“Stay back!” Annabel shouted. “Neither of you can enter the Portal! Not without Ash!”

Ash turned to look at the sound of his name; he was kneeling beside Jace, his hand on Jace’s shoulder. Ash’s face was twisted with what looked like grief.

Annabel began to advance on Emma. Her face was frighteningly blank, the way it had been that day on the dais. The day she’d thrust the Mortal Sword into Livvy’s heart and stopped it forever.

Behind Annabel, Julian lifted his free hand. Emma knew immediately what he meant, what he wanted.

She raised the Mortal Sword, gritting her teeth in pain, and threw it.

It flashed past Annabel; Julian cast his own sword aside and caught it out of the air. He swung its still-bloodied blade in a curving arc, slicing through Annabel’s spine.

Annabel gave a terrible, inhuman shriek, like the shriek of a fisher cat. She spun like a malfunctioning top, and Julian rammed the Mortal Sword into her chest, just as she’d done to Livvy.

He pulled the blade free, her blood dripping over his clenched fist, spattering his skin. He stood like a statue, gripping the Mortal Sword as Annabel collapsed to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut.

She lay on her back, her face upturned, a pool of scarlet beginning to spread around her, mixing with the torn frills of her red dress. Her hands, knotted into claws at her sides, relaxed in death; her bare feet were dark scarlet, as if she were wearing slippers made of blood.

Julian looked down at her body. Her eyes—still Blackthorn blue—were already beginning to film over.

“Queen of Air and Darkness,” he said in a low voice. “I will never be like Malcolm.”

Emma took a long, ragged breath as Julian handed her back the Mortal Sword. Then he tore the bloodied rag from his wrist and cast it down beside Annabel’s body.

Her blood began to soak into it, mixing with Livvy’s.

Before Emma could speak, she heard Ash cry out. Whether it was a cry of pain or triumph, she couldn’t tell. He was still kneeling beside Jace.

Julian held out his hand. “Ash!” he cried. “Come with us! I swear we’ll take care of you!”

Ash looked at him for a long moment with steady, unreadable green eyes. Then he shook his head. His wings beat darkly against the air; catching hold of Jace, he sailed upward, both of them vanishing into the cloudy sky.

Julian lowered his hand, his face troubled, but Livvy was already running toward him, her face white with distress. “Jules! Emma! The Portal!”

Emma swung around; the Portal had dimmed even further, its light wavering. Livvy reached Julian and he slung an arm around her, hugging her tight against his side.

“We have to go,” he said. “The Portal’s fading—it’ll only hang on for a few minutes now Annabel’s gone.”

Livvy pressed her face into Julian’s shoulder and, for a moment, hugged him incredibly tightly. When she let go, her face was shining with tears. “Go,” she whispered.

“Come with us,” Julian said.

“No, Julian. You know I can’t,” Livvy said. “My people finally have a chance. You gave us a chance. I’m grateful, but I can’t have Cameron die for the safety of a world that I’m willing to run away from.”

Emma was afraid Julian would protest. He didn’t. Maybe he’d been more prepared for this than she’d thought. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the Cup; it gleamed dull gold in the Portal light—the blue light of a sky with a real sun. “Take this.” He pressed it into Livvy’s hands. “With it, perhaps the Nephilim can be reborn here.”

Livvy cradled it in her fingers. “I may never be able to use this.”

“But you might,” Emma said. “Take it.”

“And let me give you one last thing,” Julian said. He bent and whispered in Livvy’s ear. Her eyes went wide.

“Go!” someone shouted; it was Raphael, who along with Diana, Bat, and Maia, was watching them. “You stupid humans, go before it is too late!”

Julian and Livvy looked at each other one last time. When he turned away, Emma thought she could hear the sound of his heart tearing itself apart: One piece would always be here, in Thule, with Livvy.

“Go!” Raphael shouted again; the Portal had narrowed to a gap smaller than a doorway. “And tell Magnus and Alec to rename their child!”

Emma slid her hand into Julian’s. Her other hand gripped the Mortal Sword. Julian looked down at her; in the sunlight of the Portal, his eyes were sea-blue.

“See you on the other side,” he whispered, and together they stepped through.

22

THE WORST AND THE BEST

The Silent City was empty, full of the echoes of past dreams and whispers. The torches in the walls were lit, casting a golden glow over the spires of bone and mausoleums of rhodolite and white agate.

Emma walked unhurried among the bones of the dead. She knew she should be anxious, perhaps hurrying, but she couldn’t remember why, or what she was seeking. She knew she was wearing gear—battle gear, black and silver as a starry sky. Her boots echoing on the marble were the only sound in the City.

She passed through a familiar room with a high, domed ceiling. Marble of all colors flowed together in patterns too intricate for the eye to follow. On the floor were two interlocking circles: This was where she and Julian had become parabatai.

Beyond that room was the Star Chamber. The parabolic stars glimmered on the floor; the Mortal Sword hung point-down behind the basalt Judges’ Bar, as if waiting for her. She took hold of it and found it featherlight. Crossing the room, she stepped into the square of the Speaking Stars.

“Emma! Emma, it’s me, Cristina.” A cool hand was holding hers. She was tossing and turning; there was a searing pain at her throat.

“Cristina,” she whispered, her lips dry and cracked. “Hide the Sword. Please, please, hide it.”

There was a click. The floor beneath her opened along an invisible seam, two slabs of marble rolling smoothly apart. Revealed beneath them was a square compartment containing a stone tablet, on which was painted a crude parabatai rune. It was neither fine work nor beautiful, but it radiated power.

Gripping the hilt of Maellartach, Emma brought it down, point first. The blade split the tablet apart and Emma staggered back in a cloud of dust and power.

It is severed, she thought. The bond is severed.

She felt no joy and no relief. Only fear as a whispering voice called her name: “Emma, Emma, how could you?”

She turned to see Jem in his Silent Brother robes. A red stain was spreading slowly across his chest. She cried out as he fell. . . .

“Emma, talk to me. You’re going to be all right. Julian’s going to be all right.” Cristina sounded on the verge of tears.

Emma knew she was in a bed, but it felt as if huge manacles had chained down her arms and legs. They were so heavy. Voices rose and fell around her: She recognized Mark’s voice, and Helen’s.

“What happened to them?” Helen said. “They appeared just a few moments after you, but in totally different clothing. I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.” Mark sounded wretched. Emma felt his hand brush her hair. “Emma, where have you been?”

Emma stood before the silver mirror. She saw herself reflected back: pale hair, runed skin, all familiar, but her eyes were the dull red of the moon in Thule.

Then she was falling, falling through the water. She saw the great monsters of the deep, shark-finned and serpentine-toothed, and then she saw Ash rise up through the water with his black wings gleaming silver and gold, and the monsters fell back from him in fear. . . .

She woke with a hoarse cry, struggling against the seaweed that dragged her down, into deeper water—she realized she was struggling against sheets that were wound around her, and sagged back, gasping for breath. Hands were on her shoulders, then brushing back her hair; a soft voice was saying her name.

“Emma,” Cristina said. “Emma, it’s all right. You’ve been dreaming.”

Emma opened her eyes. She was in her room in the Institute; blue paint, familiar mural on the wall of swallows in flight over castle towers, sunlight spilling through an open window. She could hear the sounds of the sea, of music playing in another room.

“Cristina,” Emma whispered. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

Cristina made a hiccuping noise and threw her arms around Emma, hugging her tightly. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry we left Faerie without you, it’s all I’ve been able to think about. I should never, never have left you—”

As if from a great distance, Emma remembered the Unseelie Court. How the flames had cut them off from Cristina and the others, how she had nodded at her, giving her permission to save herself, the others. “Tina!” she exclaimed, patting her friend on the back. Her voice was hoarse, her throat oddly sore. “It’s all right, I told you to go.”