"Do you think Kieran will be all right?" Mark said. "They ought to treat an envoy from the Court with more honor. Instead they practically ran to put the wards back up as soon as we arrived."
"He'll be fine," Cristina reassured him. Both Kieran and Mark, she thought, were stronger than the other one could believe, maybe because they'd been so vulnerable in the Hunt. "Though I can't imagine Annabel is much of a conversationalist. At least Magnus is with them."
Mark gave a strained smile as a low murmur swept through the room. The Centurions had arrived in full dress. They wore their uniforms of red, gray, and silver, with their silver pins on display. Each carried a staff of solid adamas. Cristina recognized some from Los Angeles, like Zara's friend Samantha, with her thin, nasty face, and Rayan, looking around the room with an expression of concern.
Zara led the procession, her head held high, her mouth a slash of bright red. Her lips curled in distaste as she passed Mark and Cristina. But why wasn't Diego beside her? Had he not come with them? But no, there he was, almost at the end of the line, looking gray and tired, but definitely present.
He paused in front of Mark and Cristina as the other Centurions passed by. "I got your message," he said to Cristina, in a low voice. "If it's what you want-"
"What message?" Mark said. "What's going on?"
Zara appeared at Diego's side. "A reunion ," she said. "How nice." She smiled at Cristina. "I'm sure you'll all be pleased to hear how well everything went in Los Angeles after you left."
"Very impressive of you, killing Malcolm," said Mark. His eyes were flat and glittering. "It seems to have resulted in quite a bit of advancement. Well-earned, I'm sure."
"Thank you." Zara laughed breathlessly, laying her hand on Diego's arm. "Oh," she said, with a sharply artificial enthusiasm. "Look!"
More Shadowhunters had entered the room. They were a mix of ages, from old to young. Some wore Centurion uniforms. Most wore gear or ordinary clothes. What was unusual about them was that they were carrying placards and signs. REGISTER ALL WARLOCKS. DOWNWORLDERS MUST BE CONTROLLED. PRAISE THE COLD PEACE. APPROVE THE REGISTRY. Among them was a stolid brown-haired man with a bland sort of face, the kind of face where you could never really remember the features later. He winked at Zara.
"My father," she said proudly. "The Registry was his idea."
"What interesting signs," said Mark.
"How wonderful to see people expressing their political views," said Zara. "Of course the Cold Peace has truly created a generation of revolutionaries."
"It is unusual," said Cristina, "for a revolution to call for fewer rights for people, not more."
For a moment Zara's mask slipped, and Cristina saw through the artifice of politeness, the breathy little-girl voice and demeanor. There was something cold behind it all, something without warmth or empathy or affection. "People," she said. "What people?"
Diego took hold of her arm. "Zara," he said. "Let's go sit down."
Mark and Cristina watched them go in silence.
* * *
"I hope Julian's right," Livvy said, staring at the empty dais.
"He usually is," Ty said. "Not about everything, but about this sort of thing."
Kit sat between the twins, which meant they were talking over him. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd ended up in this position. Not that he minded or even noticed at the moment. He was stunned into near silence-something that never happened-by where he was: in Alicante, the heart of the Shadowhunters' country, gazing at the legendary demon towers.
He'd fallen in love with Idris at first sight. He hadn't expected that at all.
It was like walking into a fairy tale. And not the sort he'd grown used to at the Shadow Market, where faeries were another kind of monster. The kind he'd seen on TV and in books when he was little, a world of magnificent castles and lush forests.
Livvy winked at Kit. "You've got that look on your face."
"What look?"
"You're impressed by Idris. Admit it, Mr. Nothing Impresses Me."
Kit was going to do no such thing. "I like the clock," he said, pointing up at it.
"There's a legend about that clock." She wiggled her eyebrows at him. "For a second, when it chimes the hour, the gates to Heaven open." Livvy sighed; a rare wistfulness flashed across her face. "As far as I'm concerned, Heaven is just the Institute being ours again. And all of us going home."