"You left your right side open again."
If I had a penny for every time I've heard those words in the last three days, I'd be richer than Croesus.
"C'mon, get up." Jamie commands without any sign of compassion for my aching back. She's the one who got me landed on it not five seconds ago. "We're not done yet."
I bite the inside of my cheek and force my beaten body to move. Three days of training with her and I feel like I've been chewed and spat out by a dragon. My legs hurt, my arms hurt, my back hurt; there isn't a single cell in my body that doesn't hurt.
But I won't give her the pleasure of hearing me complain. I won't.
"Most of your opponents will be bigger and stronger than you." She says matter-of-factly as I rise to my feet again. No matter how much I try, I can't detect the insulting note in her tone. "You need to be faster and smarter than them."
"What about the runes?" I ask out of desire for a break as much as out of curiosity. "Don't they make you faster and stronger?"
"The runes won't be of much use to you if you don't know how to use the extra speed and strength." She replies evenly as she circles me around like a hungry predator. "Observe your enemy." She raises her blade; my grip on my own tightens. "Don't guess what they might do. See what they're going to do."
She aims at my left side with her blade, but then swiftly changes the direction of her attack; it's only because of the warning that she gave me that I manage to block her hit. Before she can overpower me with sheer strength, I break the contact between our blades and jump away. While she's regaining her balance, I swing at her left side, but the metal clangs as the blades collide again. I clench my teeth, careful not to be caught off guard by a sudden leg-kick. That's how I ended up on my back the last time (and at least half a dozen times before that).
Suddenly, she pulls away; her unexpected move (for she's never pulled away first before) takes me completely by surprise, causing me to stumble forward. I don't get the chance to properly regain my balance, because all I can do is desperately block another hit. She continues to stab at me, faster and faster with each move. I barely have the time to figure out how to defend myself; I can't even think about planning a counterattack. Seven or eight clashes of blades later, I feel my back bump into a wall. Startled, I lose my grip on the blade and Jamie uses the opportunity to knock it out of my hand.
"Never get distracted." She bows down and snatches the fallen blade. Then she offers it back to me, hilt first. "In a real fight, it'll get you killed."
I take the blade from her without any comment. I glance at her face to see if my lack of response annoys her, but she just returns to the centre of the room and turns to me, ready for another round.
To my everlasting surprise, I haven't heard a single insult of a sneering remark from her since we began training on Valentine's command (I wanted to argue, but thought better of it – learning a thing or two about fighting could prove useful, even if I had to bear having Jamie as a teacher). She's just…distant, I don't know how else to describe it. As if she's always thinking about something else and does the fighting on autopilot. I can't even begin to guess what's going on inside her head and I have no intention of asking. She wouldn't tell me even if I did anyway. She'd probably say it was none of my business.
"Attack me." She orders, raising her blade again.
I sigh in frustration before I can stop myself. If there's something I truly hate about these trainings, it's when she says that. Attacking first is simply not my thing. I always either rush or hesitate too much. I have a better grasp on the battle when I'm not the one initiating it; then I feel it's like a dance with beforehand determined steps that I simply have to follow (even if they always end with me sprawled on the floor). When I have to make the first move, I feel like Jamie can easily turn it to her advantage simply because she knows how to react to every move I might make.
It's even enough (along with the protest from my sore muscles that can't take this tempo anymore) to make me swallow my pride – just this once.
"Can we have a break?" I ask hopefully.
"In fifteen minutes." She answers without a beat. "Attack me."
I dare glance around the room, despite her standing in front of me with a blade in her hands. She won't kill me for that (will she?).
"How can you tell time in here?" There's no clock on any of the walls.
"You still have the strength to stand on your feet now." She says casually, gesturing for me to attack her with her hand. "In fifteen minutes, you won't."
I tighten my hold on the blade as anger bubbles within me. Really, what did I expect?
"Honestly, I'm surprised you've managed to restrain yourself for almost three days." I snarl as I try to find a weakness in her defence. I'm not as reluctant to try to stab her anymore.
She raises her eyebrows, looking genuinely confused.
"From insulting me." I clarify coldly, growing even more irritated at her display of bewilderment.
"That wasn't an insult." She insists. "That was a fact. You're barely standing as it is."
I snort sarcastically and raise my blade higher up defiantly. If only that move didn't send a wave of painful throbs through my arm.
"Then what's the point of those extra fifteen minutes?" To get me to drop dead in exhaustion?
"The only way to build up strength is to push yourself further than you think you can go." She explains so straightforwardly I can't even think she's talking rubbish. She truly believes what she's saying. "You keep going, even when you're so tired you'd stop breathing if it wasn't a reflex."
Well, I most certainly am that tired. My legs barely carry me. My arms feel like they're going to fall off at any moment. But I force myself to raise the blade (whose tip already dropped too close to the floor when I didn't pay attention), determined to prove it will take a lot more than three days of training as a Shadowhunter to break me.
I swing at her with all the strength I have left. Our blades collide with a loud clang. And another. And another. We move from one side of the room to the other, like dancers in a ballroom, dancing to a lethal symphony. I even manage to push aside the exhaustion that's slowly consuming me; all that matters is my opponent and the blades.
But I know I can't keep up with Jamie for long. She's playing a long game here, trying to tire me out. I can't simply dance to the tune she's playing; I need to change the rhythm.
When our blades collide again, I let them stay in the hateful embrace for a heartbeat and then let mine slide down Jamie's, so I get the chance to kick at her calves with my leg as I've seen her do. Unfortunately, she realizes just in time what I'm trying to do; she jumps backwards and avoids my kick. She lands gracefully like a cat and uses the momentum to jab forward. I barely manage to raise my blade in front of my face before her blade could tear it open. I know I have no chance with her standing and me kneeling in front of her, so I break the contact between the blades and roll over, barely avoiding her blade, which stabs the floor instead of my skull. Unfortunately, before I can scramble to my feet, she jumps at me and grabs my wrists. She pins them against the floor above my head (with the blade still in my hand), holding me as tightly as iron chains would.
"Technically," I gasp for breath, "You lost your blade first."
"Technically," She drawls sarcastically, "If this was a real fight, you'd be dead. Blade or no blade."
I can see drops of sweat on her face; it brings me a great amount of satisfaction to know she has to actually put effort into beating me. Admittedly, she could still probably keep going for hours while I feel next to dead, but it's enough for me to feel proud of myself – at least until she squeezes my wrists to the point of unbearable pain. I let out an unwilling whimper, forced to drop the blade. She takes hold of it before I can react and then gets onto her feet, leaving me breathless and sprawled on the floor.
"If you haven't figured it out by now," I lift my head off the floor so I can look at her as she speaks, but I have no strength for anything else, "The point is to stay alive."
I breathe out heavily and let my head fall onto the floor again, my eyes closing even before I feel the wood against the back of my head. I have no strength or will left to battle Jamie, with words or blades. I just want her out of my sight. She might not mock me as much as I've expected her too, but it doesn't make having my ass handed to me by her any more enjoyable.
"Will you get up today or…?"
For heaven's sake, is she serious?
"If I don't measure up to your standards, why did you even agree to train me?" It's only the mere force of anger that gets me to stand up and then approach her, my hands clenched into fists.
Without giving me an answer, she throws me the blade. I barely manage to catch it, but I have no time to get a firmer grasp on it, because I'm forced to urgently block her latest attack.
"Because," She hisses into my face, so we wouldn't be heard, "As long as I'm stuck in here, it's not like I can refuse…"
She hasn't even finished the sentence when she suddenly grabs my wrist and twists it until I'm once again forced to let the blade go. I curse under my breath, angry with myself for having fallen for that stupid use-talk-as-distraction trick.
"You're distracted again." She picks the blade up while I massage my aching wrist. "If you can't keep focus…"
"I'll die, I know." I interrupt her curtly.
"You don't really seem aware of that." She says coldly, obviously having lost patience. "If you were, you'd try harder."
"I'm trying as hard as I can!" I protest sharply; I haven't got though everything I have only to listen to some arrogant girl belittle me. "Until a week ago, I didn't even know all of this even existed! Now you expect me to learn things you've been learning your entire life in a matter of days!"
Jamie's eyes narrow threateningly, but before she can answer, the tense silence that lingers between us is interrupted by union of two voices that utter one word: Valentine.
As one, Jamie and I turn to the door, where the two women Valentine has tasked with keeping an eye on us stand with their heads bowed. Next to them is the man that's the object of their adoration and respect – my father.
He ignores them, his gaze focused on Jamie and me. His expression doesn't change in the slightest as his eyes wander between me and her. Not for the first time, I wonder if he even knows he and I share blood; as much as I hate it, I can't change the fact that he's my biological father. But he doesn't treat me any differently than he treats Jamie. If I'm being honest, that's a relief. I can clearly imagine the look of utter disgust she would shoot me every moment of every day if she learned I was Valentine's daughter.
"I've brought you another student." He addresses Jamie, as if he was Santa Claus bringing her another present for Christmas.
As if on a cue, a tall, blond-haired guy walks into the room, shooting us all a wary gaze. When his dark (I think they're blue, but I can't be completely sure) eyes pause on me, I look away, suddenly too aware of my ruffled state. I wipe away sweat off my forehead as subtly as I can, hoping I don't look exactly as dreadful as I feel. Not that it matters really; why would he show any interest in me, especially when he sees how easily Jamie can beat me?
"Who is he?" Jamie asks coldly, crossing her arms over her chest.
Valentine doesn't answer her, but turns to the guy, who looks alarmed that he's already in the centre of the attention.
"John." He clears his throat nervously. "John Waters."
"As it seems, he's got the Angel's blood running through his veins, but like Clarissa, he never knew about it." Valentine explains with a nod in my direction, which I really could have done without. Fury at him rushes through me; he clearly didn't bother to even ask for John's name before bringing him here, evidently against his will. How could have Mom ever married a guy like him? How could have she ever loved him?
As if sensing my disdain, Valentine breaks eye-contact between us and turns to Jamie again. "We're going to need every Shadowhunter we can get on our side. I'm sure he'll flourish under your tutelage."
I cast a sideways glance at Jamie's face, careful not to be noticed. For a moment, anger flashes in her eyes, as if she might send Valentine and his decision to waste her abilities on teaching rookies to hell. With visible effort, she manages to swallow down her irritation and put on a mask of composure.
"Does he have any experience?" She glances at John briefly, as if he was livestock she's considering buying, and then returns her gaze to Valentine.
Valentine looks at John over his shoulder, but remains silent. It's only after few moments of uncomfortable silence that Joh realizes he's supposed to answer.
"What kind of experience?" His voice isn't completely even when he addresses Jamie.
If he ended up here as I assume he did – he saw people he shouldn't have seen and then they kidnapped him – I'm not surprised in the slightest that he's so reluctant to speak to any of us. He probably wishes he'd remained oblivious to this world and it to him. My mom, Luke and even Simon now are a part of this world; for me, there's no-one left in the mundane world. I wonder who John was taken away from, whom he lost, perhaps forever.
"Fighting." Jamie forces the word through her teeth. For no apparent reason, she seems to be just as unwilling to speak to John as he is to speak to her.
In her eyes, he's just a mundane, like me. I remember what Jace told me about the complexity of Jamie's views on mundanes – though I don't see what's so complicated about absolute resentment. She probably sees him as just another waste of her time and energy.
John blinks at that open display of what must look to him like irrational animosity, but then straightens his back, as if having decided he wouldn't show fear.
"I'm pretty good at archery." He says, looking directly at Jamie.
I expect her to snort mockingly, but she only turns on her heel and goes to grab a bow and three arrows that are lying on a table in the corner. She'd probably been polishing her shooting skills before we started with our second training session of the day (we train twice a day; she's always in the training room before I get there and I'm always the first one to leave it). She hands John the bow and arrows and glances at the nearby target, as if to say 'Okay, show us what you've got.'.
I hold my breath as John notches the first arrow into the bow. To his credit, his hands aren't shaking despite the pressure he must be under. He must be thinking we're some kind of assassin guild and we want to hire him – or that we're going to kill him if he doesn't meet our expectations.
The first arrow hits bullseye.
It takes a moment for me to realize I'm staring at him with my mouth open. I shake my head slightly and cross my arms over my chest, trying to imitate Jaime's (seemingly) unimpressed pose.
The second arrow hits so close to the first they're touching.
I glance at Jamie. She still looks indifferent, her mouth a flat line, as if she sees this kind of skill every day. I roll my eyes without thinking; as much as I hate to admit it, she can look down on me, because I really have no experience with any kind of weapon. There's no way she can look down on this.
The third arrow lands on the other side of the first one, their edges touching.
Pretty good at archery? This guy must be the embodiment of modesty.
John looks at Jamie again; in the corner of my eye, I notice Valentine's gaze is fixed on her as well. They're both waiting to hear her evaluation. I find that confusing; why would Valentine care about her opinion? For a reason I still haven't figured out, he insisted she taught me; I doubt he cared whether she wanted to do it or not. So, what's different about this guy?
"He's good." Jamie says at last, her words echoing unusually loudly in the silent room. "At archery."
"You're going to teach him the rest." Valentine answers straightaway. Then, to my discomfort, he looks at me. "It'll also give Clarissa time to catch her breath. As I hear, you haven't exactly gone easy on her."
Jamie doesn't even as much as look at me. There's no clearer message as to what a disappointment of a student I am.
"Demons spare no-one." She states coldly.
If I wasn't sure there was no way she could have found out the truth, I'd think her unsaid words were: 'Not even your daughter.'.
"Better me than them."
In some moments, I would fiercely disagree, but this isn't one of them. As much as we both loathe spending time together, there's no denying she's been putting effort into teaching me. Her lessons, as painful as they are, may one day save my life.
"I agree." Valentine nods with a smirk on his face. I can't help the feeling he and Jamie constantly wage a private war of their own; I only wish I knew what it was about. "Still, John and Clarissa are no match for you on their own. Perhaps it would be beneficial for all of you if there were two of them against you."
Once again, I expect a please-I-can-take-down-two-rookies-while-blindfolded snort from Jamie, but the only change in her expression is the narrowing of her eyes. I notice her hands have clenched into fists, but I can't believe she'd actually dare strike Valentine, especially for an offence (if it can even count as one) as meaningless as this. I thought I could read her, but it seems I was wrong.
"Alright." She swallows hard, as if she might choke on her saliva. "I'll train him."
Valentine studies her intently for a few moments, as if challenging her resolution.
I notice she can't hold his gaze for long. I understand he's the most frightening man in town, but I've seen Jamie showing no fear in face of a bunch of furious vampires. How can Valentine, who doesn't even seem intent on harming her, scare her more than them?
"Excellent." He nods and gestures to John. "You can start tomorrow. We'll give John time to settle in."
Hearing Valentine refer to me and Jamie as…well, almost as if we were his family is like an itch I can't scratch. We're not here willingly, we don't share his beliefs and we aren't going to fight for him. I might be his biological daughter, but that man is not my father. If anyone can bear that title, it's Luke.
"What do you people even want from me?"
I tear my eyes away from Valentine and turn my gaze to John. He's still holding the bow in his hands, but there are no arrows he could use to shoot us, as much as he might want to.
"We want you to fulfil your true potential, John." Valentine gestures at the people in the room that are wearing black. "We can teach you many things."
"I don't want to learn anything from you, especially not…" He glances reluctantly at Jamie and swallows hard, "…How to kill people."
"We do not kill people." Valentine lies as effortlessly as I draw breath. He'd kill every Shadowhunter, mundane or Downworlder who would get in his way without remorse. "We kill demons."
John's eyes widen in disbelief. I can tell what he's thinking; I've thought it myself not so long ago.
"Demons?" He lets out a short, hysterical laugh. "You people are crazy. There's no such thing as demons."
Valentine isn't even slightly thrown off balance by his refusal to believe him.
"Amarion." He calls evenly – to no-one, it seems.
Great. I think to myself sarcastically. I have a father who's not only a megalomaniac but also talks to himself. Just great.
Suddenly (and to my relief), a man appears at the door, looking directly at Valentine.
'Man' might be a too ordinary word to describe him. I'm so overwhelmed with the need to draw him that I can feel my fingers itch with the lack of pencil and paper. White-haired and fair-skinned, he is sunlight captured in ice. I don't even find him attractive as much as simply otherworldly. His perfect features are unearthly; if I was asked to draw an angel, this is what he would look like.
"This young man doesn't believe demons exist." Valentine nods in John's direction without looking at the newcomer. "Prove him wrong."
In a heartbeat, darkness descends on the room – or just on my mind. Despite my eyes being wide open, I see nothing but blackness. The silence is so complete I can't even hear the sound of my own breathing. It's unnerving, making my heart jump into my throat. The scent of sulphur and rotten flesh fills my nostrils and I taste salt on my tongue. Suddenly I'm choking on the salty liquid – on the blood. There's so much of it; I can't breathe!
"Stop it." A voice cuts sharply through the silence – Jamie's voice.
A moment later, I can see the training room and the people in it again. My knees feel so weak I think I might fall, but with the last shred of will I manage to force my legs to remain upright. My heart pounds so wildly it physically hurts and I feel like I might start choking again with every breath I take.
Next to me, with her eyes closed and her face scowled, Jamie looks like she has a nasty headache. Her hands are shaking at her sides, her breaths coming out short and shallow.
I could just hug her for freeing me of that…I'm not sure it was an illusion.
"What…" John's voice draws my attention. He doesn't seem in any better shape than Jamie or me. His skin's gone pale as marble, his hands shaking even harder than hers. "What did you…"
"What you've just seen is one of many worlds where demons come from." Valentine interrupts him evenly, like a teacher correcting a student. "There were the same as ours once, before demons conquered them."
I didn't fully believe Jace and Jamie's story until I killed that demon in my house with my own two hands. If I'd been shown this, I would surely have believed everything much more quickly. It was as if we'd literally been taken to that world and felt the breath of death in it on our own skins. Even the briefest moment of thinking of it makes me shiver.
"As you're here, you can help Clarissa regain her strength."
My head snaps towards Valentine. Before I can insist I want nothing from the man who looks like an angel, but is seemingly anything but, Jamie speaks up first.
"No."
I raise my eyebrows at her in bewilderment. Is she actually on my side?
For a moment, Amarion's white eyebrows arch upwards, causing wrinkles to appear on his perfectly smooth forehead. Then I blink and he looks just as indifferent as before and I think I must have imagined it all.
"I've healed your injury." He says evenly, making a step closer to Jamie. "Why do you think I'd harm her?"
For a moment, I feel like I'm lying on a beach, my toes curling in the soft, warm sand, breeze whispering lullabies in my ear. My eyes begin to flutter shut; it's only the sound of Jamie's voice that snaps me out of my reverie.
"She'll remain just as she is." She forces the words through her clenched teeth, shooting him a defying look. "She needs to feel pain and learn not to think about it."
The excuse matches her words to me from before, but I can't shake off the feeling she shares my opinion on the white-haired man – fears him as much as I do. And here I thought I'd never have anything in common with Jamie Lightwood.
Amarion takes another step towards her, with elegance of a cat closing in on its prey. Jamie bites her lower lip fiercely, her struggle not to back away as clear as day.
"You've been feeling pain for quite a long time," His voice turns gentler; I run my nails into my palms to keep myself focused on reality instead of drifting off into daydream again, "And you still can't stop thinking about it."
Jamie's features freeze in absolute shock. Her body seems to have petrified; I can barely see her chest rise and fall as she breathes. She's gone pale as ghost, even paler than she was after we'd been exposed to the visions of the demon world. Her blue eyes are wide and filled with terror; she looks like a child witnessing her worst nightmares becoming reality.
"Leave her alone."
It's only when Jamie's head abruptly turns towards me that I realize those words came from my mouth. I turn away from her instantly, but I can still feel her gaze on my face. She probably thinks I've spoken up because I think her too weak to defend herself. But I haven't. I've spoken up on her behalf because she'd spoken up on mine. In this place, with these people, we're the only ally the other one has – whether we like it or not. It's time we both accepted it or we'll never get out.
Besides, I owe her for helping me and Simon escape Valentine. If he'd caught us then, he'd have both Simon and Mom firmly in his clutches. While I can count on him not harming Mom – if he intended to hurt her, he would already have done it – I doubt he'd restrain himself from hurting Simon if I even breathed too loudly in his direction.
(Simon. Is he alright? He must be worried sick, with me having left without a word. But if I'd told him what I intended to do, he would have followed me. It's safer for him with Jace.)
(Jace. Is he alright? How badly has Alec's betrayal affected him? Has he already come up with a plan to rescue Jamie, me and Mom?)
"Natalia. Jane." Valentine addresses the women at the door, who haven't spoken since he entered the room (or I simply haven't heard them talk). "Take them to their rooms. They've had enough excitement for one day."
My head snaps up.
"I want to see my mom first." I insist firmly. I need to see her, to find reassurance that will help me forget the horrors whose presence I've felt in the other world. Despite not having said a word or even opened her eyes, she's still my greatest source of strength. Just a glimpse of her peaceful face or the feeling of her hand in mine is enough for me to regain my determination to save us both from these people. I won't fail her, no matter what stands in my way.
Valentine nods his permission at the brown-haired woman I've come to refer as my bodyguard. I join her at the door, careful not to meet anyone's eyes, but in the corner of my eye, I catch sight of Jamie staring at me, confusion colouring her features. She's still at loss as to why I would ever help her.
I nod at her as briefly (which is more twitch of a neck than a nod), offering a truce. Neither of us can escape her on our own, she must know that. As much as we dislike each other, we need to work together.
And now there's someone else here who might be willing to help us. I muse as I catch a glimpse of John's pale face. He obviously doesn't want to be here any more than we do and he'll surely be on board with escaping this place. I just need to convince Jamie to be less hostile towards him.
Jamie? Less hostile? A less optimistic part of my mind wonders sarcastically. About as likely as stars falling off the sky. I might have more luck with the stars.
An answer for Guest: Thank you so much for your compliments on my writing. I hope you've enjoyed this chapter too :)
I'm sorry for any grammar or spelling mistake.