“By the Angel,” Isabelle said in an awed voice.

Clary turned around, stele in hand. Jace was on his feet, the Seelie Queen in front of him, his sword pointed at her heart. Alec stood over Meliorn’s corpse; he was expressionless as he looked at Clary, and then at his parabatai. Behind him opened the passageway through which Meliorn had come and Gwyn had gone.

“Are you going to close the back tunnel?” Simon asked Clary.

She shook her head. “Meliorn had pitch on his shoes,” she said. “ ‘And the streams of Edom shall be turned into pitch,’ remember? I think he came from the demon realms. I think they’re that way.”

“Jace,” Alec said. “Tell the Queen what we want, and that if she does it, we will let her live.”

The Queen laughed, a shrill sound. “Little archer boy,” she said. “I underestimated you. Sharp are the arrows of a broken heart.”

Alec’s face tightened. “You underestimated all of us; you always have. You and your arrogance. The Fair Folk are an old people, a good people. You aren’t fit to lead them. Under your rule they will all wind up like this,” he said, jerking his chin toward Meliorn’s corpse.

“You are the one who killed him,” said the Queen, “not I.”

“Everyone pays,” Alec said, and his eyes on her were steady and blue and hard.

“We desire the safe return of the hostages Sebastian Morgenstern has taken,” said Jace.

The Queen spread her hands. “They are not in this world, nor here in Faerie, nor in any land over which I have jurisdiction. There is nothing I can do to help you rescue them, nothing at all.”

“Very well,” said Jace, and Clary had the feeling he had expected that response. “There is one other thing you can do, one thing you can show us, that will make me spare you.”

The Queen went still. “What is that, Shadowhunter?”

“The road to the demon realm of Edom,” said Jace. “We want safe passage to it. We will walk it, and walk our way out of your kingdom.”

To Clary’s surprise the Queen seemed to relax. The tension bled from her posture, and a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth—a smile that Clary did not like. “Very well. I will lead you to the road to the demon realm.” The Queen lifted her diaphanous dress in her hands so that she could make her way down the steps that surrounded her divan. Her feet were bare, and as white as the snow. She began to make her way across the room to the dark passage that stretched away behind her throne.

Alec fell into step behind Jace, and Isabelle behind him; Clary and Simon made up the rear, a strange procession.

“I really, really hate to say this,” Simon said in a low voice as they went out from the throne room and into the shadowed darkness of the underground passage, “but that kind of seemed too easy.”

“That wasn’t easy,” Clary whispered back.

“I know, but the Queen—she’s clever. She could have found a way out of doing this if she’d wanted to. She doesn’t have to let us go to the demon realms.”

“But she does want to,” Clary said. “She thinks we’ll die there.”

Simon shot her a sideways look. “Will we?”

“I don’t know,” Clary said, and sped up her pace to catch up with the others.

The corridor wasn’t as long as Clary had thought. Its darkness had made the distance seem impossible, but they had only been walking for a half hour or so when they broke out from the shadows and into a larger, lighted space.

They had been walking in silence and darkness, Clary lost in her thoughts—memories of the house she and Sebastian and Jace had shared, of the sound of the Wild Hunt roaring across the sky, of that piece of paper with the words “my beautiful one” on it. That hadn’t been romance; that had been respect. The Seelie Queen, the beautiful one. The Queen likes to be on the winning side of things, Clary, and that side will be ours, Sebastian had said to her once; even when she had reported that to the Clave, she had taken it as part of his bluster. She had believed along with the Council that the Fair Folk’s word that they were loyal was enough, that the Queen would at least wait to see which way the wind blew before she broke any alliances. She thought of the catch in Jace’s breath when he’d said a betrayal long-planned. Maybe none of them had considered it because they hadn’t been able to bear considering it: that the Queen would be so sure of Sebastian’s eventual victory that she would hide him in Faerie, where he could not be tracked. That she would help him in battle. Clary thought of the earth opening at the Adamant Citadel and taking Sebastian and the Endarkened down into it; that had been faerie magic: The Courts lay underground, after all. Why else had the Dark Shadowhunters who had attacked the Los Angeles Institute taken Mark Blackthorn? Everyone had assumed Sebastian was afraid of the vengeance of the Fair Folk, but he wasn’t. He was in league with them. He had taken Mark because he had faerie blood, and because of that blood, they thought Mark belonged to them.

In all her life she had never thought so much as she had in the past six months about blood and what it meant. Nephilim blood bred true; she was a Shadowhunter. Angel blood: It made her what she was, gifted her with the power of runes. It made Jace what he was, made him strong and fast and brilliant. Morgenstern blood: She had it, and so did Sebastian, and that was why he cared about her at all. It gave her a dark heart too, or did it? Was it Sebastian’s blood—Morgenstern and demon, mixed—that made him a monster, or could he have been changed, fixed, made better, taught otherwise, as the Lightwoods had taught Jace?

“Here we are,” said the Seelie Queen, and her voice was amused. “Can you guess the right road?”

They stood in a massive cave, the roof lost in shadow. The walls glowed with a phosphorescent shine, and four roads branched off from where they stood: the one behind them, and three others. One was clear and broad and smooth, leading directly ahead of them. The one on the left shone with green leaves and bright flowers, and Clary thought she saw the glimmer of blue sky in the distance. Her heart longed to go that way. And the last way, the darkest, was a narrow tunnel, the entrance wound about with spiked metal, and thornbushes lining the sides. Clary thought she could see darkness and stars at the end.

Alec laughed shortly. “We’re Shadowhunters,” he said. “We know the old tales. This is the Three Roads.” At Clary’s puzzled look he said, “Faeries don’t like their secrets to get out, but sometimes human musicians have been able to encode faerie secrets into ancient ballads. There’s one called ‘Thomas the Rhymer,’ about a man who was kidnapped by the Queen of Faerie—”

“Hardly kidnapped,” objected the Queen. “He came quite willingly.”

“And she took him to a place where three roads lay, and told him that one went to Heaven, and one went to Faerieland, and one went to Hell. ‘And see ye not that narrow road, so thick beset with thorns and briars? That is the path of righteousness, though after it but few inquires.’ ” Alec pointed toward the narrow tunnel.

“It goes to the mundane world,” said the Queen sweetly. “Your folk find it heavenly enough there.”

“That’s how Sebastian got to the Adamant Citadel, and had warriors backing him up that the Clave couldn’t see,” said Jace in disgust. “He used this tunnel. He had warriors hanging back here in Faerie, where they couldn’t be tracked. They came through when he needed them.” He gave the Queen a dark look. “Many Nephilim are dead because of you.”