Julian was calling for people to be quiet, but his voice was drowned out by the noise. Feeling that this was an area in which she could excel, Emma jumped up onto the table and shouted. “EVERYONE,” she yelled. “EVERYONE SHUT UP.”
The decibel level fell immediately. Emma could see Cristina giggling, her hand over her mouth. Beside her, Jace shot finger guns at Julie Beauvale, who had turned bright pink.
“Good to see you, bestie,” he said.
Simon’s shoulders were shaking. Isabelle, who had been watching with a half smile, patted his back.
Clary scrunched her nose at Jace and then turned to the crowd. “Thank you,” she said, her voice low but carrying. “We’re glad to be here.”
The room fell pin-drop silent.
Emma jumped down from the table. Julian was surveying the assembly, hands looped behind his back, as if wondering what he thought of the situation he’d architected. People were staring, rapt and silent, at Clary and Jace. So this is what it’s like to be heroes, Emma thought, looking at the expressions on the faces of the crowd. To be the ones with angel blood, the ones who’ve literally saved the world. People look at you as if . . . almost as if you’re not real.
“Inquisitor Lightwood sent us to Faerie,” Clary said. “To seek a weapon in the possession of the Unseelie King, one that would be deadly to Shadowhunters. We discovered that the Unseelie King had opened a Portal to another world, one without angelic magic. He was using the earth from that other world to create the blight you have heard of—the one eating through Brocelind Forest.”
“That blight was eradicated the night before last,” said Jace. “By a team of Nephilim and Fair Folk, working together.”
Now the silence broke: There was a buzz of confused voices.
“But we are not the only Nephilim working with faeries,” said Clary. “The current King of Unseelie, Oban, and the Cohort have been working together. It was the Cohort who arranged for him to be put on the throne.”
“How do we know that’s true?” shouted Joaquin Acosta Romero, of the Buenos Aires Institute. He was sitting beside the French werewolf girl, his arm around her shoulders.
“Because they have done nothing but lie to you,” said Mark. “They told you Jace and Clary were dead. They told you faeries slaughtered them. Here they stand, alive.”
“Why would the Unseelie Court agree to be part of a scheme in which they were blamed for murder?” said Vivianne Penhallow.
Everyone looked expectantly at Julian.
“Because the Cohort and the Unseelie King have already agreed on exactly what both of them will get from this parley,” he said. “The parley is a performance. That is why Horace is Projecting it so every Shadowhunter can see it. Because the performance is more important than the outcome. If he is seen to get what he wants from the Fair Folk, then confidence in the Cohort will grow so strong that we will never have a chance to unseat them.”
Emma tried to hide a smile. You’re really back, Julian, she thought.
“This is a government that will murder its own to control its own,” said Jace. The smirk was gone from his face, and any pretense at amusement: His expression was stony and cold. “This time, it was us. By luck, we survived and are standing here to tell you our story. The Inquisitor is meant to uphold the Law. Not to hide behind it as an alibi for murdering their own.”
“What about murdering those who aren’t Shadowhunters?” called a naga sitting near some of the Keo family.
“We’re against that, too,” said Jace.
“We’ve had bad members of our government before,” said Julian. “But this is different. They’ve broken the system that might fix the situation. They’re manipulating the Clave, manipulating us all. They are creating the illusion of threats to control us all through fear. They claim that faeries murdered Jace and Clary so they can declare an unjustified war—and under the cloak of that chaos, they put our Consul in prison. Who can speak against the war now?”
A blond Nephilim raised a hand. “Oskar Lindquist here,” he said. “Stockholm Institute. Are you saying we shouldn’t go to Alicante? The parley is scheduled for tomorrow. If we do not arrive there tonight, we will be considered deserters. Traitors.”
“No,” Julian said. “In fact, we need you to join the other Shadowhunters in Alicante as if everything is normal. Do nothing to alarm the Cohort. The parley is going to take place on the Imperishable Fields. We—the resistance—are going to interrupt it, with everyone watching. We will present our proof, and when that is done, we need you there to stand up for us and hold the Clave accountable for what they’ve done.”
“We’re the proof,” Jace added, indicating himself and Clary.
“I think they knew that,” Emma muttered. She saw Jem, in the audience, give her an amused look, and tensed. It is something so horrible that I would never repeat it. I would never do it. Not under any circumstances.
She determinedly put his words out of her mind. She couldn’t think about that right now.
“Why do this during the parley?” called Morena Pedroso, the head of the Rio Institute. A bored-looking girl about Dru’s age, with long brown hair, sat beside her. “Why not confront them sooner?”
“Horace wants—no, he needs—everyone to see him triumph over the Unseelie forces,” said Julian. “Every Shadowhunter in Idris is going to be watching him via a massive Projection.” There was a murmur of surprise among the Downworlders. “That means they’ll be able to see and hear not just him but, if we join him—us. This is our chance. The Cohort is bringing everyone together in a way we don’t have the power to do. This is our opportunity to show all Shadowhunters what the Cohort truly is.”
“And what if it comes to a battle? We’ll be fighting other Shadowhunters,” said Oskar Lindquist. “I’m sure I’m not the only one who doesn’t want that.”
“Hopefully we can do this without a fight,” said Julian. “But if it comes to one, we must be ready.”
“So you have a plan for Shadowhunters,” called Hypatia Vex. She looked over at Kit and Ty and winked; Emma wondered what that was about but didn’t have time to dwell on it. “What about us? Why did you bring Downworlders here?”
“To witness,” said Julian. “We’re aligned here. We’re on the same side against the Cohort. We know we’re better, stronger, when Downworlders and Shadowhunters work together. And we wanted you to know that even if the Cohort are loud and hateful, they’re a minority. You have allies.” He glanced around the room. “A few of you will be with us. Kieran Kingson. Magnus Bane. But as for the rest of you—after the Shadowhunters pass through the Portals to Idris, you will need to return home to your people. Because if you don’t hear from us after the parley, you can assume we were defeated. And if we are defeated, you’re in danger.”
“We can withstand the Cohort,” said Nene, and Mark looked at her in surprise. “There are many fewer of them than there are Downworlders.”
“If we lose, it won’t be only the Cohort you need to fear,” said Julian. “Once good Shadowhunters can no longer stand up to them, they will begin to destroy and control Downworlders. And while they do that, there will be nobody left to stand against the tide of evil from other worlds. They care so much about their prejudice, their imagined purity, and their Laws, that they have forgotten our mandate: Protect this world from demons.”
A whisper went around the room; a sound of horror. I have seen the world overrun by demons, Emma wanted to say. There is no place there for Downworlders.
“We’re an army. A resistance,” Emma said. “We are seeking justice. It won’t be pretty, but it’ll only get worse. The longer we wait, the more damage they’ll do and the more blood will be spilled stopping them.”
“Horace doesn’t want a war,” said Diana. “He wants glory. If it looks like he’s facing danger, I believe he’ll back off.”
“If we’re an army, what are we called?” said Simon.
Julian turned and unpinned the rolled-up canvas hanging on the wall b
ehind him, which had been held in place with tacks. A gasp went up as it unfurled.
Julian had painted a banner, the kind an army would carry before it in wartime. The central item was a saber, point down, painted a shimmering pale gold. Behind the saber spread a pair of angel’s wings, while all around it clustered symbols of Downworld—a star for vampires, a spell book for warlocks, a moon for werewolves, and a four-leaf clover for faeries.
Dangling from the hilt of the saber was a locket with a circle of thorns on the front.
“We are called Livia’s Watch,” Julian said, and Emma saw Ty sit up straighter in his chair. “We carry this banner in honor of my sister, so that all who have been hurt by the Cohort will not be forgotten.”
Jace swept his gaze around the room. “If there is anyone who doesn’t want to fight alongside us, they can depart now. No hard feelings.”
The room was silent. Not a chair moved. Not a single person rose. Still leaning against the wall near the doors, the Iron Sister and Silent Brother who had come to observe the proceedings were motionless.
Only Emma heard Julian’s low exhale of relief. “Now,” he said. “Let’s finalize the plan.”
* * *