When they burst into the high-ceilinged Consul’s quarters, they found Magnus lying on a long sofa. Kieran and Annabel were at opposite ends of the room, staring like cats just introduced to a new environment.
Jia and Robert stood by the sofa; Alec started toward it, and his father moved to put a hand on his shoulder.
Alec stopped where he was, his whole body tense. “Let me go,” he said.
“He’s fine,” said Robert. “Brother Enoch was just here. His magic’s depleted and he’s weak, but—”
“I know what’s wrong with him,” Alec said, pushing past the Inquisitor. Robert watched his son as Alec knelt down by the side of the long couch. He brushed Magnus’s hair back from his forehead, and the warlock stirred and murmured.
“He hasn’t been well for a while,” said Alec, half to himself. “His magic gets depleted so fast. I told him to go to the Spiral Labyrinth, but there hasn’t been time.”
Kit stared. He’d heard of Magnus even before he’d met him, of course; Magnus was famous in Downworld. And when he had met Magnus, the warlock had been so full of kinetic energy, a whirl of dry wit and blue fire. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Magnus might get sick or tired.
“Isn’t there any way to make him better?” said Annabel. She was vibrating with tension, her hands working at her sides. He noticed for the first time that she was missing a finger on her right hand. He hadn’t looked at her too closely before. She gave him the creeps. “I—I need him.”
Admirably, Alec didn’t lose his temper. “He needs rest,” he said. “We could delay the meeting—”
“Alec, we can’t.” Jia spoke gently. “Obviously Magnus should rest. Annabel, you’ll be taken care of. I promise.”
“No.” Annabel shrank back against the wall. “I want Magnus with me. Or Julian. Get Julian.”
“What’s going on?” Kit recognized her voice even before he turned to see Zara in the doorway. Her lipstick looked like a harsh slash of blood against her pale skin. She was looking at Magnus, the corner of her mouth twisted in a smirk. “Consul,” she said, and bowed to Jia. “Everyone is assembled. Should I tell them the meeting will be delayed?”
“No, Miss Dearborn,” said Jia, smoothing down her embroidered robe. “Thank you, but we don’t need you to handle this for us. The assembly will go as planned.”
“Dearborn,” Annabel echoed. Her gaze was fixed on Zara. Her eyes had gone flat and glittering like a snake’s. “You’re a Dearborn.”
Zara looked merely puzzled, as if wondering who Annabel might be. “Zara is quite an advocate for restricting the rights of Downworlders,” Jia said neutrally.
“We’re interested in safety,” Zara said, clearly stung. “That’s all.”
“We had better go,” said Robert Lightwood. He was still looking at Alec, but Alec wasn’t looking at him; he was sitting by Magnus, his hand against Magnus’s cheek. “Alec, if you need me, send for me.”
“I’ll send Kit,” Alec said, without looking around.
“I’ll return for you,” Robert said to Kieran, who had remained silently by the window, barely a shadow in the room’s shadows. Kieran nodded.
Robert squeezed Alec’s shoulder briefly. Jia extended a hand to Annabel, and after a moment of staring at Zara, Annabel followed the Consul and the Inquisitor from the room.
“Is he sick?” Zara said, looking at Magnus with a distant interest. “I didn’t think warlocks got sick. Wouldn’t it be funny if he died before you? I mean, what with him being immortal, you must have thought it would go the other way.”
Alec raised his head slowly. “What?”
“Well, I mean since Magnus is immortal and you, you know, aren’t,” she clarified.
“He’s immortal?” Alec’s voice was colder than Kit had ever heard it. “I wish you’d told me before. I would have turned back time and found myself a nice mortal husband to grow old with.”
“Well, wouldn’t that be better?” Zara said. “Then you could get old and die at the same time.”
“At the same time?” Alec echoed. He had barely moved or raised his voice, but his rage seemed to fill the room. Even Zara was starting to look uneasy. “How would you suggest we arrange that? Jump off a cliff together when one of us started feeling sickly?”
“Maybe.” Zara looked sulky. “You have to agree the situation you’re in is a tragedy.”
Alec rose to his feet and in that moment was the famous Alec Lightwood Kit had heard about, the hero of past battles, the archer boy with deadly aim. “This is what I want and what I’ve chosen,” he said. “How dare you tell me it’s a tragedy? Magnus never pretended, he never tried to fool me into thinking it would be easy, but choosing Magnus is one of the easiest things I’ve ever done. We all have a lifetime, Zara, and none of us know how long or short it might be. Surely even you know that. I expect you mean to be rude and cruel, but I doubt you meant to sound stupid as well.”
She flushed. “But if you die of old age and he lives forever—”
“Then he’ll be there for Max, and that makes both of us happy,” said Alec. “And I will be a uniquely lucky person, because there will be someone who always remembers me. Who will always love me. Magnus won’t always mourn, but until the end of time he will remember me and love me.”
“What makes you so sure?” said Zara, but there was an edge of uncertainty in her voice.
“Because he’s three thousand times the human being you’ll ever be,” said Alec. “Now get out of here before I risk his life by waking him up so he can turn you into a garbage fire. Something that would match your personality.”
“Oh!” said Zara. “So rude!”
Kit thought it was more than rude. He thought Alec meant it. He kind of hoped Zara would stick around to test the theory. Instead she stalked toward the door and paused there, glancing back at them both with dislike.
“Come on, Alec,” she said. “The truth is that Shadowhunters and Downworlders aren’t meant to be together. You and Bane are a disgrace. But you can’t just be content with the Clave letting you pervert your angelic lineage. No, you have to force it on the rest of us.”
“Really?” said Kieran, who Kit had nearly forgotten was there. “You all have to sleep with Magnus Bane? How exciting for you.”
“Shut up, faerie dirt,” said Zara. “You’ll learn. You’ve picked the wrong side, you and those Blackthorns and Jace Herondale and that ginger bitch Clary—” She was breathing hard, her face flushed. “I’ll enjoy watching you all go down,” she said, and flounced from the room.
“Did she really say ‘pervert your angelic lineage’?” said Alec, looking stupefied.
“Faerie dirt,” mused Kieran. “That is, as Mark would say, a new one.”
“Unbelievable.” Alec sat down next to the sofa again, drawing up his knees.
“Nothing she said surprised me,” said Kieran. “That is how they are. That is how the Cold Peace has made them. Afraid of what is new and different, and filled with hatred like ice. She may seem ridiculous, Zara Dearborn, but do not make the mistake of underestimating her and her Cohort.” He looked back at the window. “Hate like that can tear down the world.”
* * *
“This is a very strange request,” said Diego.
“You’re the one in a fake relationship,” said Cristina. “I am sure you’ve been asked for stranger things.”
Diego laughed, not with much humor. They were sitting a row away from the Blackthorns in the Council Hall. The clock had stopped chiming to announce the meeting’s beginning and the room was full, though the dais was still empty.
“I am glad Jaime told you,” he said. “Selfishly. I could bear that you hated me, but not that you despised me.”
Cristina sighed. “I am not sure I ever really did despise you,” she said.
“I should have told you more,” he said. “I wanted to keep you safe—and I denied to myself that the Cohort and their plans were your problem. I didn’t know they had designs on the Los Angeles Institute until too late. And I was mistaken in Manuel, as much as anyone. I trusted him.”