CHAPTER 1

The city of Alicante was a beacon of light in the otherwise dark Idrisian landscape. To the north, the snow-capped peaks of the Alps shone softly under the full moon. To the south, the silver expanse that was Lake Lyn sparkled against the shadows of Brocelind Forest, the gentle ripples that broke its surface sending waves of inky blackness across the water. Above, the opalescent towers that gave the Glass City its name glimmered in the waning light; visible to the beady-eyed, black-clothed figures paced the walls beneath.

Replaced since the Mortal War, the gates of the Gard glowed in a similar fashion, wrought as they were from pure adamas, the curving motif of the Council carved anew by the Iron Sisters – a star for the Night's Children, a moon for the werewolves, an elven arrow for the fairfolk and a spellbook for the warlocks. Entirely unoriginal, thought Jace as he passed them. A sun for the vampires would have had far more comic value, a sentiment he was sure Raphael Santiago would appreciate.

Behind him, Isabelle and Alec walked shoulder to shoulder, heads bent in murmured conversation, their black hair falling together – a painful reminder of how, no matter how much he loved the Lightwoods, he could never be truly one of them. Since Max's death the family had drawn ever inwards, not that he could blame them, but nonetheless leaving him and his acerbic indifference on the outside.

Now more than ever he felt more alone; the ugly scar across his chest from Simon's stabbing him with the Archangel Michael's sword, Glorious, had left Jace with a constant reminder that he was becoming more and more of an outsider, someone who hushed whispers seemed to gravitate to. 'What if he's still cursed', 'what if Sebastian turned him', 'how do we know he's not a spy' were just some of the rumours circling like wildfire following his return. In that respect, although Jace despised the white-haired spawn of Valentine and Lilith – Sebastian bore nothing of a resemblance to Jocelyn Fairchild save his uncharacteristically delicate hands – he found himself relating to the boy more than he would otherwise like.

Much to Jace's frustration, yet also unsurprise, Sebastian had not been diminished by his defeat at the Seventh Sacred site as many of the Clave had been so eager to claim. Jace knew his brother better – the demon blood that ran through Sebastian's veins had only been strengthened by his creation of the Infernal Cup, and with the Endarkened bent to his will as they were, the Clave were foolish to believe Jonathan Morgenstern would be so easily subdued.

The recent attacks on Institutes across Europe had served to prove that. The latest, on Los Angeles, had prompted the Clave to order all Shadowhunters back to Alicante, where it was hoped the newly fortified wards would withstand against Sebastian long enough for everyone to regroup.

Maryse had told them in clipped tones that this was the safest place to be. Personally, Jace had never felt less at ease in his life. Sitting ducks didn't begin to cover the tense anticipation he felt at being trapped inside the Glass City, like a fish in a fishbowl. Since he'd began his training eight years ago, he'd always felt most relaxed with a seraph blade in hand – prepared to face his enemies rather than hiding away. At least with the total of attacks now reaching double figures, the Clave had been spurred into calling all active members to a meeting to begin to plan a response.

Today, the Clave were to bear witness to the testimonies of the survivors from the Los Angeles Institute. So far, they were the only ones known to have not been slaughtered or Turned, innocent children who had only just escaped.

His boots clattered loudly against the marbled floor of the Gard, Isabelle's heels ringing out in a similar fashion. The thrum of conversation spilled out of the open Council Chamber, mixing with the splinters of silver light that the chandeliers above cast out. Jace felt the curious, and in some cases, accusing, stares follow him as he, Isabelle and Alec moved to sit next to Aline Penhallow. She offered a small smile, but Jace could see from the sharp furrowing of her elegantly arched brows that her mind was anything but calm – the Blackthorns headed up the Los Angeles Institute, and Aline and Helen had been dating for the past few months. In that respect, Jace felt a fierce wave of relief crash over him as glanced at Izzy and Alec, the latter of whom was fiddling the cuff of his jumper. Still moping over Magnus, Jace suspected.

The chatter began to subside as Aline's mother, Jia Penhallow stepped forward, her black robes swishing around her. Jace noticed Helen Blackthorn, followed by what could only be her siblings, enter through the door to the side of the dais. Clutched in her arms was what could only have been a toddler, his arms wrapped tightly around her neck. Another girl and two boys huddled behind her in a similar fashion, although the eldest boy, his face framed by wild brown curls had his hand held tightly by a blonde-haired girl of a similar age, her lips pursed, and her expression surprisingly fierce for one so young.

It was the girl stood slightly to the side, behind the Blackthorns, that caught Jace's attention though. Her flame-coloured hair was currently hiding her face as she bent her head in whispered conversation with Patrick Penhallow. Next to him, Isabelle and Alec leaned forward in similar curiosity.

'I didn't know the Blackthorns had red-heads in the family,' Isabelle commented, her brow raised in what Jace had come to identify as thinly veiled scepticism. Alec rolled his eyes.

'Who said she's a Blackthorn? There's more than just them who live in Los Angeles, right Jace?'

Jace shrugged, hiding his own curiosity by rolling the Morgenstern ring around his finger.

'Probably, maybe she's a product of another affair, lots of the faeries are ginger,' he answered.

'Surely Helen would have mentioned it though,' argued Alec.

Isabelle threw him a scathing glance,

'Would you admit to your friends that your dad had a different faery a week?'

'It's hardly as though-'

Jace ceased listening; he had learned to tune out of Alec and Izzy's squabbles over the years. The red-head had stopped her conversation and as Jia began welcoming the crowd that had assembled, the girl turned so that she was facing Jace.

He felt a tingling warmth race across his skin, causing the pale hairs on his arms to stand up as their eyes met. Bluey-green locked with his own gold.

Jace had seen many a beautiful woman in his time, hell, he lived with Isabelle, but few compared to the girl stood unassumingly in the shadow of Helen Blackthorn. Jace could feel Isabelle and Alec finishing their argument abruptly as they too noticed the girl, and a soft murmur echoed across the chamber as many others turned to fix their attention on the children in the corner.

Unlike the Blackthorns, who looked decidedly uneasy at the hundreds of eyes that were now fixed upon them, save the blonde-haired girl, the red-head held herself with a casual pride, her pointed chin lifted ever so slightly in an action that Jace recognised from his own childhood as stubborn defiance.

Her flame coloured locks tumbled in gentle waves down her back, shot through with a gold so bright that Jace knew instantly she must have faerie blood – he had only ever seen the Seelie Queen with hair that shone so. As if to confirm, a breeze drifted in through the open doorway, revealing pointed ears that were much more angled than those of Helen and Mark Blackthorn.

'She looks more faerie than Shadowhunter', hissed Isabelle in his ear. Jace failed in resisting the urge to roll his eyes, something which didn't go missed by Isabelle, who elbowed him hard in the ribs.

'Let it be known, you serve as a constant reminder that I am in fact correct in my opinion that I am just intellectually superior than pretty much everyone.' The red-head's lips twitched as though she had heard him. He narrowed his eyes.

'The Consul calls Julian Blackthorn to testify by the Mortal Sword, if he is willing,' announced Jia, turning to the eldest Blackthorn boy with a motherly-like reassurance. If possible, the scowl of the blonde girl next to him deepened even further.

'I am willing,' Julian Blackthorn replied, his voice, although soft, didn't waver. He glanced at the girl behind him, before dropping her hand and stepping forward to take the Mortal Sword.

Jace sympathised as Julian's body seized as though controlled by some invisible force; he could recall himself the feeling of cold needles that seemed to prick every fibre of his being until he was certain his bones had frozen to ice.

'Julian, could you tell us exactly what happened the night Jonathan Morgenstern attacked your Institute,' Jia asked.

Jace watched as Julian Blackthorn took a sharp breath and then launched into his tale,

'We were training with Katarina-'

'Who was training?'

'Me and my best friend Emma Carstairs.' Jace watched as the blonde-haired girl scowled.

'You were training…' Jia encouraged.

'Yes, we were training in the practice rooms when there was this massive bang. Katarina ran out and so did Mark – they told us to stay there because it wasn't safe.'

'But you didn't?'

'No, we had to make sure my brothers and sisters were okay. I took Ty to dad's office to try and contact the Clave, and Emma went to fetch Dru and Tavvy from the nursery.'

'Then what?'

'To get to the office, you have to go past the hall. It was full of people, I guess Shadowhunters, most of them in red, but some in black. In the middle, there was a white-haired boy – the adults try to keep it all a secret because they don't want to scare us, but everyone knows who Jonathan Morgenstern is. He dragged my father forward and pressed this cup against his lips and made him drink. He started thrashing around on the floor, and I was shouting his name but I don't think he could hear me over all the screaming and shouting. I had to run then, but when he looked up-'

Julian broke off, sweat beading on his forehead, and dampening the brown curls.

'Stop it!' shouted the blonde girl, wrenching herself from Helen's grip, where she'd been standing looking increasingly more angry as Julian told his story.

'Stop it, can't you see it's hurting him!'

'Emma-' Helen began.

'Let me. Put me on trial, I was the one who stabbed him, I was the one who saw it all!'

Jace felt a grudging respect for the girl.

Without waiting for the Consul's answer, Emma ran forwards and reached for Julian, her hands overlapping his tightly so that they were both holding the Sword. She gave him a quick smile, letting her forehead rest against his.

'When Mr Blackthorn looked up his eyes were so black, like he didn't even recognise anyone any more. They pulled Mark forwards but the guy – Sebastian – said he was part faery so he couldn't drink from the cup.'

Jace looked for the red-head's reaction but her face remained blank.

'They dragged Katarina forwards, and I knew I had to do something, so I threw my knife and it buried itself in his heart. Instead of crying out, he just laughed though. He said I was foolish to think he could be killed so easily and that nothing could stop him now he had the cup. Then I had to run because his men came after me.'

Emma visibly shivered as she recalled the cold glee on the white-haired boy's face as he plucked her knife out of the space where his heart was, where his heart should be. She supposed being part demon, perhaps he didn't even have one.

'Thank you, Julian and Emma,' said Jia, her eyes hesitating on Emma for a second, before taking the Mortal Sword from them, and setting it gently on the table in front of the dais once more, its silver detailing shining against the blue velvet of the cloth it was laid on.

Jace turned his gaze from Emma and Julian, who had gone back to stand by Helen, who was eyeing them with a mixture of tenderness and disapproval. The red-haired girl had tensed as Jia's eyes turned to her. The room silenced as those gathered realised.

'And you child, do you consent to trial by the Mortal Sword?'

When she answered, the girl's voice was as though honey, a voice, Jace thought, that was clearly more than human. He remembered the sly smoothness of the Seelie Queen.

'I do.'

She stepped forward from the shadows, the light enveloping her fully. Jace could see the start of a rune curling blackly over the shoulder that was bared. So, a Shadowhunter and a faerie. The girl took measured steps towards the dais, her feet soundless on the stone floor, her gait almost feline in nature. The loose cargo pants she was wearing billowed around her slight frame, Jace noticed, his cheekbones warming slightly as he took in the curve of her hips. Her eyes snapped to his, as though seeking him out. Jace held the burning green gaze.

The girl reached out for the sword that was proffered by Jia – unlike Julian and Emma, and though she could only be a few years older at most, perhaps his age, Jace noticed how her expression remained impassive.

'What is your name, child?' asked Jia, her own eyes veiled with a guarded curiosity.

'My name is Clarissa Kurnemsthor.' Jace blinked – he had never heard of any Shadowhunter family named Kurnemsthor, nor did he recognise the language which sounded so foreign to his own ears, but poured so fluidly from her lips. Neither, it seemed, did anyone else in the room. Jace watched as Maryse frowned, an expression mirrored by many others.

'And from which Institute do you hail?'

Clarissa's lips twitched at some unknown joke.

'My father was German, and my mother faerie, but I have spent most of my life at the Moscow Institute.'

Jace could not help but think her fiery red hair had nothing in common with the Russians.

Jia smiled pleasantly.

'Forgive me, I had not heard of a Kurnemsthor family that resided at the Moscow Institute.'

Clarissa's eyes narrowed slightly. Jace felt only he noticed the difference.

'In Russia, we keep to ourselves. It is such a vast country that Shadowhunters rarely cross paths. To live there, is to live a life of solitude.'

Now he listened, Jace could pick out the accent in her speech. It gave her voice a chill tone.

'And all those at the Moscow Institute perished?'

Clarissa nodded.

'All but myself. I was one of the few children, so I was easily missed by Jonathan Morgenstern's Endarkened.'

'And his attack was similar in fashion to that described by Julian Blackthorn and Emma Carstairs on the Los Angeles Institute?'

'Just so,' smiled Clarissa. There was something unnerving in the way her lips curved smoothly into a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

'Very well.' Jace felt a twinge of disappointment as Jia took the Sword from the girl and the suffocating silence that had blanketed the room began to lift. He murmured in acknowledgement at Isabelle's proclamation that she was 'one hot ice bitch', his eyes following Clarissa as she weaved between the descending crowd. As he watched her fiery head disappear from view, he couldn't stop the uneasy prickling that danced across his skin.