Also by Cassandra Clare

was a Shadowhunter.
“Fine,” Mark said, and he knew he should have said “very well,” but the language wasn’t in him
anymore, it didn’t beat in his blood, the high speech of Faerie. “I’ll tell you why I wanted to come
with you—”
There was a flash of white. Windspear cleared a small rise and bounded up to them, answering the
call of her master. She whinnied when she saw Mark and nosed at his shoulder.
He stroked her neck. A hundred times she had carried him and Kieran in the Hunt, a hundred times
they had shared a single mount, and ridden together, and fought together, and as Kieran climbed up
onto the horse’s back the familiarity was like fishhooks under Mark’s skin.
Kieran looked down at him, every inch the prince despite his bloodstained clothes. His eyes were
half-lidded crescents of silver and black. “So tell me,” he said.
Mark felt the Agility rune burn on his back as he swung himself up behind Kieran. His arms went
around Kieran automatically, hands settling themselves where they had always settled, at Kieran’s
belt. He felt Kieran inhale sharply.
He wanted to drop his head to Kieran’s shoulder. He wanted to put his hands over Kieran’s and
lace their fingers together. He wanted to feel what he had felt living among the Hunt, that with Kieran
he was safe, with Kieran he had someone who would never leave him.
But there were worse things than being left.
“Because,” Mark said, “I wished to ride with you in the Hunt one last time.” He felt Kieran flinch.
Then the faerie boy leaned forward, and Mark heard him say a few words to Windspear in the Fair
Speech. As the horse began to run, Mark reached back to touch the place where Julian had put the
runes. He had felt a rush of panic when the stele touched his skin, and then a calm that had flowed
through him, surprising him.
Maybe the runes of Heaven truly did belong on his skin. Maybe he’d been born to them after all.
He held tight to Kieran as Windspear lifted up into the sky, hooves tearing the air, and the Institute
spun away below them.
When Emma and the others reached the convergence, Mark and Kieran were already there. They
cantered out of the shadows on the back of a gorgeous white stallion that made Emma think of all the
times in her childhood that she had wanted a horse.
The Toyota came to a stop. The sky was bare of clouds, and the moonlight was sharp and silver as
a knife. It outlined Mark and Kieran, turned them into the brilliantly illuminated outlines of faerie
knights. Neither of them looked human.
The field that reached to the bluff lay deceptively peaceful under the moonlight. The wide space of
sea grass and sage bushes moved with soft rustles. The granite hill rose above it all, the dark space in
the wall seeming to beckon them closer.
“We killed many Mantids,” said Mark. His eyes met Emma’s. “Cleared the way.”
Kieran sat glowering, his face half-hidden by dark hair. Mark had his hands on Kieran’s belt,
steadying himself. As if suddenly recollecting this, Mark let go and slid to the ground.
“We’d better go in,” Mark said, tipping his face up to Kieran’s. “You and Windspear stand guard.”
“But I—” Kieran began.
“This is Blackthorn family business,” said Mark in a tone that brooked no argument. Kieran looked
toward Cristina and Diego, opened his mouth as if to voice a protest, and then closed it again.
“Weapons check, everyone,” Julian said. “Then we head in.”
Everyone, even Diego, obediently checked their belts and gear. Ty fished an extra seraph blade out