Also by Cassandra Clare

Angel are lies cast into the teeth of Heaven.”
Hurt bloomed and faded in Julian’s eyes. “They’re not perfect,” he said. “Nothing is perfect. But
they do help. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”
“Mark,” Cristina said in a soft voice. But Mark had gone somewhere else, somewhere where none
of their voices could reach him. He stood with his eyes blazing, his hands opening and closing into
fists.
Slowly, his hand came up, caught the hem of his shirt. Pulled it up and over his head. He shrugged
the shirt off, dropping it to the sand. Emma saw pale skin, much paler than hers, a hard chest and a
narrow waist cut with the fine lines of old scars. Then he turned around.
His back was covered in runes, from nape to waist. But not like a normal Shadowhunter’s, where
the black Marks faded eventually to a thin white line against the skin. These were raised and thick and
livid.
Julian had gone white around the mouth. “What . . . ?”
“When I first came to Faerie, they mocked me for my Nephilim blood,” Mark said. “The Folk of
the Unseelie Court took my stele and broke it, they said it was nothing but a dirty stick. And when I
fought back for it, they used knives to cut the Angel’s runes into my skin. After that I stopped fighting
with them about Shadowhunters. And I swore no other rune would touch my skin.”
He bent down and picked up his bloody, wet shirt, and stood facing them, his rage gone, vulnerable
again.
“Maybe they could still be healed,” Emma said. “The Silent Brothers—”
“I don’t need them healed,” said Mark. “They serve as a reminder.”
Julian slid off the table. “A reminder of what?”
“Not to trust,” said Mark.
Cristina looked at Emma across the boys’ heads. There was a terrible sadness on her face.
“I am sorry your protection rune failed you,” Julian said, and his voice was low and careful, and
Emma had never wanted to put her arms around him so much as she did then, as he faced his brother
in the ocean-washed moonlight, his heart in his eyes. His hair was a tangle, his soft curls like question
marks against his forehead. “But there are other kinds of protection. Your family protects you. We
will always protect you, Mark. We won’t let them make you go back.”
Mark smiled, the oddest, sad smile. “I know,” he said. “My gentle little brother. I know.”