“And fear will make them agreeable,” said Horace. “Zara?”
“The warlocks are growing sicker,” Zara said with relish. “No reported transformations yet, but many Institutes have taken in warlocks in an effort to heal them. Once they turn into demons, you can imagine the bloody chaos that will ensue.”
“Which should make it easy to enact martial law and rid ourselves of the rest of the warlocks,” said Horace.
The fact that the blight would serve not just to frighten Shadowhunters but also to harm warlocks had always been seen as a plus by Horace, though Manuel saw little point in an exercise that would seriously limit the Shadowhunters’ ability to do things like open Portals and heal unusual illnesses. That was the problem with true believers. They were never practical. Ah well. Some warlocks would probably survive, he reasoned. Once all the Cohort’s demands were met, they could afford to be generous and destroy the blight for good. It wasn’t as if Horace was fond of the blight, or its propensity to deaden angelic magic. It was simply a useful tool, as the Larkspears had been.
“Are you not worried that the transformed warlocks will get out of control and slaughter Shadowhunters? Even mundanes?”
“I am not,” said Horace. “A properly trained Shadowhunter should be able to handle a warlock turned demon. If they cannot, then we have done our society a favor in culling them.”
“My question is whether Oban can be trusted,” said Zara, curling her lip. “He is a faerie, after all.”
“He can,” said Manuel. “He is far more malleable than his father was. He wants his kingdom, and we want ours. And if we bring him Prince Kieran’s head as promised, he will be very pleased indeed.”
Horace sighed. “If only these arrangements did not have to be secret. The whole of the Clave should glory in the rightness of our plan.”
“But they don’t like faeries, Papa,” said Zara, who was, as always, incredibly literal. “They wouldn’t like making deals with them or encouraging them to bring the blight into Idris, even if it was for a worthy cause. It is illegal to work with demonic magic—though I know it’s necessary,” she added hastily. “I wish Samantha and Dane were still around. Then we could talk to them.”
Manuel thought with little interest of Dane, undone by his own stupidity, and of Samantha, currently raving her head off in the Basilias. He doubted either of them would have been much help even in their former states.
“It is a lonely burden, daughter, to be the ones tasked with doing the right thing,” said Horace pompously.
Zara got up from her chair and patted his shoulder. “Poor Papa. Do you want to look into the scrying mirror one more time? It always cheers you up.”
Manuel sat up in his chair. The scrying mirror was one of the few things he didn’t find boring. Oban had magicked it to reflect the fields before the Unseelie Tower.
Zara held the mirror up so that the light from the demon towers sparked off its silver handle. She gave a little squeal as the glass turned clear, and through it they saw the green fields of Unseelie and the anthracite tower. Lined up in front of the tower were row upon row of Unseelie warriors, so many that the view of them filled the scene even as the rows diminished into the distance: an army without limit, without end. Their swords shone in the sunlight like a vast field planted with razor-sharp blades.
“What do you think?” said Horace with pride, as if he himself had put together the army. “Spectacular, isn’t it, Annabel?”
The woman with the long dark-brown hair, sitting silently in the corner of the room, nodded calmly. She wore clothes that matched the ones she had worn that bloody day in the Council Hall; Zara had dredged up near-exact copies, but it was Manuel who had first thought of deploying them, as if they were themselves a weapon.
There were few things stronger than fear. Since the Council meeting, the Shadowhunters had been terrified of Annabel Blackthorn. If she appeared before them, they would cower behind Horace. His ability to protect them would be all they cared about.
And when it came to Julian Blackthorn and the rest of his irritating family, there would be more than just fear. There would be rage. Hatred. All emotions the Cohort could exploit.
Horace gave a nervous laugh and turned back to studying the mirror.
Hidden by the lengthening shadows, Manuel grinned savagely. Absolutely nobody was prepared for what was coming.
Just the way he liked it.
24
THE LONG NIGHT-TIME
Aline Penhallow, Head of the Los Angeles Institute:
White banners of mourning fly over our capital city today, and green flags to speed the healing of our hearts.
Heroes of the Dark War Jonathan Herondale and Clarissa Fairchild have been slain by Unseelie hands. They were on a mission for the Clave, and their deaths will be celebrated as the deaths of heroes. Their bodies have not yet been recovered.
Such a brutal breakage of the Cold Peace must be reckoned with. Starting this morning, at sunrise in Alicante, we shall consider ourselves in a state of War with Faerie-kind. Members of the Council will reach out to the Court to seek parley and reparations. If a faerie is seen outside their Lands, you are free to capture them and bring them to Alicante for questioning. If you must slay the faerie in question, you will not be in breach of the Accords.
Faeries are cunning, but we will prevail and avenge our fallen heroes. As always in a state of War, individual Shadowhunters are expected to return to Idris to report for duty within forty-eight hours. Please notify the Clave of your travel plans as Portal activity into Idris will be monitored.
Horace Dearborn, Inquisitor
NB: As our Consul, Jia Penhallow, is suspected of involvement with faeries, she is being held in the Gard tower until such time as she can be questioned.
“Jia?” Emma said in disbelief. “They jailed the Consul?”
“Aline is trying to reach Patrick,” said Helen in a low voice. “House arrest is one thing, but this is another. Aline’s frantic.”
“Who knows you’re alive?” Alec demanded, turning to Jace. “Who knows that what’s in this letter isn’t true?”
Jace looked startled. “The people in this house. Magnus—where is Magnus?”
“Sleeping,” Alec said. “So, besides us?”
“Simon and Izzy. Mom. Maia and Bat. That’s all.” He swiveled around in his chair. “Why? Do you think we should go to Alicante? Expose their lies?”
“No,” Julian said. His voice was quiet but firm. “You can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Helen said.
“Because this isn’t a mistake,” said Julian. “This is a false flag operation. They believe you’re dead—they wouldn’t risk this if they didn’t—and they’re pinning the blame on Faerie to encourage a war.”
“Why would anyone want war?” said Helen. “Didn’t they see what the last one did?”
“People seize power in wars,” said Julian. “If they make faeries the enemy, they can make themselves the heroes. Everyone will forget the complaints they had about the current Council. They’ll unite behind them in a common cause. A war can begin with a single death. Here they have two—and both are famous, heroes to the Clave.”
Both Jace and Clary looked uncomfortable.
“I see a flaw in this plan,” said Jace. “They still have to fight and win a war.”
“Maybe,” said Julian. “Maybe not. It depends what their plan is.”
“I see another flaw,” said Clary. “We’re not actually dead. It’s pretty cocky of them to think they can get away with pretending we are.”
“I think they believe it,” said Emma. “The fight in the Court was chaos. They probably don’t realize who went through the Portal into Thule and who didn’t. And who knows what Manuel told them. He likes to bend the truth anyway, and without the Mortal Sword, he can bend away. I bet he wants a war.”
“But surely the Council won’t truly support the idea of a war with Faerie,” said Clary. “Or do you really think the whole Counc
il is lost to us?”
Emma was surprised; Clary was looking at Julian as if she were deeply invested in his answer, though she was five years older. It was strange to think Julian’s sharp brilliance didn’t just belong to her, to his family.
“Enough of them are,” said Julian. “Enough of them have already gotten behind the Cohort and this message. Otherwise they wouldn’t be demanding we all return to Alicante in two days.”
“But we’re not going to do that,” said Mark. “We cannot go back to Alicante now. It is under the Cohort’s control.”
“And last time we were there, Horace sent us on a suicide mission,” Emma pointed out. “I don’t think we’d all be safe in Idris.” It was a sobering thought—Idris was their homeland, meant to be the safest place in the world for Shadowhunters.