Lord of Shadows
Page 157
“I never told anyone you were in Cornwall,” he said. “Even after the church. I kept your secret. You can trust me.”
She looked at him with wide eyes. This was why he had done it, Julian thought. He had kept this information to himself as possible leverage, even when he hadn’t known for sure that there would ever be a moment he could use it. Emma’s voice whispered in his head.
Julian, you scared me a little.
“I wanted to show you something,” Julian said, and drew from his jacket a rolled-up paper. He handed it across the table to Annabel.
It was a drawing he had done of Emma, on Chapel Cliff, the sea breaking under her feet. He had been pleased with the way he had captured the wistful look on her face, the sea thick as paint below her, the weak sun gray-gold on her hair.
“Emma Carstairs. My parabatai,” said Julian.
Annabel raised grave eyes. “Malcolm spoke of her. He said she was stubborn. He spoke of all of you. Malcolm was afraid of you.”
Julian was stunned. “Why?”
“He said what Tiberius said. He said you would do anything for your family.”
You have a ruthless heart. Julian pushed away the words Kieran had said to him. He couldn’t be distracted. This was too important. “What else can you tell from the picture?” he said.
“That you love her,” said Annabel. “With all of your soul.”
There was nothing suspicious in her gaze; parabatai were meant to love each other. Julian could see the prize, the solution. Kieran’s testimony was one piece of the puzzle. It would help them. But the Cohort would object to it, to any alliance with faeries. Annabel was the key to destroying the Cohort and ensuring the safety of the Blackthorns. Julian could see the image of his family safe, Aline and Helen returned, in front of him like a shimmering city on a hill. He went toward it, thinking of nothing else. “I saw your sketches and paintings,” he said. “I could tell from them what you loved.”
“Malcolm?” she said, with her eyebrows raised. “But that was a long time ago.”
“Not Malcolm. Blackthorn Manor. The one in Idris. Where you lived when you were a child. All your drawings of it were alive. Like you could see it in your mind. Touch it with your hand. Be there in your heart.”
She laid his sketch down on the table. She was silent.
“You could get that back,” he said. “The manor house, all of it. I know why you ran. You expected that if the Clave caught you, they’d punish you, hurt you again. But I can promise you they won’t. They’re not perfect, they’re far from perfect, but this is a new Clave and Council. Downworlders sit on our Council.”
Her eyes flew open. “Magnus said that, but I didn’t believe him.”
“It’s true. Marriage between a Downworlder and a Shadowhunter isn’t illegal anymore. If we bring you before the Clave, they won’t just not hurt you—you’ll be reinstated. You’ll be a Shadowhunter again. You could live in Blackthorn Manor. We’d give it to you.”
“Why?” She rose to her feet and began to pace. “Why would you do all that for me? For the book? Because I will not give it to you.”
“Because I need you to stand up in front of the Council and say that you killed Malcolm,” he told her. She had left the Black Volume on the table before him. She was still pacing, not looking at him. Recalling Magnus’s warning—under no circumstances should you try to take the Black Volume from her, even if she isn’t holding it—Julian opened it cautiously, peered at a page of cramped, unreadable lettering. An idea was beginning to unfurl inside his mind, like a cautious flower. He reached into his pocket.
“That I killed Malcolm?” She spun to stare at him. He had his phone out, but he suspected it meant nothing to her—she’d probably seen mundanes wandering around with cell phones, but she’d never think of it as a camera. In fact, a camera wouldn’t mean anything to her either.
“Yes,” he said. “Believe me, you’ll be hailed as a hero.”
She’d begun pacing again. Julian’s shoulders ached. The position he was in, both hands occupied and leaning forward, was an awkward one. But if this worked, it would be more than worth the pain.
“There is someone who is lying,” he said. “Taking credit for Malcolm’s death. She is doing it so that she can get control of an Institute. Our Institute.” He took a deep breath. “Her name is Zara Dearborn.”
The name electrified her, as he had suspected it would. “Dearborn,” she breathed.
“The Inquisitor who tortured you,” said Julian. “His descendants are no better. They will all be there now, carrying their signs shaming Downworlders, shaming those who stand up to the Clave. They would bring an awful darkness down on us. But you can prove them liars. Discredit them.”
“Surely you could tell them the truth—”
“Not without revealing how I know. I saw you kill Malcolm in the Seelie Queen’s scrying glass. I’m telling you this because I am desperate—if you heard Malcolm speaking of the Cold Peace, you must know contact with faeries is forbidden. What I did would be considered treason. I’d take the punishment for it, but—”
“Your brothers and sisters couldn’t bear that,” she finished for him. She turned back toward him just as he leaned away from the book. Were her eyes more like Livvy’s or Dru’s? They were blue-green and depthless. “I see things have not changed as much as all that. The Law is still hard, and is still the Law.”
Julian could hear the hate in her voice, and knew he had her.
“But the Law can be circumvented.” He leaned across the table. “We can trick them. And shame them. Force them to confront their lies. The Dearborns will pay. They’ll all be there—the Consul, the Inquisitor, all those who have inherited the power that was abused when they hurt you.”
Her eyes glittered. “You will make them acknowledge it? What they did?”
“Yes.”
“And in return—?”
“Your testimony,” he said. “That’s all.”
“You wish me to come to Idris with you. To stand before the Clave and Council, and the Inquisitor, as I did before?”
Julian nodded.
“And if they call me mad, if they declare I am lying, or under Malcolm’s duress, you will stand for me? You will insist I am sane?”
“Magnus will be with you every step of the way,” Julian said. “He can stand beside you on the dais. He can protect you. He is the warlock representative on the Council, and you know how powerful he is. You can trust him even if you don’t trust me.”
It was not a real answer, but she took it for one. Julian had known she would.
“I do trust you,” she said with wonder. She came forward and picked up the Black Volume, hugging it to her chest. “Because of your brother’s letter. It was honest. I had not thought of an honest Blackthorn before. But I could hear the truth in how he loves you. You must be worthy of such love and trust, to have inspired it in one so truthful.” Her eyes bored into him. “I know what you want—what you need. And yet now that I have come to you, you have not once asked for it. That should count for something. Though you failed my trial, I understand it now. You were acting for your family.” He could see her swallow, the muscles moving in her thin, scarred throat. “You swear that if the Black Volume is given to you, you will keep it hidden from the Lord of Shadows? You will use it only to help your family?”
She looked at him with wide eyes. This was why he had done it, Julian thought. He had kept this information to himself as possible leverage, even when he hadn’t known for sure that there would ever be a moment he could use it. Emma’s voice whispered in his head.
Julian, you scared me a little.
“I wanted to show you something,” Julian said, and drew from his jacket a rolled-up paper. He handed it across the table to Annabel.
It was a drawing he had done of Emma, on Chapel Cliff, the sea breaking under her feet. He had been pleased with the way he had captured the wistful look on her face, the sea thick as paint below her, the weak sun gray-gold on her hair.
“Emma Carstairs. My parabatai,” said Julian.
Annabel raised grave eyes. “Malcolm spoke of her. He said she was stubborn. He spoke of all of you. Malcolm was afraid of you.”
Julian was stunned. “Why?”
“He said what Tiberius said. He said you would do anything for your family.”
You have a ruthless heart. Julian pushed away the words Kieran had said to him. He couldn’t be distracted. This was too important. “What else can you tell from the picture?” he said.
“That you love her,” said Annabel. “With all of your soul.”
There was nothing suspicious in her gaze; parabatai were meant to love each other. Julian could see the prize, the solution. Kieran’s testimony was one piece of the puzzle. It would help them. But the Cohort would object to it, to any alliance with faeries. Annabel was the key to destroying the Cohort and ensuring the safety of the Blackthorns. Julian could see the image of his family safe, Aline and Helen returned, in front of him like a shimmering city on a hill. He went toward it, thinking of nothing else. “I saw your sketches and paintings,” he said. “I could tell from them what you loved.”
“Malcolm?” she said, with her eyebrows raised. “But that was a long time ago.”
“Not Malcolm. Blackthorn Manor. The one in Idris. Where you lived when you were a child. All your drawings of it were alive. Like you could see it in your mind. Touch it with your hand. Be there in your heart.”
She laid his sketch down on the table. She was silent.
“You could get that back,” he said. “The manor house, all of it. I know why you ran. You expected that if the Clave caught you, they’d punish you, hurt you again. But I can promise you they won’t. They’re not perfect, they’re far from perfect, but this is a new Clave and Council. Downworlders sit on our Council.”
Her eyes flew open. “Magnus said that, but I didn’t believe him.”
“It’s true. Marriage between a Downworlder and a Shadowhunter isn’t illegal anymore. If we bring you before the Clave, they won’t just not hurt you—you’ll be reinstated. You’ll be a Shadowhunter again. You could live in Blackthorn Manor. We’d give it to you.”
“Why?” She rose to her feet and began to pace. “Why would you do all that for me? For the book? Because I will not give it to you.”
“Because I need you to stand up in front of the Council and say that you killed Malcolm,” he told her. She had left the Black Volume on the table before him. She was still pacing, not looking at him. Recalling Magnus’s warning—under no circumstances should you try to take the Black Volume from her, even if she isn’t holding it—Julian opened it cautiously, peered at a page of cramped, unreadable lettering. An idea was beginning to unfurl inside his mind, like a cautious flower. He reached into his pocket.
“That I killed Malcolm?” She spun to stare at him. He had his phone out, but he suspected it meant nothing to her—she’d probably seen mundanes wandering around with cell phones, but she’d never think of it as a camera. In fact, a camera wouldn’t mean anything to her either.
“Yes,” he said. “Believe me, you’ll be hailed as a hero.”
She’d begun pacing again. Julian’s shoulders ached. The position he was in, both hands occupied and leaning forward, was an awkward one. But if this worked, it would be more than worth the pain.
“There is someone who is lying,” he said. “Taking credit for Malcolm’s death. She is doing it so that she can get control of an Institute. Our Institute.” He took a deep breath. “Her name is Zara Dearborn.”
The name electrified her, as he had suspected it would. “Dearborn,” she breathed.
“The Inquisitor who tortured you,” said Julian. “His descendants are no better. They will all be there now, carrying their signs shaming Downworlders, shaming those who stand up to the Clave. They would bring an awful darkness down on us. But you can prove them liars. Discredit them.”
“Surely you could tell them the truth—”
“Not without revealing how I know. I saw you kill Malcolm in the Seelie Queen’s scrying glass. I’m telling you this because I am desperate—if you heard Malcolm speaking of the Cold Peace, you must know contact with faeries is forbidden. What I did would be considered treason. I’d take the punishment for it, but—”
“Your brothers and sisters couldn’t bear that,” she finished for him. She turned back toward him just as he leaned away from the book. Were her eyes more like Livvy’s or Dru’s? They were blue-green and depthless. “I see things have not changed as much as all that. The Law is still hard, and is still the Law.”
Julian could hear the hate in her voice, and knew he had her.
“But the Law can be circumvented.” He leaned across the table. “We can trick them. And shame them. Force them to confront their lies. The Dearborns will pay. They’ll all be there—the Consul, the Inquisitor, all those who have inherited the power that was abused when they hurt you.”
Her eyes glittered. “You will make them acknowledge it? What they did?”
“Yes.”
“And in return—?”
“Your testimony,” he said. “That’s all.”
“You wish me to come to Idris with you. To stand before the Clave and Council, and the Inquisitor, as I did before?”
Julian nodded.
“And if they call me mad, if they declare I am lying, or under Malcolm’s duress, you will stand for me? You will insist I am sane?”
“Magnus will be with you every step of the way,” Julian said. “He can stand beside you on the dais. He can protect you. He is the warlock representative on the Council, and you know how powerful he is. You can trust him even if you don’t trust me.”
It was not a real answer, but she took it for one. Julian had known she would.
“I do trust you,” she said with wonder. She came forward and picked up the Black Volume, hugging it to her chest. “Because of your brother’s letter. It was honest. I had not thought of an honest Blackthorn before. But I could hear the truth in how he loves you. You must be worthy of such love and trust, to have inspired it in one so truthful.” Her eyes bored into him. “I know what you want—what you need. And yet now that I have come to you, you have not once asked for it. That should count for something. Though you failed my trial, I understand it now. You were acting for your family.” He could see her swallow, the muscles moving in her thin, scarred throat. “You swear that if the Black Volume is given to you, you will keep it hidden from the Lord of Shadows? You will use it only to help your family?”
