City of Heavenly Fire

“What runes?”


“I didn’t know them, but there was something wrong with them. Not like the Gray Book runes. They gave me a sort of sick feeling to look at. And he pushed his hood back—he had white hair, so I thought he was old at first. Then I realized it was Sebastian Morgenstern. He was holding a sword.”

“Can you describe the sword?”

“Silver, with a pattern of black stars on the blade and the handle. He took it out and he—” Julian’s breath skittered, and Clary could almost feel it, feel his horror at the recollection warring with the compulsion to tell it, to relive it. She was leaning forward, her hands in fists, hardly aware that her nails were digging into her palms. “He held it to my father’s throat,” Julian went on. “There were others with Sebastian. They were wearing red too—”

“Shadowhunters?” Jia said.

“I don’t know.” Julian’s breath was coming short. “Some wore black cloaks. Others wore gear, but their gear was red. I’ve never seen red gear. There was a woman, with brown hair, and she was holding a cup that looked like the Mortal Cup. She made my father drink out of it. He fell down and screamed. I could hear my brother screaming too.”

“Which brother?” asked Robert Lightwood.

“Mark,” said Julian. “I saw them start to move into the entryway, and Mark turned around and shouted for us to run upstairs and get out. I fell on the top step, and when I looked down, they were swarming all over him—” Julian made a gagging sound. “And my father, he was standing up, and his eyes were black too, and he started moving toward Mark like the rest of them, like he didn’t even know him—”

Julian’s voice cracked, just as the blonde girl wrenched herself free of Helen’s grasp and hurtled forward, throwing herself between Julian and the Consul.

“Emma!” Helen said, stepping forward, but Jia held out a hand to keep her back. Emma was white-faced and gasping. Clary thought she had never seen so much anger contained in such a small form.

“Leave him alone!” Emma shouted, throwing her arms out wide, as if she could shield Julian behind her, though she was a head shorter. “You’re torturing him! Leave him alone!”

“It’s okay, Emma,” Julian said, though the color was starting to come back into his face now that they were no longer questioning him. “They have to do it.”

She turned on him. “No, they don’t. I was there too. I saw what happened. Do it to me.” She held out her hands, as if begging for the Sword to be put into them. “I’m the one who stabbed Sebastian in the heart. I’m the one who saw him not die. You should be asking me!”

“No,” Julian began, and then Jia said, still gently:

“Emma, we will question you, next. The Sword is painful, but not harmful—”

“Stop it,” Emma said. “Just stop it.” And she walked over to Julian, who was holding the Sword tightly. It was clear he had no intention of trying to hand it over. He was shaking his head at Emma, even as she laid her hands over his, so that both of them were holding the Sword together.

“I stabbed Sebastian,” Emma said, in a voice that rang out through the room. “And he pulled the dagger out and laughed. He said, ‘It’s a shame you won’t live. Live to tell the Clave that Lilith has strengthened me beyond all measure. Perhaps Glorious could end my life. A pity for the Nephilim that they have no more favors they can ask of Heaven, and none of the puny instruments of war they forge in their Adamant Citadel can harm me now.’?”

Clary shuddered. She heard Sebastian through Emma’s words, and could almost see him, standing in front of her. Chatter had burst out among the Clave, drowning what Jace said to her next.

“Are you sure you didn’t miss the heart?” Robert demanded, his dark eyebrows drawn together.

It was Julian who answered. “Emma doesn’t miss,” he said, sounding as offended as if they had just insulted him.

“I know where the heart is,” Emma said, stepping back from Julian and casting a look of anger—more than anger, hurt—at the Consul and the Inquisitor. “But I don’t think you do.”

Her voice rose, and she spun and ran off the dais, practically elbowing her way past Robert. She disappeared through the door from which she had come, and Clary heard her own breath rush out through her teeth—wasn’t anyone going to go after her? Julian clearly wanted to, but, trapped between the Consul and Inquisitor, carrying the weight of the Mortal Sword, he couldn’t move. Helen was looking after her with an expression of raw pain, her arms cradling the youngest boy, Tavvy.