Lord of Shadows
Page 159
Emma wondered what thoughts went through Robert Lightwood’s mind as he sat each day in his office and looked at the portrait of his son, a hero of a now-famous battle. Pride, of course, but there must also be some wonder, that he had created this person—these people, really, for Isabelle Lightwood was no slouch in the heroics department—who had become so fierce and amazing in their own right.
Someday Julian would have that pride, she thought, in Livvy and Ty and Tavvy and Dru. But her parents had never had a chance to feel it. She’d never had a chance to make them proud. She felt the familiar wave of bitterness and resentment, pressing against her heart.
Robert gestured for them to be seated. “I hear you wanted to talk to me,” he said. “I hope this isn’t meant to be some sort of distraction.”
“Distraction from what?” Emma asked, settling herself into the uncomfortable wing-backed chair.
“Whatever you’re up to.” He sat back. “So what is it?”
Emma’s heart seemed to flip. Was this a good idea, or a terrible one? It felt as if everything in her had been armoring against this moment, against the idea that she and Julian would have to spread their feelings out under the feet of the Clave for them to tread on.
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.”
Someday Julian would have that pride, she thought, in Livvy and Ty and Tavvy and Dru. But her parents had never had a chance to feel it. She’d never had a chance to make them proud. She felt the familiar wave of bitterness and resentment, pressing against her heart.
Robert gestured for them to be seated. “I hear you wanted to talk to me,” he said. “I hope this isn’t meant to be some sort of distraction.”
“Distraction from what?” Emma asked, settling herself into the uncomfortable wing-backed chair.
“Whatever you’re up to.” He sat back. “So what is it?”
Emma’s heart seemed to flip. Was this a good idea, or a terrible one? It felt as if everything in her had been armoring against this moment, against the idea that she and Julian would have to spread their feelings out under the feet of the Clave for them to tread on.
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.”
