She watched Julian as he leaned forward and began to speak. He seemed absolutely calm as he spoke of his and Emma’s early friendship, their affection for each other, their decision to be parabatai, brought on by the Dark War and the loss of their parents. He made it sound like a reasonable decision—no one’s fault—who could have blamed them, any of them? The Dark War had stricken them all with loss. No one could be at fault for overlooking details. For mistaking their feelings.
Robert Lightwood’s eyes began to widen. He listened in silence as Julian spoke of his and Emma’s growing feelings for each other. How they both had realized what they felt separately, struggled in silence, confessed their emotions, and finally decided to seek the Inquisitor’s assistance and even the exercise of the Law.
“We know we’ve broken the Law,” Julian finished, “but it was not intentional, or under our control. All we want is your help.”
Robert Lightwood got to his feet. Emma could see the glass towers through his window, glimmering like burning banners. She could hardly believe that just that morning they’d been fighting the Riders in the courtyard of the London Institute. “No one’s ever asked me if they could be exiled before,” he said, finally.
“But you were exiled yourself, once,” said Julian.
“Yes,” Robert said. “With my wife, Maryse, and Alec, when he was a toddler. And for good reason. It’s a lonely thing, exile. And for someone as young as Emma . . .” He glanced at them. “Does anyone else know about you?”
“No.” Julian’s voice was calm and firm. Emma knew he was trying to protect those who had guessed or been told—but it unnerved her anyway, the way he could sound so absolutely sincere when he was lying.
“And you’re sure? This isn’t a crush, or just—parabatai feelings can be very intense.” Robert sounded awkward as he clasped his hands behind his back. “They’re easy to misconstrue.”
“We,” said Julian, “are absolutely sure.”
“The usual measure would be separation, not exile.” Robert looked from one of them to the other as if he still couldn’t quite believe what was in front of him. “But you don’t want that. I can see that already. You wouldn’t have come to me if you thought I could only offer you the standard measures—separation, stripping of your Marks.”
“We can’t risk breaking the Law, and the punishments that entails.” Julian’s voice was still calm, but Emma could see his hands, white-knuckled, gripping his chair arms. “My family needs me. My brothers and sisters are still young, and they have no parents. I’ve raised them and I can’t leave them. It’s out of the question. But Emma and I know we can’t trust ourselves just to stay away from each other.”
“So you want to be separated by the Clave,” said Robert. “You want exile, but you don’t want to wait to be caught. You’ve come to me so you can choose which of you leaves, and for how long, and what punishment the Clave, directed by me, will decide on.”
“Yes,” said Julian.
“And though you’re not saying it, I think you want some of what exile will do for you,” said Robert. “It’ll deaden your bond. Maybe you think it’ll make it easier for you to stop loving each other.”
Neither Emma or Julian spoke. He was uncomfortably close to the truth. Julian was expressionless; Emma tried to school her features to match his. Robert was tapping his fingertips together.
“We just want to be able to be normal parabatai,” said Julian finally, but Emma could hear the silent words beneath the audible ones: We will never give each other up, never.
“It’s quite something to ask.” Emma strained to hear anger or reproach or disbelief in the Inquisitor’s voice, but he sounded neutral. It frightened her.
“You had a parabatai,” she said in desperation. “Didn’t you?”
“Michael Wayland.” Robert’s tone was wintry. “He died.”
“I’m so sorry.” Emma had known that, but the sympathy was sincere. She could imagine little more horrible than Julian dying.
“I bet he would have wanted you to help us,” Julian said. Emma had no idea if he spoke from knowledge of Michael Wayland or just intuition, that skill he had of reading the look in people’s eyes, the truth in the way they frowned or smiled.
“Michael would have—yes,” Robert murmured. “He would have. By the Angel. Exile will be a heavy burden for Emma. I can try to limit the terms of the punishment, but you’ll still lose some of your Nephilim powers. You’ll need permission to enter Alicante. There will be some Marks you can’t use. Seraph blades won’t light for you.”
“I have Cortana,” said Emma. “That’s all I need.”
There was sadness in Robert’s smile. “If there’s a war, you can’t fight in it. That’s why my exile was lifted—because Valentine returned and began the Mortal War.”
Julian’s expression was so tight that his cheekbones seemed to stand out like knife blades. “We won’t accept the exile unless Emma’s allowed to keep enough of her Nephilim power to be safe,” he said. “If she’s hurt because of this exile—”
“The exile is your idea,” said Robert. “Are you sure you’ll be able to fall out of love?”
“Yes,” Julian lied. “Separation would be the first move, anyway, wouldn’t it? We’re just asking for a little extra surety.”
“I’ve heard things,” Robert said. “The Law against parabatai falling in love exists for a reason. I don’t know the reason, but my guess is that it’s significant. If I thought you knew what it was—” He shook his head. “But you can’t possibly. I could speak with the Silent Brothers . . . .”
No, Emma thought. They’d risked so much already, but if Robert learned of the curse, they’d be in very dangerous waters. “Magnus said you would help us,” she said, in a soft voice. “He said we could trust you and that you’d understand and keep it secret.”
Robert looked up at the tapestry that hung over his mantel. At Alec. He touched the Lightwood ring on his finger; a likely unconscious gesture. “I trust Magnus,” he said. “And I owe him a great deal.”
His gaze was distant. Emma wasn’t sure if he was thinking about the past or considering the future; she and Julian sat tensely while he considered. Finally, he said, “All right. Give me a few days—the two of you will have to remain in Alicante while I look into managing the exile ceremony, and you must stay in separate houses. I need to see a good faith effort to avoid each other. Is that clear?”
Emma swallowed hard. The exile ceremony. She hoped Jem could be there: Silent Brothers were the ones who presided over ceremonies, and even though he no longer was one, he had been at her parabatai ceremony with Julian. If he could be there for this, she would feel a little less alone.
She could see Julian’s expression: He looked much as she felt, as if relief and dread were warring inside him. “Thank you,” he said.
“Thank you, Inquisitor,” she echoed, and Robert looked surprised. She suspected no one had ever thanked him for a sentence of exile before.
* * *
Cristina had never been in the Gard’s Council Hall before. It was a horseshoe-shaped space, rows of benches marching toward a slightly raised dais; a second balcony level, containing more benches and seats, rose high above. Above the dais hung a huge golden clock, gorgeously made with delicate scrollwork and a repeated Latin phrase, ULTIMA THULE, marching around the rim. Behind the dais was an incredible wall of windows, giving out onto a view of Alicante below. She raised herself a little bit on tiptoe, to see the winding streets, the blue slashes of the canals, the demon towers rising like clear needles against the sky.