Wil closed his eyes. He saw the black basalt Council room, the two circles burning on the ground. Jem stepping from his circle to Wil ’s, so they inhabited the same space, circumscribed by fire. His eyes had stil been black then, wide in his pale face. Wil remembered the words of the parabatai oath. Whither thou goest, I will go; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the A ngel do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me. That same voice spoke again to him now. “Thank you for what you did for Tessa,” said Jem.
Wil could not look at Jem; he looked instead toward the wal , where their shadows blended together in relief, so that one could not tel where one boy ended and the other began. “Thank you for watching Brother Enoch pul shards of metal out of my back afterward,” he said.
Jem laughed. “What else are parabatai for?”
The Council chamber was draped with red banners slashed with black runes; Jem whispered to Tessa that they were runes of decision and judgment.
They took their seats toward the front, in a row that also contained Henry, Gideon, Charlotte, and Wil . Tessa had not spoken to Wil since the day before; he had not been at breakfast, and had joined them in the courtyard late, stil buttoning his coat as he ran down the stairs. His dark hair was disheveled, and he looked as if he had not slept. He seemed to be trying to avoid looking at Tessa, and she, in turn, avoided returning his gaze, though she could feel it flicking over her from time to time, like hot flecks of ash landing on her skin.
Jem was a perfect gentleman; their engagement was stil secret, and other than smiling at her every time she looked at him, he behaved in no way out of the ordinary. As they settled themselves in their seats at the Council, she felt him brush her arm with the knuckles of his right hand, gently, before moving his hand away.
She could feel Wil watching them, from the end of the row they sat in. She did not look toward him.
In seats on the raised platform at the chamber’s center sat Benedict Lightwood, his eagle profile turned away from the mass of the Council, his jaw set. Beside him sat Gabriel, who, like Wil , looked exhausted and unshaven. He glanced once at his brother as Gideon entered the room, and then away as Gideon took his seat, deliberately, among the Shadowhunters of the Institute. Gabriel bit his lip and looked down at his shoes, but did not move from where he sat.
She recognized a few more faces in the audience. Charlotte’s aunt Cal ida was there, as was gaunt Aloysius Starkweather—despite, as he had complained, doubtless not being invited. His eyes narrowed as they fel on Tessa, and she turned back quickly to the front of the room.
“We are here,” said Consul Wayland when he had taken his place before the lectern with the Inquisitor seated to his left, “to determine to what extent Charlotte and Henry Branwel have been of assistance to the Clave during the past fortnight in the matter of Axel Mortmain, and whether, as Benedict Lightwood has put in a claim, the London Institute would be better off in other hands.”
The Inquisitor rose. He was holding something that gleamed silver and black in his hands. “Charlotte Branwel , please come up to the lectern.”
Charlotte got to her feet, and climbed up the stairs to the stage. The Inquisitor lowered the Mortal Sword, and Charlotte wrapped her hands around the blade. In a quiet voice she recounted the events of the past two weeks—searching for Mortmain in newspaper clippings and historical accounts, the visit to Yorkshire, the threat against the Herondales, discovering Jessie’s betrayal, the fight at the warehouse, Nate’s death. She never lied, though Tessa was conscious of when she left out a detail here or there. Apparently the Mortal Sword could be gotten around, if only slightly.
There were several moments during Charlotte’s speech when the Council members reacted audibly: breathing in sharply, shuffling their feet, most notably to the revelation of Jessamine’s role in the proceedings. “I knew her parents,” Tessa heard Charlotte’s aunt Cal ida saying from the back of the room. “Terrible business—terrible!”
“And the girl is where now?” the Inquisitor demanded.
“She is in the cel s of the Silent City,” said Charlotte, “awaiting punishment for her crime. I informed the Consul of her whereabouts.”
The Inquisitor, who had been pacing up and down the platform, stopped and looked Charlotte keenly in the face. “You say this girl was like a daughter to you,” he said, “and yet you handed her over to the Brothers wil ingly? Why would you do something like that?”
“The Law is hard,” said Charlotte, “but it is the Law.”
Consul Wayland’s mouth flicked up at the corner. “And here you said she’d be too soft on wrongdoers, Benedict,” he said. “Any comment?”
Benedict rose to his feet; he had clearly decided to shoot his cuffs today, and they protruded, snowy white, from the sleeves of his tailored dark tweed jacket. “I do have a comment,” he said. “I wholeheartedly support Charlotte Branwel in her leadership of the Institute, and renounce my claim on a position there.”
A murmur of disbelief ran through the crowd.