Thomas held out his hands. He could sense Alastair watching him, tension stringing him tight. The whole Sanctuary seemed to be holding its breath. Thomas told himself he was innocent, but as the Sword descended toward him, doubts began to punch holes through his self-assurance. What if the Sword could see down into his soul, see every secret, everything he’d ever tried to hide?

Will placed the Sword, the blade flat, on Thomas’s upturned palms. Thomas sucked in a breath—the weight of the Sword was greater than he had imagined. It felt like a weight not just in his hands but dragging at his whole body, at his heart and blood and stomach. He wanted to gag but fought the feeling back.

He heard Bridgestock chuckle. “Look at him,” he said. “Big as a horse, that boy, but even he can’t withstand the force of Maellartach.”

Will was very still. Thomas stared at him desperately. Will Herondale was a man who, though not directly related to Thomas by blood, was essentially his family—his uncle, someone who could be trusted, kind and funny. As Thomas had gotten older, he’d begun to understand that behind that kind exterior was a smart and strategic thinker. He wondered how Will was going to play this particular situation.

Will looked him straight in the eye. “Did you murder Lilian Highsmith?”

Matthew and Christopher were herded down the corridor by a gaggle of muttering Enclave members—Gideon and Sophie, Eugenia, Gabriel and Cecily among them. Matthew couldn’t count the number of adults who had come up to him this morning and squeezed his shoulder, assuring him that everything would turn out fine for Thomas.

Of course, there were also the others—those who stared accusingly and shot dark, suspicious glances. Matthew was just glad that Christopher didn’t seem to notice even when people glared at him.

“I can’t say I care for leaving Thomas behind,” Christopher said, casting a mournful look over his shoulder as they were shepherded into the Institute’s main entryway. The double doors were open, and even more Enclave members were massed in the courtyard. Matthew could see the Pouncebys and Wentworths, all scowling.

“We’ve got no choice, Kit,” said Matthew. “At least Will and my mother are there along with Bridgestock. And Tom’s innocent.”

“I know,” Christopher said. He glanced around at the packed crowd and shivered a little. Maybe he noticed more than Matthew had thought. “D’you think James is all right?”

The thought of James opened up an ache in Matthew’s chest. He’d argued with James the night before: they never argued. “Magnus wouldn’t let anything happen to him,” Matthew said. “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute and can tell us all about last night.” He dropped his voice. “Journeying into the dream-realm and all that.”