ty. “Okay. I’ll do it. We can go to the Shadow Market tomorrow.”

Ty smiled. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that a smile broke across his face, like the sun rising. Kit stood breathless, the water receding around him, as Ty came up and put his arms around Kit’s neck.

He remembered holding Ty on the roof of the Institute in London, but that had been because Ty was panicking. It had been like holding a wild animal. This was Ty hugging him because he wanted to. The soft cotton of Ty’s shirt, the feeling of Ty’s hair brushing against his cheek as he hid his expression from Ty by burrowing his face against the other boy’s shoulder. He could hear Ty breathing. He threaded his arms around Ty, crossing his cold hands over Ty’s back. When Ty leaned into him with a sigh, he felt like he’d won a race he didn’t know he was running.

“Don’t worry,” Ty said quietly. “We’re going to get her back. I promise.”

That’s what I’m afraid of. But Kit said nothing aloud. He held on to Ty, sick with a miserable happiness, and closed his eyes against the prying light of the moon.

*

“We are here to help you,” said Cristina’s companion. Emma recognized him, belatedly: Prince Adaon, one of the Unseelie King’s sons. She had seen him the last time she was in Faerie. He was a tall faerie knight in the colors of Unseelie, handsome and dark-skinned, two daggers at his waist. He reached out to grasp the vines of their cell, which parted under his touch. Emma wriggled out through them and flung her arms around Cristina.

“Cristina,” she said. “You beautiful badass, you.”

Cristina smiled and patted Emma’s back while Adaon freed Julian and then Jace and Clary. Jace was the last to slip through the vines. He raised an eyebrow at Julian.

“What were you saying about wishing to be rescued?” he said.

“We cannot stay here long,” said Adaon. “There will come others, guards and knights alike.” He glanced up and down the row of cells, frowning. “Where are they?”

“Where are who?” said Emma, letting go of Cristina reluctantly.

“Mark and Kieran,” said Cristina. “Where are Mark and Kieran?”

“I came here to rescue my brother, not empty the palace’s prisons of criminals,” said Adaon, who Emma was beginning to think might not be the world’s most jolly person.

“We’re very appreciative of your efforts,” said Clary. She had noticed Emma was shivering with cold. She took off her denim jacket and handed it to Emma with a gentle pat on her shoulder.

Emma slipped the jacket on, too cold and tired and hurt to protest. “But—why would Mark and Kieran be here? Why are you here, Cristina?”

Adaon had begun to stride up and down the line of cells, peering into each one. Cristina looked around nervously. “Mark, Kieran, and I heard that Dearborn sent you on a suicide mission,” she said to Emma and Julian. “We came to help you.”

“But Mark isn’t with you?” said Julian, who had snapped to attention at the sound of his brother’s name. “Did you get separated here? Inside the tower?”

“No. They were kidnapped on the road, by the worst of my brothers,” said Adaon, who had returned from his search of the cells. “Cristina came to me for help. I knew Oban would have brought Mark and Kieran here, but I thought they would be in the prison.” His mouth set in grim lines. “Oban was always overeager. He must have taken them straight to my father instead.”

“You mean to the throne room?” said Emma, slightly dizzy with the suddenness with which things were happening.

“Yes,” said Adaon. “To the King. They would be valuable prizes, and Oban would be eager to collect.”

“They’ll kill Kieran,” Cristina said, a thin thread of panic in her voice. “He already escaped execution once. They’ll kill Mark, too.”

“Then we’d better get there and prevent it,” said Jace. Under the dirt and the beard, he was starting to look more like the Jace Emma had always known, the one she had once wanted to be like—the best warrior of all the Shadowhunters. “Now.”

Adaon gave him a scornful look. “It’s too dangerous for you, Nephilim.”

“You came here for your brother,” Julian said, his eyes blazing. “We’re going after mine. If you want to stop us, you’ll have to use force.”

“We should all go together,” Clary said. “The more of us there are, the more easily we can defeat the King.”

“But you are powerless here, Nephilim,” said Adaon.

“No,” Jace said, and the witchlight blazed up in his hand, light spearing through his fingers. They all stood bathed in its white light. Cristina stared with her mouth open; Adaon betrayed shock the way faeries usually did, by moving one or two facial muscles slightly.

“Very well,” he said coolly. “But I will not risk being caught by the guards wandering the tower openly, like fools. All of you walk before me. You will behave as my prisoners now.”

“You want us to act like prisoners being marched to the King?” said Julian, who didn’t look delighted at the thought.

“I want you to look afraid,” said Adaon, drawing his sword and motioning for them to get in front of him. “Because you should be.”

*

Diana had expected to be locked in a cell in the Gard’s prisons, but instead she was brought to a surprisingly luxurious room. A Turkish rug covered the floor and a fire burned high in a carved stone fireplace. Deep velvet armchairs were pulled up to the fire; she sat in one, stiff with tension, and stared out the picture window at the rooftops of Idris.

Her mind was full of Gwyn, and of Emma and Julian. What if she had sent Gwyn into danger? Why had she assumed he would travel to Faerie to find two Shadowhunters only because she had asked?

As for Emma and Julian, two words circled in her head like sharks, over and over.

Suicide mission.

Horace Dearborn entered, carrying a silver tray with a tea service on it. Now I’ve seen it all, Diana thought as he sat down and settled the tray on a small table between them.

“Diana Wrayburn,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to have a private conversation with you for a long time.”

“You could have invited me to the Gard at any time. You didn’t need to have me arrested in the woods.”

He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry it had to happen like that, but you were consorting with faeries and breaking the Cold Peace. Understand, I like a woman with spirit.” His gaze slid over her in a way that made her feel like shuddering.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Where’s Jia?”

Horace picked up the teapot and began to pour. Every move was measured and calm. “By the will of the Council, the Consul is under house arrest for the time being, until her connection with faeries is investigated.”

It wasn’t really a surprise, but it still felt like a blow. “Don’t tell me. Her trial will be held as soon as the Mortal Sword is ‘reforged,’??” Diana said bitterly.

He bobbed his head enthusiastically. “Exactly, exactly.” He set the teapot down. “An unfortunate situation. And one you could find yourself in—unless you’re willing to make a bargain with me.”

“What kind of bargain?”

He handed her a teacup; mechanically, Diana took it. “The next Council meeting will be a difficult one, as the Clave is brought to understand that future decisions must be arrived at without the Consul. A transition of power is always difficult, wouldn’t you say?”

Diana stared at him stonily.

“Let me be clear,” Horace said, and though his expression was easy and friendly, there was no friendliness in his eyes. “Take my side at the next Council meeting. You have influence over people. The L.A. Institute, the New York Institute—many Institutes will listen to you. If you back me as the next Consul, a replacement for Penhallow, so will they.”