Chapter Nine: Homecoming
The servant came rushing up the steps, breathless and anxious, eyes popping out of his face. He panted and leaned against the wall, scanning the entrance hall and eyeing the maid who just welcomed him. She was tall and statuesque, her very thick dark hair was spun up in a bun. Her brown gaze considered him coldly.
"I suspect you bring word from-" Here, the maid paused to gather herself. "-His lord, Valentine."
"Yes, miss," he said, and decided she was very pretty. "I was sent ahead to inform his son. Could you fetch him?" He didn't really want the maid to go, he would have liked to keep his eyes on her shapely form.
"I'm not a page," she said tartly. "But I suppose I could find Jonathan if it's so important." She rolled her eyes, unimpressed, and the servant righted himself.
"If you'd be so good as to find him…?" he raised his eyebrows.
"What?" she snapped back, eyes glinting.
"Your name, miss?" he said. "What's your name?"
She considered him awhile, pursing her lips. "It's-"
"Isabelle!" snarled a low, cold voice. "What did I tell you about slacking off in your duties…?" Jonathan's eyes traveled to the soldier waiting at the side. "What do you want?" he snapped.
"My lord," he began, stuttering to find the right words. "Your father, Lord Valentine, has sent me ahead to inform you he's coming."
Isabelle blinked a few times to process the information. Jonathan, though, was on top of things. "Excellent. How long before he arrives?"
"Three hours, my lord."
Jonathan clapped his hands abruptly. "Isabelle, see to this man's needs, whatever they may be," he added darkly, enjoying the play of outrage on her face. "I have work to do."
Isabelle shot Jonathan such a withering look that he had to hide his smile, and then the two drifted off, the servant pestering Isabelle with questions. For a moment, he thought about reversing the roles, and following Isabelle. Asking for favors, but then, he could always just demand them.
Instead, Jonathan stalked up the steps and found the small doorway to the attic. He smirked and then banged the door open so loud he heard the pattering footsteps above as his sister and his hated step-brother scrambled around. He laughed to himself and stomped up the stairs.
The attic, cold and desolate, was the perfect place, Jonathan thought. The perfect place to lock up that insolent, hideous, little angel child. In the dark and frigid places of the world. He'd break that boy yet.
There they were, Jace and Clary, sitting in the attic window, soaking up as much sun they could. The sun played off their faces, bringing light into their lank hair. One gold one flaming red, both pale and fragile. Perhaps they'd learned a lesson.
"Get over here!" he ordered sharply.
As he expected, Jace tried to push Clary back to protect her, but Clary forced herself forward and straightened up. So his sister was the one who needed to be put in her place. He'd work on that. They both looked ragged and fatigued.
"Father's on way, dear sister, and I won't have you and this dog looking like servants." He surveyed them and Jace flushed at the name. "Downstairs, both of you, and take a bath. I'll have servants bring you clothing." He turned and paused at the stairs. "Not a word to anyone about this."
"Why?" Clary dared.
Jonathan smiled horribly. "One breath of this to even a slave, and I'll carve Jace's face into a permanent grin. And I'll make sure Father thinks I had to do it." There was no emotion in his voice, just a terrible coldness that made Clary take a step back.
"Okay," she murmured, and bowed her head, clutching Jace's hand until it turned white.
They both waited until Jonathan was long gone before they risked coming to the stairs. Jace pressed Clary against him and kissed her hair. She was shivering, thinking of Jonathan cutting up Jace's face…
"I want a warm bath," she whispered, and then pulled him down the steps.
Three hours was just barely enough time. Jace and Clary both got hot baths. Servants pulled combs through their wet hair and threw soapy sponges that them. Both Clary and Jace, though, were stiff and underfed, and the servants had heard the rumors of their whipping. It made them wonder what had happened to the children since.
No one spoke to them, though, and it was a lonely three hours apart. They were both so used to each other company that suddenly missing it hurt. Eventually they were pulled out of their baths and dressed, their hair dried and put in order.
When Jonathan called them to the entrance hall, Jace and Clary were more than a little ruffled. He walked before them, glancing once and while to the door where his father would soon enter.
"Clary," he ordered, pointing before him. "Come."
"She's not a dog," growled Jace under his breath, but Clary just brushed his arm and strode to her brother.
"Stand straight, shoulders back, head bowed," he snapped. Clary shuffled around, wishing she could be back in her bath. Jonathan proceeded to prowl around her, scanning her body for flaws. His gaze landed on her green dress that was cut low to reveal the top of her chest and then fitted through her hips; it reminded her of the Victorian age. Her hair was spun up in a bun and pinned furiously, her mouth curved in a frown. "When you address Valentine, you will call him master or father, nothing else. You will not speak unless spoken to." Jonathan lifted his eyes and saw Jace staring at him. With a smirk, he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind Clary's ear. "You're presentable, little sister."
Clary fell back without a word and scratched her arms. Jonathan then turned his black eyes on Jace, who met his gaze with golden defiance. "Come, boy."
Jace raised his eyebrows. "I'm 'boy' now?" He strolled up, a slow grin on his face.
Jonathan cracked his knuckles and snatched a hank of Jace's hair. "You're not to speak at all, unless Valentine asks you something. And when you answer, you call him master. Keep your eyes down at all times." Jonathan skimmed Jace over. He didn't like the idea that this brat, this worthless servant, could look better than him in a white shirt and black pants. He glowered. "Anything else and I'll personally see to your punishment."
"Isn't that how it always is?" he asked, and then the doors opened and he shoved Jace backward.
For the past month, Clary had been dreading and praying for the day when her father would come back. She gazed up at her father, taking in his cold eyes, his grim smile, handsome face. There was a strained joy on his face, like he was struggling to maintain a happy perspective. His eyes landed on the three children before him and the smile wavered just a little.
"Jonathan, my boy," he boomed, and the servants who had been buzzing around froze and watched. Valentine lurched forward and caught him up in an embrace. "How has the manor been running?"
"Excellent, Father," Jonathan said at once and then turned to his mother, who was floating up to him.
"Clarissa," he breathed, towering over her.
"Yes, Father," she said, and lifted her face to his, eyes open wide. "Hello."
"And do you like the country?"
"Very much, Father," Clary ground out, and then dipped her head. His eyes were merciless and dark, he didn't care how she liked it.
"Excellent, ah, and here's Jace," he said and turned to Jace, who nodded and played with his hands. "And you've enjoyed yourself?"
"Yes," he said shortly and pressed against Clary.
Valentine nodded at the sight of his daughter and his step-son together. For him, it was an ideal solution to a rebellious daughter and a reckless soldier. They'd make excellent servants. Slowly, he turned to his wife and son, and beckoned them over.
"Come, let's retire to the study while the servants take out things. Jocelyn, would you like to sit?" He held out his hand to her, and Clary watched her mother ignore her and slide into a warm embrace with her hated father.
"Absolutely, my feet are so sore," she sighed and followed Valentine.
Jonathan pushed past Jace and Clary, and the two trailed into the study. Valentine seated Jocelyn in a cushioned chair, then poured her a drink. He then took the seat next to her and gestured for Jonathan to take the only other empty seat nearby. Clary licked her lips and glanced at Jace's worried face.
Valentine smiled at Jonathan and then seemed to suddenly notice Clary and Jace. "Clary, my dear," he said smoothly, waving her over, "come sit here, at my feet, like a good daughter." Clary blanched and her mother smiled warmly at her. "Clary, come."
Clary was about to say never, but Jace nudged her in the back and she went forward, dragging her feet. The eyes of the servants were turned on her, so it made sense for her father to be so kind. He was playing up the lie expertly.
Uncomfortably, Clary settled at his feet and leaned as far forward as she could. Jace stood alone, staring after the man he'd called father. Valentine patted Clary's elegant hair and smiled at Jocelyn before he noticed Jace. When he saw him Valentine blinked and smirked, and checked with Jonathan before he spoke to Jace.
"You may stand there, by the fire," he allowed and Jonathan snickered.
Until the servants left twenty minutes later, Valentine kept up a pleasant conversation. He was openly charming, with a winning sort of humor. Jocelyn adored him, laughing and smiling, and toying with him. Jonathan asked all sorts of simple questions, how things were fairing in town. Nothing unpleasant was discussed. Clary was forced to remain at her father's feet, and she felt like an obedient dog, resting at her master's shoes. She grimaced. Jace wasn't spoken to at all.
Finally, Jocelyn recognized her daughter. "So, Clary, how have you enjoyed the country?"
Mind jogged by the question, Clary spilled out and most bland answer she could. "It's lovely, so peaceful and quiet."
"Excellent." She eyed her daughter thoughtfully. "We'll have to call for seamstress; those clothes are a little worn." Her great green eyes turned on Valentine in childish pleading. "We have enough to spare for that, don't we?"
Clary knew if he could, Valentine would keep her in rags until she was forced to come to him herself. But, he had to keep Jocelyn happy. "Yes, my dear. I won't have my daughter running about in old clothes."
"Thank-you," Clary said to no one in particular.
"Yes, yes, yes," Jocelyn said, uncaring. "Tomorrow, perhaps, we can ever begin your household training." Her eyes widened at the thought. "It will be so much fun, Clary."
"Of course it will," Clary murmured and felt her father's leg against her back.
Another hour passed, minutes ticked by with her father's voice booming around her, and Clary concentrated on Jace. He looked so strong, standing before the roaring flames of the fire. She wondered how he managed to stay up straight through it all, after weeks in the attic. Toward the end, Clary thought she might have seen Jace begin to shift his weight back and forth, his eyelids droop, his hands shake. But the years of training paid off and he didn't ask to sit or move.
"Well, I'm for bed," Jocelyn announced. "Care to join me?" Her voice rippled seductively at Valentine.
"Soon, my dear, soon." He grinned at Jace, whose eyes widened. "I'll stay up a little longer and reacquaint with the children." When her eyes lidded a little, he smiled openly. "Don't fret, Jocelyn, I'll be there soon enough."
She kissed his head and then his lips, and Valentine brushed her cheeks. As motherly as ever, Jocelyn bent and kissed Clary's cheek, and Clary stiffened. Jocelyn crossed to Jonathan and kissed his cheek, and then paused and gave Jace a hard look. He raised his eyebrows, unsure of what she'd do, then jumped a little when she placed a kiss on his cheek. And then in a flurry of skirts and laughs, she was out the door and gone.
"How endearing," Valentine commented, eyeing Jace. "Do you enjoy having a mother?"
His face paled a little. "I'm unaccustomed to it."
"And I trust you don't want to lose this mother?" he asked, hammering the point.
Jace measured his face and shrugged. "I lived a childhood without one, I could survive again, but-" and here, Jace lowered his eyes in a show of submission. "-I like having one."
"Good," Valentine said, nodding, and his eyes glowed with malice. "So, Jonathan, how have these two behaved?"
Clary couldn't stop herself from glancing at him. "We should have moved them out here weeks ago. I think they're beginning to understand."
"Understand what?" Clary demanded and jumped to her feet, unable to sit anymore. "What are you two talking about? You have another disgusting joke?"
"Well," Jonathan said, eyeing Clary sadly. "Well, beginning to understand."
"Understand what?" Jace said as well, coming away from the fire.
Valentine rose and pointed them to the couch, both resigned, they fell onto it. "I want you to understand your place. Out here, away from crowds and onlookers, I plan to put you there. And you will remain out here until I think I can trust you."
"So that's what we're doing," breathed Jace. "You could have said as much."
"Did I say you could speak?" snarled Valentine. Clary pulled Jace closer to her. "It's how your life is going to be from now on. The sooner you accept it the better."
"We understand, father," Clary ground out, feeling Jace's pulse jump.
"I hope so," he murmured, moving closer and closer to them. "I will have a family above reproach. My daughter will be the perfect example of a young woman. Loyal, obedient, beautiful, and charming. My son, the most excellent young man. And you, Jace, will be a grateful son-in-law."
"When we are all that you want us to be," Clary risked, "will you let us go? Will you left Jace and I leave?"
"You're never leaving," he said. "Not really. Even when you leave this place, I'll never let you leave. When you two fall in love, I'll be there; when you get married, I'll be there; when you move into your own house, I'll be there; and when you have children of your own; I'll be there." He took them by their shoulders. "You belong to me."
Clary was shaking in terror, and Jace, he was clamping his hands into fists. Unable to contain it, Clary broke away. "Leave me alone! Why do you have to do this? Why can't you just let your daughter go?"
"I won't lose you!" he snarled, and then shock flitted across his face at what he'd said only to be consumed by anger. "Get out of my sight. Go, both of you; I'll deal with you later."
Jace felt Clary's cold fingers lying numb in his palm. He squeezed and pulled her up onto her feet. Under Valentine's dark gaze, Jace tugged Clary away and into the open hall. On the staircase, a young maid froze at the sight. Jace enveloped Clary in his arms and kissed her passionately, trying to force the terror out of her. She melted into his arms and cried openly.
Tessa, rooted to the spot, narrowed her eyes. She saw the way Jace held Clary, the way he caressed her and kissed her. Her deep hatred simmered as she watched. That was her Jace, not that little brat's. He should have been kissing her. Holding her. She licked her lips and rushed up the stairs, heat rising. She'd make Clary regret it.
"We can't do it, Jace. He'll kill us, you know he will," Clary whispered. She was fingering the strings on his shirt. "You heard him: we belong to him."
"Oh, I heard him…" Jace agreed, thinking about Valentine's last snarling words. I won't lose you. What did that mean?
"I wish we were still in the attic. I wish he had locked us up there forever. At least then, Valentine would never find us." She glanced around and saw the stairs leading up to her room. A room with a lock. "Let's go, before he comes back," she murmured, and pulled Jace with her.
At her door, she paused, wondering what to do. She couldn't leave Jace alone, not if she wanted to see him unharmed in the morning. Her eyes found Jace's and he shrugged as if he didn't care that he might be hurt.
"Go on, you'll be safe there."
"Do you have a lock on your door?"
Jace sighed unhelpfully. "Jonathan broke it off."
Thoughts rushed through Clary's head. She couldn't leave Jace out here. Her eyes raced back and forth between the door and Jace, and she finally took his hands in hers and tugged.
"You can't go back to your room tonight, now with Valentine home." She opened her door and gestured in. "I want you to sleep in here tonight."
Jace balked at the sight, and shook his head slowly. "Your father would kill me, Clary."
"Go get your bed clothes and come back here. I don't wanna sleep alone tonight. It just won't be right. Anyway," Clary chuckled darkly, "you heard my father, he said we could get married. Why not sleep in the same bed?"
"Clary, I don't want to give your father a reason to hurt me," Jace said simply.
"I'll take all the blame, I just, I just don't want to be alone tonight. Please, just stay with me."
Maybe it was that Jace didn't want to be alone either, or that look so clear in Clary's eyes, but he decided he'd stay with her. Jace kissed Clary lightly on cheek and then returned to his room to change into pajamas. When he padded down the hall and into Clary's room, she was curled up under the covers and staring at the door wide-eyed. Jace closed the door and locked it firmly, and then softly joined Clary.
"I'm here," he said and cautiously sat on the edge of the bed. Clary reached out and pulled his arm. "Yes, we'll sleep her if you want."
"I want it," she said seriously, and Jace slid under the covers to join her.
The moonlight fell on the two of them, snuggled against each other. Jace had his arms about Clary's waist and his face nestled in her hair. Clary just wanted peace, and, for once, she got it. In Jace's grasp Clary could just close her eyes and feel safe, even when she was surrounded by violence and repression.
