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Valentine’s troops are busy strewing pieces of them all over the lawn, and you’re up here safe with your girlfriends.” He sneered in Clary’s direction. “That one looks a little young for you, Lucian.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call those troops, Blackwell,” he said. “They’re Forsaken. Tormented once-human beings. If I recall properly, the Clave looks pretty darkly on all that—torturing people, performing black magic. I can’t imagine they’ll be too pleased.”
“Jace? Never heard of a Jace,” he said. “Now, I could ask Pangborn to let her out. But I’d rather not. She was always a bitch to me, Jocelyn was. Thought she was better than the rest of us, with her looks and her lineage. Just a pedigreed bitch, that’s all. She only married him so she could turn it around on us all—”
“Luke,” said Jace. “He’s going to have to call off his pack. There’s been a misunderstanding.” “What, you kidnapped yourself?” She’d meant to sound teasing, but her voice was too thin. “Come on, Jace.”
“Well, if your father’s really in this place, then where is he? Did Valentine kidnap him, too?”
Little did she know
She could kill this man. She would kill him. Jace caught at her wrist. “No.” She could not contain her disbelief. “But, Jace—” “Clary,” he said firmly. “This is my father.”
“This is a kindjal, a Circassian dagger. This particular one used to be one of a matched pair. Here, see the star of the Morgensterns, carved into the blade.” He turned it over, showing it to Jace. “I’m surprised the Lightwoods never noticed it.” “I never showed it to them,” said Jace. “They let me have my own private things. They didn’t pry.” “Of course they didn’t,” said Valentine. He handed the kindjal back to Jace. “They thought you were Michael Wayland’s son.”
A cold despair was spreading through Clary’s veins. Jace angry, Jace hostile, furious, she could have dealt with, but this new Jace, fragile and shining in the light of his own personal miracle, was a stranger to her.
“I forget how regrettably lax mundane education is,” Valentine said. “Morgenstern means ‘morning star.’
“No,” said Jace. “No, Hodge was the one who wanted the Mortal Cup all along. He was the one who sent the Raveners after your mother. My father—Valentine only found out about it afterward, and came to stop him. He brought your mother here to heal her, not to hurt her.” “And you believe that crap?” Clary said in disgust. “It isn’t true. Hodge was working for Valentine. They were in it together, getting the Cup. He set us up, it’s true, but he was just a tool.”
Wtf bro
“I thought your name was Jace,” she said. “Did you lie about that, too?” “No. Jace is a nickname.” She was very near to the precipice now, so close she could almost look down. “For what?” He looked at her as if he couldn’t understand why she was making so much of something so small. “It’s my initials,” he said. “J.C.” The precipice opened before her. She could see the long fall into darkness. “Jonathan,” she said faintly. “Jonathan Christopher.”
“My mother is alive?” “She is,” said Valentine. “Alive, and asleep in one of the downstairs rooms at this very moment. Yes,” he said, cutting off Jace before he could speak, “Jocelyn is your mother, Jonathan. And Clary—Clary is your sister.”
He had to think he was Michael Wayland’s son, or the Lightwoods would not have protected him as they did. It was Michael they owed a debt to, not me. It was on Michael’s account that they loved him, not mine.”
“The Lightwoods were intended as protection for Jace, not as a replacement family, you see. He has a family. He has a father.”
“But blood calls to blood, as they say,” he went on. “Fate has borne us to this convergence. Our family, together again. We can use the Portal,” he said, turning his gaze to Jace. “Go to Idris. Back to the manor house.”
That sounds terrific, thought Clary. Just you, your comatose wife, your shell-shocked son, and your daughter who hates your guts. Not to mention that your two kids may be in love with each other. Yeah, that sounds like a perfect family reunion.
“Actually,” said Luke, “I killed him with this.” With his free hand he held out the long thin dagger he had killed the Forsaken with. In the light she could see the blue stones in the hilt. “Do you remember it?” Valentine looked at it, and Clary saw his jaw tighten. “I do,” he said, and Clary wondered if he, too, were remembering their earlier conversation. This is a kindjal, a Circassian dagger. This particular one used to be one of a matched pair.
“A man who chains his unconscious wife to a bed in the hopes of torturing her for information when she wakes up? That’s your bravery?” Jace was staring at his father.
“I didn’t torture her,” he said. “She is chained for her own protection.” “Against what?” Luke demanded, stepping farther into the room. “The only thing endangering her is you. The only thing that ever endangered her was you. She’s spent her life running to get away from you.”
“I loved her,” said Valentine. “I never would have hurt her. It was you who turned her against me.” Luke laughed. “She didn’t need me to turn her against you. She learned to hate you on her own.” “That is a lie!”
“I don’t have a mother,” said Jace. His hands were shaking. “The woman who gave birth to me walked away from me before I learned to remember her face. I was nothing to her, so she is nothing to me.” “Your mother is not the one who walked away from you,” said Luke, his gaze moving slowly to Valentine. “I would have thought even you,” he said slowly, “were above using your own flesh and blood as bait. I suppose I was wrong.” “That’s enough.”
Looooolll the dramaaaa
“Stop what? Telling you the truth? She thought you had died—she’d never have left you if she’d known you were alive. You thought your father was dead—” “I saw him die! Or I thought I did. I didn’t just—just hear about it and choose to believe it!” “She found your burned bones,” said Clary quietly. “In the ruins of her house. Along with the bones of her mother and father.”
“You have a family,” she said. “Family, those are just the people who love you. Like the Lightwoods love you. Alec, Isabelle—” Her voice cracked. “Luke is my family, and you’re going to make me watch him die just like you thought you watched your father die when you were ten years old? Is this what you want, Jace? Is this the kind of man you want to be? Like—” She broke off, suddenly terrified that she had gone too far. “Like my father,” he said.
Fr
“I think you should leave,” Jace said. Valentine stared incredulously at his son. “What did you say?”
“That’s not my name,” he said. “My name is Jace Wayland.”
“I am a very well-trained child,” Jace said. “You instructed me yourself in the precise art of killing. I only need to move two fingers to cut your throat, did you know that?” His eyes were steely. “I suppose you did.” “You’re skilled enough,” said Valentine. His tone was dismissive, but, Clary noticed, he was standing very still indeed. “But you could not kill me. You have always been softhearted.” “Perhaps he couldn’t.” It was Luke, on his feet now, pale and bloody but upright. “But I could. And I’m not entirely sure he could stop me.”
“You side with it?” “It has a point,” said Jace mildly. “I’m not entirely sure I could stop him if he wanted to do you damage. Werewolves heal so fast.” Valentine’s lip curled. “So,” he spat, “like your mother, you prefer this creature, this half-bred demon thing to your own blood, your own family?” For the first time the sword in Jace’s hand seemed to tremble. “You left me when I was a child,” he said in a measured voice. “You let me think you were dead and you sent me away to live with strangers. You never told me I had a mother, a sister. You left me alone.”
“You burned them,” said Clary flatly. “Yes!” shouted Valentine. “I burned them.” Jace made a strangled noise. “My grandparents—” “You never knew them,” said Valentine. “Don’t pretend to a grief you do not feel.”
“Jace—we need the Cup. Or you know what he’ll do with it.” Jace licked his dry lips. “The Cup, Father. Where is it?” “In Idris,” said Valentine calmly. “Where you will never find it.” Jace’s hand was shaking. “Tell me—” “Give me the sword, Jonathan.” It was Luke, his voice calm, even kind.
“I have a suggestion,” said Valentine to Luke, in a surprisingly even tone. “Let me guess,” said Luke. “It’s ‘Don’t kill me,’ isn’t it?”
“Clary, I told you to wait.” “She’s like her mother,” said Valentine. One of his hands was behind him; he was running it along the edge of the mirror’s heavy gilt frame. “Doesn’t like to do what she’s told.”
A spasm of fury twisting his features, Valentine looked at his son. She would never forget that look—it made her feel a sudden wild longing for her mother. Because no matter how angry her mother had been with her, Jocelyn had never looked at her like that. She had always looked at her with love.
“It’s not your fault,” Luke said, looking down at Clary. His blue eyes were steady. They said: Your brother needs you; stay with him.
“He was right. That’s why I couldn’t make myself go through the Portal,” Jace whispered. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t kill him.” “The only way you would have failed,” she said, “is if you had.”
“He was telling the truth,” said Luke from behind her. “He didn’t cure Alec; that was Magnus Bane. And he doesn’t know what’s wrong with your mother either.” “I know,” said Clary,
Simon shook his head. “I don’t believe in coincidences,” he said. “Neither do I.” “But I have to admit,” Simon added, “coincidence or not, it turned out to be a fortuitous occurrence.”
Everyone in Downworld was buzzing about it. You’re famous, you know.” “Me?” “Sure. Valentine’s daughter.” Clary shuddered. “So I guess Jace is famous too.” “You’re both famous,” said Isabelle in the same overbright voice. “The famous brother and sister.”
“I didn’t think you liked me all that much.” Isabelle’s brightness faded and she looked down at her silvery toes. “I didn’t think I did either,” she admitted. “But when I went to look for you and Jace, and you were gone…” Her voice trailed off. “I wasn’t just worried about him; I was worried about you, too. There’s something so… reassuring about you. And Jace is so much better when you’re around.” Clary’s eyes widened. “He is?” “He is, actually.
“I don’t feel that way anymore.” The stem was entirely denuded of leaves; Clary threw it aside. “Why not?” “Because of you,” he said. “If it weren’t for you, I would have gone with my father through the Portal. If it weren’t for you, I would go after him right now.”
I’m not asking this for you, I’m asking for me. I think if she heard your voice…” “Then what?” “She might wake up.” She looked at him steadily. He held her gaze, then broke it with a smile—crooked and a little battered, but a real smile. “Fine. I’ll go with you.” He stood up. “You don’t have to tell me good things about your mother,” he added. “I already know them.” “Do you?” He shrugged slightly. “She raised you, didn’t she?”
