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Whither thou goest, I will go

Thy people shall be my people

Thy God, my God

Where thou diest, I will die

And there will I be buried

May the Angel do so to me and more also should aught but death part you and me.

“Julian must have been memorizing these when he and Emma were here for their parabatai ceremony,” said Thais. “Which, I guess, turned out to be a bad idea. Or maybe not a bad idea in the end?”

“A little of column A, a little of column B,” said Jaime, folding up the note. He held it while sketching a Tracking rune onto the back of his hand.

Usually when someone could be Tracked, the pull was instant, but it took Jaime a moment to feel it. Even then it was like a weak radio signal, as if Julian was very far away, or behind thick stone walls. But it was strong enough to follow, which they did. It brought them out of the forest to a series of rolling green hills dotted with trees and boulders.

Jaime took a moment to look at the view. In the distance was a ridge of snowcapped mountains, their icy tops glittering in the sun. At their feet was Lake Lyn, a blue coin shining below. A few colorful rowboats were drawn up on the shore, an oddly cheery sight. Jaime did not have the emotional connection to Idris that many Shadowhunters did—he’d always felt a little distant from Shadowhunter orthodoxy—but he had to admit that the sight was beautiful.

He touched the Tracking rune on the back of his hand. The pull had altered a little; it seemed to be drawing them north, toward the lake and the mountains.

“Jaime.” Thais’s voice, sharp with concern. “Someone’s coming.”

She was staring down the hill, her long, gold-streaked hair blowing across her face. Jaime followed her gaze and saw two figures trudging through the long grass below. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought they were wearing gear.

Which meant they were Shadowhunters. It wasn’t a surprise; almost all the Downworlders had left Idris when the Clave did: the faeries who had lived in the forests, the werewolves who had made the outskirts of the country their home. All of them had gone. It was probably why Idris felt so quiet.

The newcomers were getting closer. The pull of the Tracking rune seemed to tug Jaime toward their location, but still. Shadowhunters in Idris no longer meant what it had before. If they were here, they were Cohort.

“Come on.” He caught Thais’s hand and led her with him off the path, and behind one of the massive boulders that looked as if a giant had dropped them from the sky.

Thais had already drawn a shortsword from her weapons belt. Her back pressed against the rock, she edged sideways until she could peer around the boulder. She frowned and glanced back at Jaime.

Zara, she mouthed. And Manuel.

Jaime reached for his own dagger. Zara. The head of the Cohort. Zara was the sort of person who was evil precisely because she believed she was so very in the right. Her vision of a world in which Shadowhunters reigned supreme over a slave class of Downworlders and mundanes was her religion, and in the name of that religion she would sacrifice any life, spill any amount of blood. She didn’t enjoy causing pain, like Manuel did—she was indifferent to it, which was perhaps just as bad.

Zara’s voice carried clearly on the wind, sharp and unpleasant as always. It raised the hairs on Jaime’s arms. “You’re looking more cheerful than usual, Manuel.”

“Of course I’m cheerful.” Manuel’s laugh was humorless, dry. “It looks like we’re finally going to get out of this shithole.”

Zara sighed in an exasperated-older-sister kind of way. “It’s not that bad, Manuel. Especially now that we have more food. Really, if you’re so miserable, take up a hobby.”

“I have all sorts of hobbies,” Manuel replied. “I have two new projects waiting for me, in fact, as soon as we finish this stupid endless land survey.”

Two new projects. Jaime felt acid rise in his throat. There was no doubt Manuel was talking about torturing him and Thais. Which at least meant that Manuel hadn’t discovered their absence yet.

“New projects?” Zara asked, and when Manuel didn’t reply—though Jaime could feel his contemptuous irritation, even at a distance—Zara snapped: “It’s not stupid. It’s reconnaissance. And you need to stop whining, Manuel. We’re the leaders here. We have to keep up morale. We’ve accomplished amazing things in the last few weeks.”

Jaime felt his fingers twitch. The idea of the Cohort accomplishing amazing things was not a reassuring one. Anything amazing in Zara’s book usually involved a great deal of pain being brought to others.

“With the help of evil Jace,” Manuel said casually, as though discussing the weather.

Thais stiffened beside Jaime. So that was why Thule Jace had been in Idris. He was helping the Cohort.

Zara’s voice rose. “I told you not to call him that. Call him Janus, or the Huntsman. And he’s not evil. He’s like the real Jace Herondale, but with practical good sense and ethics.”

Manuel snorted. “Oh, you think so?”