“Mortals,” said the Queen. “They die.”

Alec ignored her. “There,” he said, pointing to the leafy tunnel. “That goes farther into Faerie. And that”—he pointed ahead—“is the road to Hell. That’s where we’re going.”

“I always heard it was paved with good intentions,” said Simon.

“Place your feet upon the way and find out, Daylighter,” said the Queen.

Jace twisted the tip of the blade in her back. “What will stop you from telling Sebastian we’ve come after him the moment we leave you?”

The Queen made no noise of pain; only her lips thinned. She looked old in that moment, despite the youth and beauty of her face. “You ask a fine question. And even if you kill me, there are those in my Court who will speak to him of you, and he will guess your intentions, for he is clever. You cannot evade his knowing, save you kill all the Fair Folk in my Court.”

Jace paused. He held the seraph blade in his hand, the tip pressed up against the Seelie Queen’s back. Its light flared up onto his face, carving out its beauty in peaks and valleys, the sharpness of cheekbones and the angle of jaw. It caught the tips of his hair and licked them with fire, as if he were wearing a crown of burning thorns.

Clary watched him, and the others did as well, silently, giving him their trust. Whatever decision he made, they would stand behind it.

“Come, now,” said the Queen. “You do not have the stomach for so much killing. You were always Valentine’s gentlest child.” Her eyes lingered a moment on Clary, gleeful. You have a dark heart in you, Valentine’s daughter.

“Swear,” said Jace. “I know what promises mean to your people. I know you cannot lie. Swear you will say nothing of us to Sebastian, nor will you allow anyone in your court to do the same.”

“I swear,” said the Queen. “I swear that no one in my court by word or deed will tell him that you came here.”

Jace stepped away from the Queen, lowering his blade to his side. “I know you think you are sending us to our deaths,” he said. “But we will not die so easily. We will not lose this war. And when we are victorious, we shall make you and your people bleed for what you have done.”

The Queen’s smile left her face. They turned away from her and started down the path to Edom, silently; Clary looked over her shoulder once as they went, and saw only the outline of the Queen, motionless, watching them go, her eyes burning.

The corridor curved far away into the distance, seeming as if it had been hollowed out of the rock around it by fire. As the five of them went forward, moving in total silence, the pale stone walls around them darkened, stained here and there by streaks of charcoaled blackness, as if the rock itself had burned. The smooth floor began to give way to a rockier one, grit crunching under their boot heels. The phosphorescence in the walls started to dim, and Alec drew his witchlight from his pocket and raised it overhead.

As the light rayed out from between his fingers, Clary felt Simon, beside her, stiffen.

“What is it?” she whispered.

“Something moving.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the shadows ahead. “Up there.”

Clary squinted but saw nothing; Simon’s vampire eyesight was better even than a Shadowhunter’s. As quietly as she could she drew Heosphoros from her belt and paced a few steps ahead, keeping to the shadows at the sides of the tunnel. Jace and Alec were deep in conversation. Clary tapped Izzy on the shoulder and whispered to her, “There’s someone here. Or something.”

Isabelle didn’t reply, only turned to her brother and made a gesture at him—a complicated movement of fingers. Alec’s eyes showed his comprehension, and he turned immediately to Jace. Clary remembered the first time she’d seen the three of them, in Pandemonium, years of practice melding them into a unit that thought together, moved together, breathed together, fought together. She couldn’t help but wonder if, no matter what happened, no matter how dedicated a Shadowhunter she became, she would always be on the fringes—

Alec swung his hand down suddenly, dousing the light. A flash and a spark, and Isabelle was gone from Clary’s side. Clary spun around, holding Heosphoros, and heard the sounds of a scuffle: a thump, and then a very human yelp of pain.

“Stop!” Simon called, and light exploded all around them. It was as if a camera flash had gone off. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the new brightness. The scene filled in slowly: Jace holding his witchlight, the glow radiating around him like the light of a small sun. Alec, his bow raised and notched. Isabelle, the handle of her whip tight in one hand, the whip itself curled around the ankles of a slight figure hunched against the cave wall—a boy, with pale-blond hair that curled over his slightly pointed ears—

“Oh, my God,” Clary whispered, shoving her weapon back into her belt and pressing forward. “Isabelle—stop. It’s all right,” she said, moving toward the boy. His clothes were torn and dirty, his feet bare and black with filth. His arms were bare, too, and on them were the marks of runes. Shadowhunter runes.

“By the Angel.” Izzy’s whip slithered back into her grasp. Alec’s bow fell to his side. The boy lifted his head and scowled.

“You’re a Shadowhunter?” Jace said in an incredulous tone.

The boy scowled again, more ferociously. There was anger in his look, but more than that, there was grief and fear. There was no doubting who he was. He had the same fine features as his sister, the same angled chin and hair like bleached wheat, curling at the tips. He was about sixteen, Clary remembered. He looked younger.

“It’s Mark Blackthorn,” Clary said. “Helen’s brother. Look at his face. Look at his hand.”

For a moment, Mark looked confused. Clary touched her own ring finger, and his eyes lit with comprehension. He held out his thin right hand. On the fourth finger the family ring of the Blackthorns, with its design of intertwined thorns, glittered.

“How did you get here?” Jace said. “How did you know how to find us?”

“I was with the Hunters underground,” Mark said in a low voice. “I heard Gwyn talking to some of the others about how you’d shown up in the Queen’s chamber. I sneaked away from the Hunters, they weren’t paying attention to me. I was looking for you and I ended up—here.” He gestured to the tunnel around them. “I had to talk to you. I had to know about my family.” His face was in shadow, but Clary saw his features tighten. “The faeries told me they were all dead. Is it true?”

There was a shocked silence, and Clary read the panic in Mark’s expression as his eyes darted from Isabelle’s downcast eyes, to Jace’s blank expression, to Alec’s tight posture.

“It’s true,” Mark said then, “isn’t it? My family—”

“Your father was Turned. But your brothers and sisters are alive,” Clary said. “They’re in Idris. They escaped. They’re fine.”

If she had expected Mark to look relieved, she was disappointed. He went white. “What?”

“Julian, Helen, the others—they’re all alive.” Clary put her hand on his shoulder; he flinched away. “They’re alive, and they’re worried about you.”