Prince of the Courts

by J.C.Sebastian.Morgenstern

It's been 25 years since the Cold Peace was signed at the conclusion of the Dark War, and seeds planted long ago are coming to fruition as two new half-Shadowhunters find each other and start on a journey that will take them through the Faerie Courts, the Mundane world, and a Downworld you've never seen... Cover art by @shadowhunters-inspire-me on Tumblr, follow her for more edits!

14. Chapter 13

13

Alec looked up when his office door opened again and he was relieved to see Cinder and Ria returning instead of any more unwelcome visitors.

"The prisoners are secure," Cinder reported, and then she looked to her parabatai.

"A search of their belongings didn't turn up anything of note except this," Ria said as she handed the Consul a fat notebook bound with elastics to keep it from falling apart. "I found it in the inside pocket of a jacket stashed in the pack the woman was carrying. We left the rest of their stuff down there to avoid raising questions."

Alec nodded. "Good. I've already sent a fire message to Dom and Matt; they should be returning through Toronto's Portal any time now. Ria, I want you to meet them when they come through and take them down to keep an eye on those two. One inside, one outside, I don't want any mistakes. Cinder, you'll stay here in case there are any other intruders."

Both women inclined their heads briefly and turned to carry out his orders, Cinder vanishing behind the panelling again while Ria headed out to the Gard's Portal to await the arrival of the Centurions.

Alec turned the notebook over in his hands, the green leather cover showing heavy signs of wear. Pages were sticking out, either where they had come unbound and been shoved back in, or where they were sheets torn from other sources and stuffed in here. He should still have plenty of time before the drug in the darts wore off and allowed him to interrogate the prisoners himself – perhaps he would find some answers here in the meantime. If nothing else, it would give him time to think about his next course of action. The Morgenstern name could still cause explosive reactions in the city, and this situation needed to be dealt with carefully. Everett Whitelock was always on the lookout for any opportunity to tear Alec down; this had the potential for far-reaching effects.

He took off the elastics that were holding everything together and opened to the first page. The writing looked hurried, loops rushing into each other, and parts were scratched out. It looked like it had been written by a woman's hand, and Alec proceeded under the assumption that it belonged to the blond who had attacked him.

The writing was jumbled and confusing, and it took Alec several minutes before understood that what he was holding was some sort of dream diary. He flipped forward and back, looking for some sort of rhyme or reason to it, but it didn't follow any organizational system that he could discern. None of the entries were dated. The order was interrupted by the pages that had been shoved in and added here and there. Sometimes she only wrote a few lines, fragments of dreams that ended abruptly, but in other places she had written pages and pages of detail. Without a true beginning or end, Alec decided he would try to read one of the more complete sections.

He was flipping through the pages, looking for a likely place to begin, when a familiar name caught his eye in one of the longer sections. He scanned the surrounding sentences, tracing backwards, and he felt his eyebrows climbing up unchecked. He turned the pages back, searching for the start of this dream.

I dreamed about my father again tonight, but this time the way he was before my mother knew him as Ahren Castledown. I almost felt as if he were speaking to me, trying to help me understand where I had come from. Mother never spoke of him – she always said it was too painful for her to remember. I think I saw this dream through his eyes.

The dream started slowly, like watching an old television coming to life, the pictures illuminating from behind with a flickering quality. The image of a warlock with green, lizard-like skin flashed past and I felt fear, then rage, then helplessness. I felt like I was trapped in an iron prison, the walls pressing down on me until I couldn't breathe. It was absolutely terrifying – I couldn't move, couldn't escape. I laid in darkness for what felt like centuries. I felt like I had been buried alive and forgotten by everyone.

It seemed like ages passed, and then something about the prison felt different. Pieces of images broke through of a girl with thick, wavy brown hair and blue-grey eyes. I was connected to her somehow. She was precious to me, as nothing had been before. I felt new strength that I hadn't had in centuries, and when danger threatened her, I was able to summon the tiniest fraction of my strength to defend her from harm.

In a flash of fire, I was free! The girl was there, and I felt such compassion for her. She had taught me so much of what mortals feel when they love; how could I ever explain it to her?

Years flickered past incomprehensibly, the sights of Heaven not meant for mortal eyes.

A terrible wrenching feeling tore through me then, and when I opened my eyes I was looking at a young man with a shock of white hair and a thirst for knowledge that could not be quenched. I endured in silence as he tortured me for information about my brother Raziel, about where the Mortal Mirror was, and I listened without comment as he vented his frustrations about the perceived shortcomings of the Nephilim. So much anger for one man.

When I would not give him answers, he took my blood forcibly. It was years before I could see what he had done with it, and a new connection with a little girl bloomed within my ruined body. I tried to send her visions, but they fell on blind eyes.

Years passed in solitude until two children came to find my prison, the dreams I had almost given up on finally reaching the girl. I shared some of what I had seen with them, but I was so weakened by my long incarceration that I could do no more. The boy who bore the stamp of Heaven in his features gifted me with a seraph blade named for me, and I plunged it into my breast to end my suffering.

Freed from my earthly prison, I was returned to the gates of Heaven. I rejoiced at the sight of them, but they were closed. They would not open under my hands.

He who holds the keys to Heaven came to me then, in my despair, and raised me up. He told me that I had caused great sorrow by taking my own life, that there was a Plan for every life, and that I would be cast back down to the earthly realm to live as a mortal to atone for my sin. I had lost the grace of Heaven. Such a heavy sadness settled over me and I felt that I could not bear the loss, but the gates vanished and I awoke in the City of Glass among the Nephilim, glamoured with the appearance of a mortal.

The years passed slowly as I adjusted to my new life, and I immersed myself in the healing of a city broken by war, torn apart by its own people. The children were a wonder to me; that they could still laugh and begin anew amidst the ashes of their past. I took strength from them, finding time to watch over them as they played outside orphanages, their only refuge in a world where their families had been erased so abruptly.

I came to love one of the women who cared for them. Her smile was so pure, her love for the children so strong. Even though she shared no blood with them, she had made room in her heart for every child in her home. Perhaps it was loneliness that caused me to approach her on a beautiful spring day, or perhaps something much stronger.

The dream ended there, and I woke suddenly, disoriented by the change in perspective. I could still feel Ithuriel's sadness as my own. I had never known his name, but living that dream as him had given me new insight.

And what bitter insight it was. Was this the vaunted love of Heaven? To cast down an angel who had suffered so terribly and for so long? What happened to divine forgiveness? It fills me with so much anger. What became of my father after his mortal death?

The entry ended there and Alec exhaled, drained by the account. An angel. Her father had been an angel. Not just any angel, but the same one who had changed Jace and Clary's lives forever. Jace had shared the story of what had happened in the hidden basement of Wayland Manor all those years ago; Alec knew it well. It would appear that the daughter had inherited her father's gift for prophetic dreams, and this diary was filled with them.

He flipped through again, looking for another unbroken section, his curiosity in overdrive. He needed to know more about this girl.

Today is the last day of my childhood.

I know that I can no longer stay with my mother, not now, not after what I dreamed last night. I only hope that by capturing my thoughts here I might lock them away.

The dream was washed with a blue haze, a dreary film that hung over everything I saw, dampening what would have otherwise been a bright summer's day.

My mother was driving along a highway toward a city, and I could see myself strapped into a car seat, no more than a year and a half old. Signs pointed off toward Niagara Falls, and my mother drove into the outskirts for the city, checking directions that she had written down before leaving. I don't know where she got the car – maybe a rental. Maybe stolen. I wouldn't put anything past her now.

The car stopped in a residential neighbourhood, mostly bungalows and split-backs built in the 70s. My mother parked in the driveway of one of the latter that looked indistinguishable from any of the others on the street. She took me out of the car seat and broke into the house through the side door, a rune of opening making quick work of the lock. It was awkward, juggling me and the dufflebag she was carrying, but she managed. The screen door banged shut behind us and she went up the four steps to the kitchen.

Ugly wooden cabinets hung over a yellowing counter top that had seen better days. A scuffed kitchen table was buried under a layer of old magazines and newspapers, and the scarred linoleum under the chairs showed where they had scraped back and forth for years.

My mother opened the dufflebag and pulled out a few plastic containers of tiny tarts and sweets, their bright colours incongruous in the shabby kitchen. She rummaged through one of the cupboards near the sink and came up with a teapot, kettle, and mugs. She filled an infuser with tea leaves from her bag while the kettle came to a boil, and then she poured the water in quickly to begin steeping the tea.

A knock at the front door startled her, and her hands shook as she set the mugs back down on the counter. She went to let in the two people who stood on the porch, and I felt my heart sink when I saw them more clearly.

Parchment-coloured robes only mean one thing in the Shadow World, and the matronly woman wrapped in a long white dress bound tightly at her wrists and around her waist could only be an Iron Sister. My mother had brought me here, to this Mundane home, to receive the protective spells that all Nephilim children were blessed with. I know her well enough to understand why she had come so far and chose this place – she wanted to be certain that no one would connect us to our tiny cottage in the woods.

My mother welcomed her guests into 'her' home by their names, Sister Philomena and Brother Isaiah, and she apologized for the mess. I was babbling toddler nonsense to them. My mother let Sister Philomena pick me up, and I listened to them discussing the ritual that would take place. It was unusual for an Iron Sister to leave the Adamant Citadel, but I could feel something more between them, a relationship that my dream-sense could only hint at, but not pin down. Strange, too, for a Silent Brother to be so far from home when there were so few left after Valentine's attack on the Silent City.

They took me to the living room, faded army-green carpet flattened by years of foot traffic. Bare-foot traffic, if the greasy feeling and smell were any indication.

While Brother Isaiah and Sister Philomena worked over toddler-me, I found myself drifting toward a TV unit on the far wall where there were a few family photos of the Mundanes who lived here. Mother probably should have tried a bit harder to disguise that this wasn't her home, but her guests were trusting to a fault. It made me wonder why they had agreed to this arrangement.

My dream flashed then and I found myself back in the kitchen. The ceremony must have been completed because my mother was pouring tea and insisting that Philomena try some of the pastries before departing, realizing belatedly that Brother Isaiah could not partake. She thanked them for their kindness in accommodating her here, and swore that she would be able to return to Alicante soon, casting a glance at toddler-me where I was still playing in the living room.

She clutched her mug tightly in her hands and forced a smile as she entertained the Silent Brother and Iron Sister. Even I felt uncomfortable in that stuffy kitchen, and only a few minutes had passed before Brother Isaiah rose to excuse himself, I assume.

Sister Philomena started choking then, her eyes watering as she coughed to clear her airway. She thumped her fist against her chest, gagging, and Brother Isaiah turned to her immediately. Silent Brothers are renowned for their skills as healers, and his instincts kicked in to help the stricken Sister. Philomena fell to the floor as he reached her side, her legs shaking uncontrollably, her back arching off the ground, and her head whipped back and forth as if denying what was happening.

Brother Isaiah had only just knelt down at her side when a knife from the kitchen block pierced his back, eight inches of stainless steel clutched in my mother's shaking hand. She yanked the blade out and stabbed him again, blood leaking onto the dirty linoleum.

Philomena was beyond hope now, her convulsions gone still, and Isaiah lay unmoving next to her. My mother dropped the knife and backed away, clutching at the edge of the kitchen sink and leaning over it as if she might be sick. She recovered herself quickly, though, and instead washed the blood from her hands.

Oblivious toddler-me looked up when her mother came into the living room, and I watched as she whisked me back out the side door and put me back into the car seat. My heart sank when she popped the trunk and pulled out the sloshing tanks of gasoline.

I watched in horror as my own mother torched the Mundane house, destroying all traces of our presence. She was already backing out of the driveway before the first flicker of flames were visible through the dirty front windows.

The dream ended, and when I woke this morning I felt like I could smell the house burning around the bodies of the Silent Brother and Iron Sister who had trusted my mother. The Clave might investigate, if there was a record of where they had gone, and the Mundane police would find no leads for the identities of the mysterious victims. Nothing would point back to Meridian Chasewell and her child nestled safely away far to the north.

Now that I know what my mother did, I don't feel as guilty as I usually do about the dream that I've had showing her death. If there had been a chance before that I might try to warn her, it's ashes now, ashes like the people she murdered. I've always suspected that she had been driven to madness after my father's death, but now I am certain. I'm horrified by what she did. Although I will not hasten her end, I won't try to prevent it either. Let fate decide. Everyone has choices. Everyone has free will.

Alec felt faintly sick to his stomach. The part of him that was Consul was prioritizing notifications to send to the Silent City and the Adamant Citadel to help them close these old files. The part of him that was a Shadowhunter felt a molten fury at the cold-blooded murders. And the part of him that was a father wept for the choices the girl had had to make.

In an effort to scrub away the images conjured by what he had just read, he turned blindly to a new page that looked like a more recent entry, the pages still crisp and flat, not yet curling with use.

More dead ends tonight. Zeke ignored my letter in this dream. When the Queen is killed, he collapses in their apartments, and Rayce rushes to his side, fear on his face. He can't rouse his tutor, and it doesn't take long for the Queen's magic to begin to slip away and the aging to begin.

This time, Rayce gathers up Zeke in his arms and flees from the apartments, running hard through the tunnels to bring him to the Seelie Queen. He's too panicked to notice that the guards no longer stand watch outside the Queen's apartments, he just bursts through the door.

Malchezed is within with Baelerithon. They both turn and looked surprised to see Rayce, but the Unseelie doesn't waste a moment. A clawed hand lifts, twisting sharply, and dark power pulses. Rayce is mesmerized and walks forward as if asleep, a moth being drawn toward a flame. Malchezed's claws reach out when Rayce is close enough and they spread across his chest as he stands hypnotized. I watched as those perfect green eyes turned as black as his brothers, no hint of an iris or pupil, just dead black.

The dream flashed and I watched Rayce hunt across both Courts relentlessly, a collared hound set to harry Malchezed's enemies and bring them down. He cuts down his half-siblings with as little mercy as the recalcitrant courtiers he dispatches, and anyone who dares to defy the new ruler of the Seelie throne is dealt with by its new executioner.

I tried tracing a different line where Zeke ignores my letter. In that one, when he collapses, Rayce rushes to his side but his tutor is still conscious. Zeke belatedly tries to tell Rayce about what I have written, urging him to pack quickly and run while he still has time. They waste time they don't have, Zeke trying to convince Rayce of what's happening, Rayce refusing to leave Zeke. It's only when Zeke begins to noticeably age that Rayce is shaken, and he rushes to pull together a few belongings before snatching up his staff.

Zeke pushes him away as his student tries to lift him, to carry him to safety, finally striking him a stinging blow across the face and shouting hoarsely at him to run. Rayce is hurt, I could see it in his face, but he backs away and unlocks the door of the apartments, still looking down at where Zeke is laying.

He's distracted by his worry for his tutor, and doesn't even see his half-sister Kylea, who has been waiting at the door with a half dozen of her Unseelie shadow assassin allies. The moment the door creaks open a few inches, she springs forward, leading with her enchanted batons. Unseelie whips crackle as they snap forward to snare Rayce, the shocks interrupting his ability to shift away.

I couldn't watch as the blows rained down on him. I couldn't listen to the sickening cracks of Kylea's weapons. It's nothing I haven't seen before, but I couldn't watch it again. Another failed branch.

I don't know how many more times I can trace these chains looking for answers. My heart breaks with every failure, and I don't know what I am more afraid of: the day I can't put the pieces back together when I wake, or the day when I no longer care to. I will save him. There's a way. I just have to keep telling myself that I must try once more, and then once more after that if I fail. I can't give up on him.

Alec sat back, disturbed by what he was reading. There was a lot more to these two than he could have possibly known. He believed the Morgenstern boy's story, now. It was too much to think that the diary was an elaborate hoax to corroborate his tale.

He idly turned pages, catching only fragments here and there. Tonight I saw Rayce cloaked in darkness, turning his face away from me with a sad expression. I felt like I was losing him. Another. I don't understand what I saw this morning. Rayce was surrounded by mist and fog, talking to another Rayce in the brume. They were arguing, the dream spun faster and faster, and I couldn't tell which was which when it stopped.

One passage made Alec pause. I saw the City of Glass perched upon a chain of volcanoes, molten streams running through the canals. The earth shuddered and the volcanoes erupted as one in a great gout of flame and lava. The city burned.

"Alec. Alec!" Magnus' voice snapped Alec out of a vision of his city's streets running with lava.

"Magnus." Overwhelmed by what he had read in the dream diary, he pushed back his chair and pulled Magnus into his arms, holding him tightly, and he felt some of his fears ease. A burden shared was a burden lessened.

"Do you have any idea what time it is? I was going to show you the remains of my dearly departed eggplant Parmesan, but I can see in your face that something more important has happened." Magnus' face softened as he looked at his husband's worried expression. Even after all these years, that spark that he felt when he looked into those indescribable blue eyes made his heart leap.

Alec summarized the events of the evening, careful not to leave anything out. He felt a bit of remorse for his decision to toss the two intruders into the deep cells, but the delicacy of the situation still called for discretion.

"I think we should go see them together," Magnus offered. "He won't be able to try any of his tricks with me around, and maybe we can learn more about what has befallen the Seelies. I can hardly believe that Sammaradriel is dead. Now we'll never settle our little dispute..."

Arching an eyebrow, Alec let the last comment pass. He had long ago dismissed any of Magnus' past flames as part of the past. They had no place in the life the two of them had built together with Max and Rafe.

He picked up the diary and hesitated for a moment. With a sigh, he opened the top drawer of his desk and slipped it inside, setting it on top of the video stills and photographs of the pair. He locked the drawer and rounded the corner of the desk to follow Magnus out of the Consul's office.

It was time to get some answers.

A dull throbbing in her jaw woke Sera from the peaceful oblivion of unconsciousness. As she returned more fully to herself she felt a numbness in her hands where they were chained overhead, and she opened her eyes and looked up to see what her situation was.

She was hanging back-to-back with Rayce from long lengths of chain that ran down from the high ceiling of the circular room. A fire burned in a hearth to her left, and she locked eyes with a man who was holding a loaded crossbow levelled at her. He had short, dark hair and dark eyes that glittered in the light of the fire and the torches set into the walls. He had already marked her as awake and would be extra vigilant now.

Sera's head was swimming from the remnants of whatever drug had been on that dart. The room spun in and out of focus and she forced herself to assess the situation. She had no idea how much time had passed, but she knew they had to get out of there. The manner in which her hands had been chained worked to her advantage – her palms were together, and she immediately began tracing healing runes to take care of her jaw, then worked to cleanse her body of the drug.

Her options seemed fairly limited and bleak. She could unlock the chains with an opening rune, no problem, but she would promptly get a crossbow bolt in her chest for her trouble. She couldn't tell what type of chains held Rayce, but she worried that the Nephilim may have chosen cold iron as a precaution against the heritage made plain by the tips of his ears. Aside from that, he had been hit twice by the darts, and she had no idea how long it would take for him to wake naturally.

If she wanted to free herself from the chains, she had to take care of the guard first, and that meant trying to make something work that had been pretty spotty in the past.

Her eyes narrowed on the guard and she took conscious control of her breathing, matching each inhalation and exhalation to a set number of her heart beats. The Silent Brothers could do this without any apparent effort, but she was supremely unqualified to be a Silent Brother, as she was neither particularly silent, nor was she a brother.

The seconds stretched out into minutes as she continued to breathe and focus her mind on the guard. If he was uncomfortable with her intense scrutiny, it didn't show. Every fibre of her being was united in its desire to succeed, to be able to get them out of this cell, and she could feel heat radiating from her body as she strained to stretch her gift into this unfamiliar avenue.

Sera felt what she needed snap into place in her gut, a connection to her ability that ran deep, and she didn't waste another second thinking about it. The guard dropped soundlessly, a sleeping rune blazed powerfully across his neck. She gasped at the snap back of power that she felt, but she had no time to lose.

An opening rune followed one for soundless action, and she carefully brought down her arms from the chains above. Sera slipped her hands under the bottom edge of Rayce's shirt and set her palms over his hips, beginning the same process she had used to free herself from the drug's influence. Time ticked by and she could feel her hands trembling a bit, willing Rayce to open his eyes sooner.

"Sera..." he mumbled, and she threw her arms around him, jerking to a halt when the chains rattled above him. Her head snapped around to the great iron door set in the stone walls, but it remained closed.

"Can you stand?" she whispered.

He nodded tiredly in response, and she reached up to release him, helping to lift his arms down gently. Her hands slipped back under his shirt and ran over his body lightly, now trailing endurance, stamina, strength, and agility runes that were brimming with power. Rayce's eyes widened in surprise as new strength poured into his body. She pushed back the button-down shirt and it slid down, baring his arms so that she could close her hands around his shoulders and smooth her way down his biceps and forearms. Fortitude, angelic power, swiftness, sure-strike and accuracy spiralled out dizzyingly and Sera had to consciously draw herself back to the present and away from the feel of his body under her hands.

His eyes blazed in the firelight as he looked down at her and she let her hands trail away. He was shaking a bit, perhaps from all the pent up power he had running through his veins now. Sera turned away from him before she lost herself again, stooping to swing her pack back into place from where it had rested near the guard. She brought Rayce his staff and he took it in hands that were still trembling.

"I'm going to unlock the door," Sera whispered. "And then we need to move. We have to get out of the city, and we have to do it without killing anyone, okay?"

Rayce reached up to stroke the side of her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "Anything for you, Sera."

She felt a flash of heat race through her body at his touch and she nodded, turning to the door and laying her palm against in. She counted to three silently with Rayce and then the door blew open. Rayce swept through like the wind, the blond guard outside the door not getting even a moment to react. The staff cracked across the side of the guard's head and he dropped like a stone, unconscious.

Sera followed swiftly, light on her feet as her own runes began taking effect. They glided along like jaguars at the hunt, angling upwards with the hope that it would bring them back to the main levels of the Gard so that they could make their escape.

They passed through an iron-bound wooden door and found themselves in the regular dungeons under the Gard. They were close now.

The door on the far end of the cell block clanged open and the Consul stood framed in the doorway with a warlock at his side. Both parties were equally surprised, and Sera bumped into Rayce where he had paused just as the air seemed to solidify around them and the warlock's hands glowed with blue magic.

"By the Angel, you two are more dangerous than I could have imagined," the Consul said, stepping forward toward the trapped couple. The warlock remained where he was, holding the binding spell tightly.

Molten fear crashed through Rayce as he thought of what it would mean if they were recaptured now. Of what they might do to Sera. The part of him that shifted seemed to expand and tighten at the same time, arching like a cornered cat in response to the warlock's spell. He couldn't break through it.

I need to get out of here. His mind raced. He felt the frustration building, the unfairness of the situation. That he should bear the weight of his fathers crimes. That he should be punished for what was done before he had even been born.

We need to get out of here. Fear for Sera held sway over all the others that pulled at his heart. She had spent her entire life hiding from the Clave, and now he had dropped her right into the middle of it. She wouldn't be in danger if he hadn't brought them to Idris. He had to keep her safe, whatever the cost.

WE NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE! His mind howled and connected with that shifting part of who he was. Sera was still pressed against him from where the binding spell had held her after she had bumped into him, and he had only a moment to squeeze his eyes shut and mentally hold on to her as tightly as he could before they both vanished from sight.