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Part I

It was many and many a year ago,

In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may know

By the name of Annabel Lee.

I was a child and she was a child,

In this kingdom by the sea,

but we loved with a love that was more than love –

I and my Annabel Lee –

With a love that the winged seraphs of Heaven

Coveted her and me.

-Edgar Allan Poe, Annabel Lee

Chapter One

The Fairchild manor house sat amongst a thicket of trees, large and imposing with wide windows staring out onto the expanse of grass. It wasn't the largest country house in Idris, but it was grand all the same, carefully decorated and constructed to stand the test of time, housing generations of Fairchilds. Far below the house, a small brook wound its way through the countryside, dotted with mossy rocks. The brook eventually emptied into a river which ran all the way to Alicante, the capital city of Idris.

On one unusually hot summer day, two figures could be seen splashing through the cool water. One was a young girl, small for her age with dark red hair falling in tangles down her back. She held her long curls back with one hand, reaching out with the other to run it through the water.

"Lucian," she whined, giving the name about four extra syllables. "I can't catch any!"

"That's 'cause you're not fast enough," the second figure replied with a surprisingly gentle tone. He appeared to be roughly the same age as the girl and only an inch or so taller. "Here, watch this."

The boy, Lucian, watched the surface of the water with an intense concentration. He seemed to be waiting for something. Then, bending forward so quickly it was as if he'd been shoved, he plunged his arm into the brook, emerging with something clasped tightly in his fist. A silver fish flopped desperately in his hand, so shiny that it seemed to be made of gossamer. He turned to the girl with a smile spreading across his face.

"See?"

The girl's eyes, the color of peat moss, widened incredulously. "I don't understand how you can do that!"

"It's easy, Jocelyn. Your reflexes will get better when you start training." He shrugged. "Some of us are just born with it, I guess."

Jocelyn let out a snort laugh that her mother would've considered highly undignified. "Yeah, oh-kay."

"It's true! The Graymarks are known for their fast reflexes."

"Maybe, like, five centuries ago. I stole a roll off Amatis's plate the other night at dinner and she didn't even notice."

Lucian leaned forward again, dropping the fish back into the water where it landed with a resounding splash. "What are you doing stealing my sister's food?"

"Relax, it was just a little piece of bread. And it looked better than mine." Jocelyn let go of her hair so that it fell over her shoulders like a curtain as she bent into a crouch.

"Well, whatever," Lucian said in a voice that suggested he often conceded to her in these minor arguments. "Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? Maybe I'll steal some food from you to teach you a lesson."

"It'll have to wait." Jocelyn was watching a fish darting somewhere near her left ankle. "Mother wants me to come straight home tonight. She said that Daddy is going to talk to me about the Marking. And something about Alicante."

Lucian bit his lip. "What about Alicante?"

"I don't know. She just said…" She rose her voice to a comically high pitch. "Jocelyn, don't run around with the Graymark boy until all hours of the night. We need to talk about how you'll be upholding the family name. And then I heard her say something to Daddy about the Marking."

Looking even more worried now, Lucian asked, "Why doesn't your mother like me?"

"When did I ever say she didn't like you?"

"I mean, the fact that she doesn't even know my name kind of makes me think…"

"She knows your name. Don't be stupid. She just-" In a vain attempt to grab the silver fish, Jocelyn slipped on a mossy rock that had been hidden from her view, splashing to her knees. "By the Angel, this water's cold. Anyway, she doesn't remember anybody's name. It's a miracle she even knows who I am."

Lucian sighed, slightly mollified. "Okay, okay."

There was a pause as Jocelyn crouched in the water, letting it rush around her ankles as she studied its rippling surface. When she finally spoke, her voice was distinctly softer, more vulnerable.

"Do you ever wonder what it's going to be like, getting Marked?"

"Well…" Lucian frowned. "Yeah. Everybody does, I guess. But you know Amatis said it's not that bad. It hurts a little, that's all."

"But what if something goes wrong?"

"What would go wrong?"

"Maybe… maybe I won't be strong enough to do it. Maybe I won't be tough enough." She began talking faster, gaining momentum. "Daddy would be so mad, I know he always really wanted a son, can you imagine if I couldn't-"

"Jocelyn!" Lucian seemed to be biting back a laugh. "Calm down, okay? You know you're going to be fine. If anybody should be worrying about getting their first Marks, it's me."

Jocelyn straightened up, brushing mud off her knees. "Lucian…"

"You know it's true." He shrugged. "Maybe I have faster reflexes, but look at your family. Shadowhunting is in your blood."

"It's in yours too!"

"Yes, but not like you. Look at the family you come from, all the things they've done… I've heard your father talk about it enough. You're related to Henry Branwell, and he invented almost everything the Nephilim use nowadays. And his wife started running the London Institute when she wasn't much older than you are! You'll do all kinds of great things too, Jocelyn. You know it."

She smiled halfheartedly.

"D'you… d'you feel any better?" Lucian finished, focusing on the water rushing around the rocks at his feet.

"Yes." She paused, pushing her hair off her shoulders. "Honestly, I wouldn't even be able to go to the Academy without you. You know that, right?"

"Well, hey. What are best friends for?"

Jocelyn grinned in return, leaning over the water once more. "I need to get back to the house. But first…"

She plunged her hand downwards, breaking the glassy surface, triumphantly closing her slim fingers around one silver fish. Immediately, she thrust it upwards. It slipped out of her fingers within seconds, but her smile was so wide that Lucian couldn't help but grin in return.

Jocelyn sat in her room, kicking her heels against the wooden bedframe. She was probably scuffing the wood with her low buckled boots, but she didn't really care; it wasn't like she was going to be living here much longer anyway.

She cast a glance around the room with such a sentimental expression on her face that she would have been mortified had anyone witnessed it. This was where she'd grown up, the only home she'd ever known. The manor house itself was beautiful – all wood and gold and not quite nearly as cold and isolating as some of the other Nephilim family manors she had visited.

But her room in particular was incredible. Someone in the family – it was either her great-grandfather or great-great-grandfather, she had trouble keeping them all straight – had designed an ornate window in the ceiling to function as a skylight. Faint constellations were etched across the glass in adamas, the material which also endowed seraph blades with their angelic power. It served as a form of protection. As a young child, Jocelyn had asked her father why they didn't cover the whole house in adamas. Granville had laughed uproariously, patting her on the head. "Darling, we'd spend so much money that we wouldn't even have a house to live in!" Apparently just the window alone had cost untold sums of money. Jocelyn loved it, the special quality of her very own bedroom. She never would've admitted it, but she liked the protection. It was nice to feel safe in your own little corner of the world.

The door swung open, squeaking a bit on its hinges, and Granville Fairchild strode through. He was an enormous man with a pleasant disposition, walking with a prideful gait which was never misconstrued as cocky. No one in the countryside of Idris feared Granville like they feared Cyril Morgenstern or Andrew Lightwood, whose demeanors showed that they were well aware of the power and riches their family had accrued over centuries. He was a kind man, and much of his time and energy was spent upon making his only daughter feel happy and cared for. Most Nephilim considered this kind of duty second to ensuring their children knew how to fight. Even at only twelve, Jocelyn knew she was lucky.

"Good evening, sweetheart," Granville said, his voice booming and filling the entire room.

"Hi Daddy."

Granville strode across the room in just a few giant steps, arranging himself carefully on a small lacy armchair beside Jocelyn's bed. When Jocelyn had been a little girl, he had sat in that very same place, reading her stories. They were usually from the Shadowhunter's Codex, a lesson in disguise, but he made everything from descriptions of the Silent Brothers to the tale of Jonathan Shadowhunter sound absolutely fascinting. One day, we'll read about you in here, he always said, thumping the Codex in pride.

"How are you feeling about your Marking?"

Jocelyn pulled her legs up onto the bed, leaning her elbows on her knees. "I don't know. I'm sort of nervous."

"Perfectly natural," Granville said with a wave of his hand. "Everything will go stunningly well, my darling. There's no need to worry your pretty little head."

"Amatis said it hurts, though."

"Well, with all due respect to Miss Graymark, Nephilim who experience pain during their first Marking are typically those of weaker bloodlines, those who are less skilled. I can assure you that no one in the Fairchild line has ever had a difficult time with their Marking."

Instead of calming Jocelyn's anxities, this only made her stomach churn furiously. No one in the family had ever felt pain during the Marking Ceremony? If she felt a twinge, she would be the first one. What if she couldn't hide it and some uncomfortable expression showed on her face?

Granville smiled kindly, sensing her fear. "Shall we walk through what will happen at the Marking? Will that ease your mind a bit?"

"No, Daddy, it's fine. I know." She gestured to the leatherbound notebook lying open beside her on the bed. Glancing down, she frowned at the scribbled print that criss-crossed the page. She wasn't known for her good penmenship, and hoped her father wouldn't comment on it now. "I've been studying."

"Yes, you have!" Granville exclaimed, leaning forward to examine the notebook. "You've learnt it all by heart, I assume?"

"Oh yes, Daddy. I know everything I'm supposed to say."

"Well, then I don't see any need to continue poring over your notes, however dilligent and… artistic they appear to be," he said with a wink. He gently closed the notebook and reached out to tousle his daughter's unruly hair. "It's important to be well-rested for your first Marking."

"All right." Jocelyn swallowed back the lump in her throat, hopping off her bed and folding down the comforter. "I'll get ready for bed then."

"Goodnight, darling." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "My brave little girl."

After changing into her nightgown, Jocelyn sat on her windowseat for what felt like hours, staring out into the darkness of Brocelind Plain. The Graymark manor was about a mile away, but even in the darkest nights she could make out its lights. Staring through the trees, she wondered if Lucian was out there, lying awake and worrying too.