ADAMAS
Isabelle noticed, with some satisfaction, that she was almost as beautiful as she had been when she was young, when she had had a waterfall of obsidian hair, eyes so dark they seemed black, skin creamy and white. She remembered those years so fondly- the stretching time between the day Jocelyn and Luke had married, and the day Alec had died. Perfect years, when she'd fought demons with her friends and brothers before returning to Magnus' loft for a take-out and talking. The six musketeers, Simon had said. She'd read the book already- she only ever got to read oldfashioned books before she met Clary and Simon, before she'd been introduced to the modern world. She had been so happy then.
She wasn't like that anymore. Granted, she still loved- loved her friends, her family, her world- like Heaven was in her heart, still fought like her whip was attached to her soul, still held traces of the girl she'd used to be, sometimes brave and strong and good, sometimes flirty and sarcastic and bitchy. But she didn't look like the old Izzy anymore, although she had to admit, she still cut a powerful figure. Yes, she was beautiful. But not like she'd used to. Her steel-grey hair was cut short, her skin had tanned brown, and her eyes had paled with years so that they no longer looked midnight black. She was dressed like a true Shadowhunter, despite her years- fifty, old for Nephilim- with runes decorating every square inch of skin, her whip curling and uncurling with the lively fire of a fight, and her fighting gear stained with blood… not demon blood. But not her blood either.
But she didn't want to think about that.
The perfect years had ended when Clary phoned her, tearfully. She was pregnant with her second child, and hadn't been allowed to go out to battle with them. Alec had been demon poisoned even as he'd let his last arrow fly. He died with his bow in his hand. Izzy called her second child Alexandra.
Alexandra. All her children seemed to be named after someone or something- there was Maxwell- twenty-eight now, named for her brother Max- Alexandra, twenty-six- named for Alec- and Brooklyn, eighteen, named for her old home in New York. And there was Jace and Clary's son, Jonathan- for the boy Sebastian could have been. Shadowhunter names always meant something.
Well, Alec and Magnus' adopted warlock daughter, Glitter, didn't have a particularly meaningful name, but that was Magnus for you.
She supposed she should tell Magnus and Glitter that Jace had died. Jonathan too, probably, and her own children. But they'd simply worry about her decision, and she had to go. She would be an Iron Sister- it was many years ago she'd been told that she'd suit it, but why shouldn't she go? Max and Allie were old enough to look after themselves, and even her little Brooklyn was growing up, too. She was quite sure there was something going on between Jonathan and Brooklyn- although she didn't like to say it.
Jace died. He died protecting her. She thought she ought to feel something more than guilt, but she was used to death by now. She was a Shadowhunter, and nearly everyone she loved was dead now. Her parents. Luke and Jocelyn. Maia. Alec. Max. Clary. Simon. Her son, Jordan. Clary and Jace's eldest daughter, Therese. Jem- who had never been pretty special to her anyway, but she'd got to know him and Tessa as the years went on. And now, she was the last one left. Jace was gone. It was just her.
Magnus and Glitter were supposed to be visiting next week, so she'd leave a message for him with the Highsmiths next door. She was pleased to note that the usual feeling of discontent at that family wasn't there- maybe the grudge of thirty-four years, born out of just a few nights of unfaithfulness from her father, was gone.
After leaving the message, she'd take the body to the Silent City, tell them to hold off the burning until Magnus Bane enquired, then go straight to the Adamant Citadel. She knew she'd miss Magnus, her children, and perhaps a few other people- but being an Iron Sister was the only way forward that she could see. Jace had been the last string holding her to the good old days. Now he was gone.
Isabelle stepped away from the mirror. In the future, she wouldn't need to be vain. So she didn't need to do her make-up, or dress up. She knew she should look presentable, but she wouldn't overdo it. She was going to be one of those strange, lonely women who carved adamas for the world to use. Sister Isabelle. Like a nun.
Alone in her house- the Lightwood house, she'd refused to change her name when she'd married Simon- she walked slowly, almost ceremoniously, down the stairs. I'm going to be an Iron Sister. I'm going to be an Iron Sister.
She left her house, walked the few steps across the street, and then up the path to her neighbour's house. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on the Highsmith door.
There was no turning back now.
*"*"*
"Greetings, fellow Nephilim. I am Sister Lucinda, and I have been sent by the Sisters to meet with you." From her expression, she was not pleased with this task. She was a small woman, with an annoyed expression, wearing the typical long, white, electrum-bound dress of the Sisters. Her blonde hair was cut short, to her shoulders, as most of the sisters wore it, and she carried a shaping tool in one hand. "Why is it that have you come to the Citadel today? Perhaps to bring news of the Clave- or do the other Nephilim require our special assistance?" Her lip curled as she said the phrase 'other Nephilim', and Isabelle had to fight back dislike, to remember that soon, she would be one of these women.
"No, Sister. I am Isabelle Lightwood, and I have come to become an Iron Sister. It is not talked of, your ritual, and I did not wish to go to the Clave, so I came straight here, in the hope that you would take me as a Sister. I have left word with what little family I have left." She never cried, but now she found herself choking back tears.
"Ah. But you seem old, Isabelle, for a Nephilim. Are you sure this is not just the last refuge you take after your friends have all passed away? So many aged women come to us for the sole reason that they are alone. We will not take you if it is not your true path."
Isabelle held her head up, as high as she could. "It is true that I have lost friends- this very morning, in fact, a dear friend was taken from me. He and I were brothers in our eyes, and I shall miss him dearly. But it is not my last refuge. I have three children. Do you think that I would leave them behind if this was not what I wanted?" The Sister frowned.
"Perhaps that is true. Well, then, Isabelle, what has led you to believe that you have the heart to become one of the Sisters?"
"Many long years ago, when I was sixteen, I visited, to talk with the Sisters of a weapon that could break the bond between Jace Herondale and Jonathan Morgenstern." As she talked, the Sister circled her. "I had a temper in those days, and I regret to say I was rude to a Sister, Sister Dolores. But the Sisters admired my strength and attitude, and I was offered the chance to become one of them. At that moment, love, duty, and pride held me back. Now, they do not." Sister Lucinda frowned slightly, and stopped pacing.
"So it is true that a lack of love drives you to the Citadel, after all?"
"In part." The frown was gone.
"At least you tell the truth." She paused, then spoke again. "I see it in you, that spark you speak of, that Sister Dolores noted. I think that the Sisters will take you. I will alert them of you; wait here as we confer," she said, gesturing absently towards a stone bench in the corner. "A superior Sister will see you soon, and then, we will talk with the Clave." Then she turned and walked away. Isabelle nodded, expecting elation to fill her veins, but, strangely, she was more relieved than happy. What would she have done if she had not been accepted into the Adamant Citadel?
"Thankyou, Sister," she said quietly, arranging her skirts as she sat down. As she looked around the chamber, she saw only the strange, silvery metal of heaven.
Before, her life had been all fire. Now, it would only be adamas.