AN: As before (and as you've probably already guessed), I have decided to leave the title of the chapter as is. I hope you like it! Thank you to all my amazing readers, and please, as always let me know what you think!

~Chapter Three~

Hell Hath No Fury Like A Woman Scorned By My Father

Thanks For That

The trip back to the Institute had been a quiet one, but Jace felt better knowing that both Clary and Luke were there with him. It was a curious feeling, wanting someone with him to help him. He had spent so much of his life alone, taking care of himself, that to have that change was . . . disconcerting almost. Clary, he had known would come with him, but Luke he had been unsure of. Once they had finished talking, they had made to leave the office only to find Simon standing in the hall. This had infuriated Jace, but he had not shown it. Instead, he had leaned against the wall and waited with a bored expression while Clary told the mundane to go home. He should have gone home when Jace had sent him out of the room. It was with a bitter look at Jace, who met his glare with one of his own, that the mundane stormed off. Not for the first time, he wished Clary would let him clock the rat boy just once in his life. Now, standing outside the Institute, Jace felt as his heart began to pound with the prospect of what they were about to do. He kept his face expressionless though. He wouldn't let anyone know the nervousness he felt. He was also getting sorer with each step he took. And he could only just see out of one eye as it had nearly swollen shut from the fight. Having left his stele behind, however, he would just have to endure. He lead the way up the path, the other two behind him, as he approached the door. Reaching inside his bloodied shirt, he grabbed for the chain that his key usually hung from. But it wasn't there. He panicked for the briefest of moments before remembering, and then he laughed out loud without any real humor.

"I forgot," he said, and realized that it was getting more difficult for him to speak through his swollen and split lip. Fucking wolves. "Maryse took my keys from me before I left."

"Of course she did," Luke said next him, and Jace turned to look at him. But Luke was looking at the Institute doors with a wistful sort of remembrance now, and Jace wondered if he missed being a Shadowhunter. How couldn't he? Jace didn't know what he would do if he couldn't be a Shadowhunter. Probably end himself in the worst way he could possibly think of—feed himself to ducks. He cringed at the thought, his eye involuntarily twitching. "These doors are just like the ones at the Council Hall in Idris," Luke continued, unaware of Jace's silent plans of death by fowl, and touching the symbols that were carved into the door softly. "I never thought that I would see their like again."

Something in his voice caught Jace's attention, and he frowned. He sounded like he missed it. Jace hadn't really thought about how hard it would be for the exiled Shadowhunter—now werewolf and pack leader—to come here. He tried to think of something comforting to say—anything—when Clary cleared her throat. "If we don't have a key—"

They both looked at her, but it was Luke who spoke. "One shouldn't be necessary. An Institute should be open to any of the Nephilim who mean no harm to the inhabitants."

Jace knew this, but— "What if they mean harm to us?" he quipped under his breath, but Luke had heard him, and Jace saw the wolf's lips tick upward.

"I don't think that makes a difference," he said.

"Yeah," Jace frowned, looking up at the Institute doors darkly. "The Clave always stacks the deck it's way." Taking a breath, he winced only slightly at the sting of his split lip as he turned toward the door, pressing his palm to it.

"Did she take your stele, too?" Clary asked suddenly behind him, and he turned to look at her. She was looking at his face like the mere sight of it hurt her. He wasn't sure if this was because he looked like he just got in a fight with some werewolves, or because . . . he shook his head to clear the thought.

"I didn't take anything when I left," he said, looking just above her eyes. He couldn't look directly at them. "I didn't want to take anything the Lightwoods got for me."

Luke sighed, and Jace saw that he was looking at him with concern. He wished he would stop. "Every Shadowhunter needs a stele," Luke said gently.

"So I'll get another one," Jace said stubbornly and then turned his back on the wolf. Luke might understand him when it came to Valentine, but not when it came to him being childish and stubborn. And while he may be back at the Institute, and may even be staying here again, he would be damned if he would take anything from the woman who had called him like a liar. She could just take that stele and shove it up her—Jace put his hand back on the door. "In the name of the Clave, I ask entrance to this holy place. And in the name of the Angel Raziel, I ask your blessings upon my mission against—" Jace's sentence was cut off as the door flung open. This had surprised him, as he hadn't even finished. He frowned looking into the darkened corridor. Apparently, the Institute wasn't too worried about anyone who wished the inhabitants would do bodily harm to themselves with a stele, either. He wondered what else the Institute wouldn't mind. He shrugged. "Well that was convenient," he said flatly, taking a step inside. "I guess blessings are easier to come by than I thought. Maybe I should ask for blessings on my mission against all those who wear white after Labor Day."

"The Angel knows what your mission is," Luke said, walking in behind him. "You don't have to say the words aloud, Jonathan." And Jace felt a sharp pinch in his chest, like someone was restricting his heart. He took a breath as he looked at the wolf. He had not called him by his name to spite him, or to upset him—he knew this. And he was glad that even though Maryse had kicked him out, the Institute hadn't—but all the same. He couldn't help but feel the irk of irritation at being called by his given name.

"Don't call me that," he finally said as a response. "It's not my name." Turning, he worked his way inside the Institute, knowing that they were following him. No one said anything until they reached the lift, and Jace pressed the call button. When it came to a grinding halt, Jace pulled the latch and held it open for Clary to enter first. His stomach twisted and he bit the inside of his cheek as she threw a reassuring smile at him before stepping inside.

"This must have been Maryse's idea," Luke said suddenly, his voice echoing around the vast empty room. "It's entirely her taste."

Jace, who was shutting the door and pressing the button to go up, only shrugged. "It's been here as long as I have." Turning he leaned against the caged bars next to Clary and his heart immediately began to pound as adrenaline shot through him. When did the elevator get so small? Had it always been this tiny? Lowering his hands to his sides, his heart shot through his chest as his fingers brushed hers. He quickly crossed his arms instead, as her own hand flew up to the scarf she was wearing, where she begin to pick apart the fringe. Jace tried to look anywhere but at her, but he couldn't. And he watched helplessly as her hand went absentmindedly from her scarf to her curls as if of their own accord. He bit the inside of his cheek and closed his eyes, trying desperately to control his breathing. Stop. For the love of the Angel, please stop. She's your sister. When the lift finally came to a halt, Jace couldn't get the latch open fast enough. Stepping out, he found Church sitting there with an ungodly red bow tied around it's neck. Bending down, he pet the cat. "Where's Maryse?"

The cat half purred and half growled—his normal reaction to Maryse—before setting off down the hall. Jace took of after him, shoving his hands in his pocket. His nerves were starting to bubble over the closer they got, and he did what he did best when nervous—tensed up and chewed the shit out of his cheek. Behind him, Luke said something but he missed what it was. Clary, however, responded and he did hear her—like he knew he always would. "Does it look like you thought it would?" she asked Luke.

The wolf was silent for a minute, and then, "I've been to the Institutes in London and Paris; this is not unlike those, no. Though somehow—"

"Somehow what?" Jace asked, stopping in front of a large set of doors and looking back at the wolf. His tone had sounded ominous—but even with all that happened, Jace couldn't help but to still feel protective of this place. Luke looked back at Jace, his eyes steady.

"Colder," he said.

Jace swallowed but said nothing in return. He wasn't sure he wanted to, because he wasn't sure he could disagree with that description. He had never thought of it as cold before. But now—he bit the inside of his cheek and turned to look down at Church who was sitting and staring back up at him. Jace nodded and then looked a the double doors. He could hear talking coming from inside, but he knew that if he waited for whoever was in there to come out . . . he might rethink this whole damn thing altogether. Nope, better to do it while he was willing. He didn't knock. Pushing open the doors, he walked forward through the shelves of books and as he came into view of the large desk, he saw the back of a young boy with dark hair and heard his spanish accent. Raphael? It was Raphael. But why would he be here? Jace wondered, though he knew he wasn't actually here. Even from where he stood, he could tell the boy was just a projection of himself. He wasn't allowed to be in the Institute—he wouldn't be able to get past the front doors. Maryse was sitting on the other side of the desk, and it was a few seconds before she looked past the vampire she was talking to and saw Jace. She gasped as she took in his marred face. Was that concern? he wondered bitterly. She wasn't allowed to be concerned about him. Within seconds, Clary and Luke had reached him, and the vampire, seeing the look on Maryse's face, turned to look at Jace and his companions as well.

"Raphael?" Clary blurted out with shock as she came to a stop next to Jace. The vampire looked just as shocked, his eyes sweeping over Clary in a way that made Jace stiffen protectively—even knowing he couldn't physically harm her here. And then he looked at Jace, taking in his bruised face and smiling.

"Dios," the vampire said flinching as if he were the one hurt. "What happened to you, brother? You look as if a pack of wolves tried to tear you apart."

Jace stared at Raphael. Word really did travel fast amongst Downworlders. But then, he supposed he couldn't look much worse than when a pack of vampires had wanted to do the same thing to him, lest Raphael forget that. "That's either a shockingly good guess," Jace said flatly, his eyes giving away nothing. "or you heard about what happened."

Raphael grinned. "I hear things."

Yeah, I thought so. Looking past the vampire, Jace saw that Maryse's eyes were glued to his face, her eyes wide with shock. "Jace," she said with unease. "Did something happen? Why are you back so soon? I thought you were going to stay with—" Her words were cut off as she finally pulled her gaze away from Jace and saw Clary and Luke. Her brows creased. "And who are you?" she asked.

"Jace's sister," Clary said pointedly, and Jace's heart twisted. Maryse, however looked at Clary like she was studying her. More than once, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed.

"Yes," she finally said. "I can see it. You look like Valentine." Jace cocked his brow, but kept his face blank. If ever he disagreed with Maryse, it was now. Clary looked nothing like his father. Clary was beautiful, and amazing, and a good person, and she would do anything for him. She was—Stop. Just stop. He clenched his fists, his heart moved her gaze back to Jace, and he looked back defiantly. "You brought your sister with you?" she asked incredulously. "And a mundane, as well? It's not safe for any of you here right now." Jace frowned, confused. What did she mean that it wasn't safe— "And especially a mundane—"

Luke stepped forward, and Jace really looked at him for the first time. The red flannel shirt hanging open over a white t-shirt, and the ragged blue jeans. He could see why Maryse thought he was a Mundane. But Luke was smiling. "But I'm not a mundane," he said, standing at his full height. If the circumstances had been different, it would have been hilarious to watch Maryse's expression change so rapidly from confusion to outright shock. Her mouth had even popped open as she looked at Luke. But all that aside, one thing was certain. She remembered the man in front of her.

"Lucian?" she breathed.

Luke didn't sound remotely as surprised or shocked to see her. He sounded tired. "Hello, Maryse," he smiled faintly. "It's been a long time."

Everyone was silent now as Maryse could only seem to stare at Luke. Several times she shook her head as if she couldn't believe he was really standing there. Jace looked down at Clary and saw that she looked apprehensive at the exchange between the man she thought of as her father, and the woman he thought of as his mother. He leaned lightly against one of the book shelves just as Maryse pressed her hands flat on the desk. "Lucian," she said again, her tone more controlled now. "Lucian Graymark."

Before anyone could respond to that, Raphael turned to stare at the wolf, his black eyes alight with curiosity. "You killed Gabriel." Jace raised a brow and looked at Luke as if he were bored. He didn't really expect him to deny it. How else could he have become the pack leader? It was the way of the werewolves. The Clave understood that. Luke only shrugged.

"I did, yes, just like he killed the pack leader before him." Luke said, his head cocked as he looked at the vampire. Jace wondered if he knew how animalistic he looked when he did that. He probably did. Jace also noticed the confused look on Clary's face just as Maryse's eyes snapped to Luke.

"The pack leader?" she asked.

But before Luke could respond, Raphael turned to face him fully. "If you lead the pack now, it's time for us to talk," he said with strained politeness that was not unnoticed by Jace—or, it seemed, Luke. "Though not at this exact moment, perhaps."

"I'll send someone over to arrange it," Luke nodded in agreement. "Things have been busy lately. I might be behind on the niceties."

The vampire regarded the wolf for a moment. "You might." He said nothing else to Luke as he turned back to Maryse. "Is our business here concluded?"

Jace noticed the hesitance in Maryse as she looked apprehensively at him and then at Luke, before looking fully at the vampire. "If you say the Night Children aren't involved in these killings, then I'll take you at your word. I'm required to, unless other evidence comes to light."

Both Jace and Raphael frowned—though for completely different reasons, he was sure. "To light?" Raphael asked, looking at Maryse cautiously. "That is not a phrase I like." Jace nearly snorted. So the vampire was sensitive to light jokes? Really? But Raphael said nothing more as he turned to look at him, and Jace could see that he was starting to fade. The vampire grinned at Clary, his eyes flashing as he did. Jace wondered if he was remembering his failed attempt to kill them both. Not liking the look he was giving Clary, he took a step forward so that the last thing the vampire saw before he completely disappeared was Jace grinning back just as menacingly. It had the affect he wanted. Raphael was no longer smiling. Behind him, he heard Clary's intake of breath.

"Is he dead?" she asked in shock.

Jace turned, puzzled. "What, Raphael?" And then he had to bite back on his smile. He had forgotten just how little Clary still knew about their world. And it was still just as endearing. He was going to miss not being able to explain everything to her someday. "Not likely," he continued. "That was just a projection of him. He can't come into the Institute in his corporeal form."

"Why not?" She asked, her Idris eyes curious.

"Because this is hallowed ground," Maryse answered for him, her tone like ice. "And he is damned." Jace felt a twinge of irritation at the tone she had used with Clary. It was him she was mad at. Him she didn't trust. No need to take out her anger on Clary. But if Maryse noticed the glare he and given her, she didn't show it. Instead she had moved her icy gaze on to Luke. "You?" she said, her eyes hard. "Head of the pack here?" And then she gave a bitter laugh. "I suppose I should hardly be surprised. It does seem your method, doesn't it?"

Next to him, Clary tensed up and Jace looked down at her. He could see her irritation with Maryse in her eyes, but she kept whatever she was thinking to herself. Luke on the other hand didn't seem the slight bit put off. "Was Raphael here about the cub who was killed today?"

"That, and a dead warlock," she said gravely. "Found murdered downtown, two days apart."

Jace frowned as he looked at Luke. He could tell that the wolf was thinking the same thing he was. "But why was Raphael here?" Luke asked.

Maryse sighed. "The warlock was drained of blood," she said. "It seems whoever murdered the werewolf was interrupted before the blood could be taken, but suspicion naturally fell on the Night Children. The vampire came here to assure me his folk had nothing to do with it."

"Do you believe him?" Jace asked, his brows creasing. The only interaction he had ever had with Raphael had started out with the vampire lying and then trying to kill him and Clary. So it would not be the least bit surprising to find out that the vampire was involved. Maybe he should explain what he knew of Raphael to Maryse—or maybe not. Jace met her eyes and could see that she was beyond annoyed with his question, though he had not thought he was doing anything wrong by asking it.

"I don't care to talk about Clave business with you right now, Jace," she snapped, and Jace flinched inwardly at the anger in her tone. She still didn't trust him—not that he really thought his hour or so away would have changed that. "Especially," she continued, her eyes on Luke, "not in front of Lucian Graymark."

"I'm just called Luke now," the pack leader corrected her mildly. "Luke Garroway."

Maryse glared at him for a second before she frowned and shook her head. "I hardy recognized you. You look like a mundane."

Luke smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "That's the idea, yes."

"We all thought you were dead," Maryse pressed.

"Hoped," Luke corrected again, though he still didn't sound upset. "Hoped I was dead."

Maryse's eyes narrowed. She looked like Luke had just slapped her, but she quickly covered it as she sighed and gestured to the chairs arranged in front of the desk. "You might as well sit down." Jace walked forward first and pulled out one of the chairs for Clary. After she had sat, he looked at Luke and made to pull out the other chair for him, but Luke shook his head and instead retrieved one of the hard wooden chairs that were gathered at a nearby table. Jace sat next to Clary as Luke brought the other chair back over and sat on her other side. Once they were all seated, Maryse eyed them speculatively. "Now," she began slowly. "Perhaps you might tell me why you're here."

"Jace wants a trial before the Clave," Luke said, jumping right into it without hesitation. The look of shock on Maryse's face sent Jace's stomach flipping, but he said nothing. "I'm willing to vouch for him," Luke continued. "I was there that night at Renwicks, when Valentine revealed himself. I fought him and we nearly killed each other." That's putting it mildly, Jace thought as he threw a sidelong glance a the wolf. "I can confirm that everything Jace says happened is the truth."

Maryse was quiet for a minute before, "I'm not sure what your word is worth."

Luke shrugged. "I may be a lycanthrope, but I'm also a Shadowhunter," he said. "I'm willing to be tried by the Sword, if that will help." Jace had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from showing his shock. Interlacing his fingers, he laid his hands in his lap and looked down at them. They were scrapped and bloody. Luke would do that? For him? Even after he had been so rude to him? Surely he knew what being tried by the Sword entailed. He swallowed and glanced up, only to see that Clary was watching him—a look of confusion on her face. He knew what she was thinking even without saying anything.

"The Soul-Sword," Jace explained. "The second of the Mortal Instruments. It's used in trials to determine if a Shadowhunter is lying."

"You're not a Shadowhunter," Maryse said bluntly, staring at Luke. Jace blanched. Was she really that determined to not hear the truth? he wondered. To not believe him even when he had people here who would tell her he was telling the truth. People who were there with him and Valentine? "You haven't lived by the Law of the Clave in a long, long time."

"There was a time when you didn't live by it either," Luke pointed out. Jace knew that it was not said with malice, but just as when he had mentioned that Valentine had influenced her as well, Maryse's face turned red and her eyes flashed. While he didn't want to look a gift wolf in the mouth—he wasn't sure that this was the best way to win Maryse over. Luke, however, didn't seem to care. "I would have thought," he continued, "that by now you would have gotten past not being able to trust anyone, Maryse."

But she only shook her head, her eyes on fire and her tone a razor edged feather. "Some things you never forget." Her tone sent chills through Jace. "You think pretending his own death was the biggest lie Valentine ever told us?" she asked. "You think charm is the same as honesty? I used to think so—" Maryse stood abruptly then, her palms flat on the desk as she leaned toward them. "I was wrong," she said harshly. "He told us he would lay down his life for the Circle and that he expected us to do the same. And we would have—all of us—I know it. I nearly did it." Her blue eyes—the same blue as Alec's—met Jace's, and he could see her quiet anger. He could see the tremble in her fingers as her gaze swept on to Clary before resting on Luke. "You remember," she breathed, "the way he told us that the Uprising would be nothing, hardly a battle, a few unarmed ambassadors against the full might of the Circle." Jace frowned. Was this why she was upset? Because the good guys won? He knew better than to ask as she continued. "I was so confident in our swift victory that when I rode out to Alicante, I left Alec at home in his cradle. I asked Jocelyn—" her eyes flashed to Clary, "—to watch my child while I was away. She refused. I know why now." Maryse stood to her full heigh, he shoulders squared as she glared at Luke once more. "She knew—and so did you. And you didn't warn us."

"I'd tried to warn you about Valentine," the wolf said, his brow raised. "You didn't listen.

Maryse slapped her hand on the table and next to him, Clary jumped. "I'm not talking about Valentine. I mean about the Uprising! When we arrived, there were fifty of us against five hundred Downworlders—"

"You'd been willing to slaughter them unarmed when you thought there would be only five of them," Luke said quietly, his words matching the thoughts that Jace had had earlier. He hated to think it, but it sounded like Maryse wasn't remorseful of her part in the Uprising, but that they had lost the Uprising. But that couldn't be right, could it? He could see flush on Maryse's face and the clenching of her fists.

"We were slaughtered," she said through her teeth. "In the midst of the carnage, we looked to Valentine to lead us. But he wasn't there. By that time the Clave had surrounded the Hall of the Accords. We thought Valentine had been killed, were ready to give our own lives in a final desperate rush. Then I remembered Alec—" Then you remembered Alec? Jace's brow raise with incredulity. Well that was nice of you to remember your son. "—if I died, what would happen to my little boy? So I laid my arms down and gave myself up to the Clave."

Luke sighed, though he did not look sympathetic. "You did the right thing, Maryse."

Maryse rounded on him, her eyes blazing. "Don't patronize me, werewolf. If it weren't for you—"

"Don't yell at him!" Jace's stomach dropped as Clary jumped to her feet, glaring at Maryse. "It's your fault for believing in Valentine in the first place—"

"You don't think I know that?" Maryse snapped back, though she sounded tired now—worn down. Clary sat back down. "Oh, the Clave made that point nicely when they questioned us—they had the Soul-Sword and they knew when we were lying, but they couldn't make us talk—nothing could make us talk, until—"

"Until what?" Luke asked suddenly, leaning forward and staring intently up at Maryse. "I've never known. I always wondered what they told you to make you turn on him."

Maryse gave a bitter laugh without sound. "Just the truth," she said, definitely tired now. "That Valentine hadn't died there in the Hall. He'd fled—left us there to die without him. He'd died later, we were told, burned to death in his house. The Inquisitor showed us his bones. Of course, that was another lie," she said as her eyes found Jace's. "It was all coming apart by then, anyway" she continued, taking a seat. "We were finally talking to one another, those of us in the Circle. Before the battle, Valentine had drawn me aside, told me that out of all the Circle, I was the one he trusted most, his closest lieutenant. When the Clave questioned us I found out he'd said the same thing to everyone."

Jace shook his head. So this was all because she wasn't Valentine's number one? Really? And here she wanted to be mad at him for being his son? "Hell hath no fury." he mumbled under his breath. Looking up, he caught Clary looking at him but it seemed no one else had heard. He shrugged. Well, it was true.

"He lied not just to the Clave but to us," Maryse continued, her eyes meeting Jace's. "He used our loyalty and our affection. Just as he did when he sent you to us—" His stomach twisted. "—And now he's back, and he has the Mortal Cup. He's been planning all this for years, all along, all of it." And then Jace saw the sadness in her eyes and felt despair he worked hard not to show. It didn't matter what kind of evidence he brought forward or who vouched for him. She would never— "I can't afford to trust you, Jace. I'm sorry."

Jace bit on the inside of his cheek as he looked at her. He could see that she wasn't going to budge on this, and just as before, he had no intention of begging her to. He knew Luke had said that she needed reassurance, but Jace was starting to think she didn't. Nothing he could possibly say was going to reassure her. "Then what?" Luke blurted out suddenly, his eyes flashing. "What is it you expect him to do? Where is he supposed to go."

Maryse looked at Clary then, and Jace's stomach twisted painfully. He knew what she was going to say even before she said it. And it was looking like he might not have a choice. "Why not with his sister?" she asked. "Family—"

"Isabelle is Jace's sister," Clary with such pointedness that Jace was forced to look at her. She wasn't looking at him, but he could see the determination on her face as she glared at Maryse. Her tone hard. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe she hadn't come to terms with being his sister yet. "Alec and Max," Clary continued, "are his brothers. What are you going to tell them? They'll hate you forever if you throw Jace out of your house."

"What do you know about it?" Maryse snapped, her eyes flashing angrily.

"I know Alec and Isabelle," she snapped back, her eyes just as hard as the woman's in front of her. Jace found himself involuntarily thinking that he would hate to see these two in a fight. Maryse had training, sure, but Clary had desire and determination—and all the training in the world wouldn't be a match for that. "Family is more than blood," Clary continued, her voice softer now. Valentine isn't my father. Luke is—" Jace saw Luke's head snap to Clary at that, a look of surprise and love so profoundly deep on his face that it took Jace back. He couldn't remember a time he had ever been looked at like that by, well . . . anyone. "—Just like Alec and Max and Isabelle are Jace's family. If you try to tear him out of your family, you'll leave a wound that won't ever heal."

Jace looked at Clary, his heart racing as it always did when he looked at her. He didn't know what to say to her. But while he appreciated it more than he could possibly tell her—it didn't matter. He was already coming to terms with Maryse's refusal to believe him. "Clary," he whispered, reaching forward hesitantly. He had planned to take her hand, but now he stopped and patted it softly instead. "Enough," he said, and he could hear the defeat in his tone. Clary looked down to her hand and then up to Jace, her Idris eyes flashing Please, he said silently. Please, just . . . let it go. Clary, as if reading his thoughts, shook her head stubbornly, her eyes flashing back to Maryse.

"What about the Sword?" she demanded. The Sword? Jace wondered. What about it? Maryse had already said that Luke would not be allowed to use it because he was no longer a Shadowhunter. Even Luke and Maryse were looking at her bewieldered. But Clary was looking back at them all as if they were dense. "The Soul-Sword," Clary prompted slowly, as if talking to a child. "The one you can use to tell if a Shadowhunter is lying or not. You can use it on Jace."

Of course! he thought, his stomach doing a wild flip. Why didn't I think of that? Luke couldn't be tried by the Sword because he wasn't a Shadowhunter anymore—but he—Jace—was. Maryse may have been able to kick him unceremoniously from the Institute, but she couldn't strip his Marks. "That's a good idea," he said with his first real bit of excitement since coming back here.

It was Luke who spoke next, and to Jace's surprise, he looked just as worried as Maryse did at the idea. "Clary," he said slowly, "you mean well, but you don't know what the Sword entails. The only one who can use it is the Inquisitor."

So what? Jace thought wildly. He wanted this done. He wanted to prove to everyone that while he couldn't help how he felt about his father—he was not a traitor. He did not know what his father had done. And he did not condone it. "Then call on her," he said, looking from the wolf to Maryse. "Call the Inquisitor. I want to end this." From nearby, he heard Luke say no, but it wasn't Luke's decision. He held Maryse's eyes, begging her to see how much this meant to him. And then something flickered across her face.

"The Inquisitor," she sighed, "is already on her way—"

"Maryse," Luke was sitting up, his eyes hard and disbelieving. It was the first real sound of anger Jace had heard. Even at the Hunter's Moon when he had yelled at him to stay put, he hadn't sounded this appalled. And Jace had barked at him. "Tell me you haven't called her into this!"

"I didn't!" Maryse rounded on Luke, her eyes flashing. Jace on the other hand, didn't see what the big deal was. It just meant this would be over sooner. All the same, the look on Maryse's face as she glared at Luke made him nervous. "Did you think the Clave wouldn't involve itself in this wild tale of Forsaken warriors and Portals and staged deaths?" Jace's stomach dropped. Why hadn't he thought of this? Son of a bitch! Why hadn't he realized that this was going to go much farther than a simple family affair? "After what Hodge did?" Maryse continued. "We're all under investigation now, thanks to Valentine." And for the first time, she looked scared—and this scared Jace most of all. He bit the inside of his cheek, working hard to keep his face expressionless. All the same, he could feel the color draining from it as she looked at Luke pleadingly. He couldn't remember the last time she had ever looked at anyone pleadingly like that. "The Inquisitor could put Jace in prison." she breathed. "She could strip his Marks. I thought it would be better . . ." She cut herself off, closing her eyes. But Luke finished for her.

"If Jace were gone when she arrived," he said with quiet understanding. And it hit Jace then. She hadn't been trying to kick him out. She had been trying to protect him. "No wonder you've been so eager to send him away." Jace was looking at Maryse with a whole new mixture of emotions. So did that mean she did believe him? His heart was jackhammering. Did that mean—

"Who is the Inquisitor?" Clary blurted out suddenly, and Jace pulled his eyes away from Maryse to look at her. Clary's head was shaking, her fiery curls bouncing. "What does she do?"

"She investigates Shadowhunters for the Clave," Luke responded tiredly, rubbing at his temples. "She ensures the Law hasn't been broken by Nephilim. She investigated all the Circle members after the Uprising."

"She cursed Hodge?" Jace asked, his brows raising as he looked to Maryse. "She sent you here?"

Maryse sighed. "She chose our exile and his punishment. She has no love or us, and hates your father." Jace thought about this. He thought about what it was she had been trying to do by sending him away. But . . . if the Inquisitor were coming like she said, then surely Maryse must know that she would want to talk to him. And what would happen to her—to all the Lightwoods—if the son of Valentine was just suddenly gone? She would think they were hiding him. That they were also collaborating with Valentine. He bit the inside of his cheek. No—No. He wouldn't allow it.

"I'm not leaving," he said suddenly, his arms crossing stubbornly as Maryse turned pleading eyes to him. But surely, she had to have thought of this! "What will she do to you if she gets here and I'm gone?" he demanded. "She'll think you conspired to hide me. She'll punish you—you and Alec and Isabelle and Max." Max, who was only nine and was completely innocent in all this. Jace would not allow anything to happen to him—any of them. Not on his behalf. Maryse sat, her fingers drumming nervously against the desk as she looked at Jace, her head shaking ever so softly.

"Maryse." It was Luke now. "Don't be a fool. She'll blame you more if you let Jace go. Keeping him here and allowing the trial by Sword would be a sign of good faith."

But it wasn't Maryse who protested now. It was Clary. "Keep Jace—you can't be serious Luke!" Jace looked at her trying to hide the twist of pain he felt at her concern for him that was lined with amusement. He decided it would be best if he did not remind her that it had been her idea for him to be tried by the Sword in the first place—not that it had been a bad suggestion. Brilliant really. And he knew what it entailed better than she did. Clary cast a glance at him that showed she wasn't just concerned for him, but terrified. "She sounds awful," she breathed, her eyes pleading. Jace had to look away.

"But if Jace leaves," Luke said gently, leaning forward and taking Clary's hand, "he can never come back. He'll never be a Shadowhunter again—" Jace bit the inside of his cheek. Unacceptable. "—Like it or not," Luke continued, "the Inquisitor is the Law's right hand. If Jace want's to stay a part of the Clave, he has to cooperate with her. He does have something on his side," he added, his eyes looking past Clary and meeting Jace's confused ones. "Something the members of the Circle did not have a the time of the Uprising."

"What's that?" Maryse asked, and Luke looked at her, smiling.

"Unlike you," he said, his eyes flashing back to Jace. "Jace is telling the truth." Jace felt a warmth spread through him as he stared back at the wolf. He could see why Clary loved this man so much, and Jace hoped he could see how grateful he was.

Maryse sighed heavily. "Ultimately," she said, turning to look at Jace, "it's your decision." She didn't want him here because she was scared for him—and maybe even of him still, but she also knew there was nothing she could do about it, he realized. "If you want the trial, you can stay here until the Inquisitor comes."

"I'll stay," Jace said without firmly and without hesitance. But he had to look away when Clary turned to look at him, her lower lip quivering. Instead he looked out the window that sat behind Maryse. I'll stay, he thought. I'll stay so I can prove to them all that I am not my father—that I am not a traitor. He heard Maryse's sharp intake of breath and Luke's heavy sigh. Jace bit down on his cheek as he mentally prepared himself for what he was planning to do. He would have to do it. And he would do it. This wasn't just for them, but for him. He never thought that he would ever be in a position where he had to prove his own innocence when it came to who he was, but now that he did, he would take it on head first. He heard a chair scrape along the wood floor and he heard an exchange of words that he couldn't quite make out. And then he felt himself rise to his feet. It wasn't until they were standing outside the Institute, however, that he really focused on his surroundings. Luke and Clary were standing in front of him with the sun beginning to set behind them, casting them in it's glow.

"Good luck, Jace," Luke said, reaching forward and taking him by the shoulder. "Just remember that she only want to hear the truth."

Jace nodded. "Truth is my middle name."

"Really?" Clary said her lips ticking upward. "I thought it was Christopher—"

"Nope!" Jace cut her off with a grin. "You thought wrong. It's Truth. Jace Truth Wayland Morgenstern the fourth—er, twice removed."

"The fourth?" Luke raised a brow.

"Twice removed?" Clary laughed. But then her eyes darkened. "And you're no more a Morgenstern than I am, Jace. Wayland—Lightwood—anything but Morgenstern."

Jace gave a small laugh, but didn't argue. Wishing it so, didn't make it true. Instead he looked at Luke. "Thanks," he said earnestly.

"It was my pleasure." Somehow, Jace doubted that, but he appreciated it all the same. "Oh, and Jace?" Luke added. Jace raised his brow. "Stay away from the Hunter's Moon."

Jace laughed, but refused to look apologetic. Besides, his busted up face probably looked apologetic enough. "You got it." After what Luke had done for him, it was the least he could do. He looked at Clary then, and saw that she was still frowning. She turned to Luke.

"I'll meet you in the truck," she said, and Jace's stomach twisted nervously as Luke nodded and walked away. He bit the inside of his cheek as Clary turned back to him, her emerald eyes full of worry, and a frown tugging at her full lips. He wished that he could pull her into him—assure her that there was nothing to be worried about. He couldn't. He watched as she tugged absently on her curls, as the tension between them built. Or maybe it was just him who felt it—who knew. "Jace," she finally breathed, and his body reacted as it always did when she said his name like that—traitorously. "Call me. Do you understand? Call me as soon as you talk to this Inquisitor woman—don't avoid me like you did last time. You promised me you wouldn't."

Jace's brows knitted painfully together. "I wasn't avoiding you, Clary. I—" he shook his head. "Okay, maybe I was a little. But I thought you were still mad at me about the hospital."

"Jace, it's not going to be the first time I'm mad at you," she smirked. "Trust me."

"I do have that adorably infuriating quality about me, don't I?" he mused, his lip quirking upward.

"Something like that," Clary smiled as if against her will. "But I'm serious. I don't care how mad at you I am, I still—" her eyes went wide, and Jace's heart begin to pound painfully as he bit on the inside of his cheek. Slowly she closed her mouth. He hated this! He hated that this was what they had been reduced to. Afraid to say anything that might make it awkward between them, when it was obvious that everything was going to make it awkward between them. Clary crossed her arms. "Just call me, okay? I want to know you're all right." Jace nodded mutely and then watched, his heart breaking as it always did, as she walked away from him. He stood there as she climbed into the pickup, and continued to stand there as it drove away from the curb. Sighing, he headed back inside and up to his room.

He was surprised that he met no one along the way. He was sure that Alec or Izzy would be waiting to pounce on him, but they must not have heard he was back yet. That or Maryse had told them to give him some time alone—not that that would have stopped either of them. Outside his room, he looked up and down the corridor before shrugging and opening the door—Son of a bitch! Jace sighed heavily as he looked at the mess that he had forgotten he had left his room in. Picking his way across the floor carefully, he went for his stele first and began drawing iratze's on himself. He let out a sigh of relief. Luke was right . . . of all the things he had left behind, his stele should not have been one of them. Tossing it back on the nightstand, he got up and began the tedious task of cleaning up his room before laying on his bed. He wasn't sure when he fell to sleep.