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Queen of Air and Darkness
QoAaD cover 01
Information
Author/s

Cassandra Clare

Release Date December 4, 2018
Publisher Margaret K. McElderry Books
Cover

Annabel Blackthorn

Series
The Dark Artifices
 1  2  3
Chronology
Preceded by
Lord of Shadows
Followed by
The Wicked Powers
Release order
Released after
Lord of Shadows
Released before
The Red Scrolls of Magic (TEC)
Queen of Air and Darkness is the upcoming third and final book of the The Dark Artifices trilogy.

Description

What if damnation is the price of true love?

Innocent blood has been spilled on the steps of the Council Hall, the sacred stronghold of the Shadowhunters. In the wake of the tragic death of Livia Blackthorn, the Clave teeters on the brink of civil war. One fragment of the Blackthorn family flees to Los Angeles, seeking to discover the source of the "blight" that is destroying the race of warlocks. Meanwhile, Julian and Emma take desperate measures to put their forbidden love aside and undertake a perilous mission to Faerie to retrieve the Black Volume of the Dead. What they find in the Courts is a secret that may tear the Shadow World asunder and open a dark path into a future they could never have imagined. Caught in a race against time, Emma and Julian must save the world of Shadowhunters before the deadly power of the parabatai curse destroys them and everyone they love.[1]

Teasers

Information

  • Simon, Isabelle,[2][3] Jem, Tessa,[4] Maia,[5][6] and Lily[5] will appear in this installment.
  • There may be no time jump between Lord of Shadows and this book; it may pick up right where LoS left off.[7] The time jump was originally set to be about a week.[8]
  • This book will tackle how, after LoS, "grief changes people in ways that are sad, transforming, deepening, even positive; how death doesn't have to be a pointless waste — how you can honor someone's memory in a way that changes the world," in addition to the "funny parts," "happy romantic parts and friendship fuzzies and squee parts, because life is a mosaic of feelings and because loss doesn't mean you'll never laugh again, and you may value those good moments even more than you would have before."[9]
  • Why Clary and Jace's runes worked in Faerie will be explained.[10]
  • The weapon that Clary and Jace are looking for in Faerie will be identified.[11][5]
  • It will be explored how the Rosales family became close with faeries.[12]
  • This installment will "go to a new place" that will "share the story of The Wicked Powers."[13]
  • What the "Dark Artifices" are will be told.[14]
  • More unexpected effects from the parabatai curse will be seen.[15]
  • Something significant about Jem and Tessa will be learned in this installment.[16][17]
  • Kieran's true name will be revealed.[18]
  • At least one more of the King's children will be introduced.[5]
  • Church will provide an important clue.[5]
  • The magical reason why the other attendants of Jem and Tessa's wedding, excluding the couple and Magnus,[19] don't remember it ever happening may be revealed in this installment.[20][21][22]
  • Something will happen and change—something previously believed to be a permanent part of the world—in the Shadowhunter world.[23]
  • A "big thing" will happen in the middle of the book that "changes everything that happens going forward," and there will be a "really painful thing towards the end."[23]
  • A new location, a part of the Shadow World, will be featured.[23]
  • The identity of Kit's mother may be revealed.[24][25]
  • Alec may be nominated for or offered the Consul position.[26][27]

Snippets

For more, either go to the page of the series or check the unidentified snippets page.

Teaser #1

Mark knocked, and a harried-looking Simon Lewis opened the door.

Teaser #2

"I can't do this." Helen tried to keep her voice steady, but it was nearly impossible. She hoped the strain would be covered by the sound of the waves crashing below them, but Aline knew her too well. She could sense when Helen was upset, even when she was trying hard not to show it.

"Baby." Aline moved closer, wrapping her arms around Helen, brushing her lips softly with her own. "You can. You can do anything."

Helen relaxed into her wife’s arms. When she’d first met Aline she’d thought the other girl was taller than she was, but she’d realized later it was the way Aline held herself, arrow-straight. The Consul, her mother, held herself the same way, and with the same pride — not that either of them was arrogant, but the word seemed a shade closer to what Helen imagined than simple confidence. She remembered the first love note Aline had ever written her. The curves of your lips rewrite history. The world is changed because you are made of ivory and gold. Later, she’d found out it was an Oscar Wilde quote, and had said to Aline, smiling, You’ve got a lot of nerve.

Aline had looked back at her steadily. "I know. I do."

They both had, always, and it had stood them in good stead. But this —

"This is different," Helen said. "They don't want me here –"

"They do want you here."

"They barely know me," Helen said. "That's worse."

Teaser #3

Fear prickled up and down Emma's arms like goosebumps. Since she was twelve, she had been terrified of the ocean: she had always believed her parents had died in it, dragged below the surface by Raziel knew what, choked to death on bitter seawater. The surge and crash of waves, the imagined black velvet of the ocean's depths, had filled her nightmares.

Even when she found out her parents had been murdered on dry land by Malcolm Fade, their bodies thrown into the sea after death, the fear remained. She reached for it now, welcomed it in. She could feel it filling the empty spaces, the hollows left by grief.

She glanced back down at the sea. The surging whirlpool below, the waves slamming like dark blue walls against sheer needles of stone, looked like a painting of a maelstrom, a photograph of a hellscape taken from a safe distance.

The wind screamed in Emma's ears like a warning. Another wave hurled itself against the cliffs, sending up an explosion of spray. Emma smiled grimly into the wind and salt, and jumped.

Teaser #4

Kit glanced around, wondering if the growing number of people was bothering Ty. He hated crowds. Magnus and Alec were standing with their kids near the Consul; they were with a beautiful black-haired girl with eyebrows just like Alec's and a boy—well, he was probably in his twenties—with untidy brown hair. The boy gave Kit a considering look that seemed to say you look familiar. Several people had done the same. Kit guessed it was because he looked like Jace, if Jace had suffered a sudden and unexpected height, muscle and overall hotness reduction.

Teaser #5

Isabelle shook her head, then bent down and unclipped a chain from one slender ankle. She held it out to Emma. "This is blessed iron. Poisonous to faeries. Wear it and you can pack a hell of a kick."

"Thanks." Emma took the chain and wrapped it twice around her wrist, fastening it tightly.

"Do I have anything iron?" Simon looked around wildly, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal figure of an archer. "This is my D&D character, Lord Montgomery—"

"Oh my God," said Isabelle.

Teaser #6

He wanted to ask Ty if he was all right, but he knew the other boy wouldn't want it. Ty was staring at the Market, tense with curiosity. Kit turned to the phouka.

"Gatekeeper," he said. "We request entrance to the Shadow Market."

Ty's gaze snapped to attention. The phouka was tall, dark and thin, with bronze and gold strands threaded through his long hair. He wore purple trousers and no shoes. The lamppost he leaned against was between two stalls, neatly blocking the way into the Market.

"Kit Rook," said the phouka. "What a compliment it is, to still be recognized for one who has left us to dwell among the angels."

"He knows you," muttered Ty.

"Everyone in the Shadow Market knows me," said Kit, hoping Ty would be impressed.

The phouka stubbed out his cigarette. It released a sickly-sweet smell of charred herbs. "Password," he said.

"I'm not saying that," said Kit. "You think it's funny to try to make people say that."

"Say what? What's the password?" Ty demanded.

The phouka grinned. "Wait here, Kit Rook," he said, and melted back into the shadows of the Market.

"He's going to get Hale," said Kit, trying to hide the signs of his nerves.

"Can they see us?" Ty said. He was looking into the Shadow Market, where clusters of Downworlders, witches and other assorted members of the magical underworld moved among the clamor. "Out here?"

It was like standing outside a lighted room in the dark, Kit thought. And though Ty might not express it that way, Kit suspected he felt the same.

"If they can, they'd never show it," he said.

Teaser #7

Emma had been halfway up the stairs on the way to Cristina's room when she had seen Mark, leaning against the wall on the landing and looking dejected. “Dru won't let me in to talk to her," he said. "I am worried. It is like a faerie to grieve alone, but not, I understand, like a Shadowhunter."

Emma hesitated. She was about to say that it wasn't unlike Dru to lock herself in her room alone, but Dru had looked more than a little upset when she'd left the kitchen. "Keep trying," she advised. "Sometimes you have to knock for twenty minutes or so. Or you could offer to watch a horror movie with her."

Mark looked glum. "I do not think I would enjoy a horror movie."

"You never know," Emma said. 

He turned to head back up the stairs, and hesitated. "I am worried about you and Jules as well," he said, more quietly. "I do not like the Inquisitor, or the idea of you being questioned by him. He reminds me of the King of Unseelie."

Emma was startled. "He does?"

"They give me the same feeling," Mark said. "I cannot explain it, but —"

A door opened on the landing overhead: it was Cristina's. She stepped out, glancing down. "Emma? I wondered if you were —"

She stopped when she saw Mark, and she and Mark stared at each other in a way that made Emma feel as if she had disappeared completely. 

"I didn't mean to interrupt," Cristina said, but she was still looking at Mark, and he was looking back as if their gazes were hopelessly tied together. 

Mark had shaken himself, as if he were casting off cobwebs or dreams. "It is all right — I must go speak with Drusilla." He had bounded up the stairs and out of sight, disappearing around the bend in the corridor.

Cristina had snapped out of it and invited Emma in, and now it was as if the moment with Mark had never happened, though Emma was itching to ask about it. "Mark will need you," she said again, and Cristina twisted her hands in her lap.

"Mark," she said, and paused. "I don’t know what Mark is thinking. If he is angry at me."

"Why would he be angry at you?"  

"Because of Kieran," she said. "They did not end things well, and now Kieran is at the Scholomance, and far away, which was my doing."

"You didn't break him up with Kieran," Emma protested. "If anything, you helped keep them together longer. Remember — hot faerie threesome."

Cristina dropped her face into her hands. "Mrfuffhfhsh," she said.

"What?"

"I said," Cristina repeated, lifting her face, "that Kieran sent me a note."

"He did? How? When?"

"This morning. In an acorn." Cristina passed a small piece of paper to Emma. "It isn't very illuminating."

Lady of Roses,

Though the Scholomance is cold, and Diego is boring, I am still grateful that you found enough value in my life to save it. You are as kind as you are beautiful. My thoughts are with you.

Kieran

"Why did he send you this?" Emma handed the note back to Cristina, shaking her head. "It's weird. He's so weird!"

"I think he just wanted to thank me for the escape plan," Cristina protested. "That's all."

"Faeries don't like thanking people," said Emma. "This is a romantic note."

Cristina blushed. "It's just the way faeries talk. It doesn't mean anything."

"When it comes to faeries," Emma said darkly, "everything means something."

Teaser #8

Faerie magic was quiet, Kit thought. There was no noise, no tumult, no flashing warlock lights. In between one breath and another, Mark, Kieran and Cristina simply disappeared.

Teaser #9

"You hated the Shadow Market in London," Kit said. "It really bothered you. The noises, and the crowd —"

Ty’s gaze flicked down to Kit. "I'll wear my headphones. I’ll be all right."

"...and I don't know if we should go again so soon," Kit added. "What if Helen and Aline get suspicious?"

Ty's gaze darkened. "Julian told me once," he said, "that when people keep coming up with reasons not do something, it's because they don't want to do it. Do you not want to do this?"

Ty's voice sounded tight. The thrumming wire again, sharp with tension. Under the cotton of his shirt, his too-thin shoulders had tightened as well. The neck of his shirt was loose, the delicate line of his collarbones just visible.

Kit felt a rush of tenderness toward Ty, mixed with near-panic. In other circumstances, he thought, he would just have lied. But he couldn't lie to Ty.

Teaser #10

A ghost, Kit thought. Like Jessamine. He looked around wildly: surely there would be more ghosts here, their dead feet leaving no traces on the grass?

But he only saw the Blackthorns, clinging together, Emma and Cristina side by side, and Julian with Tavvy in his arms, as the smoke rose up and around them. Half-reluctantly he glanced back: the young man with the dark hair had moved to kneel beside Robert Lightwood's pyre. He was closer to the flames than any human could have gotten, and they seemed to eddy within the outline of his body, lighting his eyes with fiery tears.

Parabatai, Kit thought, suddenly. In the slump of the young man's shoulders, in his outstretched hands, in the longing stamped on his face, he saw Emma and Julian, he saw Alec as he spoke about Jace; he knew he was looking at the ghost of Robert Lightwood's parabatai. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did.

Teaser #11

"You have changed, son of thorns," said the Queen.

Teaser #12

"Please. I've taught at Shadowhunter Academy. I —" Catarina began to cough, her shoulders shaking. Her eyes widened in alarm.

Cristina slid out of bed, alarmed. "Are you all right —?"

But Catarina had vanished. There wasn't even a swirl of air to show where her Projection had been.

Cristina hastily threw on her clothes: jeans, an old t-shirt. She wished with all her heart that Emma was here, that they could talk about last night, that Emma could give her advice and a shoulder to cry on.

But she wasn't. Cristina touched her necklace, whispered a quick prayer to the Angel, and headed down the hall to Mark’s room.

He'd been up as late as she was, so there was a high possibility he was still sleeping. She knocked on the door hesitantly and then harder; finally Mark threw it open, yawning and stark naked.

"Híjole!" Cristina shrieked, and pulled her t-shirt collar up over her face. "Put your pants on!"

"Sorry," he called, ducking behind the door. "At least you've already seen it all."

Teaser #13

The pyres were still burning as the procession turned and headed back toward the city. It was customary for the smoke to rise all night, and for families to gather in Angel Square to mourn among others.

Not that Emma thought it was likely the Blackthorns would do that. They would remain in their house, closeted in with each other: they had been too much apart all their lives to want comfort from other Shadowhunters who they barely knew.

She had trailed away from the rest of the group, too raw to want to try to talk to Julian again in front of his family. Besides, he was holding Tavvy, who was cried out and almost asleep.

"Emma," said a voice beside her.

She turned and saw Jem Carstairs.

Teaser #14

"They fear your influence," said Gwyn. "They know others listen to you. You are very persuasive, Diana, and startlingly wise."

She made a face at him. "Flatterer."

"I am not flattering you." He stood up. "I am afraid for you. Horace Dearborn may not be a dictator yet, but he yearns to be one. His first move will to be to eliminate all who stand against him. He will move to extinguish the brightest lights first, those who illuminate the pathway for others."

Diana shivered. "You are cynical, Gwyn."

"It is possible I do not always see the best in people," he said, "as I hunt down the souls of slain warriors on the battlefield."

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you making a joke?"

"Maybe." He looked puzzled. "I think I might have. Was it funny?"

Teaser #15 (released 8 months ago as unidentified snippet; confirmed as a QoAaD snippet by DdiBlackstairs)

He bent down and tore a strip of material from the shirt he'd worn at the Council meeting. It was stiff and dark with his sister's dried blood.

He tied it around his wrist. It would stay there, he told himself, until he had vengeance. Until there was justice. Until everyone he loved was safe.

Teaser #16

"That's why I did all this," Ty said. "I want you with me in any way you can be."

Teaser #17

Something struck Cristina's back; she screamed as her feet left the ground. A harpy had sunk its claws into the back of her gear jacket and was lifting her into the air. She thought of stories about how eagles flew high into the sky with their prey and then released them, letting their bodies smash open on the earth below. The ground was already receding below her with terrifying speed.

With a scream of fear and anger, she slashed up and backward with her sword, slicing the harpy's claws off at the joint. The demon shrieked and Cristina tumbled through the air, her sword falling out of her hand, reaching out as if she could catch on to something to slow her fall—she saw Mark's pale, terrified face turned up toward her harpies surrounding him in a dark cloud—

Something reached out to seize her out of the sky.

She gasped as a hand caught her elbow, and she was yanked sideways to land awkwardly atop something warm and alive. A flying horse.

Teaser #18

In the reflection of the window glass, Kit saw the bedroom door open and Ty come in. He was still wearing his mourning clothes, though he'd taken off the jacket and was just in a black long-sleeve T-shirt. And Kit knew it was too late to run, that he cared about these people now, and specifically Ty.

"I'm glad you're here." Ty sat down on the bed and started unlacing his shoes. "I wanted to talk to you."

The door was still slightly open and Kit could hear voices coming from the kitchen downstairs. Helen's, Dru's, Emma's, Julian's. Diana had gone back to her own house. Apparently she lived in a weapons store or something like that. She'd gone back to get some kind of tool she thought could fish the splinters out of Julian’s bleeding hands.

Ty's hands were fine, but he'd been wearing gloves. Kit had seen Julian's when he'd gone to rinse them out at the sink, and they'd looked like shrapnel had blown into his palms. Emma had stood nearby looking worried, but Julian had said he didn’t want an iratze, that it would just heal the skin closed over the bits of wood. His voice had sounded so flat, Kit had barely recognized it.

"I know how this is going to sound," Kit said, turning so his back was against the cold glass. Ty was hunched over, and Kit caught the gleam of gold at his neck. "But you're not acting the way I expected."

Ty kicked his boots off. "Because I climbed up the pyre?"

"No, that was kind of actually the most expected thing you did," said Kit. "I just..."

"I did it to get this," Ty said, and put his hand to his throat. Kit recognized the gold chain and the slim disk of metal attached to it: Livvy's locket, the one he'd helped her put on before the Council meeting. He vividly remembered her holding her hair aside as he fastened the clasp, and the smell of her perfume. His stomach lurched.

"Livvy's necklace," he said. "I mean, I guess that makes sense. I just thought you would..."

"Cry?" Ty didn't look angry, but the intensity in his gray eyes had deepened. He was still holding the pendant. "Everybody is supposed to cry. But that's because they accept that Livvy is dead. But I don't. I don't accept it."

"What?"

"I'm going to get her back," said Ty.

Teaser #19

"Julian, remember what Dane said, that you were the kind of guy who would have a girl for a parabatai?" She knelt up on the bed, raising her chin to look him directly in the eye. "That's what I always loved about you, even before I was in love with you. You never thought for a second about it diminishing you to have a girl as your warrior partner, you never acted as if I was anything less than your complete equal. You never for a moment made me feel like I had to be weak for you to be strong."

Teaser #20

"I am not a princess," Cristina said; she was leaning over him, one of her hands braced against the blanket. Kieran's face was close to hers, so close she could see the dark fringe of his eyelashes. "And I do not want you to go."

Teaser #21

Julian's room was small, and painted an incongruously cheerful shade of blue. A white-painted four-poster bed dominated the space. Emma tugged him toward it, sitting him down gently, and went to bolt on the door.

“Why are you locking the door?” Julian raised his head. It was the first thing he'd said since they'd left Ty's room, though he’d followed her calmly enough.

"You need some privacy, Julian," she said. She turned toward him; God, the way he looked broke her heart. Blood freckled his skin, darkened his stiff clothes, had dried in patches on his boots. Livvy's locket glittered in the hollow of his throat, though it had dangled against Livvy's sternum. Emma remembered that locket: a gift from Julian to his sister when she'd turned thirteen, it had belonged to their grandmother. It had a circlet of the family thorns on the front, and Julian had added an etching to the back: a pair of crossed sabres, Livvy's weapon.

It held a picture of Ty, Emma knew. She'd barely noticed Livvy wearing it at the Council meeting, though she knew Livvy often wore it when she was feeling nervous, the same way Emma kept tight hold of Cortana.

She wished she'd noticed Livvy more in those last moments, paid more attention to her, rather than worrying about the Cohort, about Manuel and Zara and Jessica, about Robert Lightwood and exile, about her own broken, messed-up heart. She wished she had held Livvy one more time, marveling at how tall and grown-up she was, how she had changed from the chubby toddler she recalled in her own earliest memories.

"Don't," Julian said, roughly.

Emma came closer to him; she couldn't stop herself. He had to look up to meet her eyes. "Don't do what?"

"Blame yourself," he said. "I can feel you thinking about how you should have done something different. I can't let those kind of thoughts in, or I'll go to pieces."

He was sitting on the very edge of the bed, as if he couldn't bear the thought of lying down. Very gently, Emma touched his face, sliding the palm of her hand across his jaw. He shuddered and caught her wrist, hard.

"Emma," he said, and for one of the first times in her life, she couldn't read his voice — it was low and dark, rough without being angry, wanting something, but she didn't know what.

"What can I do," she breathed. "What can I do, I'm your parabatai, Julian, I need to help you."

Teaser #22 (extended version of Teaser #18; confirmed as part of chapter three)

Kit stood and watched the smoke rising in the distance through the window of the room he shared with Ty.

At least, he assumed he shared the room with Ty. His bag was here, tossed into a corner, and nobody had ever bothered to tell him whether he was supposed to be in a different room. He'd gotten dressed in the bathroom that morning and emerged to find Ty pulling his T-shirt on over his head. His Marks seemed unusually black, probably because his skin was so pale. He looked so delicate—Kit had to glance away from the shape of his shoulder blades, the fragility of his spine. How could he look like that and be strong enough to fight demons?

Now Ty was downstairs, with the rest of his family. People tended to cook when someone died and Shadowhunters were no exception. Someone was probably making a casserole. A demon casserole. Kit leaned his head against the cold glass of the window.

There was a time he could have run, Kit thought. He could have run and left the Shadowhunters behind, lost himself in the underground world of Shadow Markets. Been like his father, not part of any world, existing between them.

In the reflection of the window glass, Kit saw the bedroom door open and Ty come in. He was still wearing his mourning clothes, though he'd taken off the jacket and was just in a long sleeve T-shirt. And Kit knew it was too late to run, that he cared about these people now, and specifically Ty.

"I'm glad you're here." Ty sat down on the bed and started unlacing his shoes. "I wanted to talk to you."

The door was still slightly open and Kit could hear voices coming from the kitchen downstairs. Helen's, Dru's, Emma's, Julian's. Diana had gone back to her own house. Apparently she lived in a weapons store or something like that. She’d gone back to get some kind of tool she thought could fish the splinters out of Julian’s bleeding hands.

Ty's hands were fine, but he'd been wearing gloves. Kit had seen Julian's when he'd gone to rinse them out at the sink, and they’d looked like shrapnel had blown into his palms. Emma had stood nearby looking worried, but Julian had said he didn't want an iratze, that it would just heal the skin closed over the bits of wood. His voice had sounded so flat, Kit had barely recognized it.

"I know how this is going to sound," Kit said, turning so his back was against the cold glass. Ty was hunched over, and Kit caught the gleam of gold at his neck. "But you're not acting the way I expected."

Ty kicked his boots off. "Because I climbed up the pyre?"

"No, that was kind of actually the most expected thing you did," said Kit. "I just..."

"I did it to get this," Ty said, and put his hand to his throat. Kit recognized the gold chain and the slim disk of metal attached to it: Livvy's locket, the one he'd helped her put on before the Council meeting. It had a circlet of the family thorns on the front, and she had told him Julian had added an etching to the back: a pair of crossed sabres, Livvy's weapon.

Kit vividly remembered her holding her hair aside as he fastened the clasp, and the smell of her perfume. His stomach lurched.

"Livvy's necklace," he said. "I mean, I guess that makes sense. I just thought you would..."

"Cry?" Ty didn't look angry, but the intensity in his gray eyes had deepened. He was still holding the pendant. "Everybody is supposed to cry. But that's because they accept that Livvy is dead. But I don't. I don't accept it."

"What?"

"I'm going to get her back," said Ty.

Kit sat down heavily on the windowsill. "How are you going to do that?"

Ty let go of the necklace and took his phone out of his pocket. "These were on Julian's phone," he said. "He took them when he was in the library with Annabel. They're photos of the pages of the Black Volume of the Dead." He looked at Kit with a worried frown. "Will you come and sit down next to me so you can see them?"

Kit wanted to say no; he couldn't say it. He wanted this not to be happening, but it was. When he sat down next to Ty on the bed, the mattress sagged, and he knocked against Ty's elbow accidentally. Ty's skin felt hot against his, as if the other boy had a fever.

It had never crossed his mind that Ty was lying or wrong, and he didn't seem to be either. After fifteen years with Johnny Rook, Kit was pretty familiar with what bad spell books were like and this one looked decidedly evil. Spells in cramped handwriting littered the pages, along with creepy sketches of corpses crawling out of the grave, screaming faces, and charred skeletons.

Ty wasn't looking at the photos like they were creepy, though; he was looking at them like they were the Holy Grail. "This is the most powerful spell book for bringing back the dead that's ever existed," he said. "That's why it didn't matter if they burned Livvy's body. With spells like these she can be brought back whole no matter what happened to her, no matter how long—" He broke off with a shuddering breath. "But I don't want to wait. I want to start as soon as we get back to Los Angeles."

"Didn't Malcolm kill a lot of people to bring Annabel back?" said Kit.

"Correlation, not causation, Watson," said Ty. "The simplest way to do necromancy is with death energy. Life for death, basically. But there are other sources of energy. I would never kill anyone." He made a face that was probably supposed to be scornful but was actually just cute.

"I don't think Livvy would want you to do necromancy," Kit said.

Ty put his phone away. "I don't think Livvy would want to be dead."

Kit felt the words like a punch to the chest, but before he could reply, there was a commotion downstairs. He and Ty ran to the top of the stairwell, Ty in his stocking feet, and looked down into the kitchen.

Zara Dearborn's Spanish friend, Manuel, was there, wearing the uniform of a Gard officer and a smirk. He was shrugging, and Kit leaned forward more to see who he was talking to. He caught sight of Julian leaning against the kitchen table, his face expressionless. The others were ranged around the kitchen—Emma looked furious, and Cristina had her hand on the other girl's arm as if to hold her back.

"Really?" Helen said furiously. "You couldn't wait until the day after our sister's funeral to drag Emma and Jules to the Gard?"

Manuel shrugged, clearly indifferent. "It has to be now," he said. "The Consul insists."

"What's going on?" Aline said. "You're talking about my mother, Manuel. She wouldn't just demand to see them without a good reason."

"It's about the Mortal Sword," Manuel said. "Is that a good enough reason for all of you?"

Ty tugged on Kit's arm, pulling him away from the stairs. They moved down the upstairs hallway, the voices in the kitchen receding but still urgent.

"Do you think they'll go?" Kit said.

"Emma and Jules? They have to. The Consul's asking," said Ty. "But it's her, not the Inquisitor, so it'll be all right." He leaned in toward Kit, whose back was against the wall; he smelled like a campfire. Kit realized it was probably sap from the pyre wood, and his stomach lurched again. "I can do this without you. Bring back Livvy, I mean," he said. "But I don't want to. Sherlock doesn't do things without Watson."

"Did you tell anyone else?"

"No." Ty had pulled the sleeves of his shirt down over his hands and was worrying at the fabric with his fingers. "I know it has to be a secret. People wouldn't like it, but when Livvy comes back, they'll be happy and they won't care."

"Better to ask forgiveness than permission," Kit said, feeling dazed.

"Yes." Ty wasn't looking directly at Kit—he never did—but his eyes lit up hopefully; in the dim light of the hallway, the gray in them was so pale it looked like tears. Kit thought of Ty sleeping, how he'd slept the whole day of Livvy's death and into the night, and the way Kit had watched him sleep in terror of what would happen when he awoke.

Everyone had been terrified. Ty would fall apart, they'd thought. Kit remembered Julian standing over Ty as he slept, one hand stroking his brother’s hair, and he'd been praying—Kit didn’t even know Shadowhunters prayed, but Julian definitely had been. Ty would crumble in a world without his sister, they'd all thought; he'd fall away to ashes just like Livvy's body.

And now he was asking Kit for this, saying he didn't want to do it without him, and what if Kit said no and Ty crumbled from the pressure of trying to do it alone? What if Kit took away his last hope and he fell apart because of it?

"You need me?" Kit asked slowly.

Ty nodded. "Yes."

"Then," Kit said, knowing already that he was making a huge mistake, "I'll help you."

Teaser #23 (from Chapter 3: Nothing That Is Ours; chapter sampler released at BookCon 2018)

The pyres were still burning as the procession turned and headed back toward the city. It was customary for the smoke to rise all night, and for families to gather in Angel Square to mourn among others.

Not that Emma thought it was likely the Blackthorns would do that. They would remain in their house, closeted in with each other: They had been too much apart all their lives to want comfort from other Shadowhunters who they barely knew.

She had trailed away from the rest of the group, too raw to want to try to talk to Julian again in front of his family. Besides, he was holding Tavvy's hand.

"Emma," said a voice beside her. She turned and saw Jem Carstairs.

Jem. She was too surprised to speak. Jem had been a Silent Brother once, and though he was a Carstairs, he was a very distant relative, due to being more than a century old. He only looked about twenty-four, though, and was dressed in jeans and scuffed shoes. He wore a white sweater, which she guessed was his concession to Shadowhunter funeral whites.

Jem was no longer a Shadowhunter, though he had been one for many years, and was one of the most famous of the Carstairs family, along with his cousin Cordelia.

"Jem," she whispered, not wanting to alert anyone else in the procession. "Thanks for coming."

"I wished you to know how sorry I am," he said. He looked pale and drawn, but that couldn't be grief for Livvy, could it? He'd barely known her. "I know you loved Livia like a sister."

"Can we talk?" she said abruptly. "Just us?"

He nodded and indicated a low rise some distance away, partially hidden by a stand of trees. After whispering to Cristina that she was going to talk to Jem—"The Jem? The really old one? Who's married to a warlock? Really?"—she followed Jem to where he was sitting on the grass, among a tumble of old stones.

They sat for a moment in silence, both of them looking out over the Imperishable Fields. "When you were a Silent Brother," Emma said abruptly, "did you burn people?"

Jem looked over at her. His eyes were very dark. "I helped light the pyres," he said. "A clever man I knew once said that we cannot understand life, and therefore we cannot hope to understand death. I have lost many I loved to death, and it does not get easier, nor does watching the pyres burn."

"We are dust and ashes," Emma said.

"It was meant to make us all equal," said Jem. "We are all burned. Our ashes all go to build the City of Bones."

"Except for criminals," said Emma.

Jem's brow furrowed. "Livia was hardly that," he said. "Nor you, unless you are thinking of committing a crime?"

I already have. I'm horribly in love with my parabatai. The desire to say the words, to confess to someone—to Jem, specifically—was like a pressure behind Emma's eyes. To forestall them, she said hastily: "Did your parabatai ever pull away from you? When you, you know, wanted to talk?"

"People do strange things when they're grieving," said Jem gently. "I was watching from a distance, earlier. I saw what Julian did for his brother at the funeral. I know how much he has always loved those children. Nothing he says or does now, in these first and worst days, is symbolic of who he is. Besides," he added with a slight smile, "being parabatai is complicated. I hit my parabatai in the face, once."

"You did what?"

"As I said." Jem seemed to enjoy her astonishment. "I struck my parabatai—I loved him more than anyone else in the world I've ever loved save Tessa, and I struck him in the face because my heart was breaking. I can hardly judge anyone else."

"Tessa!" Emma said, feeling suddenly rude that she hadn't asked after her before. "Where is she?"

Jem's hand made a fist in the grass. "She is in the Spiral Labyrinth with Catarina Loss, searching desperately for a cure. All the warlocks are sickening. Tessa herself seems protected by her Shadowhunter blood. But those who are older, who have used more magic and more powerful magic, are sickening first."

"Magnus," Emma said. "He's older, and powerful, isn't he? And he uses a lot of magic?"

Jem nodded grimly.

"How much does Tessa know about it?" Emma demanded. "What have they figured out?"

"Tessa thinks it's connected to the murders Malcolm committed with the Followers of the Guardian," said Jem. Emma blinked at him. All of that seemed a thousand worlds away. "He used the ley lines to power his necromantic magic—if they're poisoned, it might be communicating that poison to any warlock who uses them."

"Can't warlocks just not use them?"

"There are only a few sources of power," said Jem. "Ley lines are the easiest. Many of the warlocks have stopped using them, but it means they're exhausting their powers very quickly, which is also unhealthy." He gave her an unconvincing smile. "Tessa will solve it," he said. "She found Kit—she'll discover the answer to this as well. I'm more worried about you at this moment. You look thin and drawn—"

"I had to watch Livvy die," said Emma. "Have you ever watched someone you loved die?"

"Yes," said Jem.

That was the problem with very old people, Emma thought. It was rare that you had a life experience that they hadn't.

"And Horace Dearborn is the Inquisitor now," she said. "It's like there's no hope for anything now."

"There is always hope," said Jem. "And though I cannot stay with you, for I must return to Tessa, I will be a fire-message away. Send me a letter and I will come, no matter how distant I may be." He put an arm around her and hugged her close for a moment. "Take care, mèi mei."

"What does that mean?" Emma asked. But he was already gone, vanishing into the trees as swiftly as he'd come.


Kit stood and watched the smoke rising in the distance through the window of the room he shared with Ty.

At least, he assumed he shared the room with Ty. His bag was here, tossed into a corner, and nobody had ever bothered to tell him whether he was supposed to be in a different room. He'd gotten dressed in the bathroom that morning and emerged to find Ty pulling his T-shirt on over his head. His Marks seemed unusually black, probably because his skin was so pale. He looked so delicate—Kit had to glance away from the shape of his shoulder blades, the fragility of his spine. How could he look like that and be strong enough to fight demons?

Now Ty was downstairs, with the rest of his family. People tended to cook when someone died and Shadowhunters were no exception. Someone was probably making a casserole. A demon casserole. Kit leaned his head against the cold glass of the window.

There was a time he could have run, Kit thought. He could have run and left the Shadowhunters behind, lost himself in the underground world of Shadow Markets. Been like his father, not part of any world, existing between them.

In the reflection of the window glass, Kit saw the bedroom door open and Ty come in. He was still wearing his mourning clothes, though he'd taken off the jacket and was just in a black long-sleeve T-shirt. And Kit knew it was too late to run, that he cared about these people now, and specifically Ty.

"I'm glad you're here." Ty sat down on the bed and started unlacing his shoes. "I wanted to talk to you."

The door was still slightly open and Kit could hear voices coming from the kitchen downstairs. Helen's, Dru's, Emma's, Julian's. Diana had gone back to her own house. Apparently she lived in a weapons store or something like that. She'd gone back to get some kind of tool she thought could fish the splinters out of Julian's bleeding hands.

Ty's hands were fine, but he'd been wearing gloves. Kit had seen Julian's when he'd gone to rinse them out at the sink, and they'd looked like shrapnel had blown into his palms. Emma had stood nearby looking worried, but Julian had said he didn't want an iratze, that it would just heal the skin closed over the bits of wood. His voice had sounded so flat, Kit had barely recognized it.

"I know how this is going to sound," Kit said, turning so his back was against the cold glass. Ty was hunched over, and Kit caught the gleam of gold at his neck. "But you’re not acting the way I expected."

Ty kicked his boots off. "Because I climbed up the pyre?"

"No, that was kind of actually the most expected thing you did," said Kit. "I just . . ."

"I did it to get this," Ty said, and put his hand to his throat. Kit recognized the gold chain and the slim disk of metal attached to it: Livvy's locket, the one he'd helped her put on before the Council meeting. He vividly remembered her holding her hair aside as he fastened the clasp, and the smell of her perfume. His stomach lurched.

"Livvy's necklace," he said. "I mean, I guess that makes sense. I just thought you would . . ."

"Cry?" Ty didn't look angry, but the intensity in his gray eyes had deepened. He was still holding the pendant. "Everybody is supposed to cry. But that's because they accept that Livvy is dead. But I don't. I don’t accept it."

"What?"

"I'm going to get her back," said Ty.

Kit sat down heavily on the windowsill. "How are you going to do that?"

Ty let go of the necklace and took his phone out of his pocket. "These were on Julian's phone," he said. "He took them when he was in the library with Annabel. They're photos of the pages of the Black Volume of the Dead." He looked at Kit with a worried frown. "Will you come and sit down next to me so you can see them?"

Kit wanted to say no; he couldn't say it. He wanted this not to be happening, but it was. When he sat down next to Ty on the bed, the mattress sagged, and he knocked against Ty's elbow accidentally. Ty's skin felt hot against his, as if the other boy had a fever.

It had never crossed his mind that Ty was lying or wrong, and he didn't seem to be either. After fifteen years with Johnny Rook, Kit was pretty familiar with what bad spell books were like and this one looked decidedly evil. Spells in cramped handwriting littered the pages, along with creepy sketches of corpses crawling out of the grave, screaming faces, and charred skeletons.

Ty wasn't looking at the photos like they were creepy, though; he was looking at them like they were the Holy Grail. "This is the most powerful spell book for bringing back the dead that's ever existed," he said. "That's why it didn't matter if they burned Livvy's body. With spells like these she can be brought back whole no matter what happened to her, no matter how long—" He broke off with a shuddering breath. "But I don't want to wait. I want to start as soon as we get back to Los Angeles."

"Didn't Malcolm kill a lot of people to bring Annabel back?" said Kit.

"Correlation, not causation, Watson," said Ty. "The simplest way to do necromancy is with death energy. Life for death, basically. But there are other sources of energy. I would never kill anyone." He made a face that was probably supposed to be scornful but was actually just cute.

"I don't think Livvy would want you to do necromancy," Kit said.

Ty put his phone away. "I don't think Livvy would want to be dead."

Kit felt the words like a punch to the chest, but before he could reply, there was a commotion downstairs. He and Ty ran to the top of the stairwell, Ty in his stocking feet, and looked down into the kitchen.

Zara Dearborn's Spanish friend, Manuel, was there, wearing the uniform of a Gard officer and a smirk. He was shrugging, and Kit leaned forward more to see who he was talking to. He caught sight of Julian leaning against the kitchen table, his face expressionless. The others were ranged around the kitchen—Emma looked furious, and Cristina had her hand on the other girl's arm as if to hold her back.

"Really?" Helen said furiously. "You couldn't wait until the day after our sister's funeral to drag Emma and Jules to the Gard?"

Manuel shrugged, clearly indifferent. "It has to be now," he said. "The Consul insists."

"What's going on?" Aline said. "You're talking about my mother, Manuel. She wouldn't just demand to see them without a good reason."

"It's about the Mortal Sword," Manuel said. "Is that a good enough reason for all of you?"

Ty tugged on Kit's arm, pulling him away from the stairs. They moved down the upstairs hallway, the voices in the kitchen receding but still urgent.

"Do you think they'll go?" Kit said.

"Emma and Jules? They have to. The Consul's asking," said Ty. "But it's her, not the Inquisitor, so it'll be all right." He leaned in toward Kit, whose back was against the wall; he smelled like a campfire. Kit realized it was probably sap from the pyre wood, and his stomach lurched again. "I can do this without you. Bring back Livvy, I mean," he said. "But I don't want to. Sherlock doesn't do things without Watson."

"Did you tell anyone else?"

"No." Ty had pulled the sleeves of his shirt down over his hands and was worrying at the fabric with his fingers. "I know it has to be a secret. People wouldn't like it, but when Livvy comes back, they'll be happy and they won't care."

"Better to ask forgiveness than permission," Kit said, feeling dazed.

"Yes." Ty wasn't looking directly at Kit—he never did—but his eyes lit up hopefully; in the dim light of the hallway, the gray in them was so pale it looked like tears. Kit thought of Ty sleeping, how he'd slept the whole day of Livvy's death and into the night, and the way Kit had watched him sleep in terror of what would happen when he awoke.

Everyone had been terrified. Ty would fall apart, they'd thought. Kit remembered Julian standing over Ty as he slept, one hand stroking his brother's hair, and he'd been praying—Kit didn't even know Shadowhunters prayed, but Julian definitely had been. Ty would crumble in a world without his sister, they'd all thought; he'd fall away to ashes just like Livvy's body.

And now he was asking Kit for this, saying he didn't want to do it without him, and what if Kit said no and Ty crumbled from the pressure of trying to do it alone? What if Kit took away his last hope and he fell apart because of it?

"You need me?" Kit asked slowly.

Ty nodded. "Yes."

"Then," Kit said, knowing already that he was making a huge mistake, "I'll help you."


It was cold in the Scholomance, even during the summer. The school had been carved into a mountainside, with long windows running all along the cliff face. They provided light, as did the witchlight chandeliers in nearly every room, but no warmth. The chill of the lake below, deep and black in the moonlight, seemed to have seeped into the stone of the walls and floor and to radiate outward, which was why, even in early September, Diego Rocio Rosales was wearing a thick sweater and coat over his jeans.

Dusty witchlight sconces cast his shadow long and thin in front of him as he hurried down the hallway toward the library. In his opinion, the Scholomance was direly in need of an update. The one time his brother, Jaime, had ever visited the school, he'd said it looked as if it had been decorated by Dracula. This was unfortunately true. Everywhere there were iron chandeliers (which made Kieran sneeze), bronze dragon-shaped sconces holding ancient witchlight stones, and cavernous stone fireplaces with huge carved angels standing forbiddingly on either side. Communal meals were taken at a long table that could have accommodated the population of Belgium, though at the moment there were less than twenty people in residence at the school. Only a few students had stayed for the summer between study years, and most of the teachers and students were either at home or in Idris.

Which made it much easier for Diego to hide a faerie prince on the premises. He'd been nervous about the idea of concealing Kieran at the Scholomance—he wasn't a good liar at the best of times and the effort of maintaining a "relationship" with Zara had worn him down already. But Cristina had asked him to do it, and he would have done anything for Cristina.

He'd reached the end of the corridor, where the door to the library was. Long ago the word BIBLIOTECA had adorned the door in gold lettering; now only the outlines of the letters remained, and the hinges squeaked like distressed mice when Diego shoved the door open.

The first time he'd seen the library, he'd thought it was a prank. A massive room, it was on the top floor of the Scholomance, where the roof was made of thick glass and light filtered down through it. During the time that the school had been deserted, oak trees had grown up from the floor and no one had had the time or money to remove them. They remained, surrounded by the dust of broken stone, their roots cracking the floor and snaking among the chairs and tables. Branches spread out wide above, forming a canopy over the bookshelves, dusting the seats and floors with fallen leaves.

Sometimes Diego wondered if Kieran liked it in here because it reminded him of a forest. He certainly spent most of his time in a window seat, somewhat grimly reading everything in the section on faeries. Every day he made a pile of books he considered accurate. Every day the pile was small.

He glanced over as Diego came in. His hair was blue-black, the color of the lake outside the window. He had put two books into his accurate pile and was reading a third: Mating Habits of the Unseelie.

"I do not know anyone in Faerie who has married a goat," he said irritably. "In either the Seelie or the Unseelie Court."

"Don't take it personally," Diego said. He pulled a chair over and sat down facing Kieran. He could see them both reflected in the window. Kieran had gotten even skinnier, if possible, since they'd arrived at the school, and his bony wrists stuck out below the sleeves of his borrowed uniform. Diego's clothes had all been too big for him, so Rayan Muadabuchi had offered to lend Kieran some—he didn't seem bothered that Diego was hiding a faerie in his room, but nothing much ruffled the surface of Rayan's calm. Divya, on the other hand, Diego's other best friend at the school, leaped nervously into the air every time anyone mentioned they were going to the library, despite Kieran's uncanny ability to hide himself.

Divya and Rayan were the only people Diego had told about Kieran, mostly because they were the only people currently at the Scholomance that he trusted. There was only one professor in residence—Professor Kaidou, who was involved in a research project about the magical properties of the water of Lake Lyn and rarely came out of her study—and while there'd been a time that Diego would have trusted a professor without a second thought, that time was past.

"Have you heard anything from Idris?" said Kieran, looking down at his book.

"You mean Mark," said Diego, "and I haven't heard anything from him. I am not his favorite person."

Kieran glanced up. "Are you anyone's?" Somehow he managed to ask it as if it weren't an insulting question, but something he merely wished to know.

Diego, who sometimes wondered the same thing himself, didn't answer.

"I thought you might have heard from Cristina." Kieran closed the book, marking his place with his finger. "About whether she is all right, and Mark—I thought the funerals were today."

"They were," Diego said. He also thought he might have heard from Cristina; he knew she'd been fond of Livia Blackthorn. "But funerals for us are very busy times. There is a great deal of ceremony, and a lot of people who visit and express condolences. She might not have much time."

Kieran looked pained. "That seems as if it would be annoying. In Faerie we know to leave those who are grieving to themselves."

"It's annoying, but also not," Diego said. He thought of the death of his grandfather, how the house had been full of the light of velas, candles that burned with a beautiful light. How visitors had come and brought gifts of food, and they had eaten and drunk together and shared remembrances of his grandfather. Everywhere there had been marigolds, and the cinnamon smell of atole and the sound of laughter.

It seemed cold to him, and lonely, to grieve by yourself. But faeries were different.

Kieran's eyes sharpened, as if he had seen something revealing in Diego's expression. "Is there a plan for me?" he asked. "Where am I to be sent, when my time hiding here is over?"

"I had thought you might want to return to Los Angeles," said Diego, surprised.

Kieran shook his head. Locks of his hair had turned white; his hair color seemed to change with his mood. "No. I will not go back to where Mark is."

Diego was silent—he hadn't really had a plan. Cristina had asked him to hide Kieran, but had never said for how long. He had wanted to do this for her because he knew he owed her; he had thought of Zara—had remembered the hurt on Cristina's face when she'd first met Zara.

It had been his fault. He hadn't told her about Zara because he'd been desperately hoping something would happen that would get him out of the engagement to her before it was necessary. It was the Dearborns who had insisted on the marriage contract. They had threatened to expose the Rocio Rosales family's secrets if Diego didn't do something to prove to them that he was truthful when he said he didn't know where his brother was, and didn't know where the artifact was that Jaime had taken.

There had never been a question of him loving Zara, nor of her loving him. She seemed to feel it was a feather in her cap to be engaged to the son of an important family, but there was no passion in her except passion for the horrible causes her father espoused.

Kieran's eyes widened. "What's that?"

That was a bright light, like a will-o'-the-wisp, over Diego's shoulder. A fire-message. He caught it out of the air and the paper unrolled in his hand: He recognized the handwriting immediately. "Cristina," he said. "It's a message from Cristina."

Kieran sat up so fast the book tumbled out of his lap to the floor. "Cristina? What does she say? Is she all right?"

Odd, Diego thought; he would have imagined Kieran would have asked if Mark was all right. But the thought flew from his mind almost immediately, scrawled over by the words he was reading.

Feeling as if he had been kicked in the gut, Diego handed the message over to Kieran, and watched the other boy turn ashen as he read that Horace Dearborn had been made the new Inquisitor.

"This is a slap in Mark's face," said Kieran, his hand shaking. "The Blackthorns will be heartbroken, as will Cristina. And he is a dangerous man. A deadly man." He looked up at Diego, his eyes night-black and storm-gray. "What can we do?"

Diego shook his head. "It is clear I know nothing of people," he said, thinking of Zara, of Jaime, of all the lies he had told and how none of them had accomplished what he had wanted, but had only made everything worse. "No one should ask me how to solve anything."

As Kieran looked at him, astonished, he dropped his face into his hands.


"I know these words must seem empty at this point," said Jia, "but I'm so sorry about Livia."

"You're right," Julian said. "They do."

It was dark outside the Consul's windows, and the demon towers were strung across the skyline of Alicante like a row of jagged diamonds. Emma looked around, remembering the last time she’d been in this room—she'd been twelve, and she'd been so impressed at how plush it was, with thick rugs underfoot and a desk of gleaming mahogany. Now she, Julian, and Diana were all seated in wingback armchairs before Jia's desk. Diana looked furious. Julian just looked blank.

"These kids are tired and grief-stricken," Diana said. "I respect your judgment, Jia, but does this have to be now?"

Jia pressed her fingers against her forehead. "It does," she said, "because Horace Dearborn wants to interrogate Helen and Mark, and any other Downworlders or part Downworlders in Alicante. Magnus and Alec are already packing their things to Portal out tonight. I would have thought you would have wanted Helen and Mark to leave as well."

"He wants to what?" Emma sat up straight, indignant. "You can't let him."

"I don't have a choice. He was elected by a majority vote." Jia frowned. "Interrogating people is what the Inquisitor does—the decision is at his discretion."

"Horace Dearborn has no discretion," said Diana.

"Which is why I'm giving you advance notice," said Jia. "I suggest that Helen and Mark—and Aline, since she won't leave Helen—be Portaled to Los Angeles tonight."

There was a moment of silence. "You're offering to send Helen to Los Angeles?" said Julian finally. "Not Wrangel Island?"

"I'm suggesting Helen and Aline temporarily run the Los Angeles Institute," said Jia, and Emma actually felt her mouth fall open. "As the Consul, that is within my power, and I believe I can make it happen now, while Dearborn is distracted."

"So you're saying we should all Portal back?" Emma said. "And Helen and Aline can come with us? That's great, that's—"

"She doesn't mean all of us," said Julian. His hands were both bandaged. He'd gotten most of the splinters out himself, with the tip of a sharp knife, and there was blood on the bandages. He didn't seem to have felt it—Emma had felt the pain herself, watching his skin split under the blade, but he had never wavered. "She means Diana, you, and I are going to stay here, in Idris."

"You've always been clever, Julian," said Jia, although not as if she admired the quality all that much.

"If Helen and Mark aren't here, he'll interrogate us," said Julian. "Isn't that true?"

"No," Diana said sharply. "They're children."

"Yes," said Jia. "And one of them broke the Mortal Sword. The other brought Annabel Blackthorn into Alicante."

"But I don't know how it was broken," Emma said. "I swung at Annabel because she was trying to kill me. It was self-defense—"

"People are terrified. And fear isn't logical," said Jia. "This was the worst possible time for the Mortal Sword to be broken, at a time of serious instability and on the eve of a possible war with faeries. And after the Unseelie King snatched Annabel from the Council Hall—don't you understand that you brought her here?"

"That was just me." Julian was white around the mouth. "Emma didn't have anything to do with it."

Emma felt a faint spark of relief light among her panic and outrage. He still has my back.

Jia looked down at her hands. "If I were to send all of you back home right now, there would be a riot. If Dearborn is allowed to question you, then public attention will swing away from you. The Cohort questions your loyalty, mostly because of Helen and Mark."

Julian gave a harsh laugh. "They suspect us because of my brother and sister? More than because I brought that thing—because I brought Annabel into the city? And promised everything would be all right? But it's Mark and Helen's blood that matters?"

"Blood always matters, to the wrong sort of people," said Jia, and there was a rare bitterness in her voice. She passed a hand over her face. "I'm not asking you to be on his side. God, I'm not asking that. Just get him to understand that you're victims of Annabel. Those not in the Cohort are very sympathetic to you right now because of Livia—he won't want to go too much against public opinion."

"So this is like a pointless little dance we're doing?" Emma said. "We let the Inquisitor question us, mostly for show, and then we can go home?"

Jia smiled grimly. "Now you understand politics."

"You're not worried about making Aline and Helen the heads of the Los Angeles Institute? Given the Cohort's concerns about Helen?" said Diana.

"It'll just be Aline." Julian gazed unwaveringly at Jia. "The Consul's daughter. Helen won't be running anything."

"That's right," said Jia, "and no, I don't like it either. But this may be a chance to get them back permanently from Wrangel Island. That's why I'm asking for your help—all three of you."

"Am I going to be interrogated as well?" There was a sharp tension in Diana's voice.

Jia shook her head. "I'd like your help. As you helped me before with those files."

"Files?" echoed Emma. "How are files important right now?"

But Diana looked as if she understood some secret language Jia was speaking. "I'll stay, certainly," she said. "As long as the understanding is clear that I'm helping you, and that my interests are in no way aligned with the Inquisitor's."

"I understand," said Jia. Nor are mine hung unspoken in the air.

"But the kids," said Emma. "They can't go back to Los Angeles without us." She turned to look at Julian, waiting for him to say that he wouldn't be separated from his younger siblings. That they needed him, that they should stay in Idris.

"Helen can take care of them," he said without glancing at her. "She wants to. It'll be all right. She's their sister."

"Then it's decided," said Jia, rising from behind her desk. "You might as well get them packed—we'll open the Portal for them tonight."

Julian rose as well, pushing back the hair that had fallen into his eyes with one of his bandaged hands. What the hell is wrong with you? Emma thought. There was something going on with Julian beyond what could be explained by grief. She didn't just know it, she felt it, down in the deep place where the parabatai bond tugged at her heart.

And later tonight, when the others were gone, she would find out what it was.

Teaser #24

Gwyn seated himself opposite her, large hands at his sides, his brow creased with concern. His size and bulk somehow made him seem more helpless than he would have otherwise. "I know what happened," he said. "When death comes in great and unexpected ways, the Wild Hunt knows it. We hear the stories told by spilled blood."

Diana didn't know what to say — that death was unfair? That Livvy hadn't deserved to die that way, or any way? That the broken hearts of the Blackthorns would never be the same? It all seemed trite, a hundred times said and understood already.

Instead, she said, "I think I would like it if you kissed me."

Gwyn didn't hesitate. He was beside her in a moment, graceful despite his bulk; he put his arms around her and she was surrounded by warmth and the smell of the forest and horses. She wrinkled her nose slightly and smiled, and he kissed her smiling mouth.

It was a gentle kiss, for all his size. The softness of his mouth contrasted with the scratch of his stubble and the hard musculature under her hands when she put them timidly on his shoulders and stroked.

It had been a long time, and she had never imagined something quite like this: moonlight and flowers and kissing in glades were for other people.

But apparently not.

Teaser #25

"What's that?" Tavvy asked, his eyes big.

"This," said Aline, "is a frittata. And you're all going to eat it." She slammed it down onto a metal trivet in the center of the table.

"Don't like frittata," said Tavvy.

"Too bad," said Aline, crossing her arms and glaring at each of them in turn. "You made Helen cry yesterday, so you're going to eat this frittata — which, by the way, is goddamn delicious — and you're going to like it. It's what's for breakfast and since I'm not Helen, I don't care if you starve or eat Cheetos for every single meal. Helen and I both have a lot of work to do, the Clave isn't giving us an inch, all she wants is to be with you guys, and you are not going to make my wife cry again. Understood?"

The younger Blackthorns nodded, wide-eyed.

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  • Limited first edition: The first printing edition of the book (English, North American edition) will be the only exclusive, special edition printed. It will contain ten black and white illustrations and a full color poster printed on the back of the book jacket by Alice Duke. The first printing will also include a short story that functions as a sequel to A Long Conversation.[28][29]

Trivia

  • The title is a reference to the poem Her Strong Enchantments Failing by A.E. Houseman.[30] It can also refer to Mab, Queen of the Faeries in Romeo and Juliet, amongst other folklore.[31]
  • As with Lady Midnight and Lord of Shadows and its eponymous characters, there will also be a character called "Queen of Air and Darkness", who has already been introduced.[32][33] The Queen of Air and Darkness is a villain.[34]
  • The cover features Annabel Blackthorn. Annabel, a villain, was chosen to be on the cover to fit the book's title and content.[34][35]
    • Like the previous Dark Artifices installments,[36] the character is underwater. Annabel is wearing a red dress, which in Shadowhunter tradition is "to call enchantment down." Annabel having no runes on the cover was intentional and will be important in the book.[37][38][39][40] The backdrop features a distorted image of ruined skyscrapers, and a ruined highway.
    • Mark Blackthorn is set to be on the spine of the book, marking the first instance the cover and spine characters will differ.[41]
  • The book was initially slated for release in 2019, after Chain of Gold,[42] but in September 2017, it was announced that the release order of the two novels was switched.[43]

References

  1. Queen of Air and Darkness on Amazon.com
  2. https://www.facebook.com/TMIsource/videos/vb.175497145833007/1116058381776874/
  3. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/158078301334/hi-cassie-i-have-two-questions-was-it-ever
  4. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/163557896789/hey-cassandra-and-happy-birthday-to-you-i-wanted
  5. 5.0 5.1 5.2 5.3 5.4 http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/172524560259/qa-tda-tec
  6. https://www.pinterest.com/pin/16888567337690756/
  7. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/172311792894/if-you-are-allowed-to-say-how-big-will-the-time
  8. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/161062817589/hi-cassie-do-you-know-how-long-of-a-time-jump
  9. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/161066100114/hiya-so-i-just-finished-lord-of-shadows-and-my
  10. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/162288619584/our-waking-souls-claryjace
  11. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzfipAo3iKc
  12. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/163825648664/qa-the-rosales-family
  13. https://tmisource.com/2017/10/22/recap-of-cassandra-clare-in-germany/
  14. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/163753598174/qa-stuff-pub-schedule
  15. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/171431090709/hi-cassie-my-expectations-for-qoaad-are-super
  16. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/171460793024/qa-various
  17. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/171570267284/gotsm-qs
  18. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/172314808294/hi-cassie-we-know-how-this-thing-about-names
  19. Lady Midnight
  20. https://tmisource.com/2016/04/24/exclusive-cassandra-clare-talks-about-the-dark-artifices-writing-and-more/
  21. http://rwtia64wikia.tumblr.com/post/145788643765/the-question-had-to-do-with-the-dateyeartiming
  22. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/141791745329/in-lady-midnight-when-julian-and-emma-were-at
  23. 23.0 23.1 23.2 Cassandra Clare at BookCon 2018
  24. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/171843192204/qa-tda
  25. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/174901592994/will-whatever-mystery-jem-and-tessa-are-solving
  26. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/171203946959/unidentified-snippet
  27. https://twitter.com/cassieclare/status/1006975844705882112
  28. Cassandra Clare January 2018 newsletter
  29. q&a: various, TDA — Cassandra Clare on Tumblr
  30. "The Queen of Air and Darkness"Cassandra Clare on Tumblr
  31. "And yes, the Queen of Air and Darkness can refer to Mab," Cassandra Clare on Tumblr
  32. https://www.pinterest.com/pin/16888567330928724/
  33. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/161205738889/have-we-already-met-the-queen-of-air-and-darkness
  34. 34.0 34.1 https://twitter.com/cassieclare/status/930129846809841664
  35. https://twitter.com/cassieclare/status/930125432237772800
  36. "They're all underwater, like sunken cities." Cassandra Clare on Twitter
  37. https://twitter.com/cassieclare/status/930125503742259200
  38. https://twitter.com/cassieclare/status/930135835156074496
  39. https://twitter.com/cassieclare/status/932799218120609792
  40. https://www.instagram.com/p/Bbvam-Sns23/
  41. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/161133326274/hi-cassie-have-you-already-decided-whos-gonna-be
  42. http://cassandraclare.tumblr.com/post/158366178629/books-books-books
  43. Cassandra Clare Newsletter from September 2017
Cassandra Clare's Shadowhunter Chronicles
The Mortal Instruments
City of Bones City of Ashes City of Glass
City of Fallen Angels City of Lost Souls City of Heavenly Fire
The Infernal Devices The Dark Artifices
Clockwork Angel Lady Midnight
Clockwork Prince Lord of Shadows
Clockwork Princess Queen of Air and Darkness
The Last Hours The Eldest Curses
Chain of Gold The Red Scrolls of Magic
Chain of Iron The Lost Book of the White
Chain of Thorns The Black Volume of the Dead
The Bane Chronicles
What Really Happened in Peru Saving Raphael Santiago
The Runaway Queen The Fall of the Hotel Dumort
Vampires, Scones, and Edmund Herondale What to Buy the Shadowhunter...
The Midnight Heir The Last Stand of the New York Institute
The Rise of the Hotel Dumort The Course of True Love (And First Dates)
Tales from the Shadowhunter Academy
Welcome to Shadowhunter Academy Pale Kings and Princes
The Lost Herondale Bitter of Tongue
The Whitechapel Fiend The Fiery Trial
Nothing but Shadows Born to Endless Night
The Evil We Love Angels Twice Descending
Ghosts of the Shadow Market: An Anthology of Tales
Son of the Dawn The Wicked Ones
Cast Long Shadows The Land I Lost
Every Exquisite Thing Through Blood, Through Fire
Learn About Loss Ghosts of Old Loves
A Deeper Love Forever Fallen
Upcoming
The Wicked Powers
Companion books
The Shadowhunter's Codex
A History of Notable Shadowhunters & Denizens of the Downworld
The Official Mortal Instruments Coloring Book
The Mortal Instruments graphic novel
Adaptations
City of Bones: The Graphic Novel
The Infernal Devices: Manga Series
The Mortal Instruments: City of Bones
Shadowhunters: The Mortal Instruments