The Dark Artifices

|Prologue|

    The muted hum of voices echoed from the Council Hall, permeating the high-ceiling of the Consul's quarters where Kit sat in silence, listening intently. Since the chiming of the clock through the Gard had signalled the beginning of the meeting, the indistinct roar of opinions had grown steadily louder, leaving Kit feeling anxious and frustrated at being separated from the Blackthorns.

    Across from him, Alec shifted ever so slightly, leaning further back into the gilded velvet couch, his gaze never leaving Magnus', whose head was tenderly laid in his lap. Exhaustion lined the warlock's youthful face, his pallor emphasising the dark shadows underneath his eyes. He looked, Kit thought, as though he could sleep for all eternity.

    A shrill cry resonated from the distance, shattering the silence within the room and Kit found himself jumping to his feet; ready and watchful. Something was happening in the Hall—a loud something that filled Kit with unease. Alec was also upright and alert, his eyes clouded with concern. Without delay, he seized his bow and strode towards the door stopping only to look over his shoulder at Magnus' motionless body with fierce affection. He turned to Kit, "Stay here. Protect Magnus."

    Kit opened his mouth to protest, but Alec had already turned away from him, disappearing through the doorway, leaving Kit standing alone. The hell I am, Kit thought angrily, looking wildly around the room for weapons—anything to defend himself—but came up blank. Sighing loudly, Kit grabbed the fire poker from its stand and hastily threw a woollen blanket over the slumbering warlock, hiding him from view, before hurrying out the door and in the direction of the meeting.

*

    Chaos erupted in the Council Hall, the sound of a thousand angry voices reverberated loudly in Ty's head, drowning out his thoughts and his ability to make sense of the situation unfolding in front of him. He could see Annabel in the distance, standing up on the dais with the Mortal Sword in her hands, the look of pure terror in her eyes.

    Ty lowered his head, fixing his gaze to the ground and concentrated on his breathing. The hostility within the room was palpable, like a heavy blanket of misery and anguish was covering him from head to toe. The Cohort were a large presence within the Hall, and their ugly shouting and vile signs promoting hate and injustice made Ty feel sick inside. He had seen Zara Dearborn leading the procession in her Centurion uniform of red, gray and silver, and it sent a wave of anger rippling through his body. How could he have ever wanted to leave his family behind to go to the Scholomance? The Centurions had been a monumental disappointment and Ty felt the burning shame of guilt in the pit of his stomach by the fact he had deemed becoming a Centurion more important than becoming Livvy's parabatai.

    A surge of movement in the crowd of Shadowhunters brought Ty back to reality. The noise level had escalated savagely and was compounded by the outbreak of people running everywhere. Ty glanced around looking to find comfort in the familiar faces of his family, but found that they had been scattered amidst the mayhem.

    "Livvy!" Julian's voice rang out above all else. "Livvy, get out of here—"

    Ty whipped his head around, and the gleam of sunlight catching metal flashed before his eyes. An enormous clang echoed in the background, yet Ty heard only silence. He stepped forward, his entire body trembling. He put one foot forward and then another before his legs gave way and crumbled beneath him. A sudden, agonising pain shot through Ty, leaving him gasping for air. Across his heart it felt as though a hundred shards of glass had pierced through his chest, tearing away at his flesh and burying themselves into his very soul. The acute intensity of pain Ty felt in that moment was exquisite—his hands flew to his chest, pressing over his heart as he let the darkness take hold of him.