Clary stood on a shady lawn that rolled away down a sloping hill. The sky overhead was perfectly blue, dotted here and there with white clouds. At her feet a stone walkway stretched to the front door of a large manor house, built of mellow golden stone.

She craned her head back, looking up. The house was lovely: the stones were the colour of butter in the spring sunshine, covered in trellises of climbing roses in red and gold and orange. Wrought iron balconies curved out from the façade, and there were two large arched doors of bronze-coloured wood, their surfaces wrought with delicate designs of wings.

Fairchild Manor. Her home.

'Clary!' Her mother appeared at one of the balconies, wearing an elegant champagne-coloured dress; her red hair was down, and she looked young and beautiful. Her arms were bare, circled with black runes. 'What do you think? Doesn't it look gorgeous?'

Clary followed her mother's gaze toward where the lawn flattened out. There was an archway of roses set up at the end of an aisle, on either side of which were rows of wooden benches. White flowers were scattered along the aisle: the white flowers that grew only in Idris. The air was rich with their honey scent.

She looked back up at her mother, who was no longer alone on the balcony. Luke was standing behind her, an arm around her waist. He was in rolled-up shirtsleeves and formal trousers, as if halfway dressed for a party. His arms too were twined with runes: runes for good luck, for insight, for strength, for love. 'Are you ready?' he called down to Clary.

'Clary!'

She whirled. He was coming toward her across the grass – slender, with white-pale hair that shone in the sunlight, dressed in formal black with gold runes at his collar and cuffs. He was grinning, a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and holding up a hand to block the brightness of the sun.

His eyes shone, green as spring grass.

'Clary,' he said again, 'you're not going to believe – '

'Jonathan!' a small voice trilled. Clary saw her little sister dashing across the grass. She had red hair, the same shade as Clary's, and it flew out behind her like a banner. She was barefoot, wearing a green lace dress that had been so thoroughly torn to ribbons at the cuffs and hem that it resembled shredded lettuce. As she reached Jonathan, she held up her arms, and he bent down to swing her up into the air.

She shrieked in delight as he held her over his head. 'Ouch, ouch – quit that, you demon child,' he said as she pulled at his hair. 'Val, I said stop it, or I'll hold you upside down. I mean it.'

'Clary, make him let me go, make him – owwww!' shrieked Valentina as Jonathan turned her upside down and swung her through the air. Val dissolved into giggles as he set her down on the grass, and she turned a pair of eyes the exact blue of Luke's up at Clary.

Rolling her eyes at both of them, Clary leaned down to pick Val up. Swinging her sister onto her hip, she turned to Jonathan and said accusingly, 'You said you wouldn't let her get too excited!'

'Bit late for that, I think,' he mumbled sheepishly – Clary had always been able to make him feel like an idiot, despite her being eighteen months his junior. She raised her eyebrow, and as she walked back toward the manor, Val busy twisting her hair, she called back, 'If my wedding's ruined, I'm setting the boys on you.' She smiled at the muttered curses that followed her as Jonathan brushed himself off and made his way to the manor a few paces behind his sisters.

Clary turned her attention to the dirty five-year-old in her arms. 'Val,' she started seriously. 'Do you remember what today is?'

The tiny girl thought for a second then replied, beaming, 'Friday!'

'No, Val… Well, yeah, actually. But what's special about this Friday?'

Another few seconds of thought, before she spied Jonathan pantomiming eating cake over Clary's shoulder.

'Cake! So… oh! Party!'

'That's right Val, we're having a party. So you need to run to Mommy, get cleaned up and put your pretty dress on.'

'Ok!' With nothing else to say, Val slid down Clary and ran up the front steps of Fairchild Manor, yelling 'Mommy?' in her little-girl voice.

'You sure having her as a ringbearer is still a good idea?' Jonathan had caught up with Clary, who was half-smiling as she took in the adorable lunacy of her little sister.

'Probably not, but there's not much I can do about it now, is there?'

'Fair enough.' Jonathan grinned at her, then started pushing her towards the front door.

'Hey– what are you doing?'

'You said you'd set the others on me if your wedding was ruined. I don't doubt you'll be holding me to that, so it's my job to make sure this goes smoothly. And part one of that plan is to get you ready – can't have the bride being late to her own wedding, can we?' Changing tack, he suddenly grabbed her by the wrist and started dragging her towards her room, having passed through the huge oak doors. She got his point and picked up the pace, just as he bellowed, 'ISABELLE!'

'WHAT?' The reply came from Clary's bedroom, confirming Jonathan's suspicions.

'SHE'S HERE!'

'Finally!' At that, Isabelle Lightwood stuck her head over the banister at the top of the stairs, glaring at the two siblings. 'What took you so long? It doesn't really matter at this stage,' she cut in as Clary opened her mouth to answer. 'What are you waiting for? Get up here! You aren't going to get ready for the biggest day of your life standing there gawping, you know.' With that, her head disappeared from the floor above as Clary and Jonathan shared a sheepish look. Clary rolled her eyes at her friend who seemed more stressed about her wedding than the bride herself, then ran a critical eye over Jonathan. Flicking a strand of white-blond hair out of his eyes, she commented, 'You might want to get yourself ready too – clean up a bit.'

'Don't tell me what to do, little sister,' he smirked, then backed off as she swatted at his shoulder. 'Fine, I'm going, I'm going!' She may be his little sister, but she could hit harder than anyone he knew. Especially when she got that look in her eye – the one that said 'you can't escape' – the one aimed at him right now. He raised his arms in surrender, then headed up the stairs, swerving around her as she made another attempt for his shoulder. Their squabble was interrupted by a shout from upstairs.

'Clary Fairchild, if you aren't up here in ten seconds so help me you can do your hair yourself!' That threat heard, Clary copied her sister from a few minutes earlier and ran up the red carpeted stairs, covered in a sheen of gold where the sunlight hit them through the skylight two floors above her. She hurried along the landing and turned right into her orange-painted room. Isabelle was standing by the door, looking seriously mad. She grabbed Clary's hand and dragged her to her desk, forcing her to sit. Isabelle marched round behind her and started brushing Clary's red curls with determined strokes.

'You don't realise how much effort I've put into planning your look, do you? So you decide that an hour before your wedding is the time to start playing with your brother. What am I going to do with you?' Isabelle shook her head in exasperation, then started twisting part of her sister-in-law-to-be's hair into two braids. As she expertly manipulated Clary's hair, she noticed that her friend was becoming increasingly subdued as the look of apprehension in her green eyes grew. Her irritation subsided, quickly becoming sympathy.

'Izzy?'

'Yeah?'

'I'm scared.' Put so simply, she sounded like a child, not a 21-year-old bride.

'Why? Think you'll mess up the runes or something? Come on, chances of you doing that are tiny – although, it being you, Jace may end up with a rune that's slightly more powerful than he expects…' Isabelle trailed off, realising her attempt at humour wasn't really working.

'What if I say the wrong thing? Or what if I fall over my own feet? It's happened before…' Isabelle 'hmmd' in sympathy, her mind going back to an interesting Mantid demon attack where Clary had managed to decapitate one of the creatures while twisting around to avoid falling on her face, having tripped over her untied laces. Her work on Clary's hair finished, she moved round to face her friend and started to apply primer in swift, efficient movements.

'I really don't know what to say to make you feel less scared, Clary. All I can say is that you and Jace love each other more than I've seen anyone love anyone else. And that's got to count for something. Anyway,' she continued, changing the subject. 'How long did it take you to get rid of the ducks in the pond again? You know how Jace hates them.'

The smirk on Clary's face by that point knew she'd hit on a good topic to distract her from thoughts of public embarrassment.

'About four days. Magnus was the one who finished it off – before that we'd have about an hour of peace before Jace saw another one and started yelling again. You'd have thought he was being eaten by them.'

'How does he do it?'

'Well, Izzy, Magnus speaks Duck, so managed to convince them to find a new pond to live in – what do you think?' Clary wiggled her fingers and made a weird noise, which was apparently supposed to convey Magnus's magical warlocky powers.

'Not Magnus.' Isabelle rolled her eyes. 'Jace. How is he the perfect Shadowhunter in front of a demon, but he sees a duckling and falls to pieces?'

'Who knows? Strange childhood mishap? Ancestral battle with a duck causing a fear programmed into every descendant?'

Isabelle grinned and pulled Clary to her feet. 'Hang on a sec, I've got to get your dress.' She whirled out of the room and was back a minute later, holding a white bag with Clary's wedding gown in it. Turning to the desk so her friend could have some privacy to change, Isabelle started applying her own makeup in front of the small mirror standing on the edge of the white table.

There was silence for a minute as both girls set about their tasks. After a finishing sweep of mascara, Isabelle rose to see Clary standing in her dress, looking radiant, but that radiance was muted by the remnants of her fear. Her almost-sister motioned for her to turn, and as she faced Isabelle again, Clary saw her break into a huge smile.

'Beautiful.'

'You think?'

'Of course. When have I ever lied to you? Don't!' Isabelle added hastily before Clary had a chance to answer, so the redhead contented herself with a raised eyebrow. 'Soon, you're going to be Mrs Clary Herondale.' She wrinkled her nose. 'Sounds weird, doesn't it?'

'Not really.' Clary stopped, still trying to make sense of it herself. 'To me, it sounds right – it feels right. I never knew something could feel like it couldn't ever be anything different, but that's what this is like. I sound mad, don't I?'

Isabelle smirked. 'No more so than usual.'

At that, Clary heard a commotion from outside her door. 'Val, honey, you can't go in there right now. Clary's getting ready still.' Jocelyn Fairchild's efforts were in vain, as Valentina threw the door open and jumped onto the bed. Jocelyn shook her head in despair, then caught sight of her eldest daughter. 'Oh, Clary honey, you look gorgeous!'

'Pretty,' Val nodded. Isabelle took this as her cue to leave and slipped out the door, making her way along the corridor to her own room to finish getting ready. Jocelyn hugged Clary, carefully so as not to crease her dress. Her champagne-coloured dress skimmed over her willowy frame, the black runes entwining her arms and shoulders standing out starkly against her pale skin. With a smile at her daughter, she crossed the room to the giggling child who was being a mole under the covers of Clary's bed. 'You,' she said, swinging Val up into her arms, 'can go wait with Jonathan.' Clary winced.

'I'm not sure that's a good ide–'

Thankfully, Luke was at the door. He plucked his daughter from his wife's arms, and winking at Clary, said, 'Way ahead of you. I just sent him to make sure Simon was ready. There's no way he is yet, so Jonathan'll be a while.' The pair smiled at each other, Clary thinking how lucky she was to have her parabatai – even though he irritated the hell out of her sometimes. Simon Lovelace was her best friend, and had been since the age of four – younger than Val was now. They had become parabatai only a few years before, and now she couldn't remember why they hadn't done the ceremony earlier.

As Luke carried Val down the stairs, seriously discussing the dangers of bed-moles, Clary took a deep breath and turned to her mother.

'You're still ok with this, right?'