City of Heavenly Fire

“Why?”


“They do not trust me, the Shadowhunters,” said Raphael simply. “But they trust you. Especially the New York Nephilim. Look at you. You wear Isabelle Lightwood’s necklace. They know you are more like another Shadowhunter than you are like the Night’s Children. They will believe what you say if you tell them that Maureen has broken the Accords and must be stopped.”

“Right,” Simon said. “They trust me.” Raphael looked at him with wide, guileless eyes. “And this has nothing to do with your not wanting the clan to find out you turned Maureen in, because they like her, and then they’d turn on you like weasels.”

“You know the children of the Inquisitor,” he said. “You can testify directly to him.”

“Sure,” Simon said. “No one in the clan will care that I ratted on their queen and got her killed. I’m sure my life will be fantastic when I get back.”

Raphael shrugged. “I do have supporters here,” he said. “Someone had to let me into this room. Once Maureen is taken care of, it is likely we can return to New York with few negative consequences.”

“Few negative consequences.” Simon snorted. “You’re a comfort.”

“You are in danger anyway, here,” said Raphael. “If you did not have your werewolf protector, or your Shadowhunters, you would have met eternal death many times over. If you do not wish to come with me to Alicante, I will be happy to leave you here in this cage, and you may be Maureen’s plaything. Or you can join your friends in the Glass City. Catarina Loss is waiting downstairs to make a Portal for us. It is your choice.”

Raphael was leaning back, one leg bent, his hand dangling loosely over his knee as if he were relaxing in the park. Behind him, through the bars of the cage, Simon could see the outline of another vampire standing by the door, a dark-haired girl, her features in shadow. The one who had let Raphael in, he guessed. He thought of Jordan. Your werewolf protector. But this, this clash of clans and loyalties, and above all Maureen’s murderous desire for blood and death, was too much to lay at Jordan’s door.

“Not much of a choice, is it?” Simon said.

Raphael smiled. “No, Daylighter. Not much at all.”



The last time Clary had been in the Hall of Accords, it had been nearly destroyed—its crystal roof shattered, its marble floor cracked, its central fountain dry.

She had to admit the Shadowhunters had done an impressive job of patching it up since then. The roof was back in one piece, the marble floor clean and smooth and veined with gold. The arches soared overhead, the light that shone down through the roof illuminating the runes carved into them. The central fountain with its mermaid statue glimmered under the late afternoon sunlight, which turned the water to bronze.

“When you get your first real weapon, it’s traditional to come here and bless the blade in the fountain waters,” said Jace. “Shadowhunters have been doing it for generations.” He moved forward, under the dull gold light, to the fountain’s edge. Clary remembered dreaming of dancing with him here. He looked back over his shoulder and gestured for her to join him. “Come here.”

Clary moved up to stand beside him. The central statue in the fountain, the mermaid, had scales made of overlapping bronze and copper gone green with verdigris. The mermaid held a pitcher, from which water poured, and her face was set in a warrior’s grin.

“Put the blade in the fountain and repeat after me,” said Jace. “Let the waters of this fountain wash this blade clean. Consecrate it to my use alone. Let me use it only in the aid of just causes. Let me wield it in righteousness. Let it guide me to be a worthy warrior of Idris. And let it protect me that I may return to this fountain to bless its metal anew. In Raziel’s name.”

Clary slipped the blade into the water and repeated the words after him. The water rippled and shimmered around the sword, and she was reminded of another fountain, in another place, and Sebastian sitting behind her, looking at the distorted image of her own face. You have a dark heart in you, Valentine’s daughter.

“Good,” Jace said. She felt his hand on her wrist; the water of the fountain splashed up, making his skin cool and wet where it touched hers. He drew back her hand with the sword in it, and released her so that she could lift the blade up. The sun was even farther down now, but there was enough of it to strike sparks off the obsidian stars along the central ridge. “Now give the sword its name.”

“Heosphoros,” she said, sliding it back into its scabbard and tucking the scabbard into her belt. “The dawn-bringer.”

He huffed out a laugh, and bent to feather a kiss against the corner of her mouth. “I should get you home—” He straightened up.

“You’ve been thinking about him,” she said.