Hello readers!
I apologize for my excruciatingly long hiatus from writing, but I am back now! Hopefully the long chapter will make up for your wait!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments!
She bit her lip, carefully observing her brother as he trudged up the steps in front of her.
He was in a particularly sullen mood – Alec that was – but Isabelle could not find the energy to be amused by his poor attitude. She kept trying to glance at the Eve girl, wondering what she was thinking, but it was impossible to stare too closely. The Inquisitor, Argyle Silverspear, was directly behind the blonde, and his looming, black-robed height totally blocked her from sight. Of course, this had been the perfect opportunity for Isabelle to study him, as well. But as good looking as the Inquisitor was – and he was pretty good looking, just to clarify – her heart wasn't entirely in that either.
Though her eyes had drifted to Silverspear's hair every so often, she had to admit; sometimes it was flat black, and other times, when the morning sunlight caught at it the right way, his messy hair turned a beautiful spectrum of color.
But as for the Eve-girl, she had remained almost totally out of sight since she had arrived last night.
The only person who she had seemed to let see her so far was Jace, and in Isabelle's humble opinion, he was a bit too eager to be around her, to be honest. Although it did make complete sense. Jace out of all of them knew Valentine best – on a personal level. Maybe his presence was some way of helping Eve cope with Valentine and Jonathan's death.
And maybe her presence was also some way of helping Jace cope with Valentine's death…
Shaking back her dark hair, Isabelle frowned. Part of her wanted to pity Eve, wanted to see her happy after the horrible life she had been forced into, but the other part of her could not trust a girl that had been so personally involved with Valentine and Jonathan Morgenstern when Max died. How could she truly be regarded as innocent? But then, how could Eve not be innocent, considering how much interrogation she had gone through with the Silent Brothers?
Isabelle didn't know. And it was too emotionally exhausting to keep thinking about it. Her entire family had decided more or less that Eve was just a pawn in Valentine's game, and that they really didn't know what extent of pain that he and Jonathan had put her through; they had agreed it was better to just assume that she was helplessly lost and needed their help. But either way, Isabelle had been dying for the chance to talk to her more.
Which would have been easier if the Clave officials hadn't been hogging her all the time.
"Ah," a voice sighed. "Here we are."
Suddenly, the steps they had been trudging up leveled off, and they all were on the Institute's roof. The city was blaring this morning, with light, with the smell of rush-hour traffic – but Eve didn't seem to marvel at it. Which was strange, Isabelle thought, considering the circumstances. From what her family had told her, Eve had been raised in the rural country of Idris – and that the property had been boxed in with a glamor and wards for protection, and she had never been out of it. If that was true, then shouldn't Eve be more excited to see New York – to see such a massive swirl of people?
It didn't really matter, Isabelle supposed, but it did seem a bit off… As if Eve had somehow been in the city before…
The Inquisitor had led them to a cleverly set up training station – there were some quivers of arrows, a few bows, and several sullen-looking Clave members in black fighting gear. As they stepped out of their single-file procession, Isabelle caught a glance of her brother's face, and saw that he was smiling – blatantly smirking. She was a bit confused for a moment, only for a moment, until she realized why he was happy: One of Alec's greatest strengths as a Shadowhunter was archery. Alec was going to try and outshine Eve's skills with his bow and arrow.
But Isabelle wasn't really sure he would succeed.
No matter how much faith she had in her brother, there was something volatile contained within this mysterious visitor. But if Alec could do it, Isabelle supposed, it wouldn't be such a bad thing. She, for one, would be very happy to know that this girl's power actually had some limits.
Eve was to the front of the group, but Isabelle could only see her from behind. The short black dress she wore last night was the same one she wore today – Apparently, the enchantment on that satchel of hers had been harder to crack than the Silent Brothers had thought. Eve hadn't received her valuables back yet, and she had not been given anything else to change into. Generously, the Inquisitor had offered to pay for a new outfit for her, but Eve told him she didn't need his charity, and she had insisted it so emphatically that no one really had had the nerve to push her on the matter. Isabelle would have offered to let her borrow some old clothes, of course, but she hadn't seen Eve at all that morning to help her. Reason number two why Jace and the Clave really ought to share her more with the rest of them.
"This will be the first test of the day, Eve," Argyle began. His voice carried resonant and clear – a leader's voice. "Archery. Of course, I would like to call one of Clave's greatest young bowmen to come as a means of comparison… Alexander Lightwood, would you mind shooting an arrow of your own alongside one of Eve's, to show these gentlemen how skilled the both of you are?"
Alec stepped forward, his blue eyes alight. "I would be honored to, Inquisitor."
"Well, then," Argyle continued. A few of the Shadowhunters moved out and handed Alec and Eve both a bow and a quiver with a few arrows. Silver feathers tipped Eve's arrows, and Alec's were tipped with black. "Perhaps you ought to start with the close targets first, and then move to the farther ones…"
Eve shifted on her feet uncomfortably. "I… cannot," she replied quietly.
Immediately, Jace protectively stepped to her side, with Silverspear only a moment behind. The other company of Shadowhunters glowered in disapproval.
"Eve." The Inquisitor's words were soft and gentle, and full of a shocking amount of concern. "What do you mean by that?"
Her gold-flecked eyes scanned sorrowfully over the Nephilim and the archery targets before her. She looked as tormented as a fallen angel. Meanwhile, Alec glared at her in an expressly un-angelic manner. "It… is too close," she whispered.
"Too close?" Alec scoffed. "These targets span the length of the Institute's entire roof. How much farther do you want?"
Shuddering, Eve's eyes plummeted hastily to the concrete below her feet. Jace aimed a scowl at his parabatai that could have burned a hole through a brick wall.
For some reason, Isabelle noticed that Jace's eyes seemed more gold than usual. Maybe it had something to do with the light.
"Do you see the statue, there in the distance?" came Eve's meek reply.
Everyone looked. There was a vague outline of something that might have been a statue, standing a building's length away, but Isabelle couldn't make out the individual details. Even the Inquisitor and Jace and Alec were squinting, trying to make it out.
"I see it," her brother stated. "What part of the statue would you like to make the target?"
The other Shadowhunters murmured appreciatively at that. Hitting the statue itself from this sort of distance would be considered a miracle. To specify the part of the statue was ambitious, almost arrogant, even.
"The eye," Eve said.
More muttering came from the Shadowhunters. The eye was the most difficult part to identify – she was insane to think she could hit the mark anywhere even near that.
"Alright," Alec agreed; his jaw was impossibly tight. "I'll go first."
After a permitting gesture from the Inquisitor, Alec walked to Eve's side, pulled an arrow out of the quiver, and strung his bow as gracefully as Isabelle had ever seen him do it. The individual motions he used were slow, deliberate, purposeful – a sort of art. It was like the way Isabelle had seen Clary draw once. She knew each stroke had to be perfect, because it became all part of the greater work.
In the end, it took Alec almost a full minute of aiming before he finally let the arrow fly, and that minute had sometimes been rudely interrupted by one of the other Shadowhunter's impatient mumbles or an ill-timed cough – but when Alec at last let the arrow go, the shot was straight and perfect and true – something that even his archery teachers would have had a difficult time reciprocating.
Pride rose in Isabelle's chest for her brother as they heard the arrow land into the target, distantly, with the unforgiving sound of metal against stone. That sound gave Isabelle all the information she needed to know: Alec had hit the statue. And from the looks of it, the shot had landed somewhere on the figure's face.
Even Jace was smiling at the sight.
"Well done, Alexander!" Inquisitor Silverspear applauded, his green eyes dancing. "That was a marvelous shot."
"Thank you, Inquisitor."
Without another word, Alec stepped back and Eve hesitantly took his place, her bow hanging limply in her hand.
"So I am shooting for the eye?" she asked.
Argyle nodded. "Yes, Eve."
She thought about that for a minute. "For the white, the pupil, or the iris?" she asked again.
There was a moment of silence, and then all the surrounding Shadowhunters roared with laughter – except for the Lightwoods, Jace, and the Inquisitor. But as insane as it sounded, the girl didn't seem to be joking. She was staring at the group of onlookers incredulously, as if she had asked them as simple a question as, "how are you feeling today?" and had gotten the same mocking result.
The Inquisitor extended a commanding hand to the group, silencing their ridicule. "Aim for the pupil, Eve," he answered.
The blonde glanced nervously at her feet again, and Isabelle thought she could see her anxiously chewing on her lip. "Whenever you give the signal, sir," stated Eve, looking unready.
Isabelle was beginning to wonder whether if a girl as seemingly insecure as her had any battle skills, but then the Inquisitor said a quick, "Go," to Eve, and Isabelle's thinking changed.
As soon as Argyle had said the word, Eve's body blurred in a wave of sudden, powerful movement and her arrow was already flying through the air. Somehow the girl had gotten her arrow from the quiver, strung the bow, aimed, and shot it within the timespan of a heartbeat. Isabelle hadn't even been able to make out the individual motions. By the time Argyle had finished his word, the arrow had buried itself into the statue with the sound of a crack.
No one – not even the spectator Nephilim – was laughing then.
Everyone stood agape as Eve placed her archery equipment casually to the ground, as if she had done nothing out of the ordinary. There was a certain embarrassment to the way she glanced around at everyone's bewildered stares, when she finally saw them.
Eve instinctively moved closer to the Inquisitor and to Jace, her blue eyes downcast. "Excuse me," she murmured politely. " But did… did I do something wrong, Inquisitor Silverspear?"
Argyle recovered his composure rather gracefully. "No… No, Eve. You did nothing wrong," he promised her. "Come," he directed, addressing everyone. "We will see how well you fared in the test."
Single file, all the Nephilim followed Argyle's lead – and Isabelle was sure everyone noticed as the Inquisitor put a reassuring hand on Eve's shoulder. No one seemed to really approve of him doing it.
The space between the Institute rooftop and the other one was luckily narrow enough to jump over, and in almost no time at all, the procession was at the statue-target in question.
It was a lovely sculpture, Isabelle supposed. It looked like an ancient Grecian representation of a woman, like she had seen them in her lessons, with strong facial features and intelligent, doe-like eyes.
Alec's black-feathered arrow was buried in the pale, stone woman's chin. A shot more skilled than Isabelle had ever seen.
And buried in the exact center of the eye, in the slight indentation where the pupil would have been – was a silver-tipped arrow.
Eve's.
And on top of her remarkable aim, there were deep, prominent fissures in the stone around the silver arrow, showing the sheer power the arrow had been propelled by as it had dug into its target. It was a testament to Eve's own strength and precise skill.
Alec looked incensed by all of it, Isabelle saw. Not that anyone noticed.
The Shadowhunters around them were crowding around the statue and were taking meticulous notes on some official looking documents. Argyle was simply staring at the arrows, looking baffled.
Somehow, Eve seemed to sense Alec's displeasure through the bustle of all the other people. And instead of exploiting his unhappiness, Eve's next course of action drew attention away from his loss; which seemed like a really selfless thing to do, Isabelle thought, considering how much of a jerk Alec had been to her, so far.
Isabelle was starting to have a small, very small, liking for this girl, as she watched the blonde turn from the group and move to go back to the Institute. Light caught at Eve's beautiful face as she flashed a weak smile.
"What will be the next test, Inquisitor?" she asked politely.
In the end, Eve had exceeded their expectations through every test she was given.
Against his will, Jace had to smile as he reminisced on the day's shocking events. The massive group of Nephilim was walking the length of the Institute's corridor, but Eve strode elegantly at his side – like a guardian angel, it seemed.
Albeit, Jace noted absently, the kind that could rip apart an army with her bare hands.
Eve had blown everyone out of the water with her archery skills that morning – and her abilities with all other long-range attacks had been just as impressive; chakrams and throwing knives had been like child's play to her. And contrary to what they had all thought, changing to mid-range battle techniques had had no effect on her abilities either. Isabelle had been obviously outclassed when Eve had faced her with the whip, that afternoon. Their newest addition to the Institute had brought Isabelle down in less than a minute – but thankfully, Isabelle had been impressed to see Eve defeat her. Unlike Alec, who had spent all afternoon sulking, with his arms crossed broodingly over his chest.
Now they were moving on to what, Jace assumed, was Eve's last test of the day – short range battle – and his crooked smirk widened at the thought.
So far, the Inquisitor had chosen the best of the best to face off Eve in these tests.
And Jace also knew that the most qualified short-distance fighter they had in the group was himself.
Some part of him was anticipating fighting her – and why, he had no idea. Maybe it was simply because she was like him. Because she had Angel's blood in her veins.
Of course, Clary had the Angel's blood too, but it was different. Her life had not been the same as his. She had not been trained like he had – and especially not by Valentine. And while Jace counted it a good thing, for her to have avoided Valentine's influence, he knew it also meant that she could not relate to him on some necessary parts of his life. Eve, however, knew things that Clary could never know. She understood what it was like to learn from Valentine, to be constantly pushed past your own physical and mental limits, to be bound to him in that inexplicable, obscure way, to love him and fear him at the same time. All the formalities, the regulations, the high standards, the moral and political values that Valentine imposed, Eve knew them all. She recognized why Jace felt the things he felt and did the things he did. She didn't always require him to explain himself.
She grasped the things that Clary could never truly understand – the things that Clary could only sympathize with.
And Jace had to admit it was an unspeakable relief, to meet someone who could relate to him – not just offer him pity.
Argyle Silverspear, who was leading the procession, suddenly stopped. They all followed suit, only to see that he had directed them to the door to the Institute's training-room. And for whatever reason, the Inquisitor was looking mildly strained as he opened the door and gestured them all inside.
"The last test of the day will be short range battle," Argyle said, confirming Jace's thoughts as they entered the room.
Jace breathed in the familiar smell of wood and leather and steel as he walked in – and it encouraged him. This place was as much 'home' to him as his own bedroom was. It was a comfort to be there; especially with Eve safely beside him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Eve's expression brighten when she saw the massive room – the arched ceiling, the lines of pristine equipment. It was like the rest of the Institute had been scrawled with some foreign language, and the training room was in perfectly comprehendible English to her. She glanced up at him as she saw two swords that were waiting on the mats, knowing it was for them. A gentle smile curled her pretty lips.
"Eve," Silverspear said stiffly. "Step forward."
She did so, rather tentatively. It was the first time that the Inquisitor had not spoken to her with total and complete caring. The few step's space between him and Eve seemed like a chasm between two worlds.
A long moment passed, leaving Jace to wonder why Argyle wasn't calling him up too. After all, it was obvious that he was going to face her – why was the Inquisitor dragging it out?
To his shock, the Inquisitor nodded to one of the by-standing Shadowhunters, not Jace – and a young, dark-haired man stepped to Eve's side. Jace saw her glance back at him with her big, gold-flecked blue eyes, looking confused. Alec and Isabelle moved to either side of Jace – Isabelle almost apologetically, and Alec proudly, as if he was happy to see them apart.
"Now the rules are as follows –"
"Inquisitor," Jace interrupted, gaining a dirty look from his parabatai - and everyone else in general.
Silverspear turned warily.
He was not a stupid man, Jace knew; no fool would be allowed the position of Inquisitor. If Jace had to guess, Argyle knew exactly what he was about to say and was dreading it.
"Why did you choose this Nephilim to face Eve?" demanded Jace. "Of all the people here, I am closest to being her equal. I ought to be the one to battle her."
The Inquisitor's eyes narrowed in his direction. It seemed that the mood in the room darkened a fraction.
"The test will be postponed for a moment," Argyle declared to the group. "Eve, I suggest that you take a short rest… I need to have a quick word with Mr. Herondale in the hall."
Both the Lightwoods looked mildly alarmed, but Jace stopped any potential protests as he turned and wordlessly walked out the training-room door. He felt Eve's eyes following him like a tangible weight – like the constant brush of a feather. Then suddenly, Argyle's footsteps were following his, and Jace was forced to draw his attention away from Eve.
The doors closed behind Jace with a heavy thud. Argyle must have shut them.
"Jace," the Inquisitor began in a low tone. "I apologize for not allowing you to do battle with her. But you must have some idea why I decided to keep you two apart in this regard."
Jace could not think of anything in particular.
"I don't understand," he admitted in an equally quiet voice. "Eve trained with Jonathan Morgenstern – probably had to battle him on many occasions. You know that the man you picked to fight her today will be no challenge – I am closer to her and Jonathan's skill level; it only makes sense that I am the one to –"
"Oh?" Argyle cut in, smoothly. "And how do you know you are on par with Jonathan Morgenstern, Jace?"
"Because I –"
He stopped, and Argyle's reasoning began to set in.
Because I killed him, Jace had been meaning to say. And it was absolutely true. He had killed Jonathan. He had killed Eve's fiancée.
The realization must have shown on his face.
"Do you understand now?" the Inquisitor gently asked. "It is for her good that you do not battle each other. Especially not in swordsmanship. It may bring about… less than pleasant memories for her."
"Do you think she… wants revenge for that? For me killing him?" he wondered. "Is that why you don't want us to do this?"
"Oh, no," Argyle answered immediately. There was a wealth of certainty in his voice that was reassuring to hear. "I went through her memories, Jace. And there is always a certain portion of memories that is connected to emotion and sentiment. I could sense her motives, her feelings… She holds no resentment against you."
"Then why –?" With a shake of his head, Jace glared at the closed training-room door. "Why will you not let us –"
"Like I said before," the Inquisitor repeated. "I went through Eve's memories – at least, as much as she was willing to let me see. I know better than anyone else what sort of torture she has been put through. I will not let her go through any more."
There was a moment where Jace thought about Silverspear's words. He supposed he could have rattled off a few more convincing responses to that, a few more arguments to use so that he could fight her, but none of them were worth hurting Eve for, in the end.
Slowly, Jace nodded, stepped past the Inquisitor, and opened the doors to the training-room, feeling defeated.
Immediately, a grey flash took up Jace's vision and he shot out his hand instinctively, catching the object that had been hurled at him. It was long, cold, surprisingly heavy, and it molded to the grip of his hand in an all too familiar way.
The group of Shadowhunters gaped at him – and the object he was holding.
It was a sword.
Jace looked up to see Eve at the edge of the black mats in the center of the room, her expression insistent. The man who was supposed to be her opponent was weaponless and looked slightly puzzled. In Eve's hand was the matching blade to Jace's.
"Eve." It was the Inquisitor's voice, coming from behind Jace. "What is the meaning of this?"
She stared at Argyle – almost right through him.
"You may have gone through some of my memories," she stated. "And you may have known my biological parents, Inquisitor Silverspear, but do not presume to know who I am or what my wishes are… If you try to fit me and my personality into a mold because it suits you, you are no better than Valentine and Jonathan were."
A pause followed, where the whole room was tensely silent.
Jace heard Silverspear chuckle.
"So you heard us, after all, Eve?" he pondered. Then added, "I supposed you might have. Your hearing is so painstakingly acute."
"I want to fight him," Eve told him. "I want to fight Jace. He is the only one strong enough; I may harm someone else if I face them – after all, this is not like target practice or the whip. This involves my own physical strength in the blows, not just precision. Jace is the only one I can do battle with. The only one with the power to face me."
Another chuckle.
"You are stubborn." With a little sigh, the Inquisitor stepped forward to stand at Jace's side. Finally Jace could see Silverspear's facial expressions – the Clave official appeared vaguely amused. "Very well, Eve… As long as you feel you are ready for it."
"I'm ready," she vowed.
Jace neared the mat confidently, and the other man stepped aside. Eve took her place opposite Jace with a meek smile, and he noted that part of that smile was slightly conspiratorial – as if she had only opposed the Inquisitor to get Jace's way.
"On your mark, Inquisitor," Jace said with a grin, getting into position. Eve didn't bother readying herself. She looked disturbingly relaxed and level-headed as she gazed at Jace.
Leisurely, Silverspear strode to where Alec and Isabelle were standing; and his green eyes were flashing with sincere intrigue.
"Go," he commanded.
Jace gladly went.
With a screech of clashing metal, Jace dashed forward with a swipe of his blade and landed the first hit, but Eve countered him with a surprising force, driving him backward. His steps echoed as he backed a few paces, but Eve was not thrown off at all. She flashed a cruel smile and twirled her sword skillfully in her hand.
"You will have to think this through a little better than that," she told him. "Petty blows will not be enough to defeat me."
Momentarily, Jace simply stared at her. Nothing in her features had changed, but that smile she wore, that façade of arrogance and control, had changed her. For a tiny flicker of time, he was almost sure that Valentine was standing in front of him, not Eve. He wondered if she knew what that look was doing to him.
In a lightning strike of speed, Eve blazed forward, swiping her sword – and Jace had to fight to just keep up and defend himself. Her fierceness and her violent, rapid strikes were not what he had anticipated, not even close. Her movements were almost invisibly quick. A moment later there was a hot streak of pain that flared across his cheek – and Jace knew she had gotten under his guard. He was certain he heard someone call out his name in panic, but he could not make out the voice. That voice had distracted him though, and Eve knew it. Her next blow took advantage at his sudden waver of attention and Jace knew he could not block it with the way his sword was then. He manipulated his weapon just in time to hear the metal of their blades connect with a clatter, and he knew he had been successful in shielding himself.
Jace was on his knees, holding his sword with lengthwise rather than vertically, defending his position. And Eve was standing above him, forcing her sword against his with all her strength.
There was a shriek of grinding iron as their blades faced off. Something warm and thick trickled down Jace's cheek to the corner of his lips – and he thought it was sweat, until he tasted it on his tongue.
It was blood.
Eve suddenly gave in to his defence and drew back her sword, but only to bring it forward with a powerful, swift stroke at Jace's head. He ducked the hit and kicked out at her legs, making Eve loose her footing. She fell on her back to the mat beside him, her sword skittering just out of her grasp; she was off-guard for a split second. That instant gave Jace an opening: he swung a back-handed swipe her way – but it did not give him the advantage as he had hoped. Eve used his force to her purposes – and instead of blocking Jace's blow, she gripped him by the wrist and pulled him through the motion.
Before he knew it, he was face-down on the mat, with Eve sitting on him, pinning his one arm to his back and the other to the floor with her knees. Jace wondered where she got her fighting spirit from. A cold pinpoint of pain bloomed at the back of his neck – and Jace assumed that Eve had recollected her lost sword and was poising it, blade-down, at the nape of his vulnerable neck.
It was a death stroke.
If she had wanted to, she could have driven that blade home. No one there was fast enough to stop her, after all.
But she hadn't.
She hadn't.
Jace let his breath out in exhilaration – in relief.
Eve had won the challenge. Really defeated him.
A heavy mist of silence descended over the room as Jace took in the realization. He was suddenly very aware of Eve, of the way she was catching her breath as she finally rolled off him and got to her feet near him. "Jace," she breathed. Worry tinged her tone with a measure of panic. "Jace, are you alright?"
The cut on his cheek began to sting.
"I'm alright," he assured her. Dragging the back of his fist over his cheek, Jace slowly rose to his knees. His shoulder ached from when his arm had been pinned behind him, and his fist came back to him sticky with drying blood. "You look unscathed, though," he added as he stood.
The first thing he saw was Eve's gentle, beautiful smile. Although that smile seemed a bit rueful.
"Not quite unscathed," she told him, turning to her side. A long, thin slice ran the width of her shoulder and was oozing a trace amount of blood. Jace could not remember actually landing a strike on her – and he could not say that he was particularly happy to see that he had.
"Jace!"
It was Alec's voice, full of concern. He aimed a deadly glower at Eve as he rushed over and inspected Jace's cheek – viewing the extent of the damage. To Jace's surprise, Eve cringed sadly at Alec's glare – and it seemed odd that someone who had almost limitless abilities could actually feel offended by something as trivial as a glare. But it was part of her charm, Jace supposed: No matter how strong Eve may or may not have been, she still was empathetic, still conscious of other people.
It was a wonder that Valentine could ever have raised someone like her; she was his complete opposite.
Argyle looked on at the scene, as if he may intervene for Eve's benefit. But Isabelle, unlike her brother, flounced to Eve's side with a marvelling smile – and the Inquisitor remained where he was.
"That was amazing!" she exclaimed gleefully at Eve. "I've never seen anyone fight like that before! How did you do that?"
Eve flushed. "I… I don't know," she replied sheepishly, glancing at her feet. "I… just did it instinctively, I think."
"Isabelle, don't congratulate her!" Alec scolded. "Look what she did to Jace!"
"Yes, just look at me," Jace offered dramatically, pointing a sarcastic finger to his cheek. "She wounded my pretty face. I may never be the same again."
There was a beautiful, light sound that came out of Eve's mouth then, and Jace realized that it was because she was giggling.
"The only thing that's wounded here is your ego, Jace," Isabelle snapped at him. "And I, for one, was very amused to see someone get the better of you in a battle… Maybe it will teach you some manners."
He sniffed, as if offended by the thought. "Manners?" he echoed. "I am a textbook example of 'manners.'"
Eve smirked, and opened her mouth as if to say something – but she was interrupted.
A slow, steady clapping came from the doorway of the training room.
Everyone stopped and turned to the sound, expecting that it was Argyle making the gesture – but it was not Argyle. The source of the noise was a much shorter, much heavier, much older man with thinning mousy hair and weaselling grey eyes. He was a man decked out in flowing, black robes – a man who was encircled by group of heavily-armed Nephilim.
A man that was starkly unwelcome there, as far as Jace was concerned.
"Bravo, Eve!" the man called across the room. His voice was just as repulsive and nasally as Jace remembered. "A fantastic display! A fine show of swordsmanship!"
Eve visibly cringed, and then offered him a short, lady-like curtsy. Jace saw the man scan her bare legs again, eagerly – and Jace fought the urge to drag the sword in his hand into the man's chest. "Thank you for your flattery, Consul," Eve said through her teeth. "I am glad to see that you are so pleased with my success."
He scuttled over hastily, as if her answer had been some sort of invitation for him. "Oh no, no, no," he insisted, catching her hand. "There is no need for formalities between us, sweet girl… Please, Eve, call me Felix."
Isabelle – even Alec, who didn't seem to like Eve at all – glared at the Consul's pushy gesture.
Eve snatched her hand away from his chubby fingers.
"Felix, then," she muttered grudgingly.
"Consul," a new voice uttered coolly. Argyle slid immediately towards Eve, as gracefully and as soundlessly as a shadow. His looming height made Felix look like a swamp toad as he stared him down. "I had no idea you were coming here to oversee the day's events," he said stonily. "If I had known you were going to arrive, I would have made sure you were able to witness all of Eve's tests…"
"Oh, do not worry yourself Argyle," the Consul replied with a wheezy, discordant laugh. "I came out of curiosity, nothing more."
"Well it seems a pity that you came all this way for nothing, Consul," Jace observed amusedly, gaining a martyred look from Eve. "Perhaps we could have you over for dinner; Isabelle is a fantastic cook."
Alec snorted at the comment.
Isabelle jabbed her elbow savagely into her brother's ribs.
"No, thank you," the Consul declined. "I am not hungry – well not for food, at least." He glanced longingly at Eve. "I only desire to have the privilege of your company, Miss Riversend; I have become very interested in you, you see, Eve… Your life is one of great intrigue. I hope that you will tell me more about it…"
Argyle looked like he wanted to smack him.
"Perhaps at a later date," he replied. Shrewdly, Silverspear scooped Eve to his black-robed side, protecting her from the Consul's greedy stare. Felix looked disappointed. "As you can see, Eve seems very exhausted from her tests and desperately needs to rest."
"Yes. Of course. Rest." The Consul deflated with every word, like an airless balloon. "Forgive me for my rudeness, Eve… Eve?" he abruptly demanded. " Eve! Eve, are you listening to me?"
Jace glanced at her. Eve's gold-specked eyes were not focused on the Consul, at all. In fact, she wasn't even gazing in his general direction. Her attention was glued to the training room's farthest wall, where a row of windows let in the natural light. It was a nice view, Jace thought, but not enough to draw one's gaze so strongly – until he noticed that one of those windows was open, the fabric drapes tossing in the late afternoon breeze. It hadn't been that way when they had arrived in the room, he was sure – and Jace was almost certain that no one had opened it when they were not looking.
Argyle's precise gaze was focused on the same window, as well.
"Eve!" the Consul repeated. "I said, are you listening to me?"
Her head suddenly turned his way, her blue eyes snapping back into focus. "Yes. I – I am, I … I am sorry, Consul… I am fatigued –"
"Yes. Fatigued. Quite right… I understand." Felix murmured the words fawningly, suddenly overflowing with kindness for Eve. "You must not apologize to me… I myself am also a busy man. I know the strains of life. And unfortunately, it is because of my duties I cannot stay very long, now… I came only to obtain the results of your examination for myself. It is delicate information, as I am sure you guessed, and needs to be kept in the safest hands... Oh," Felix gestured to one of his guards, who stepped forward with something in his arms. "And I came to give you this."
Eve's face lightened a fraction. The object in the Shadowhunter's hands was something Jace was sure that Eve was glad to see - her satchel.
She stepped forward and retrieved it, just as the Consul turned to the training-room door.
The Shadowhunters handed the Consul a neat stack of papers, and Felix almost exited the room once he got the documents, with his body-guards in tow – but then he stopped.
"Oh, and do not worry," the Consul crooned at her. "I will not make you wait long. Surely we meet again shortly, my beautiful Eve."
She shuddered, and muttered "I am not your Eve," just as a sharp noise sounded from the open window.
A noise that resembled a raven's irritable caw.
Jace glanced at the window, just in time to see a pair of birds soaring ominously toward the towering buildings – one bird ink-black, and the other a fair silver color. It was impossible to tell from the distance, but Jace was almost certain that the silver bird was the same one from the night before - the one that had attacked Eve...
Outside, the sun was beginning to set.
Tell me how you liked it!
Admittedly, this chapter is not much of a force in driving the plot - but it is essential to setting up the pretense for next chapter, which I am absolutely dying to write. (In case you haven't guessed, it involves Jonathan :) ...)
P.S: Don't you hate the Consul? Sometimes I feel as if this story writes itself, and as much as I do or don't want to include things in a chapter, they just seem to pop up...
Anyway, see you next time! (And hopefully it won't be such a long wait in between.)
Love, Fishie.