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Today's snippet from QUAD: Shade glared. “I was asleep. It’s three in the morning.” The sleeping bag wiggled. A moment later Church crawled out, making chirping noises. He curled up on top of the bag, blinking his large yellow eyes. “That isn’t very loyal,” Ty said, looking at Church sternly. Shade yawned. “We’ve known each other a long time, that cat and I. We had some things to catch up on.” #qoaad #tda
“We should stay away from each other,” she said. “Like Magnus said.”
“I know. I wouldn’t have come to see you, but there was something I wanted to ask.” He let the knife go. It sank into the wall beside one of Emma’s. She felt a twist of grim pride; people often underestimated how good a Shadowhunter Julian was. “It’s kind of a strange question, but if you were going to think of a symbol, one thing that made you think of Livvy — what would it be?”
“Her saber,” Emma said. “Why?”
“It — doesn’t matter.” His voice was husky. “We probably shouldn’t talk about emotional things.”
“So what can we talk about? Not our feelings, not your family — what?”
“We throw ourselves into what’s happening,” Julian said. “We do everything we can to take down the Cohort.”
It was Emma’s turn to grab a knife. She threw it hard, viciously, and it hit the wall hard enough to crack the wood.
Emma raised her sword. “Then strike me down now.”
Zara took a step backward. “I said you had twenty-four hours.”
Rage sizzled through Emma’s nerves. “And I said strike me down now.” She whipped the sword toward Zara; it caught the edge of Zara’s cloak and sliced through it. “You came here. You challenged me. So fight me!”
“Emma,” Julian whispered. “Your Marks . . .” She shook her head, tears bitter in the back of her throat. "It’s done."
“The Blackthorns and that Emma wouldn’t dare say anything against us anyway,” said Zara. “We still hold their secret in the palms of our hands.” She touched Cortana’s hilt. “Besides, nothing of theirs will be theirs for much longer, not even the Institute.”
Zara was also a true believer, Manuel thought with some distaste. She was a stick and a bore and he had never believed Diego Rocio Rosales actually saw anything in her; on balance, he seemed to have turned out to be right. He suspected Diego had been punished as much for rejecting Zara as for helping some idiot faerie.
Adaon leaned his big hands on the back of a chair. “Why did you come here?” he said. “Why did you bring me this news?” He shook his head. “It is possible my father will spare him. He is well liked by the people.”
“You know your father will kill him for just that reason,” said Cristina. Her voice shook. “Before the Hunt no one in Kieran’s life ever loved or cared for him at all, save you. Are you really going to abandon him now?”
Shadowhunter Books har via Twitter delat följande citat från boken:
There are times, I think, where we’re each called. Where we can choose to rise up or not to rise up.
Diana sank back in her seat. Whatever had happened, she knew it was no fault of Kieran’s or the others’, but she could feel the mood of the crowd: stark horror. No one would want to hear a defense of them now.
“My God, what’s he going to do?” she whispered, half to herself. “What’s Horace going to do to Diego and the others?”
Dru wrinkled up her nose. “I have to be the bad guy?”
“Come on,” said Kit. “You’ll get to boss us around. Don’t tell me you won’t enjoy it a little bit.”
She grinned. “Yeah, probably. Okay, deal. I’ll see you there.”
Kit turned to unlock the door and let himself out. Then paused. Without looking at Dru, he said, “I’ve spent my whole life lying and tricking people. So why is it so hard for me to lie to this one person? To Ty?”
Tavvy was running over to see what was happening, and Jaime was asking if Dru still had the knife he'd given her, and she couldn't help smiling, her first real smile since Livvy.
Jaime came back, Dru thought. Finally, someone didn't leave — they came back instead.
As long as you exist and I exist, I will love you.
Julian took a swig from the bottle. “I felt like I was being torn apart inside,” he said matter-of-factly. “To stand there and say those things about Livvy—to call that bastard monster ‘sir’—to keep from ripping Annabel limb from limb—”
“Do it now, then,” said a voice from the shadows. “Rip me apart, if you can.”
Vem tror ni den mystiska rösten från skuggorna tillhör? Annabel eller någon annan?
Om ni är snabba med att läsa så får ni kanske svaret om 2 veckor då boken släpps.
Det verkar alltså som att fedrottningen vet hur Parabatai-banden kan brytas. Men menar hon då att ALLA band kommer att upplösas?
“Oh, very well,” said the Queen, and in her eyes Emma saw an odd light of eagerness. Perhaps she was more desperate for the book than Emma had thought? “As a sign of my good faith, I will give you part of what I promised. I will tell you, Julian, how certain bonds might be broken. But I will not tell her.” She gestured at Emma. “That was not part of the bargain.”
Grief does not make us weak, it makes us human.
"If we're an army, what are we called?" said Simon.
Julian turned and unpinned the rolled-up canvas hanging on the wall behind him, which had been held in place with tacks. A gasp went up as it unfurled.
Julian had painted a banner, the kind an army would carry before it in wartime. The central item was a saber, point down, painted a shimmering pale gold. Behind the saber spread a pair of angel's wings, while on each side clustered symbols of Downworld—a star for vampires, a spell book for warlocks, a moon for werewolves, and a four-leafed clover for faeries.
Dangling from the hilt of the saber, so small many would not be able to see it, was a locket with a circle of thorns on the front.
"We are called Livia's Watch," Julian said, and Emma saw Ty sit up straighter in his chair. "We carry this banner in honor of my sister, so that all who have been hurt by the Cohort will not be forgotten."
Till citatet delade även Cassie följande bild på hur bannerna för Livia's Watch ser ut. Denna illustration kommer att finnas med i alla första utgåvor av boken.
“Annabel,” said the King. “Ash. I have had this day some interesting tidings.”
Sometimes you need to guard people against the things they want, as well as the things they fear.
“Kier,” Mark said, and he saw Kieran shiver at the use of the old nickname. “Today you stood up and offered all your powers as a prince and faerie to save my family. How can you not know how I feel?”
Kieran was staring at his own hand, where it hovered at the edge of Mark’s shirt collar… Mark’s arms hooked around Kieran’s neck, drawing him down into a kiss.
"I'm dead, aren't I?" Livvy’s voice was steady.
"I'm here on my own account," Magnus said, in a low and distant voice. "I need your help. There is absolutely no one else that I can ask."
"That's not what I ..." Julian pushed sopping-wet hair out of his eyes, his voice trailing off in realization. "You're remembering someone."
“And I want to with you,” Mark said, his eyes softening. “But do you have the rune?”
The birth control rune. Cristina had never put it on; she’d never thought she was that close to needing it. “Oh, no,” she said. “My stele is down in the Institute.”“Mine as well,” he said. Cristina almost giggled at the disappointed look on his face. “Still,” he said, brightening. “There is much else I can do to make you feel good. Allow me?
It was her, the strange human girl he’d once seen in the Unseelie weapons room. Dark hair, eyes the color of the sky. A murder of crows circled behind her. Not a photograph, but a drawing, done with a wistful hand, a sense of love and longing emanating from the page. A name was scribbled in a corner: Drusilla Blackthorn.
Jaime breathed against him, low irregular breaths; his eyes were closed. Some of Diego’s earliest memories were of holding his brother. When he was six and Jaime was three, he had carried him everywhere. He’d been afraid that otherwise Jaime, toddling around on his short little legs, would miss out on all the things in the world Diego wanted him to see.
Clary rarely went into the greenhouse, not because she didn't like it, but because it was a special place to her. This was the place she'd really felt magic for the first time — not just known it existed, but felt it in a way that seemed to open the world to incredible possibility.
It had changed little since then. She turned to Jace....
The Shadow Market is a meeting point for faeries, werewolves, warlocks and vampires. There the Downworlders buy and sell magical objects, make dark bargains, and whisper secrets they do not want the Nephilim to know. Through two centuries, however, there has been a frequent visitor to the Shadow Market from the City of Bones, the very heart of the Shadowhunters. As a Silent Brother, Brother Zachariah is sworn keeper of the laws and lore of the Nephilim. But once he was a Shadowhunter called Jem Carstairs, and his love, then and always, is the warlock Tessa Gray. Follow Brother Zachariah and see, against the backdrop of the Shadow Market’s dark dealing and festival, Anna Lightwood’s doomed romance, Matthew Fairchild’s great sin and Tessa Gray plunged into a world war. Valentine Morgenstern buys a soul at the Market and a young Jace Wayland’s soul finds safe harbor. In the Market is hidden a lost heir and a beloved ghost, and no-one can save you once you have traded away your heart. Not even Brother Zachariah. (x)
Jem Carstairs and Tessa Gray are finally united after waiting over a century to be together, but they become aware a dark threat is looming over a child of the Shadow Market: a lost Herondale, from a line of Herondales who have used the Market to hide from their fellow Nephilim. Now is the time for the lost Herondale to be discovered. Jem and Tessa have to find him before his enemies can. (x)
THANK YOU, ANGELS. I am continually humbled by your passion and forever grateful for your love. This is astounding, truly. #ShadowhuntersLegacy @peopleschoice #pcas @shadowhunterstv @enews pic.twitter.com/rOS9anKgYf— Katherine McNamara (@Kat_McNamara) 12 november 2018
#SHADOWFAM ♥️ By the angel! I cannot even begin to express the amount of love I have for this cast, for everyone involved in the show, and to YOU Angels the ones who made all this possible. Thank you thank you thank you! #shadowhunterslegacy #pcas @peopleschoice pic.twitter.com/AsWqPMkelQ— Katherine McNamara (@Kat_McNamara) 12 november 2018
“Mark!” Kieran said again, and this time the catch in his voice was alarm. He ran toward Mark, drawing Cristina after him, his hand in hers. They stumbled together into the center of the clearing just as a contingent of faerie guards burst into the clearing, their torches blazing like banners against the night.
With them was Manuel Villalobos.
"Why?" Emma said, her voice shaking. "Why would something this horrible happen because of the parabatai bond? It's supposed to be something so good. Maybe the Queen was right and it's evil."
Part 1: Feel No Sorrow
1. Death Looks Down
2. Melancholy Waters
3. Eternal Rest
4. Nothing That Is Ours
5. Wilderness of Glass
6. From a Proud Tower
7. Stone Flowers
8. Long-Forgotten Bowers
9. Up Kingly Halls
10. Many a Marvellous Shrine
11. Some Far Off Happier Sea
12. Beneath the Sky
14. The Viol, The Violet and the Vine
15. Turrets and Shadows
16. A Thousand Thrones
Part 2: Thule
17. In A Strange City
18. Hell Rising
19. The Jewelled Dead
20. The Hours are Breathing
21. No Rays from Heaven
22. The Worst and the Best
23. That Winds May Be
24. The Long Night Time
25. By Lifting Winds
26. A Stir in the Air
27. Far and Free
Part 3: Lady Vengeance
28. And Shadows There
29. Tempt The Waters
30. The Riches There That Lie
31. A Redder Glow
32. Heaven Come Down
34. The City In The Sea
Namnen i sig säger ju inte så mycket om själva storyn, men lite kul är det väl ändå att veta dem, eller?
The eighth story in the Ghosts of the Shadow Market.
Celine Montclaire goes to the Shadow Market to escape. She would go anywhere in Paris, or the entire world, to escape the suffering she experiences at the hands of her family. She did not expect to meet Valentine Morgenstern there, or to have him promise her freedom and the heart of the man she secretly loves.
On one condition, of course. At the Shadow Market, nothing is for free.
"Octavian." It was Magnus's voice. He was standing in the doorway still, looking down at the small tearstained boy in front of him. There was a great weariness in his eyes, but also an immense compassion: the kind of compassion that came with great old age.
He seemed as if he would have said more, but Rafe and Max had joined him. Silently they filed down the steps and went over to Tavvy; Rafe was nearly as tall as he was, though he was only five. He reached to hug Tavvy, and Max did too—and to Mark's surprise, Tavvy seemed to relax slightly, allowing the embraces, nodding when Max said something to him in a quiet voice.
Helen got to her feet, and Mark wondered if his face wore the same expression hers did, of pain and shame. Shame that they could not do more to comfort a younger brother who barely knew them.
"It's all right," Simon said. "Look, you tried."
"We did not succeed," said Mark.
"You can't fix grief," said Simon. "A rabbi told me that when my father died. The only thing that fixes grief is time, and the love of the people who care about you, and Tavvy has that." He squeezed Mark's shoulder briefly. "Take care of yourself," he said. "Shelo ted'u od tza'ar, Mark Blackthorn."
“But we can’t tell her about Shade.” Ty was pale as the moon. “Or the Black Volume.”
Kit sat up. “No—no, definitely not. It would be dangerous for Dru to know anything about—about that. All we need to tell her is that we’re trying to get back on good terms with the Shadow Market.”
Ty’s gaze slid away. “You really like Drusilla.”
“I think she feels very alone,” said Kit. “I get that.”
“I don’t want her to be in danger,” said Ty. “She can’t be in any kind of danger.”
The first thing Emma noticed was missing was the tapestry of the Battle of the Burren. The fireplace was lit now, and over it Alec Lightwood’s image had been replaced by Zara Dearborn’s. It was a portrait of her in gear, her long blond-brown hair falling to her waist in two braids like a Viking’s. ZARA DEARBORN, CLAVE HERO, said a gold plaque on the frame.
“Subtle,” Julian muttered.
Diego sighed. "Yes, I disappointed Cristina and I lost her regard—you must understand what that is like. To have let down someone you loved. To have disappointed yourself."
"Maybe not exactly," said Kieran, with a shadow of his old wryness. "Nobody calls me Perfect Kieran."
"I don't call myself Perfect Diego!" Diego protested, feeling that the conversation had degenerated. "Nobody would call themselves that!"
Cristina stood despairingly in the extremely clean kitchen of the Princewater Street canal house and wished there was something she could tidy up.
She’d washed dishes that didn’t need washing. She’d mopped the floor and set and reset the table. She’d arranged flowers in a vase and then thrown them out, and then retrieved them from the trash and arranged them again. She wanted to make the kitchen nice, the house pretty, but was anyone really going to care if the kitchen was nice and the house was pretty?
She knew they wouldn’t. But she had to do something. She wanted to be with Emma and comfort Emma, but Emma was with Drusilla, who had cried herself to sleep holding Emma’s hands. She wanted to be with Mark, and comfort Mark, but he’d left with Helen, and she could hardly be anything but glad that at last he was getting to spend time with the sister he’d missed for so long.
The front door rattled open, startling Cristina into knocking a dish from the table. It fell to the floor and shattered. She was about to pick it up when she saw Julian come in, closing the door behind him—Locking runes were more common than keys in Idris, but he didn’t reach for his stele, just looked sightlessly from the entryway to the stairs.
Cristina stood frozen. Julian looked like the ghost from a Shakespeare play. He clearly hadn’t changed since the Council Hall; his shirt and jacket were stiff with dried blood.
“What are you doing out and about without your shadow?” Shade asked.
“Ty’s not my shadow,” said Kit crossly.
“My apologies. I suppose you’re his.” Shade’s eyes were solemn.“Have you come to tell me of the progress you’ve made in your foolish plan to raise his sister from the dead?”
"We might as well talk, Mark," Kieran said. A bright moon had risen; it illuminated the dark ocean, turned it to a sheet of black and silver glass, the colors of Kieran's eyes. The night desert was alive with the sound of cicadas. Kieran was walking beside Mark with his hands looped behind him, deceptively human-looking in jeans and t-shirt. He had drawn the line at donning any gear. "It does us no good to ignore each other."
"I have missed you," Mark said. There seemed no point in not being honest. "Nor did I intend to ignore you, or to hurt you. I apologize."
Kieran looked up, a surprised flash under dark lashes. "There is no need to apologize." He hesitated. "I have had, as you say here in the mortal world, a lot on my mind."
Mark hid a smile in the dusk. It was irritatingly cute when Kieran used modern phrases.
Emma didn’t care what they did to her; she had to get to Julian. He was still on the ground with Livvy in his arms, resisting all efforts by the guards to lift her dead body away from him.
“Let me through,” she said. “I’m his parabatai, let me through.”
Ty touched his hand absently to the locket at his throat. "That was good. You did a really good job, Dru."
"Yep. You kept your cool," said Kit. He glanced up and down the street. "I'd suggest we go get milkshakes or something to celebrate but this is kind of a dark alley situation."
"Shadowhunters don’t worry about dark alleys," said Dru.
"Have you learned nothing from the death of Batman's parents?" said Kit, feigning shock.
Ty smiled. And for the first time since Livvy had died, Dru laughed.
“We have a lot of allies,” Julian said, sounding surprised.
Emma stuck her tongue out at him. “We have a lot of friends, Julian,” she said. “We have a lot of friends.”
After Brother Zachariah was transformed by heavenly fire and returned to his life as Jem Carstairs, several regulars of the Shadow Market sent him an embroidered cloak with a note that said “You’ll always be our favorite Silent Brother.”