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She sat down on her bed, still staring at the sketch, something hot and bitter rising in the back of her throat. It was the last thing she’d expected to find anywhere in Faerie, much less in Ash’s room, but looking at it made her feel as if her brother were calling out to her from a distance, asking her for help even though she couldn’t possibly get to him in time.

She knew she should be wondering what the hell it was doing in Ash’s trunk. She knew she should be analyzing the conversation she’d overheard while hiding beneath his bed. But waves of panic were already rolling over her, swamping her in an ocean of fear. Every nerve in her body seemed to burn; her breath came in short gasps and she could feel sweat prickling at her hairline.

It was the same feeling she’d had when she first saw Phaesphoros in Ash’s hand, but this time she couldn’t deflect it, as if her encounter with Ash had peeled away a piece of her self-control, leaving her vulnerable.

She’d learned the term panic attack from Jules. They’d started after the battle in Idris, and came at unpredictable times. She’d had them before in the middle of class and had to sit there, her hands clutching her desk, her fingers whitening, her mind clouded by the absolute certainty that she was about to die.

She dropped the paper and pressed the heels of her palms hard against her eye sockets, losing herself in the darkness, trying to slow her breathing. She remembered what Julian had said to her long ago: You’re not dying. Your body thinks you should be afraid. It thinks you’re sending it into battle. You have to work with it. Teach it to calm down.

He had taught her to breathe in and out slowly, which had frustrated her at the time—didn’t she breathe all the time automatically? But it helped. She used the technique now, focusing on her breaths as her lungs filled and emptied, concentrating on the soft sounds of the stream inside her room, the creak of her bed, the cold of the stone floor seeping up through her thin shoes.

As her heartbeat slowed, the faces of her friends and family seemed to pass before her: Jules, Emma, Mark, Helen, Aline, Thais, Ty, Tavvy. She kept her eyes closed, her body still, even though the panic had passed; she knew from long experience that if she opened her eyes, she’d lose the images of her family. That they would disappear with the light.

Clary

When Ash came into Janus’s room, Clary wasn’t surprised to see him. She’d heard his raised voice coming from his own quarters, but hadn’t been able to make out the words. Still, she’d been able to tell that he was upset.

The look on his face confirmed it. He was dressed plainly, in black and green. There were splotches of red on his cheekbones, a sign that he was angry. The same thing had happened to Sebastian when he was in a rage.

She pushed away the thought of Sebastian. Ash wasn’t her brother, nor was he fated to be like him. To think that way was to believe that people were doomed by the blood in their veins, and to believe that was to fall into despair.

He strode directly to the cage that held her and glared through the bars. Clary, aware that her clothes were rumpled and that she hadn’t had a bath since the previous day, did her best to return his look with calm maturity.

Ash seemed puzzled. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”

“That was my look of calm maturity,” she informed him, sitting up straight. “I heard you in your room,” she added. “Not what you were saying, just that you sounded upset.”

He ignored the implied question. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said. “About what’s going on with Dru.”

Clary was taken aback. “With Dru? Is she all right?”

“She is a strange and frustrating person,” he noted.

Clary tried not to smile. She could certainly see how Dru’s stubbornness and defiance might rub someone like Ash the wrong way. “And?”

He jammed his hands into his pockets, an oddly human and unprincely gesture. “Her behavior is erratic. Sometimes she seems to hate me and sometimes…” Ash paused. “Sometimes she does not.”

“Despite the prevailing opinion in the Seelie Court,” Clary said wryly, “many people react badly to being kidnapped and imprisoned. There are probably things about you that she likes, but it must be hard to have to reconcile that with the fact that she’s trapped here.”

“I suppose it would mean nothing to her that she’s safer here.”

“It would not,” said Clary. “Blackthorns, like Herondales, are not known for prioritizing their personal safety.”

Ash had begun to pace. “I assume you know of my power. What the old Unseelie King gave me—gift or curse.”

“You mean the loyalty you inspire?” Clary asked. “Yes. It affects me, too.” She hated to admit it, but it was true. She felt the desire to please him and make him happy, like a tickle in the back of her mind. She wanted to write it off, blame the fact that he was her nephew, her family, but she knew it was more than that.

“It seems to affect Dru differently than it has anyone else,” Ash said, without elaboration. “I’ve had this power much of my life, but never experienced this reaction.”

This was disconcerting, Clary thought. Here she was, literally caged, and Ash was asking her for advice as if they had a normal aunt-nephew relationship. Odd as it was, it was also a positive development. He was coming to her with a human problem, a problem Sebastian would never have had. Sebastian had never cared what other people were feeling. Though she couldn’t help wonder what Dru had done. Defy him, probably.

“Dru has an exceptionally strong will,” Clary said, carefully. “And not much scares her. She loves horror movies.”

“She is…” He flushed. “Impolite.”

“She’s just very honest. Straightforward. She grew up surrounded by lies, often the kind that were told to her with good intentions, so she hates them.”

“As if I don’t?” Ash said, with a rare flash of emotion. She could hear the anger and frustration in his voice. “I never asked for this power. I can imagine how useful it would be to a king, but for a prince to know he has no real friends, only followers—that no one will tell you the truth, but only what you want to hear? I fail to see the good in that.”