“It’s me,” Dru said indignantly. “You know—the one who got you out of jail?”
“You can never be too careful, princess,” he said with a wink, and lowered the bow, calling over his shoulder for Diego and the others. They began to pour out into the street, all in gear, bristling with brand-new weapons: longswords and rapiers, crossbows and maces, axes and bolas. “Who taught you how to pick locks like that, anyway? I never got a chance to ask you last night.”
Kit Herondale, Dru thought. The thought of Kit reminded her of something else, too. Tavvy was staring round-eyed at all the gleaming weaponry: Diego was sporting an ax, Divya a two-handed bidenhänder, Rayan a Spanish bola. Even Jia was decked out with her favorite sword, a curved dao. “Okay, everyone,” Dru said. “These weapons are Diana’s, and after today, they have to be returned to the store.”
“No worries,” said Jaime. “I have written out a receipt.”
“He has not written out a receipt,” said Diego.
“I considered it,” said Jaime.
“Sometimes it is not the thought that counts, little brother,” said Diego, and there was a deep warmth in his voice that Dru had never heard before. She sympathized—she knew what it was like to lose a brother and get him back.
“We have to go,” Tavvy said. “Everyone at the gates is shouting and the Cohort won’t let them out.”
Jia stepped forward. “They cannot keep us trapped in the city,” she said. “Follow me.”
Jia seemed to have a mental map of the city in her head. She cut across several bigger streets, through narrow alleys, and behind houses. In what seemed like minutes they came out into Hausos Square.
“Someone let the prisoners out!” shouted a voice, and then other voices joined in, with many calling Jia’s name.
“Move aside!” Rayan shouted. He had set himself on one side of Jia, beside Diego. Divya and Jaime were on the other. Dru hurried behind, still holding Tavvy’s hand, along with the others who had escaped the Gard. “Make way for the Consul!”
That cut through the shouting. The crowd fell silent as Jia carved a path among the throng like a battleship cutting through heavy weather. She walked proudly, the dim sun gleaming on her gray-black hair. She reached the center of the locked gate, where Lazlo Balogh stood, a spear upright at his side.
“Open the gate, Lazlo,” she said in a quiet voice that nevertheless carried. “These people have a right to join their friends and family in battle.”
Lazlo’s lip curled. “You are not the leader of the Clave,” he said. “You are under investigation. I am acting on the orders of Horace Dearborn, Inquisitor and temporary Consul.”
“That investigation is over,” Jia said calmly. “Horace Dearborn came to power unlawfully. He has lied and betrayed us. Everyone here heard the words from his own mouth. He unfairly imprisoned me as he has now imprisoned us in our city while lives are at risk on the Fields. Open the gates.”
“Open the gates!” shouted a boy with dark hair—Dru saw Divya smile. It was Anush, her cousin.
“Open the gates!” Divya cried, thrusting her sword into the air. “Open the gates in the name of Raziel!”
Jaime whistled, his grin infectious. “Abre las puertas!”
The cry rose into the air. More and more Nephilim joined in—Kadir Safar and Vivianne Penhallow, the cry of “Open the gates!” lifting into a chorus. Tavvy and Dru joined in, Dru losing herself for a moment in the shouting, the feeling of being part of something bigger and stronger than herself alone. She climbed onto a bench, pulling Tavvy up beside her, so she could see the whole scene: the obviously uncomfortable Cohort, the shouting Nephilim, the few Shadowhunters who stood quiet and uncertain.
“We will not disobey the true Consul!” shouted Lazlo, his face darkening. “We will die here before you force us to betray the Law!”
The cries faltered; no one had expected that. Tavvy’s eyes widened. “What does he mean?”
The crowd had frozen. No Nephilim wanted to be forced to harm another Nephilim, especially after the nightmare of the Dark War. Jia seemed to hesitate.
A Silent Brother stepped forward. Then another, and another, their parchment robes rustling like leaves in the wind. The crowd shrank back to make way for them. Dru couldn’t help but stare. The last time she had looked at a group of Silent Brothers, it had been the day of her sister’s funeral.
A silent voice echoed across the square. Dru could see by the expressions on the faces of the others in the crowd that everyone could hear it, echoing inside their minds.
I am Brother Shadrach. We have conferred among ourselves as to what the Law instructs us to do. We have concluded that the true Consul is Jia Penhallow. Brother Shadrach paused. He and the others made a soundless tableau, ranged against the members of the Cohort. Open the gates.
There was a silence. Balogh’s face worked.
“No!” It was Paige Ashdown. There was a high, angry note in her voice—the same sharp and mean tone she’d always used when she called Ty names, when she sneered at Dru’s clothes and weight. “You can’t tell us what to do—”
Brother Shadrach raised his right hand. So did each of the other Brothers. There was a sound like something enormous tearing in half, and the gates blew open, slamming into the Cohort members as if they had been smacked by a gigantic hand. The air was full of the sound of their yells as they were knocked aside; the gates yawned open, and beyond them, Dru could see the Imperishable Fields, green under a gray sky and overrun with fighting.
“Nephilim!” Jia had drawn her dao; she lowered it to point directly ahead at the raging battle. “Nephilim, go forth!”
Roaring with the desire to fight, Shadowhunters began to pour out of the open gates of the city. Most of them stepped over the fallen Cohort as they rolled on the ground, groaning in pain. Only Cameron Ashdown, visible thanks to his red hair, paused to help his sister Paige to her feet.
Diego and the others began to move toward the gates. Dru saw Jaime reach over and tap his brother on the shoulder; Diego nodded, and Jaime peeled off from the group and ran toward Dru. She stood frozen in surprise on her bench as he flew through the crowd toward her. He was graceful as a thrown knife, his smile as bright as the edge of its flashing blade.
He reached her; with her standing on the bench, they were the same height. “We could not have done this without you,” he said. “You are the one who set us free.” He kissed her on the forehead, his lips light and quick. “On the battlefield, I will think of you.”
And he was gone, running toward his brother as Dru wished she were running toward hers.
She had dreamed that she might fight too, alongside the others. But she could not leave Tavvy. She sat down on the bench and pulled him into her lap, holding him as they watched Diego and Jaime, Rayan and Divya, even Cameron Ashdown, vanishing into the crowd surging through the gates onto the Fields.
31
A REDDER GLOW
“I can’t believe Magnus did this to us,” said Ty. He and Kit were sitting in the hollow below the oak tree, near the half-destroyed campsite. Kit was chilled from sitting on the ground for so long, but it wasn’t as if he could go anywhere. Before heading out to the battlefield with the others, Magnus had fastened both Ty and Kit to the roots of the oak tree with flickering chains of light.
“Sorry, guys,” he’d said, blue sparks dancing from his fingers. “But I promised Julian you’d stay safe, and the best way to make sure that happens is to make sure you stay right here.”
“If he hadn’t, you’d be following Julian and the others to the Imperishable Fields,” said Kit. “You can see his reasoning.” He kicked at the chain around his ankle. It was made of glimmer—there was no real substance to it, just shining loops of light, but it held him in place as tightly as if it had been made of adamas. When he touched the light itself, he got a faint shock, like the shock of static electricity.
“Stop fighting it,” said Ty. “We haven’t been able to break out yet; we’re not going to
be able to now. We’ll have to find another solution.”
“Or we could just accept that we have to wait for them to get back,” said Kit, sinking back against the roots. He suddenly felt very tired—not physically, but deep down.
“I don’t accept that,” said Ty, poking at the glimmering chain around his ankle with a stick.
“Maybe you should learn to accept things that can’t be changed.”
Ty looked up, his gray eyes flashing in his thin face. “I know what you’re really talking about,” he said. “You are mad at me.”
“Yeah,” Kit said. “I’m mad at you.”