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50 pages, Kindle Edition
First published August 18, 2015

“Oh, Mark Blackthorn, what are they doing to you?” Simon whispered.
He could not keep the pity out of his voice, and he saw it sting Mark: the slow flush that rose to his thin cheeks, and the way he lifted his chin, holding his head high.
Mark said: “Nothing I cannot bear.”






“I got distracted making out with a boy, and then locked up by a goblin”
Now that they were Shadowhunter trainees in their second year, and in the words of Scarsbury “no longer totally hopeless and liable to cut off your own stupid heads,” they were given their own slightly more important missions. Every mission had an appointed team leader, and the team leader got double points if the mission was a success. Julie, Beatriz, Simon, and Jon had already been team leaders, and they had killed it: everyone’s mission accomplished, demons slain, people saved, Downworlders breaking the Law penalized severely but fairly.
“What does a faerie of the Wild Hunt want with me?” Simon croaked.
“I am no faerie,” said the boy with eerie eyes, pointed ears, and leaves in his wild hair. “I am Mark Blackthorn of the Los Angeles Institute. It doesn’t matter what they say or what they do to me. I still remember who I am. I am Mark Blackthorn.”
He looked at Simon with wild hunger in his thin face. His thin fingers clutched the bars of the cage.
“Are you here to save me?” he demanded. “Have the Shadowhunters come for me at last?”
“You see? I have not forgotten. Every night, no matter what has happened during the day, no matter if I am torn and bloodied or so bone-tired I wish I were dead, I look up at the stars and I give each star a brother’s name or a sister’s face. I will not sleep until I remember every one. The stars will burn out before I forget.”
He did not know what they were doing to Mark in Faerie, to make his family slip away from him.
“Oh, Mark Blackthorn, what are they doing to you?” Simon whispered.
He could not keep the pity out of his voice, and he saw it sting Mark: the slow flush that rose to his thin cheeks, and the way he lifted his chin, holding his head high.
Mark said: “Nothing I cannot bear.”
“Jace.”
Mark nodded, almost absentmindedly. “He said, ‘Show them what a Shadowhunter is made of; show them you aren’t afraid.’ I thought I was showing them, the Fair Folk and the Shadowhunters both. I could not do what he asked me. I was afraid, but I did not let it stop me. I got a message back to the Shadowhunters and I told them the Fair Folk were betraying them and allying with their enemy. I made sure they knew and could protect the City of Glass. I warned them, and the Hunters could have killed me for it, but I thought if I died I would die knowing my brothers and sisters were saved, and that everyone would know I was a true Shadowhunter.”
“You did,” said Simon. “You got the message back. Idris was protected, and your brothers and sisters were saved.”
“What a hero I am,” Mark murmured. “I proved my loyalty. And the Shadowhunters left me here to rot.”
His face twisted. In the depths of Simon’s heart, fear twined with pity.
“I tried to be a Shadowhunter, even in the depths of Faerie, and what good did it do me? ‘Show them what a Shadowhunter is made of!’ What is a Shadowhunter made of, if they desert their own, if they throw away a child’s heart like rubbish left on the side of the road? Tell me, Simon Lewis, if that is what Shadowhunters are, why would I wish to be one?”
“Because that’s not all they are,” Simon said.
“And what are faeries made of? I hear Shadowhunters say they are all evil now, barely more than demons set upon the earth to do wicked mischief.” Mark grinned, something wild and fey in the grin, like sunlight glittering through a spiderweb. “And we do love mischief, Simon Lewis, and sometimes wickedness. But it is not all bad, to ride the winds, run upon the waves, and dance upon the mountains, and it is all I have left. At least the Wild Hunt wants me. Maybe I should show Shadowhunters what a faerie is made of instead.”
“Maybe,” said Simon. “There’s more to both sides than the worst.”
Mark smiled, a faint terrible smile. “Where has the best gone? I try to remember my father’s stories, about Jonathan Shadowhunter, about all the golden heroes who have served as shields for humanity. But my father is dead. His voice fades away with the north wind, and the Law he held sacred is something written in the sand by a child. We laugh and point, that anyone should be so foolish as to think it would last. All that is good, and true, is lost.”
“For what it’s worth, I disagree with the Clave’s decision.”
“That’s the Clave, isn’t it? I mean, I like Jia Penhallow okay, and it’s not that I . . . dislike your dad,” Simon, who did not actually like Robert Lightwood, said awkwardly. “But the Clave, basically assholes, am I right? We all know that.”
Isabelle held her hand out, palm down, and rocked it back and forth in a gesture that said You’ve got a point but I refuse to agree with it out loud.
Mark laughed. “Yeah,” he said, and he sounded a little more sane, a little more human, as if the laugh had grounded him somehow. There was an accent to his words that made Simon think not faerie but: L.A. boy. “Basically assholes.”
“Come with us,” said Isabelle suddenly. “Whatever price there is to be paid, I will pay it.”
Mark gave her a look that was equal parts admiring and disdainful. He shook his fair head, leaves quivering and light lancing through the bright locks.
“What do you think would happen if I did? I would go home . . . home . . . and the Wild Hunt would follow me there. Do you imagine I have not dreamed of running home a thousand times? Every time, I see gentle Julian pierced with the spears of the Wild Hunt. I see little Dru and baby Tavvy ridden down. I see my Ty, ripped apart by their hounds. I cannot go until there is some way to go to them without bringing destruction down on them. I will not go. You go, and go fast.”
“Run!” he shouted. “Get home safe! Tell the Clave that I have saved more Shadowhunter lives, that I will be a Shadowhunter and be damned to them, that I will be a faerie and curse them! And tell my family that I love them, I love them, and I will never forget. One day I will go home.”
"Fortunate is the one who knows the name of their heart. They are the ones whose hearts are never truly lost. They can always call their heart back home."

"Every night, no matter what has happened during the day, no matter if I am torn and bloodied or so bone-tired I wish I were dead, I look up at the stars and I give each star a brother's name or a sister's face. I will not sleep until I remember every one. The stars will burn out before I forget."
People could bear so much, but Simon did not know how much of the original you was left when the world had twisted you into a whole different shape.
He felt, curving against his mouth, her smile. "Why, Lord Montgomery," Isabelle murmured. "It's been such a long time. I was worried I'd never see you again."
After Simon is kidnapped by faeries (why is he always kidnapped?), he uncovers rumours of a secret weapon Sebastian left behind for the faerie queen. He must escape the Fey, relying on his only ally, former Shadowhunter and Dark Artifices character Mark Blackthorn.