City of Heavenly Fire (The Mortal Instruments, #6)(26)

Aline tucked a lock of hair behind her ear; the Blackthorn ring shimmered on her right hand. “She won’t talk to anyone but Julian.”

“Let me try,” Clary urged. “Please.”

Aline looked at the determined expression on Clary’s face and sighed. “Down the hall—the first room on the left.”

The hall curved away from the Council room. Clary could hear the voices of the Shadowhunters fading as she walked. The walls were smooth stone, lined with tapestries that depicted various glorious scenes from Shadowhunter history. The first door that appeared on her left was wooden, very plain. It was partly ajar, but she rapped quickly before opening it, so as not to surprise whoever was inside.

It was a simple room, with wooden wainscoting and a jumble of chairs, hastily assembled. It felt to Clary like a hospital waiting room. It had that heavy sense in the air, of an impermanent place where people spent their anxiety and grief in unfamiliar surroundings.

In the corner of the room was a chair propped against a wall, and in the chair was Emma. She looked smaller than she had from a distance. She was only wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt and on her bare arms were Marks, the Voyance rune on her left hand—so she was left-handed like Jace—which lay on the hilt of an unsheathed shortsword lying across her lap. Up close Clary could see that her hair was a pale blonde, but tangled and dirty enough that it had looked darker. From between the tangles the girl glared up at Clary defiantly.

“What?” she said. “What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Clary said, pushing the door shut behind her. “Just to talk to you.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You want to use the Mortal Sword on me? Interrogate me?”

“No. I’ve had it used on me, and it’s awful. I’m sorry they’re using it on your friend. I think they should find another way.”

“I think they should trust him,” said Emma. “Julian doesn’t lie.” She looked at Clary challengingly, as if daring her to disagree.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Clary said, and took a step into the room—she felt as if she were trying not to frighten off some kind of wild creature in the forest. “Julian’s your best friend, isn’t he?”

Emma nodded.

“My best friend is a boy too. His name is Simon.”

“So where is he?” Emma’s eyes flicked behind Clary, as if she expected Simon to materialize suddenly.

“He’s in New York,” said Clary. “I miss him a lot.”

Emma looked as if this made enormous sense. “Julian went to New York once,” she said. “I missed him, so when he got back, I made him promise he wouldn’t go anywhere without me again.”

Clary smiled, and moved closer to Emma. “Your sword is beautiful,” she said, pointing at the blade across the girl’s lap.

Emma’s expression softened fractionally. She touched the blade, which was etched with a delicate pattern of leaves and runes. The crossbar was gold, and across the blade were carved words: I am Cortana, of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durendal. “It was my father’s. It’s been passed down through the Carstairs family. It’s a famous sword,” she added proudly. “It was made a long time ago.”

“?‘Of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durendal,’?” said Clary. “Those are both famous swords. You know who owns famous swords?”

“Who?”

“Heroes,” Clary said, kneeling down on the ground so she could look up into the girl’s face.

Emma scowled. “I’m not a hero,” she said. “I didn’t do anything to save Julian’s father, or Mark.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Clary. “I know how it is to watch someone you care about go Dark. Get turned into someone else.”

But Emma was shaking her head. “Mark didn’t go Dark. He got taken away.”

Clary frowned. “Taken away?”

“They didn’t want him to drink from the Cup because of his faerie blood,” said Emma, and Clary recalled Alec saying that there was a faerie ancestor in the Blackthorn family tree. As if anticipating Clary’s next question, Emma said wearily, “Only Mark and Helen have faerie blood. They had the same mother, but she left them with Mr. Blackthorn when they were small. Julian and the others had a different mom.”

“Oh,” Clary said, not wanting to press too hard, not wanting this damaged girl to think that she was just another adult who saw Emma as a source of answers for her questions and nothing else. “I know Helen. Does Mark look like her?”

“Yeah—Helen and Mark have pointy ears a little, and light hair. None of the rest of the Blackthorns are blond. They all have brown hair except Ty, and no one knows why he has black hair. Livvy doesn’t have it, and she’s his twin.” A little color and animation had come back into Emma’s face; it was clear she liked to talk about the Blackthorns.

“So they didn’t want Mark to drink from the Cup?” said Clary. Privately she was surprised that Sebastian would care one way or the other. He’d never had Valentine’s obsession with Downworlders, though it wasn’t as if he liked them. “Maybe it doesn’t work if you have Downworlder blood.”

“Maybe,” said Emma. Clary reached out and put her hand over one of Emma’s. She dreaded the answer but couldn’t keep herself from asking the question. “He didn’t Turn your parents, did he?”