Hey everyone, sorry I'm posting one these notes so late in the week, but I don't think I'll be able to post the next chapter for this on Tuesday like I usually do. I'm smack in the middle of finals and I've been buried in chem and physics for most of the week. I'll do my best to get the next chapter up sometime later hopefully by Friday.
Coming Home
Clary shivered as she stood before the door to her mother's house, and it wasn't that cold that shook her. Jace, who stood beside her, reached out and drew her into his warm embrace, draping his cloak about her shoulders as well. "I suppose I should have known my mother would live like this; she is technically a dignitary. I suppose after all those times she told me she had room for us to stay with her…"
Jace silenced Clary with a firm kiss. He knew how much she must have hated to come here, how much she would hate having to come to her mother to ask for news, like a dog scrounging for scraps behind a house. "It's not that we've come to live with her, only to ask her for news of the Clave."
"She'll want us to stay," Clary warned, her hand going to her dagger unconsciously.
"Then, I shall most certainly take you home," Jace said simply. "Come, you have the key your mother gave you, we might as well make ourselves comfortable while we wait."
As Jace said, Clary did have a key that her mother had given her when they first reunited, before Jocelyn knew how much Clary despised her. Clary had tossed it in the bottom of her chest and left it there for many months, hoping to leave her mother there as well. Now, she plucked the key off the chain she'd wound about her belt and tried to door. It swung forward with a weak groan, and cool breeze brushed out. When they peeked in, they were met by only darkness and silence.
"Your mother had been gone awhile, it seems," said Jace as he ushered her over the threshold and into the foyer. On the wall was a rune stone in a bracket, and when Jace picked it up, the stone burst into green light. "Let's find the kitchen and start a fire; I think it's warmer outside than in."
Clary had never been in her mother's house before, and was now regretting it. She and Jace shared two rooms, a single fireplace, and a small sitting area; her mother had feathered herself quite a nest living in the ring of houses where the council members lived. Her home was two stories, with two baths, a living room, a kitchen, three bedrooms, and a private study. Faced with the enormity after almost five months in two rooms, Clary felt at a loss. They left the foyer to the right, and came upon the living room area, from the circle of light, Clary could see a hearth, but there was no wood. They passed through the living room and were met by a set of wooden stairs that led up, and a door into a spacious kitchen. Clary found the cooking stove sequestered in a tidy corner by a wash tub and lit a fire.
"Perhaps we should have given more thought to living with your mother," mused Jace, smiling over at Clary.
She didn't appreciate the joke. "It would have been as bad as the castle."
Jace shot Clary a searching when she wasn't looking, and wondered what thoughts might be passing through her mind. He understood now that Clary blamed her mother for much of the abuse she suffered. Jocelyn had left her alone with a father she knew was cruel and brother she knew was sick. The bitterness was well deserved, but Jace also thought that it wasn't healthy for Clary to harbor such hate.
What was it Lewis said? When all you care about is war, and forget to be grateful for a mother's who's alive, you've spent too much time with these people, thought Jace uncomfortably. Am I to blame for this rift between mother and daughter? She's not just a warrior after all; she's a wife and daughter, maybe one day a mother.
Again, Jace found himself watching Clary moving bleakly about the kitchen, inspecting dishes and preserves, and found the image too depressing. He liked Clary best when she was lively and laughing, when her face was rosy and her eyes glowing with some distant memory. This darkness didn't suit her very well. "Clary, let's have a look around, shall we? Your mother must keep some interesting books in her study."
Clary gave him a hopeless smile. "Anything to end this boredom."
They set off, and Clary, on a whim, passed back into the living room, this time with a small candle to light the fire in the hearth. As a warm glow spread across the room illuminating the shelves on the walls, and chairs and couches, and the mantle of the fire. Clary glanced about, her curiosity getting the better of her, and her eyes landed on a familiar blanket folded on the couch.
"I remember this," Clary said distantly, drawing Jace's attention. She crossed the room and fingered the frayed edges of a very old blanket. "My mother made this especially for Jonathan and me when we were children. When we used to spend whole days outside playing and picnicking, my mother would bring this and spread it on the ground and watch us."
Jace joined Clary, and after a look her way, took the blanket and shook it out. He could tell just by looking at it that it had gone many months without use. There were dust creases in the folds, and color was dimmed by time, and there was an unmistakable air of disuse that hung about the poor thing. He smiled, though, as he studied the intricate pattern that Jocelyn had woven for her children. There were two children on the blanket, a boy and girl, wearing little crowns, running through fields of tall grass, flower beds, splashing through rivers, climbing trees.
"I don't think your mother has had much time for picnicking and playing since she came here. Perhaps she'll give it to you, if you ask?" Jace ran his hand over the little girl in the blanket, her red hair streaming out behind her, and her face glowing. "You look very happy in this."
Clary smirked and snatched the blanket back, tossing it carelessly over the couch. "That was a long time ago, a different life. Besides, we've plenty blankets you and I, and I don't think I'll need this one." I don't want it, I don't want her worthless little things; let her keep them, let her cling to the past. Still, Clary felt oddly empty when she shrugged off the thing. It was, after all, her past, the only past she had to look back on fondly. "What are you looking at?" Clary asked suddenly when she saw Jace returned to the mantle.
He was holding something up to the light of the fire, smiling sadly. "You're hands were so small, Clary." It was a piece of dry parchment with two sets of palm prints on it, one in red one in green. The red ones were adult hands, much larger than the small green ones that messily marked the paper. "Who taught you to spell?"
Clary eyed the paper, recalling a memory from a lifetime ago. "My…mother, she taught me to spell my name. It was the first word I ever learned."
Jace's eyes sparkled. "You really did have the tiniest hands, Clary, really, like doll hands. Your first painting," he declared proudly.
"Hardly. We just used to do it for fun when we were cooped up inside on rainy days. Jonathan and I were a nightmare," Clary began, and her voice held a spark of fondness. "We used to run all over the place, chasing each other, playing hide and seek, chasing Luke around. My mother used to have us sit by the big bay window and paint to pass the time while she read aloud."
"Jonathan too?" Jace was surprised that he had ever been a boy, let alone a rambunctious kid who painted.
"Oh, yes," Clary said, still staring at her own hands. "He and I were quite a pair when we were young. He'd play with those toy soldiers my father got him, until I'd knock them over with a doll, and he'd run off with her, saying he was going to tear her arms off or something."
"Sounds like him," mused Jace.
"He never did." Clary blinked suddenly, her eyes darting to Jace's with a strange look in them. "He always said he would, but I'd scream and cry and sob, and then he'd come back with my doll. He'd apologize and say he didn't mean it, that he wouldn't break my things. All those times he took her, and he never hurt her…"
Jace frowned. "When he was a boy he was different is all, but then he grew up and your father got a hold of him." Still, the idea of a kind Jonathan, a brotherly Jonathan, didn't sit with Jace's image of him.
"I don't know," Clary murmured. "When we were little Jonathan was…well, he was my brother. He was my best friend when we were children, my playmate and confidante, too. He could read before me, so the nights when my parents were away he would come to my room and read to me by candle light until I fell asleep. We'd steal food under our nursemaid's eye, and then we'd hide under his bed and eat together. He showed me how to feed a horse so it wouldn't bite me, and how to build a little sailboat of sticks and leaves to float on the pond by our house. Once in a while, when there were storms and I couldn't sleep, I'd sleep in his bed."
"Jonathan?" Jace asked incredulously. "The same Jonathan who killed your father and is even now trying to find us? He read to you at night and let you sleep next to him when you were scared?"
Clary nodded listlessly. "He wasn't always the way he is now. I don't know what happened, I don't know what changed him, but we grew up and he grew all dark and angry. My brother is dead."
Comfortingly, Jace drew Clary against him. "Perhaps Valentine is to blame for all this? Once your mother was gone, it was his job to raise you and Jonathan, and maybe he was just too cruel?"
"It's still her fault," Clary whispered. "If she hadn't left us Jonathan wouldn't be the way he is now. Jonathan wasn't supposed to be like this, he was supposed to be my brother, but she made him this way!"
"Well, maybe, when all this is over, your mother will be able to make him better?" offered Jace quickly. "Maybe, if Jonathan lives, she'll be able to heal him. Is that what you want?"
"I don't know anymore," Clary shook her head. "He was horrible to me, he hurt me and humiliated me, he made my life miserable. He tried to hurt you too! But-but he's still my brother, isn't he? So, what kind of sister does that make me that I hate my own brother?"
"It's not your fault, Clary," Jace reasoned.
"No, it's my mother's fault!" Clary said loudly. "If she hadn't gone away, if she hadn't left us, Jonathan wouldn't be this way, and then I wouldn't feel this way. I wouldn't have this horrible urge to kill him. But I do." She pressed herself against Jace and he felt her shudder painfully. "I'm a monster."
"No!" Jace drew Clary out, and took her chin in his hand, forcing her eyes into his. "Of all the things you are, Clary, a monster isn't one of them. You're a good woman, a wonderful friend, and a loving wife. Whatever this is," Jace said, vaguely, waving his hands around, "doesn't make you a monster, it's just made you tired, that's all. Please, believe me."
Jace watched Clary's eyes fall and then she wrapped her arms around his neck. "I believe you."
"Good, I'm not going to have my wife thinking she's some monster. A monster doesn't get to be loved like you." Jace kissed her and then put the parchment back. "How about we go up to your mother's study? Find something to read?"
"I'd like that," Clary's muffled voice said from Jace's chest, and he drew her away and up the stairs. As they went, the runelights came to life, and they could just barely appreciate the polished wooden floors, the paneled walls, the intricate sconces that contained the lights. They passed by two rooms with doors open and saw empty beds and care closets, and assumed they were guest rooms. There was a detailed bathroom with a tiled floor that they glimpsed, and it was much larger than a single woman would ever need. The only door they saw closed must have been Jocelyn's room, because the open door at the end of the hall was to the study. "It's very empty here," Clary observed.
"Perhaps that why your mother wanted us to live with her?" Jace said thoughtfully, and then found the grate in the study and lit a fire. "She's got quite a collection of books."
It was true. Jocelyn had a private library to herself, and many of the books looked well worn, the way books were supposed to look. Someone, maybe Jocelyn, had loved them enough to read them again and again, and Clary felt her fingers itching to open one of them. Jace was mildly impressed by the collection and wondered if this was where the life of this empty house was.
"Well, pick something out, little one, and start reading." Jace pressed gently on the small of Clary's back. "Maybe your mother has one of those books Magnus sent around. I know you finished that poem one."
"The Tempest? It wasn't a poem, Jace," Clary grumbled, but Jace just laughed and pushed her onward. She began to pick through the shelves, her eyes glancing off most of the titles. Her discussion concerning Jonathan had put her in a melancholy mood, and even Jace's s wasn't going to win her over. "Find me another work of Shakespeare."
Jace frowned; he worried about Clary when she sank into these moods. He was often reminded of the distant, sad girl he had first met. If he had any purpose left in life, he knew it was to keep Clary happy and as far from that girl as possible. "A comedy then, to pass the time."
As Jace passed about the room, looking for something funny or beautiful, Clary sat down in the chair behind her mother's desk. She leaned back, crossing her arms fitfully and tapped her foot. There was paperwork on the desk, some maps tossed haphazardly about, and she picked them up, curious. She was surprised to see that the majority of the maps weren't of Idris.
Look at these places…Clary thought wondrously. She saw the small, familiar land that marked her home written in loopy lettering, but all around Idris were countries she had never heard of. Idris it seemed was tucked into the huge Holy Roman Empire, bordered by the massive France. Even farther to the west was a place with the exotic name Spain, and to the north was England. Clary tried these names out, muttering them to herself. She traced the shapes of the lands, her fingers resting on England and Spain. Spain was separated from Idris by many mountains, and England by a body of water.
Clary dug around the desk a bit more and came across more maps, these ones, maps of these strange countries. She first pulled up France, smiling at the strange names of cities she'd never heard of: Calais on the coast, Lorraine on the border, Paris. Her eyes skimmed over the others and moved on to England, resting on London. Clary had heard of London just in passing. Spain was the most interesting by far, and Clary wasn't even sure how to pronounce the names of all of them. Places like Aragon and Barcelona, yes, but she squinted in confusion at others.
Just looking at the maps forced Clary to admit that her knowledge of the world was wanting. She had grown up enclosed in the borders of Idris her entire life, she had never left as part of an envoy, never met the other royalty that existed, had never seen the oceans and gulfs that ringed the continent. She had never given much thought to other people since she had assumed she would spend the rest of her life in Idris, now she was faced with the concept of thousands of other people and places. Her ignorance brought a blush to her cheeks.
This is Valentine's fault, she thought bitterly, and tossed the maps aside. She leaned back, shaking with pent up anger and sadness. For some reason, Clary thought she was going to cry and, before Jace caught sight of her, she ducked back into the desk, prying to drawers open, keeping her face down.
She came across some notebooks, most of them with calculations or lists of supplies. However, when she shook the drawer in the bottom right corner open, a small compartment in the top of the desk fell open, and Clary was shocked to see a small, wooden box fall out. Cautiously, not sure what her mother might have worked and put in the box, Clary brushed her fingers over the lid. When nothing happened, Clary curled her fingers around the box and threw it onto the desk before some spell or rune came to life. However, the box remained firmly plain.
Secrets, mother, and so unprotected? Clary thought, and pushed the little lock into the open position.
Whatever Clary had been expecting, what she found inside wasn't it. In the dim light, Clary thought it might have been string, but when she plucked it up, she was shocked to find instead strands of thick, white hair, tied with a piece of string. Clary didn't have to guess whose hair it was her mother kept locked up tight, she recognized the pure white, straight, soft strands.
"Jonathan?" Clary whispered, staring in bewilderment.
"What?" asked Jace from across the room. He was trying to decide between two books and hadn't seen Clary picking about. "What did you say?"
Clary quickly put the hair back into the box, shoving it back in place under the desk. Her heart was pounding and her thoughts were race. "Nothing," she called to Jace, but her mind was in turmoil.
She kept Jonathan's hair? She kept his hair…but not mine? The tears Clary had been fighting resurfaced with vengeance, but she pushed them down much easier this time. So, that's it, isn't it? She loved Jonathan, her precious son, but not her daughter. I was just some mistake, some result of a lie. Of course, it made sense when she thought about it. Jocelyn must have been in love with Valentine when she was pregnant with Jonathan, but by the time she'd had Clary, she certainly couldn't have been. I'm just like Jace, I'm just some child of a loveless marriage. Expect his mother loved him. A resounding thought drifted through her mind. No one loved me. If that was how it was, though, Clary was alright with it. She didn't love me, so I don't have to love her. I guess it's good in a way, at least I know where we stand now.
"Are you alright, Clary?" It was Jace, and he was looking at her closely. He saw the bitterness in her eyes, the downturn of her lips. For all her anger, she looked delicate, as always. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," said Clary sharply. "I'm fine, I'm perfectly fine. What did you find to read?"
"Not Shakespeare, I'm afraid. Perhaps you'll settle for a true classic? The Clouds, by Aristophanes?" Jace showed her the dusty cover, and she shrugged carelessly. Jace frowned. "Clary, what's wrong with you? You look ready to cry."
"I'm fine, Jace," Clary said in hard voice. "By the Angel, I'm just bored is all!"
Jace nodded faintly, but he knew there was something more to it. Still, he nodded to the couch in the corner and the two settled there while Jace read aloud to pass the time. They had just reached the part where the son and father argue over the right of a father to punish his son, and his son the right to punish his father, when the sound of a door being flung open interrupted them. Clary, who had lost herself in Jace's voice returned to the world, and her anger at her mother with it.
"Shall we meet the lady of the house?" Clary asked, sneering at the door.
Jace set the book aside. "I can't see why not."
Jocelyn had entered her home tired, both physically and mentally; she'd been up with the Clave for more than twenty four hours, just going over testimonies, and the searching they had done in her head had left her drained. Her body felt rather empty, like everything inside her had shriveled up and died leaving behind a desert. As she stumbled up to her door, her one saving grace was that she had volunteered for her daughter, that in some way, she might have started to right the scales Clary had devised. Jocelyn knew her daughter held her accountable for something, Jace's wry hints had been enough to confirm that, but in the weeks since her arrival, Jocelyn hadn't had the time to talk much with Magnus. When she'd asked him, he'd looked harried.
"This isn't the time to discuss such things, let alone with me," he'd said in passing. "You'll need to speak with Clarissa, though the Angel knows if she's willing."
Since then, Jocelyn had been unsettled, and she was seeking some way to raise the subject. However, since Clary normally had a group of friends flanking her, Jocelyn was in no rush. She didn't know how much of the truth any of her friends knew, and she supposed Clary wasn't going to be willing to share anything before them. It would have been so much easier had Clary simply agreed to move into her home. There was plenty of room, and Jocelyn certainly wasn't going to stop Clary and Jace their marital rights. She just wanted Clary close to her again, and she just wanted to know what she'd done wrong.
However, these thoughts were chased from her mind when she entered her house and found it alive with light and warmth. Someone, or something, was there, and Jocelyn was to her wits end. She drew a blade, named it, then called out, "Show yourselves!"
Jocelyn crept carefully through her house, recalling her training from years ago, her blade at the ready. All around her, shadows moved, and her adrenalin kicked in; she could hear movement near her study. Jocelyn spun the knife and threw the door open, lunging ferociously.
"Mother!" Clary cried, stumbling back into Jace.
"Clary!" her mother called, falling back, feeling an instant burn of regret that she had attacked her daughter. "What are you doing here?"
Clary stared at the dagger, her anger at her mother returning, and she straightened up. "Not so pleased to see me?"
"Not at all," said Jocelyn, and she tucked the dagger away, smiling fleetingly. "I was just surprised to find that you had used the key I'd given you. Not that I'm not pleased, just curious. What are you doing here?"
"We've come for news," answered Jace before Clary could speak. "What has the Clave decided? Are we to go to war against Jonathan?"
Jocelyn sighed, looking about tiredly. "Come to the kitchen, I haven't eaten in two days. We'll speak more of this."
Clary wanted to tell her mother she could starve for all she cared, but she felt Jace's presence, and the reminder of the goodness he symbolized. He was, after all, her angel, the one thing in her life that was good and pure. Jace and Clary followed Jocelyn back down to the kitchen and sat at the table while Jocelyn prepared herself a small meal of cold meat and bread. When she joined them, they politely gave her time to eat, but Clary was anxious to hear the news and then be on her way.
"So, did the Clave believe you and Magnus and Luke?" pressed Clary.
"It took some time, many accounts from both my past and the recent events in the castle, but yes, eventually they were brought to see reason."
Both Jace and Clary released a pent up breath. Jace, remembering that Jocelyn had gone in Clary's stead, cleared his throat. "Then it seems we are in your debt."
Jocelyn just smiled sadly. "No, not really; I was simply doing what was right at the time. Since I was the one who gave the account, neither Clarissa nor Simon were forced to go before them. In fact, some good news has come of this, as well. It seems, while the Clave searched my memories, they found one of Clary having a slight fit over the news of Jonathan's army." When she smiled at her daughter, Clary just frowned back. She didn't being thought of as weak minded or unstable. Jocelyn sensed this, but had no choice but to go on. "They seem to think it is best to leave Clary out of this, and have told me that I might let you know they will not be calling you back any time soon."
"Aren't I the lucky one?" Clary said blandly. "Thank you, mother."
"More pressing matters are at hand," Jace cut in quickly. "Will they go to war now? Is the Clave going to mobilize?"
"Ah," said Jocelyn, "here's the tricky part. You see, the Clave is planning on rallying support and growing their army, however, shadowhunters do not, an army, make. You must see, as both a soldier and a duke yourself, the logistical problems this poses to the Clave?"
"Not entirely, no," said Jace. "We are soldiers."
"A different kind, though," explained Jocelyn. "Shadowhunters fight in small, organized...packs, if you will. We are pack animals, if I may use the term? We are trained to fight most effectively in small groups who move using stealth and agility, tracking and hunting demons; we are not an army. It has been many long ages since shadowhunters have gone to battle in the form of an army. The suggestion to raise an army has already met with some arguments."
"How can there be arguments?" demanded Clary. "Jonathan has an army, and to fight him, we'll need one too. They can't honestly think small groups of soldiers will be any use to an army. We'll be overwhelmed."
"I'm afraid there are some in the Clave who do." Jocelyn shook her head. "The counsel, for one, thinks that an army dynamic will be detrimental. He claims that we are trained best for stealth combat, and an army will upset hundreds of years of education and hierarchy we have worked to reproduce. After all, it is our unique fighting style that separated us from the humans. They fight wars, we fight demons."
"But the demons are now fighting a war," Jace urged. "Surely, you've told them this?"
"I did, but still, the Clave took a long time to come to any conclusions, and there is no settled agreement, either. The Clave has decided to begin designating the best trained soldiers as generals, to help the transition. Once the upper ranks have settled, they will release the news and the new system to the general public-"
"But that could take weeks!" Clary protested. "Besides, they can't just not tell everybody. Our people are in danger and they want them living in ignorance?"
"I'm afraid that was the decision of the Clave, Clarissa," Jocelyn said helplessly. "Once rank has been assigned, they will order the watches and begin preparing an assault on Jonathan's stronghold. However, the counsel is still pushing for stealth. He wants another team to be ready, just in case our army fails. The most elite of our ranks will travel back to Idris to attack Jonathan in his castle separately, hopefully putting an end to this. Until that time, though, we will sit and wait and defend our city."
Clary looked furious, but Jace spoke over her. "What of the Downworlders? Has the Clave extended them any offers if they join with us?"
"Few and far between," admitted Jocelyn bitterly. "Luke's pack is behind the Clave, which is good, since his is the largest, and he had promised to go as a liaison to the werewolf culture for us, hopefully raising support. Magnus is one of few warlocks and witches, and luckily for us, when they appointed him, they chose to follow his wisdom, so, as it stands, the magical community stands with us. Magnus, though, is no friend of the Clave, and if they keep pushing him, he could turn on them."
"Magnus wouldn't do that," Clary murmured. "He helped me my entire life. He helped both me and Jace escape from Valentine. Why would he allow Jonathan this?"
"Because Magnus is no fool, Clary. If the Clave is unwilling, or just plain foolish, he and his people will go. They owe us nothing, to be honest. Jonathan hasn't sworn to end their kind, and so they are safe." Jocelyn pressed her lips together. "He said, though, that if it comes to it, and we are scared, we may go with him."
Clary raised an eyebrow. They would certainly make an odd group. She and Jace, passionately in love, Alec, clearly intrigued by the warlock, Jocelyn, Clary's scape goat, and, of course, throw in Isabelle, Max, Luke, Maia, and Simon. "I hope the Clave doesn't offend him."
"Me too," agreed Jocelyn. "The vampires are still making considerations for us, since the Clave barely offered them better hunting grounds, and the Fair Folk are more likely than not going to side with the demons, if we're lucky, they might just choose not to fight at all. We are hard put to it now."
"So it seems," mused Jace. "I take it we don't have the weaponry or the supplies to support and pay an entire army?"
"Not even close." Jocelyn rubbed her temples. "There was muttering of cutting back on surplus, of rationing, and of course, people get worried. Some were thinking marshal law might be reinstated, and there's that fear to contend now, because it just might."
"Marshal law?" asked Jace, not liking the sound of it.
"Yes, in times of panic and great danger, the Clave declares marshal law to help maintain order. It was used during our war with Valentine, and no one was very fond of it." She saw Jace and Clary's curious looks. "A war council is named and put in charge of food, supplies, and sundry items, as well as hours of conduct. Normally, it's a time of rationing and strict curfew with stricter punishments. It keeps the people from going mad of terror, but no one likes being forced inside at seven in the evening for curfew."
"They can do that?" Clary said. "Did they do it before?"
"Yes, we're a different people during war time. Shadowhunters are so few in number now that we must think of both the war and our continued survival. Curfew is hard, but it does protect us from ourselves, though the Quartering Act was a little much as far as I'm concerned."
"Quartering Act?" asked Clary.
"It's nothing to concern yourselves with," assured Jocelyn quickly. "In fact, I wouldn't worry overmuch of this news either. The Clave is a few weeks out of announcing the war, until then, just go about your daily routines as if nothing has changed."
Jace looked uncomfortable. "I don't like the sound of this."
Jocelyn cast him a dry look. "It's war, Jace, no one likes the sound of it."
