Hello again, everyone! So this is just a short note reminding you all this is an independent fiction. You don't need to read anything else I've written. I hope you enjoy it, feel free to let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!

Chapter One

Clary

The cellar really was no place to sleep, especially without pillows, sheets, or blankets. The house had been built in a time when wood stoves were used for heat and basements were used as cold storage; this left the cellar practically unsuitable for the living. It hadn't stopped Valentine from imprisoning his daughter there for the sorting out after the rebellion, though. Clary was trapped in the delirium of dehydration, her wrists crossed and bound above her head, her body, bare, but for the tank top and shorts, and her lips cracked and dried. She drew a shuddering breath and tried to force her mind to the present.

Where are you?

In a cellar…

Why are you here?

I don't know.

Clary strained to sift through her memories, trying to recall something, anything, of the path that had led her to being tied to the bare, stained mattress. Who brought you here?

Valentine.

Valentine…Valentine, that lying, evil, traitorous, bastard. He did this, he put me here; he ruined everything! Unbidden, images swarmed up to Clary's mind, and piece by piece, the past fell into place.

When Clary had come to, she was lying in the sand, her wrists and ankles bound behind her back, a length of fabric stuffed in her mouth. She blinked away the dizziness from her landing in the lake and struggled to sit up. Through her blurry vision, Clary saw the beach stretch out before her to the shore of the lake. The water lapped lazily at the sand, brushing the boots of Valentine, who stood beside the shore, fiddling with someone before him.

Just the sight of Valentine brought on a wave of fury Clary had never before experienced. This was the man who had ruined her life. He had kidnapped her mother. Poisoned her brother. And, perhaps worst, had driven her almost insane with his terrible lies about Jace. Now, he stood before her, working away against everything that was still good in the world, and she couldn't even move to stop him.

Someone will come, she had thought recklessly. Someone has to come to stop him. Jace went to find Valentine; he'll be here soon. Jace will come.

But it seemed Jace wasn't going to come, and this only worried Clary more. As she sat slouched in the sand, watching Valentine work, she began to wonder what might have stopped Jace. A dark, cruel part of her mind whispered it must have been Jonathan, and that Jace was dead.

He's not, she said firmly to herself. Jace is alive, he's alive and he's coming for you and Valentine. He's the greatest shadowhunter alive, he just can't be dead.

Furious with herself, Clary focused on trying to stand, trying to move, trying to do anything that might help her stop Valentine. She twisted about to study the knot that was holding her wrists together, and saw that is was, instead, a string of glowing runes. She tried to tug her wrists apart, but the runes seemed to tighten and she felt a sharp burn as if they had sensed her trying to break free.

"You'll find your struggles quite impossible." During her fight, Clary hadn't noticed her father cross the beach and stand before her. When she looked up, Valentine was staring down at her, his face even, but his eyes glowing maliciously. "Those runes are quite effective, and fighting will only result in pain and more humiliation." Clary glared up at her father, unable to speak through the cloth in her mouth, but Valentine was amused. "I see you are angry, Clarissa, and I understand; you don't yet grasp my reasoning for doing what I'm about to do. You think I'm evil, but you'll see." When Clary continued to stare up at him, fury in every line of her body, he reached down and untied the cloth. "You may, of course, speak."

"You're a bastard!" Clary snarled, spitting sand out of her mouth and onto his boots. "This isn't over yet; the Clave is going to stop you. They won't let you enslave them, they'll fight back."

Valentine offered Clary a polite smile. "Let me enslave them? I do not need the Clave to allow me anything, Clarissa; I will do as I please, with the will of Angel behind me."

"The Angel won't help you either," she growled. "He won't stand aside and let you enslave his people."

"The Angel has no choice in the matter," sniffed Valentine, casting his gaze toward the lake. "I will summon him, and he will be bound by the runes of the summoning circle to obey me. I will ask him to strip all who do not drink from the Mortal Cup of their shadowhunter right. They will be reduced to Forsaken."

Clary felt bile rise up in her throat. "Just because they drink from the Cup doesn't mean they will serve you."

"They will swear an oath of obedience and bear whatever runes I choose to mark them with." This all seemed of little consequence to Valentine, just a small hiccup in his plan. "If they deny me, they will die."

"I won't drink from the Cup," said Clary firmly. "And neither will Jace or my mom; they hate you too-"

"Careful, Clarissa," said Valentine over her outburst, but she saw the amusement in his eyes flicker. "Jace, your mother, and yourself, are part of my family, and, as such, are mine to do with as I choose."

"Screw you," Clary said in a low voice.

"Now, now, Clarissa, I don't want there to be any animosity between us." Valentine knelt before her and he lifted her chin up, forcing her to look into his eyes. "You mother loved you, loved you more than she loved me or Jonathan." This was clearly irksome to Valentine, and Clary felt his fingers tighten on her chin. "And I have no intention of going on without her; you will do as I say, and your mother will love me again. We will be the family we should have been."

"She'll never forgive you," Clary denied, trying to shake her chin free. "She hates you because of what you did to Jonathan, and just because you have me doesn't she'll love you again. She might do what you say, but it'll be because of fear, not love. She won't love you-"

"Silence," he hissed, and Clary felt a tremor race up her father arm. "You have no idea what you're speaking of. I will make this world to my desire, and you will be here to see it all." He repositioned the gag and tightened it painfully. Clary thrashed about in his arms, but he took the hilt of his dagger and dug it into her back, on a pressure point on her spine. She whined through the gag in pain. "I do, however, need a bit of help."

There was a flash of light bouncing off the edge of a blade, and Valentine leveled the blade with Clary's cheek. She tried to pull away, instinctively fearing for her life, but Valentine took a firm grip on the back of her neck and held her still. The tip of the blade pressed against her cheek, and then moved down her face. Clary felt the pain distantly, aware it was only a shallow cut. Valentine flicked the blade away from her, holding up the red edge to the light. He smiled at her. "Thank you, Clarissa, for being a part of my victory."

Valentine rose up and left her for the beach. Clary didn't want to watch, she didn't think she could bear the idea of it all, but another part of her told her, Watch, don't turn away, don't let him see you afraid.

By the lake, Valentine was assembling the Mortal Instruments before him. She watched as he tapped the blade he'd used to cut her cheek and small droplets of her blood landed in the water and dissolved. Her then produced the Soul Sword and began stirring the water. She saw the water in the lake begin to glow from the point where the tip of the sword touched the water, and from that point, the water began to bubble furiously. The light from the lake grew brighter and brighter until Clary had to look away. She heard the sound of the Sword and Cup being cast into the depths, but couldn't turn back to see.

Suddenly, a sound like music filled the air; it wasn't exactly beautiful, but it wasn't horrible. It was haunting, like the song of a loon. Clary forced her eyes back toward Valentine and saw that he was standing in a circle of light, and, rising from the now perfectly still lake, was the Angel. Clary felt her mouth go dry as the golden wings opened, flapping quietly at her.

Please, no, just go back to wherever you came from, please! Clary thought desperately. Don't help him. Don't give him what he wants.

The Angel, though, either didn't hear her or didn't care. Valentine was speaking to it, making grand gestures, and then pointing to himself. The Angel seemed unconcerned with whatever Valentine was saying, and Clary hoped maybe the Angel was going to deny him, but then he blinked and bowed his head. The runes around Valentine glowed brighter and brighter, the light consuming Valentine, and Clary felt a force as a physical thing throw her back into the sand where she rolled over and over again, coming to a stop against a tree.

There was a point where Clary knew and saw nothing; her mind was blank, and all she saw was blackness. But it seemed that too soon she was being thrown back into her body, and the pain came back with it. She felt tears prick her eyes as she assessed the damage done to her, but a hand suddenly wound itself in her hair.

"Ah, Clarissa, I'm glad to see you're alive and well after that little display," Valentine said, and pulled her up to her knees. He was smiling down at her, the runes on his arms glowing with a fierce light, and when she raised her eyes up to his, they sparkled. "I was worried you might have died; then how would I know if the Angel granted my request?"

Clary furrowed her brow, but when Valentine produced the Mortal Cup, she panicked. Valentine tore the gag from her mouth and she almost at once began yelling a stream of curses. "Don't, no, don't! Get that thing away from me; I won't drink from it!"

"Clarissa, please, stop making a scene," Valentine sighed, gripping her chin tighter than usual. "Now, open your mouth and drink from the Cup. It will save, you, Clarissa."

Clary put up as much a fight as she could, but her wrists and legs bound were a great deterrent, and Valentine seemed possessed of some unearthly energy and strength. On her knees, Clary didn't have any way of fighting off her father, and when she felt the metal of it up against her lips, she threw herself about as much as she could. It burned, the Cup burned as if it had been touched by the wrath of the Angel, and Clary felt the tears she had been fighting back stream down her cheeks. The water inside the cup burned as well, and it trickled down her throat and into her stomach where it set her insides on fire. Valentine tossed Clary aside after he was sure she had swallowed the cup full and she landed in the sand, withering in pain while she felt her blood turn to fire. Clary moaned and tried to pull herself up onto her hands and knees to retch, but she didn't have even the strength for that. Clary was left collapsed on the beach, gasping for breath while Valentine watched her pitilessly.

"You are weaker than I thought," Valentine observed while Clary wriggled about. "But, perhaps this is the work of the Angel, burning the weakness from your veins? Regardless, it will be good for you, Clarissa."

While Valentine began gathering up his things and loading them onto a horse Clary managed to roll onto her back and stare up at the sky while her blood boiled. Just wait for the pain to pass, wait and don't let him know how much it hurts. That's what Jace would do…

Jace. It was that thought that almost jerked her out of her searing body. He hadn't come in time, but that didn't mean he wasn't on his way now. That didn't mean he was hurt. Her heart ached with just the thought of him, and she wondered fearfully what might have become of him. Jace needs to know the truth about us; he needs to know he's not my brother.

After what seemed like an eternity of pain, Clary could feel her heart beat gradually dropping and her blood wasn't pounding through her body. She could feel her limbs again and she rubbed her fingers along her arms and backs of her legs; she was covered in sweat and sand, but she wasn't in mind-numbing pain anymore.

Her relief was short lived, though, because she felt the cold hands of Valentine grab her by her shoulders and pull her up. "You're a mess, Clarissa," he said, smiling grimly down at her. "We'll have to fix you up once we settle things down in Alicante; we'll be heading that way soon enough."

"The shadowhunters won't give in-"

"Be quiet," he said, and Clary felt him haul her up to her feet. She couldn't put weight on them and she toppled forward, but Valentine caught her up and lifted her into his arms, almost like he cared about her. "You will find that your silence is much more rewarding."

"I don't need to be rewarded!" Clary spat, and she tried to free herself from Valentine.

"Perhaps you will feel differently when your brother arrives," was all Valentine said.

He carried Clary over to his horse and heaved her up into the saddle. Before Clary had time to escape, Valentine drew a length of rope and lashed her to the saddle. He checked the knots he'd tied and grinned up at her before mounting the horse himself and settling behind her. Clary felt Valentine's presence like an overbearing shadow, and she leaned as far forward as she could before the saddle cut into her belly.

"I don't know where you think you're going," Valentine said evenly, unimpressed by her attempts. "There's nowhere for you to run, and no one you could run to. This world, your world, is mine."

"She's a bit feisty," said a voice from behind them. Both Clary and Valentine turned in the saddle, and saw Jonathan astride a horse, and tied behind him, Jace. "I should have warned you about that, Father."

"Jace!" Clary croaked, but Valentine made a sharp silencing gesture and Clary fell quiet.

"Jonathan," he said coolly, "I'm glad to see you haven't come to any harm, and you have Jace with you." He smiled at his son, and then turned his eyes on Jace, who was glaring up at Valentine with more anger than Clary thought possible. "I'm pleased to see you found reason, Jace; it would have been a sore loss to me if you had died."

"What have you done?" Jace demanded, his eyes on Clary.

"What I set out to do," he replied simply. "Jonathan, we're going back to Alicante to meet the Clave and offer them their salvation. Keep an eye on Jace."

Before Clary had much opportunity to speak to Jace, to even let him know how much she loved him, her father turned their horse about and headed for the city. Behind them, Clary could see Jonathan riding, a sick smirk on his face, and Jace, his hands bound and then tied to the saddle, trailing behind him looking mutinous. From her peeking glance, she saw that Jace seemed mostly unharmed, though he was limping and there was a blossoming star of blood on his right side by his ribs.

It seemed to take forever before they reached Brocelind Plain. They passed over a hill that sloped down onto the plain, and before them was the battle-or what would have been a battle. Many of the shadowhunters had been reduced to kneeling, retching figures, their bodies bent in pain, and the Downworlders around them were in a panic. Demons were closing in on all sides, but Valentine raised his sword and they seemed to fall back.

Clary last memories were vague and haunting. Her father padded down the hill and entered the fray, calling out orders. She saw familiar faces here and there, but not Luke or her mother. She heard a frantic cry and saw Isabelle Lightwood emerging from the crowd, her eyes pinioned on Jace. Valentine didn't stop Isabelle from throwing herself against Jace and sobbing against his chest, but just moved on. Clary saw Jonathan turn around to snarl at them, but her attention was torn away by someone else's voice.

"Clary!" It was Jocelyn, and she was pushing people aside to break through the crowd and reach her daughter. "Clary!"

Clary strained against the ropes that bound her but it was her father's hands that contracted on her wrists. Jocelyn grabbed the horse's reins and pulled it to a halt. Her pale face turned from Clary and moved slowly up to Valentine who was staring down at her with the strangest look.

"Mom…" Clary whispered, but it didn't help, nothing would, because at that moment the crowd fell to shreds and madness broke out all about them…

"Mom!" Clary cried, straining against the ropes holding her to the bed. She tossed and turned viciously, trying to break any hold she could, but Clary was bound too tightly. "Mom-someone-help me."

The whispered plea went completely unnoticed, though. Locked in the basement of a house in Alicante, tied to a bed, and left in the dark, her desperation was met with nothing but the cold and the loneliness.

Jocelyn

"Where's my daughter?"

Valentine frowned a little, but he didn't let any of his annoyance show as he faced Jocelyn. "I wanted to keep her safe, Jocelyn, just long enough to settle any disputes that might arise during my seizure of the Clave. You must agree that there are some who want to see me, and by extension, anyone I love, harmed."

Jocelyn turned her gaze away from Valentine. "I want my daughter," she whispered. "I want Clary."

"You can have her as soon as everything is set back to rights," Valentine promised gently. "I swear on the Angel, Jocelyn, I'm not trying to distress you; I've tucked Clary away somewhere safe."

"Can I see her then?" Jocelyn asked.

"I'd rather you wait," said Valentine. "She is a little unreasonable at the moment, and I don't want her overexcited. I think it is mostly an after effect of drinking from the Cup."

Jocelyn turned her eyes back on Valentine, and she hoped there was enough force in them to make him cringe. "You made our daughter drink from your Cup?" She sounded scandalized.

Valentine felt a small prickling of panic; this was not how their reunion was supposed to happen. Jocelyn was supposed to be in love with him, she was supposed to be overjoyed that he had returned with her son and daughter in tow. "I didn't have a choice, Jocelyn, as our daughter has a nasty temper and no manners at all. You must agree that a child cannot simply go unchecked and unwatched?"

"She's only sixteen!" Jocelyn cried, and she rose to her feet, looking furious. "Clary is just a little girl, barely an adult, and you want to raise her like-like your father raised you?"

Valentine jumped to his feet and rushed to Jocelyn's side, but she pulled away from him. Jocelyn felt a tremor race up her spine as soon as Valentine drew near and her stomach flipped painfully. It had been this way since Valentine had taken her from Brocelind Plane.

When she had seen him ride up in the middle of the battle, Clary seated before him like some used rag doll, she'd thrown caution to the wind and rushed to her daughter. Valentine had looked down on her with a burning hunger in his gaze, but when she stared up at him in challenge he just swung himself off the hose and landed by her side. She was still grasping Clary's hand tightly, waiting for Valentine to make his first move.

"Jocelyn, I brought you Clarissa," he had said, as if this somehow made everything else he had done okay. Jocelyn cringed away from him, but she wouldn't leave her daughter. When she didn't respond, Valentine said, "Why don't you join her on the horse while I settle things here?"

Beneath her fingers, Jocelyn could feel Clary shaking, whether in anger or fear, she didn't know, and she took a step away and brushed against the horse. Valentine smiled politely and then helped her up onto the horse. Jocelyn wrapped both her arms around Clary, kissing her head protectively. Valentine's eyes had skimmed over them, like he were assessing a particularly valuable item, and then he turned away to address his people.

Days later, Jocelyn couldn't bear being around Valentine. He would always look at her with those empty, hungry eyes, as if trying to discern what was on her mind. They had had few talks since Valentine had taken her back to the house he had claimed as his own. She had refused point-blank to share a room with him, and so Valentine had grudgingly set her up in the second largest room, but he visited every day, hoping to coax her back into his arms. She had adamantly rejected him, demanding her daughter, but Valentine had always said no. She was starting to suspect that Valentine's patience would wear thin soon; he had never been very patient, even with her.

"My father raised me to be a warrior, something I thought you would want in both your children," said Valentine reasonably.

"My children?" Jocelyn gasped. "My children? You mean Clary and Jonathan, the boy you turned into a monster before he was even born? How dare you talk about him after what you did! You stole my son from me, and now you're keeping my daughter a prisoner-"

"Clarissa is not a prisoner," said Valentine sharply. "I have told you that countless time, Jocelyn. As for Jonathan, I have apologized again and again. I know what I did to him was wrong, and I've regretted it every day since you left me, but if you'll let me, I'll make it up to you."

"That's not possible," Jocelyn said coldly. "You practically murdered my little boy. You can't just give me another son to take his place."

Something in Valentine's eyes flickered but it was gone in a moment. "If you'll give me a chance to make amends, Jocelyn, I will. Let me give you back the family you wanted."

"Give me back my daughter," she replied simply. "I want Clary."

"I can't do that right now." Valentine saw how even Jocelyn's face was, how she was unmoved by his pleas, and it woke in him a bit of annoyance. Who was she to think she could just turn her back on him after he had gone to the ends of the world for her? "Jocelyn, I want you to love me again, and out of respect for what we had before, I have not marked you with any of my runes. But, to offer you everything I have and everything I can give and have you throw in aside for nothing but your daughter, I cannot abide."

"Valentine-" Jocelyn began, but his eyes grew cold and silenced her.

"If your love for Clarissa is so much greater than your love for a family, I'll simply take her out of the picture."

"No!" Jocelyn spun around and grabbed the sleeve of his suit jacket desperately. "Don't hurt her!"

Valentine stared down at her hand grasping at his sleeve. "I don't want to hurt her, and I don't want to hurt you, but I don't think it's all that healthy for you to obsess and worry about her when I promised you her safety." He saw her uncertainly and said more harshly, "You have a family to look after."

Jocelyn knew that this was the end of her small battle against Valentine. He had given her a few days to recover and accept his sovereignty, and now he was calling her out. She could challenge him, but he had her daughter, and as long as he held Clary's life over Jocelyn's head, she couldn't fight back. What scared her just a little was how deluded Valentine seemed; he was obsessed with her, and had convinced himself that if she wasn't the happy mother and loving wife she had been before, Clary was to blame.

"I-I know that," Jocelyn said softly, lowering her eyes and trying to swallow her pride and disgust. She had to think fast to appease his temper. "I'm just so…so worried about Clary, and so sad over Jonathan. Everything has gone to hell and I just want my family." She lifted her big eyes up at Valentine, hoping to placate whatever madness had consumed him.

It worked, and Valentine reached down and gathered Jocelyn up in his arms. He was trembling as he held her and carefully, as if unsure Jocelyn was going to bite him, he used two fingers and lifted her chin up so her lips were raised to his. "I'll give you your family back, Jocelyn, I'll give you everything; you just need to let me." Then he kissed her firmly on the lips.

That evening, Valentine and Jocelyn ate dinner alone, and afterward, he led her upstairs to the master bedroom. Jocelyn said everything Valentine wanted to hear, she praised his bravery, she whispered of her lonely years in New York since she left him, she shared her pain over losing her son. Valentine had been sympathetic, endearing, comforting.

"As soon as tomorrow dawns I'll set to making it all right," Valentine had promised. "Now, come to bed with me; it's been too long since I've slept by your side."

Jocelyn blanched at the idea of sharing a bed with Valentine, but she couldn't forget how quickly he could turn on her. Carefully, she slipped under the covers and waited until Valentine joined her. He saw the way she clutched the blankets about her, how she looked just slightly uncertain. He smiled blandly at her and drew her against his side; they had much recovering to do before he could possibly seduce her into his arms and bed.