She had reached the small, walled structure in the center of the garden. The door was unlocked—she cursed Grace silently: stupid, lazy girl—and she hurried inside to see if any damage had been done. To her relief, Jesse’s coffin was pristine: the wood glowing, the glass untouched by dust. The ancient Blackthorn sword that would one day be her son’s hung gleaming on the wall.

She laid a hand on the surface. There lay her boy, her sleeping prince. He resembled her husband, in her opinion. Rupert had possessed such fine bones, such delicacy and perfection of feature and form. The day he had been torn from this world had been a tragedy. She had stopped every clock in this house and the country manor at the time they had taken his body away, for then her world had ended.

Save for Jesse. She lived for Jesse now, and for revenge.

“Worry not,” said a silken voice.

Tatiana knew who had spoken before she glanced up.

He was a swirl of dust at first, a handful of glittering sand that re-formed into the shape of a beautiful man clothed in gray, with eyes like shards of mirrors.

“Grace will look after him,” Tatiana said. “She cares for her brother like you care for no one.”

“I will let no harm come to Jesse,” said the Prince of Hell. “What he carries is too precious.”

Tatiana knew he was not truly there, that Belial could not walk upon the earth save as an illusion of himself. Still, he was bright as broken glass, bright as cities burning. They said Lucifer was the most beautiful angel who had ever lost Heaven, but Tatiana did not believe that. There could be no angel more beautiful than Belial, for he was ever-changing. He had a thousand shapes.

“Why should I believe that?” she demanded. “You let me sicken from that poison, and I could have died. You promised me that only my enemies would be harmed. And look”—she threw her arm out in the direction of the courtyard where Gideon and Gabriel waited for her—“they still live!”

“I would never have let you die,” said Belial. “It was necessary to keep suspicion from falling upon you. What I did, I did in order to save you.”

Bitterness roughened her voice. “Save me for what? That I may languish in prison while my enemies flourish?”

Belial laid his hands on Jesse’s coffin. His fingers were long, like a spider’s legs. “We have discussed this before, Tatiana. The death of Barbara was my gift to you, but it was only the beginning. What we have in mind for the Herondales and Lightwoods and Carstairs is so much greater and more terrible than simple death.”

“But your plan to raise James Herondale up in darkness seems to have failed. Even after I prepared him for you—”