Hello Readers!
It has been a while since I have updated last, but I am extremely excited to be posting this chapter right now! Hopefully, it will answer some of the questions that you have been wondering about, (and maybe it will leave you with more questions than answers, but that's alright too... :)...) And this chapter has my favorite psychotic character in it, so why would I not be happy about it? Heheh...
Enjoy this chapter of Eden... :)
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Mortal Instruments!
Argyle Silverspear stepped down from the carriage with a slow sigh, taking in the black, star-speckled night sky above him.
His day had been a long one.
Eve's training had taken most of the daylight hours, and the results had been tiring to see, even though he had fully expected the outcome. No matter what range of attack, no matter what weapon she was wielding, Eve was a master fighter… And it had been exhausting to watch Eve surpass everyone in the Institute, knowing that it had been because of Valentine Morgenstern, because of that terrible name, that she knew any of those skills. And then to see that silver bird again, after her fight with Jace…
The whole business seemed a bit ominous.
But his evening had been far from over after Eve's training exercises had finished. At Jace's request, Argyle had paid an odious, dangerous visit to Jocelyn Graymark and her new husband, Lucian, hoping to convince her to allow Clarissa to continue her studies at the Institute, even while Eve stayed there… It had taken hours of deliberation and a rather heated argument, but in the end, he and Lucian had convinced Jocelyn that Eve was no threat to her daughter – and Jocelyn had allowed Clary to continue her training at the Institute, starting tomorrow, with a few conditions: One, Clary and Eve were never to meet with each other. Two, Eve was never to know in any way that Clary was coming to the Institute or to see her face. And three, Jace was to have Clary in his sight – at all times.
It seemed a bit overkill to Argyle – but he could sympathize with Jocelyn's protective defense of her daughter… So much had happened to Clary because of Valentine. Now that they had achieved some sort of normalcy in their lives again, he understood why Jocelyn would want to shield their new, happy life – even from someone as harmless as Eve.
Well, Argyle thought in retrospect… Maybe 'harmless' was the wrong term for Eve…
Emile's daughter had literally been trained to become a killing machine – a one-woman army, he mentally corrected, shivering into his long coat.
After that discussion with the Graymarks, Argyle had returned home to Alicante – but he had stopped by Emile's mausoleum on the way back to the city… Although he knew Emile was long gone, hopefully in some better place, Argyle had still wanted to tell him the news, to tell him how beautiful, how kind, how strong his daughter was… He felt like he at least owed Emile that… But having to say it was bittersweet: Argyle had sworn to Emile and his deathbed that he would find Eve – that he would keep her safe… but Argyle had not actually found her, after all this time… Not until Eve had walked into the Silent City a couple days ago, making herself known to him… By this time, Eve was now almost an adult. She had already tasted the pain that Emile had hoped Argyle could save her from. But, thankfully, the Inquisitor had not been able to stay at his friend's tomb for very long – and he had not been given much time to wallow in regret.
Images flashed through his mind as Argyle walked through the street now, heading to the steps of the Accords Hall – the images of memory he saw were not his own, though… He watched through the vision of Eve's own eyes the lights of the Accords Hall, the sound of the music and the excitement of some activity that was in her past – but then Argyle blinked purposefully, and the mental image faded into what was really in front of him now… There was less light somehow, as Argyle now saw the Accord's Hall, and there were far less people milling outside, tonight.
A few of the remaining passers-by stared at him as he walked away from the carriage, in an expression of respect.
Seeing other's memories was a strange thing that way, Argyle knew: the other's thoughts blended in with your own recollections… It took strict mental control and a firm understanding of one's own self to separate the two…
With a shudder, Argyle pulled his coat closer to his shoulders.
The marble of the Accords Hall was meticulously polished, gleaming like pearl in the Witch-light lamps that glowed across the street. One of the strangers opened the door for Argyle, with a polite nod of his blonde head, as the Inquisitor neared the doorway. "Good evening, Inquisitor," the man greeted.
Argyle nodded to him shortly as he passed.
"Good evening," he replied.
There was a party going on in the Accords Hall that night, as there usually was – The ballroom was brimming with teams of guests in a rainbow of formal attire: couples dancing to the lively music, chatting with each other against the mirrored walls… But the mass of party-goers immediately separated with bows and elegant curtsies and murmurs of 'Hello, Inquisitor!' and 'How are you, Inquisitor?' as Argyle marched by, keeping his head down.
He smiled amiably at them, but tried to not look at any specific person too closely.
More than once, he had caught a glimpse of a young woman with black, waving hair, flawlessly bronze skin, brown eyes, and beautiful features – and he would find himself mistaking whatever girl in front of him for that unchangeable figure in his memory, the picture of the woman that had been stamped into his mind like a wax seal – and he had accidentally let his eyes linger longer than they ought to have. The problem was that whatever girl he had stared at would assume he was romantically interested in her – and later that girl would try to talk to him, or would even try to get too familiar with him, hoping to gain the power his position offered, and it would tear Argyle's heart to pieces when he sent her away.
No one compared, after all.
No woman was like the one he had fallen in love with, so many years ago. There was no substitute for her.
And trying to find another lover was like digging open an old injury – it served no purpose other than to leave him with a bigger scar.
Quickly, Argyle had crossed through the party and the people and was heading to the back of the Accords Hall, to the corridors where no other person was allowed. The back half of the Accords hall was especially reserved for dignitaries of the Clave and diplomatic functions – it was where formal meetings were held, and also where the Consul and Inquisitor's living accommodations were.
Of course, Argyle and Felix both had manor-houses elsewhere – both of their families were extremely wealthy – but those residences were far out in the country, making it too difficult to commute to Alicante daily.
And besides, Argyle thought to himself. Even if he did hate the lodgings here, there was no reason to really leave…
There was no one in his Manor to go home to, after all.
Fortunately, however, Argyle did happen to like living in the Accords Hall. It was a private location, to some extent, and suited his secluded lifestyle well – and even apart from those benefits, he had to admit the Hall itself was aesthetically beautiful, full of beauty and elegance. The marble corridors here were like a fortress, patterned with series of runes and icons of Shadowhunter lore; Jonathan Shadowhunter conversing with the Angel Raziel, the Angel holding the Mortal Instruments, and the group of men present there, receiving the cup the Angel had given them. Argyle saw his own ancestor there in that pictured group – Cato Silverspear, the first of his family line. As the legend went, Cato had been given his namesake after being the first to find an effective way to kill off werewolves:
Silver spear.
He smiled as he strode past the engraving.
A little ironic, in Argyle's mind, that many generations later, the seed of that original patriarch would be Inquisitor, facilitating the protection and cooperation of Nephilim and Downworlders.
Argyle wondered if Cato would be disappointed by his behaviour.
Chuckling lightly, Argyle drew his eyes away from the walls and turned down one of the long, silent corridors. This was the last bend he was going to have to take before he was in his familiar rooms, in his office – but when the Inquisitor strode into the new hallway, he was not comforted by the thought of home.
Argyle stopped at the mouth of the corridor, his long, black robes swirling around him.
There was a group of five or so Nephilim, in full battle-wear, lingering around the doors where his and Felix's personal chambers were. Felix himself was in the center of that shifting group, hissing and jabbing his beefy finger accusingly at the other Shadowhunters. And even though that little man was shorter than most, Argyle knew he made up for his lost height with the rage of his volatile temper. The Shadowhunters looked almost afraid of their superior as he faced them.
"Idiots!" Argyle heard Felix snap. The man was gesturing wildly. "How could you have not seen anything!? There is no person who could have done this without leaving some trace! Go catch the culprit! And make sure none of the partygoers find out about this – it would ruin my reputation!"
"Felix," the Inquisitor cut in from the distance. Argyle immediately strode to the group – and he saw the other Nephilim relax at his presence. "What is the problem here?"
An army of polite greetings came from the armed Shadowhunters, but Felix was the one who spun around furiously to give Argyle the story. The Consul's face was greased with perspiration, and an ugly vein was throbbing at his temple. "Some insolent laggard broke into my office and destroyed it!" he roared, his fat cheeks red with rage. "The furniture is all ruined – and there are papers everywhere! It will take more than a day's worth of work to reorganize it all! –"
"But that is not possible, Felix," Argyle countered soothingly. "All of the doors in the Accords Hall have specialized rune-codes… The perpetrator would have to slip past the guards, know the exact rune-combination to get into your room, and leave without a single person catching them…"
"Well apparently someone knew!" Felix growled, running his fingers through his thinning, grey-streaked hair. He waved his chubby hand at the doorway. "How else could you explain this!?"
Reigning in his annoyance, Argyle strode into Felix's office – and stared, with a sudden measure of fear.
It looked like a demon had gone on a rampage inside the room.
This mystery culprit had emptied every filing cabinet, and had apparently hurled the documents and files all around the room like confetti. Argyle was shocked to see the ground was absolutely littered with misplaced, ruined papers or toothed rubble. The Consul's office chair was thrown to the side savagely and was damaged beyond repair, and everything on Felix's grand office-desk had been wrathfully swiped off: The marble busts that had been on the desk were now scattered bits of demolished stone, there was a dusting of glass on the floor too, probably from the delicate decanter set that had once been in the corner – and all the writing utensils that had been there were snapped and broken on the paper-strewn floor, spilling ink. The entirety of the room, actually, seemed broken, he saw sadly. All the vases had been smashed into tiny pieces, all the priceless, age-old paintings and tapestries on the walls had been violently snapped in two or sheared with what looked like animal claws, the fabric curtains were slashed into tatters, and even the elegant wooden panelling on the walls had been scored with deep, chaotic, talon-like gashes. Rage, fury, loathing, hatred - they were apparent in every section of this disaster. Raw power was there too – it must have taken intense, passionate hostility to ruin the office, to that level. And from the looks of it, the culprit had savoured every moment of destruction.
Nothing in the room had survived.
As Argyle moved a step farther into the room, he saw that even the low-lying chaise in the room had been slashed apart, as if by a knife or sharp nails, spilling out white stuffing from the rips like a cascade of pale blood. It wasn't until the Inquisitor had taken a few more strides closer that he saw that the jagged slashes in the couch formed a series of uneven letters:
M-I-N-E.
The word 'mine'.
Some part of Argyle could almost feel the deadly rage and strength that had gone into the carving of that word.
It seemed to haunt the demolished office like a ghost.
"See?!" Felix's whiny voice cut in. "It is absolutely ruined! The insolent brute will pay for this, whoever they are! By the Angel, they WILL pay! And what does that mean, anyway? That word, 'mine'? To what could they be referring?! If they want the position of Consul –"
"Felix," Argyle snapped resonantly, his slender hands balling to fists. "Stop babbling and let me think."
The Consul stopped – more out of surprise, Argyle suspected, than out of respect.
Closing his green eyes, Argyle thought back to the events of today, trying to place the word 'mine' somehow with Felix. But that word was so broad – it could mean so many different things… And then his mind suddenly seemed to flick through and pick out the exact moment, like a picture from an album.
"Oh, and do not worry," the Consul had said to Eve, earlier in the Institute. "I will make sure that we meet again shortly, my beautiful Eve."
My Eve.
It was a possessive statement.
So this word that had been carved into the couch, it must have been a message of caution to the Consul, Argyle quickly realized. A warning to stay away from Eve.
But why?
And more importantly, who?
No one even knew about Eve enough to do something like this, he noted… Or so he had thought…
Abruptly, it seemed, the Inquisitor spotted something lying next to the words on the mangled couch: it was a light, silver-colored feather, as pearly as the moon.
The same color of the bird that had attacked Eve yesterday.
The same bird that he had thought he had seen at the New York Institute, this afternoon.
A few possible explanations came to Argyle, but they were too horrible to think about, making his heart race worriedly in his chest. He discarded the ideas, partially because he could not see this bird in Eve's memories, so it did not seem to have any connection to Valentine – and partially because there was no way to actually prove that that bird had ever had anything to do with the Morgensterns, at all –
Although, Argyle realized, Eve had kept some things from him when he had interrogated her… It was possible that the bird was one of those memories she had hidden…
Shoving away all those thoughts, the Inquisitor tried to calm himself and think about the main problem at hand, in spite of all those variables. His chest was hitching though, and his hands were clenched anxiously.
There was someone who knew about Eve, he observed sensibly. Someone dangerous, obviously. But even more frighteningly, this person knew the rune-codes for the Hall of the Accords – the diplomatic center of the Clave and Council.
And they had been able to get in and out of here – on the night of a party, no less – without even being spotted.
"Guards," Argyle commanded, straightening up to his full height. "Forget about the mess, for the moment… Change every rune-combination on every door in the Accord's Hall and report to me directly afterward. Start at the farthest end of the building and try not to cause suspicion with the guests that are here tonight. Trust no one else with the information."
The Shadowhunters were all suddenly alert, forgetting Felix entirely. "Yes, Inquisitor," they answered.
"But – but my office –" Felix complained.
"Enough!" Argyle growled, signalling his hand authoritatively at him. "It will come in time, Consul. Right now there are more pressing matters to address than your personal comfort… And my brothers," the Inquisitor added a bit more kindly, turning to the group of armed Nephilim in the doorway. "Be very careful… The culprit may still be in the building – and with this level of power and rage at their disposal, you must be always on your defense… May the Angel protect you all."
"And you as well, Inquisitor," the group gratefully replied before dispersing into the corridor.
With an inelegant snort, Felix spun in his heels and stormed out of the room behind them, like an unhappy toddler. He was snivelling under his breath about not getting his room cleaned and how no one ever listened to his commands and other such nonsense, but Argyle was not too inclined to care about Felix's selfish desires.
Everyone cleared out of the office, but Argyle remained.
He considered stepping out of the doorway as well; a large part of him wanted to, but he knew it was ultimately impossible. The chaos around him was both captivating and terrible. He wanted to stay here to look for more clues, to try and figure out who did this mutilation and why –
But then he saw a reflection in the massive window, and it distracted his thoughts.
It was a quick blur of movement that Argyle saw. A streak of silver shooting behind him, nothing more – and he tried to tell himself he was seeing things, imagining things that were not there…
Then he heard a familiar, taunting caw, the distant flapping of feathered wings, and he knew that he was not hallucinating.
He picked his way through the rubble of the office, and then cautiously stepped into the corridor. The hallway was vacant except for a quick darting shadow that glided into a half-open door at the end of the walkway – and Argyle immediately realized two things: One, he understood that he had guessed correctly; that reflection he had seen in the office window was that silver bird - the same bird he had seen before, at the Institute. And secondly, he realized that the bird had just swooped into his own, personal office, as if luring him there.
At first, Argyle strode slowly to follow the bird – and then, he felt a cold shiver trickle down his spine, like ice water.
The part of him that had been trained to be a Silent Brother sensed something: something very, inexplicably wrong here.
It wrenched his stomach like nausea.
Propelled by a force of urgency that he did not understand, Argyle started to pick up his pace, until he was sprinting down the corridor, his black Inquisitor robes streaming behind his tall, narrow frame. Echoes of his steps resounded against the marble walls like a heartbeat, thrumming in the building as he finally made it to his destination and hastily swung through the office's wooden, double-doors.
His office looked much like the Consul's, with a thick wooden desk in the center of the room, wooden panelling on the walls, and a massive picture window against the far end – but unlike Felix's office, Argyle's had not been destroyed. Everything was in its right place, in perfect order – but then he saw something there that made his heart skip a painful beat in his chest.
The curtains framing the window were blowing in a light breeze – a breeze that came from the not-supposed-to-be-open casement.
There was a dark, hooded figure sitting on the ledge of Argyle's gaping window, looking like they had been lounging there for quite a while. To Argyle's dread, the stranger did not even flinch as the Inquisitor inelegantly entered the room. They just continued to sit there, one knee tucked close to their chest, the other leg hanging dangerously out the window to the three story drop below, forming a striking, black silhouette in the moonlight.
On their shoulder was perched that silver bird from before – the one that had caused all that trouble with Eve – confirming Argyle's thoughts. The figure's pale, slender fingers were stroking the animal absently, like a pet – but it was a strange, disturbing caress.
The touch was gentle, but completely devoid of affection – to the point that that the gentle gesture seemed almost hostile.
So this was the person who had ruin Felix's office, Argyle instantly understood, with a twinge of fury and panic. This was the person who had been watching them in the Institute.
Although a black hood covered their face, Argyle could sense from the proud set of the unknown figure's shoulders that they were smiling, with cruel, malicious intent.
Reflexively, the Inquisitor reached into his own flowing sleeve and pulled out a dagger from the hidden sheath on his forearm, pointing it at the mysterious person. But again there was no reaction from this stranger – the person did not even turn their head to see their attacker – and that lack of alarm was disconcerting to see.
"Who are you?" the Inquisitor demanded, trying to sound imposing. Argyle forced his arm to not waver as he held out his weapon, but whether he trembled or not did not seem to have an effect on the other person in the room.
To his horror, the individual just laughed.
The stranger had a young man's voice, Argyle noted; it had a deep tone, but it was as cold and musical as the chime of icicles – even though it held a sort of captivating air.
"So you are the Inquisitor," the person murmured, not answering the question he had been asked. "I was expecting more of a challenge from a man so esteemed by the Nephilim."
Argyle ignored the insult.
"You have been watching Eve," the Inquisitor rumbled furiously, his fingers tightening on his dagger. "How do you know who she is? What do you want her for?"
Another chuckle came from the stranger.
"You act like you have some sort of claim on her, Silverspear…" he growled, keeping a dark, sharp edge to his words. "You think you know her because you were parabatai with her father… But you don't own Eve – and you never will… She doesn't need you. Or your filthy Clave… All she needs is me."
The silver bird hopped down from the stranger's shoulder to their wrist, but he did not seem to notice.
"Say what you like," Argyle snapped at him, his green eyes sparking. "But your words will change nothing. Eve is a valid member of the Clave now and she is under its protection; she will not leave for anything or anyone…"
The other, younger man tensed, like a match just struck into a flame.
"As if you are one to talk!" the stranger snarled hotly, suddenly enraged. "You don't have the best track record for keeping women in line, do you?"
Without a word, the other man reached into his cloak and hurled something bright and shimmering across the room at the Inquisitor. When the object finally skittered to the toes of Argyle's leather boots, he saw it was a simple but lovely diamond necklace, glittering like sugar crystals in the dim light.
The intruder's words and the necklace did not add up in Argyle's head.
He stared at the piece of jewelry for a moment longer, without understanding, and then he returned his gaze to the person in his window, wearing a frosty glare.
"Eve will not leave the Institute," the Inquisitor repeated with concrete certainty, in spite of his apprehension. "It is her home now. She would never want to go."
"I could care less what she wants," the stranger hissed, flicking the silvery bird off his wrist cruelly. The animal flapped its wings at him irritably, and then soared out the window with a protesting squawk. "And it doesn't matter what you think Eve needs… She doesn't live for herself: she lives for me… You are just a stupid, idealistic fool, Inquisitor… Eve is not an Angel-girl anymore, no matter what kind of blood runs in her veins… And no matter how many little friends you try to give her at the Institute, it will not change what she truly is. And what she is is a weapon, like me… Eve is mine. All mine. Only mine. Everything about her belongs to me and to me alone – She is me… All she should ever want is ME, not some stupid home or some stupid place in your damned Clave… I am her home. I am where she belongs. So I will do with her what I like, and I'll kill anyone who gets in my way."
Effortlessly, the figure crouched low in the open window, his back to Argyle – and in a single, powerful spring, disappeared from sight.
Argyle hesitated for a millisecond – only a millisecond – until he moved into action.
Dagger still in hand, Argyle rushed to the window and glanced downward – but there was no sign of the intruder on the ground. The lawn was empty. Quickly, the Inquisitor shot his eyes upward, just in time to see the shadowy figure dashing across the roof at a run, moonlight beaming on his cloaked shoulders.
Some rational part of his mind told him it was a terribly rash idea to pursue the stranger, but Argyle was beyond reason, at that point. Protective rage was fueling him, keeping him going.
As smoothly and lightly as a cat, the Inquisitor clenched his dagger between his teeth, swung out of his window, and scaled up the stone wall until he was on the roof. It was sheer willpower alone that kept him from looking down – because he knew if he so much as glanced to the ground below, he would be paralyzed with fear. And fear would not serve him now.
Once his feet met the shingles of the roof, the Inquisitor took off at a sprint, following the figure in front of him with single-minded focus. But despite his efforts, it was obvious very quickly that there was no chance Argyle could catch up to the hooded man. There was almost a building's distance between them. And his speed was no match for the intruder in front of him, no matter how hard he struggled.
Swiftly, Argyle took the blade from his mouth and hurled it at the retreating shadow of the figure: it was a last resort, the only way of covering the distance his legs could not travel. The boy himself had stopped at the brink of the Accord's Hall roof, teetering on the edge, staring at the distance below – so Argyle had thought he may have had an opening…
But Argyle had been wrong.
In an insane burst of speed, the mystery person spun around, caught the knife blade-first before it could hit him, and launched it back to the Inquisitor in the span of a heartbeat. The boy's face was still concealed in darkness by his hood as Argyle tried to duck the sharp projectile – but he did not succeed.
He felt the hot burst of pain at his side, and knew he had not been quick enough to escape the hit.
His dagger clattered to the roof a few feet away, tinged red, and Argyle cried out. Clapping his hand to his ribs, he immediately felt blood seeping warmly through his long fingers, but he also instantly knew from his medical training that the wound was not deep or fatal – and that he had not severed any important blood vessels.
Relief beat through him like a pulse as he glanced up in the direction of his assailant.
Argyle sensed the young man smile.
"As much as I would love to finish you off here and now, Inquisitor," the figure sneered, pulling his hood farther over his head. His cowled face turned pointedly to the grassy lawn, five storeys below. "It seems we have an audience…"
"Inquisitor!" Argyle heard a few, distant voices cry from below.
Argyle made the mistake of gazing at the source of the calls, down to the ground, and he fought a wave of nausea and vertigo as he saw the guards from before looking up at him. Heights had always been his major weakness. No other sight really bothered him. Even being on the Institute roof that afternoon had been mentally draining…
He averted his eyes from the scene below him and instead focused on the person in front of him. But there was not much time to take in the details of that boy.
He turned to face Argyle, his black cloak billowing around him like smoke.
"Tell Eve I am coming for her," the stranger hissed dangerously. "And tell her that no matter where she hides, no matter where she goes, I will hunt her down and I will make her mine."
Argyle's stomach churned at his nausea, but then seconds after, that dark, cloaked figure stepped backward, casually. A moment later, he had plummeted off the side of the roof, vanishing from sight in an instant, as he dropped to the earth.
"Stop!" Argyle had wanted to say – but his throat constricted when he tried to speak, and his words did not make it past his lips. All he could do was sink to his knees, bonelessly, shivering in the cold night air, and put pressure on his throbbing wound.
His guilty conscience reminded him that this was the second time in his life that he had failed Eve.
The first time had been when he had never found her, even after Emile had begged him on his deathbed to locate her and make her safe from Valentine's clutches.
And now there was a new threat – and Argyle hadn't been able to prevent this one, either.
That volatile young man was threatening Eve's safety, and Argyle had been helpless to stop him.
The Inquisitor was not sure whether it was seconds or minutes that past, after that – time seemed to blur seamlessly until he heard footsteps approaching him from behind – but he thought it felt like only a short wait.
Moments later, it seemed, there were careful hands on his shoulders, drawing him up to his feet. The people around him were mumbling things like, 'By the Angel, he's bleeding!' and 'What in the world happened?' but Argyle was still too dizzy to really care – though he was beginning to wonder now whether that dizziness was from his fear of heights or from simple blood loss. He hadn't really noticed until then that the side of his flowing black robes was plastered to his body with blood.
But the wetness streaming through his hands had subsided to a sticky pain. His bleeding was slowly stopping.
"I'm fine," he assured them, shrugging the helping hands off. "The person – that boy – did you get him?"
The group looked perplexed. "What boy?" they asked.
"The one that was on the roof with me," Argyle repeated insistently. His teeth were clamped together in pain. "The one that jumped off the side of the building…"
Every Nephilim was blank-faced. "We – we saw someone on the roof with you, Inquisitor," one brave young man piped up, "but we checked the entire perimeter as soon as we realized you were injured. No one was there."
"That… That can't be possible," Argyle growled, gripping his ribs.
But secretly, he knew it was.
If that intruder could have broken into his and Felix's office without a single trace, if he could have casually jumped off a five-storey building, if he could have somehow gotten between New York and Idris without being caught by any officials, then it was certainly capable of vanishing into thin air.
Actually, vanishing into thin air seemed pretty reasonable, at this point.
He teetered unevenly of his feet – and a few men gripped him by the shoulders, stopping him from falling.
With a resigning sigh, the Inquisitor let the guards lead him down from the roof and take him back into the Accords Hall. They were muttering all the while about getting someone to look at his wound, and having someone secure the Hall while not causing alarm…
All of it seemed to blur into nothingness.
Argyle wasn't quite sure, but he was almost certain he could hear that silvery bird cawing softly through that confusion – like it was perched in a tree somewhere nearby, mocking him.
When Jace first heard the knock on his door, he was alone in his bedroom, lying on his bed and smiling to himself.
He didn't exactly know how the Inquisitor had done it, but somehow, Argyle Silverspear had convinced Jocelyn to let Clary continue training at the Institute – and Jace was starting to feel a strong liking for this new Clave official… Because of Argyle's efforts, first thing tomorrow morning, Jace would get to pick up Clary like always had, and he would bring her back to the Institute like he always had, and they would continue on life as they always had…
Of course, if he was going to be honest with himself, Jace knew it was only a matter of time before Jocelyn would have had to give in and let Clary continue her lessons…
Knowing how stubborn Clary was, Jace expected she would have tried something drastic if she had been forced to wait much longer: like trying to break out of her house – and then better yet, trying to break into the Institute…
And that would not have gone over well – for either of them.
Absently, Jace wondered how Eve had been taught to deal with strange intruders – he could almost imagine Eve's wide look of horror if she knew that Valentine's daughter had done such an improper, thoughtless thing…
But that idea did not make him feel humored or any better.
Thinking of Eve made Jace's stomach clench.
She was actually with Isabelle, at the moment – which he was having slightly mixed feelings about.
Obviously, it was good that Eve had befriended someone else in the Institute, he told himself. And although she may come off strongly, the Alec's sister was true and loyal to her friends… and for Eve have a companion like that was excellent news, considering all the hell she had been through…
And another good thing about Isabelle was that she rarely held a grudge. The Lightwood's daughter had shrugged of everything – the entirety of Eve's twisted past, everything about Jonathan Morgenstern – and had accepted Eve as warmly as a sister. Without hesitation, she had dragged Eve off to go play dress-up in her room, or whatever it was that Isabelle did in her spare time, after spending all evening interrogating Eve with questions about her past life and the Morgensterns. Questions that Eve either had vaguely replied to, or ones that Eve had avoided answering altogether.
At the time, Jace, even Maryse and Robert, had considered telling Isabelle to stop her possessive behavior, for Eve's sake – but Eve had actually seemed to enjoy Isabelle's demands and examinations, rather than feel apprehensive about them.
The two girls had connected instantly. And so far, Jace had not seen a trace of either of them since dinner.
Eve and Isabelle's new friendship wasn't an open sort of familiarity, Jace noted. Theirs was not the giggling, talkative friendship that most girls shared, but it was something silent – a wordless sort of bond that transcended all those superficial kinds of ties. Eve didn't mind being ordered around a little – if anything it appeared to relax her, somehow – so they had allowed Isabelle to continue on with her questioning.
At first, Jace had thought that it was because Isabelle was a girl that Eve seemed so fond of her: After all, Eve had been surrounded by men her entire life – it must have been a relief to finally have a girl around her… But Jace wasn't sure that was it. As the evening had progressed, he had begun to see their relationship in more detail – and he had a feeling that Isabelle was like a security blanket for Eve. If he understood the situation properly, Eve had never learned to make any of her own decisions before – Valentine and Jonathan had probably made all her choices for her – so after they had both died, there had been no one left to tell Eve what to do.
But Eve was a natural follower, and Jace guessed that her docile nature was probably why it was comforting for her to be around Isabelle.
After all, if anybody in the Institute had a commanding presence, it was definitely her.
As slowly as he dared to, Jace rolled out of his plain, white-sheeted bed and strode to the rapping sound at his door, not knowing who to expect. Part of him was hoping that it was Eve hovering just outside his door, with that lovely, gentle smile she sometimes wore – but it was not meant to be.
Instead of pretty lips and a cascade of blonde curls, Jace was met with piercing blue eyes and a moody scowl as he pulled open his bedroom door.
He saw it was Alec, glaring at him like he was some sort of traitor.
Jace ran his fingers through his hair with a disappointed sigh.
Unlike Isabelle, his parabatai still trusted Eve about as much as a Shax demon – and he had avoided her like one, too… Alec hadn't even showed up at meals today, to make sure that he would not even have to look at her. But that had not been useful to either of them. Eve had seemed to notice Alec's malicious absence; she hadn't really eaten anything, almost sadly, and she had left the meals as quickly as she was able… It had taken an immense amount of effort, on Jace's part, to not be annoyed with Alec for being so difficult. And for hurting Eve more than she had already been hurt.
Although Jace completely understood that Alec was devastated about losing Max – everyone in the Institute was devastated about losing Max, how could he forget? – Alec just didn't seem to realize that Eve had not had anything to do with their younger brother's death. The only reason that Alec could blame her was because she had lived with the Morgensterns around the same time, but that did not mean Eve had sided with what had happened to Max or had even known about it…
Just because Eve had lived with Valentine did not make her a monster: that was what Jace hoped Alec would come to recognize. In truth, the fact that Valentine hadn't managed to corrupt Eve maybe proved that she was a bit more human than the rest of them… It showed how truly kind and innocent and strong she really was – how central it must be to her very being…
But the icy look in Alec's expression told Jace it would take a while for that realization to set in… perhaps longer than Jace anticipated.
Quickly, Alec peeked over Jace's shoulder, flicking his black hair away from his forehead irritably. "Is that girl here?" he demanded stiffly, with a clenching set of his jaw. Disapproval dripped from his words like acid.
'That girl', Jace thought with a twinge of anger, fighting the urge to kick his friend in the ankle.
So Alec wasn't going to even say Eve's name now? Was she a virus?
"The only gorgeous blonde in here is me," Jace replied smoothly, not letting his frustration show on his face. He stepped to the side so Alec could see the empty room, and then crossed his arms, as if in impatience. "Any reason why you are wondering?"
"A letter just came for you." Rather harshly, Alec shouldered into Jace's room, shoving a paper into Jace's grip as he passed. "It's from the Inquisitor. It says it's confidential – Has the official wax seal and everything…"
Jace glanced at the letter in his hand, and frowned.
"But the seal is broken," he stated.
"That's because I already opened it and read the letter," replied Alec.
Jace was losing patience at an alarming rate.
"Apparently you need a lesson, Alexander, on what the word 'confidential' means…" Jace stated delicately, throwing his friend a glare. "Some synonyms are 'secret' and 'private' and 'none-of-your-damn-business.'"
"Which is exactly why I wanted to read the letter before you," Alec answered, ignoring Jace's jab. "If it is a private letter and it is coming from the Inquisitor, it was bound to be about that girl he brought here – and I couldn't trust you being the only one to know any more information about her."
Jace was momentarily surprised. "What do you mean you don't trust me?"
"You think I can't see what is happening here? Do you think I am blind, Jace?" Alec growled. "I can see that you care about this girl – a lot. Maybe you even love her… And whether that is because you both have Angel's blood or because you had a similar upbringing or because you both knew Valentine, I don't know. But what I do know is that you are fond of her and trust her – way too much for a complete stranger you just met yesterday… She makes you lose your head… And maybe you can forget what happened six months ago, Jace, but I can't. My little brother is dead – our little brother is dead – and it is because of her fiancée that I will never see him again."
Jace winced at the thought, but he remained true to his argument. "Eve may have been at the wrong place at the wrong time, but she didn't –"
"Oh, I know she didn't directly hurt Max," Alec snapped, "everyone keeps trying to drill that fact into my head – but she was living with the Morgensterns when Max was hurt, Jace… So if she is as morally good as you say she is, then she would have tried to stop Valentine and Jonathan before they got out of control – she could have killed them before Max ever got involved."
"And how do you know she didn't try, Alec? How do you know she didn't try to stop Valentine and Jonathan?"
"Because Eve would never oppose them and she says as much. You heard her answer Izzy's questions. She says that Jonathan and Valentine loved her, as much as they were ever capable of loving anything… If they loved her and she loved them then she must have been like them, to some degree…"
"Valentine raised Eve from the time she was a little girl…" Jace snapped in reply. "And while Jonathan Morgenstern may not have exactly been a paragon of virtue, Eve still fell in love with him and he was still her fiancée… Are you honestly saying that she should have killed the only two people she ever knew or loved in this world? Do you even think that a person could be capable of destroying everything they ever loved – even for the good of everything else?"
"How could you even say that?" Alec cried, spinning around to face him. His parabatai's eyes were very wide and very blue. "Jace, listen to yourself! You are defending the people who killed Max!"
"No. I'm not."
"Yes, you are! And you are defending the spineless girl that stood aside and let our brother get murdered!" Quickly, Alec spun on his heels and stormed past Jace. "I don't care what you, or Izzy, or my parents, or the Inquisitor, or even what the Council thinks of her. She's as guilty as the rest of them – and I want her out of here before another one of my family members gets killed."
"Alec –"
But it was too late.
His parabatai had fumed out of the room as moodily as he had come in, slamming the door behind him. Jace doubted that Alec had even heard him speak.
Scowling, Jace stared at that closed door a moment or two longer, and then slowly turned his attention to the letter in his hand.
Alec had been right; the broken wax seal on this letter was certainly from the Inquisitor. The letter was capped with the official new crest of the Council – and the scrawling, untidy writing on the outside of the parchment seemed to suit Argyle Silverspear perfectly.
Jace flipped open the letter with an impatient flick of his thumb, scanning the message swiftly.
In elegant language, Argyle first greeted him and thanked him for his support of Eve for the last few days – and then secondly, he pleaded with Jace to continue that care. The Inquisitor expressed concerns for Eve's safety, especially in the next coming days, when Downworld began to circulate Eve's story and her affiliation with the Morgensterns. And although Argyle said he trusted most Downworlders to be civil, he also admitted that he could not guarantee there would be no rash individuals amongst them who tried to gain revenge against Valentine through hurting Eve. He asked Jace to make sure that their guest was supervised as much as possible, and to be especially careful with her when she went outside the walls of the Institute – and with that, the letter was finished.
Jace was beginning to wonder why this letter had been made confidential – with it containing such harmless information – until Jace realized that Argyle probably did not want Eve to see this letter, more than anyone else. Which made sense, he supposed. The Inquisitor probably did not want to worry Eve with potential threats, particularly when the chance of the threat was relatively low. And he probably also did not want Eve to feel like she was burdening them with her safety.
Not that this request was a problem for Jace.
Alec would not be any help, but between Isabelle and himself, Jace was certain that Eve would always have someone standing guard at her side. This favor was simple enough to execute, and if it made Eve safer, then he felt it was his duty to accede to the Inquisitor's demands.
Slowly, Jace dropped the letter to the table beside his bed and sank back into his mattress, wishing that sleep would come and take him over.
Wincing, Argyle drew up into a sitting position.
He took care as he moved, trying not to twist his body too sharply or too soon…
Even though the iratze rune had finished its work, the injury itself was still sore – and an impressive-looking scar now laced Argyle's pale side because of the wound. Of course, Argyle noted, he shouldn't have gotten a scar from an injury as simple as his had been – the blow had been barely more than a flesh wound – but an inexperienced Nephilim had drawn the rune, not him. And as a result, the rune had been sloppy, not very effective, and the Inquisitor's pale skin now held a permanent memory of his wound.
The thought was not as much of an annoyance to Argyle as it might have been to other people.
Scars were an honor, to a Shadowhunter. They showed valor and courage in battle. And as for the Nephilim's lack of expertise, Argyle could not complain; he had been a rookie medic at one point, too. He knew what it was like to have to learn that complicated, new skill. No one was completely proficient in the first few years of training…
And in the end, having a scar did not matter.
It was not as if anyone was going to ever see him shirtless, anyway, he thought with a frown.
Sighing deeply, the Inquisitor leant against the arm of his couch, holding up an object in the wavering, warm light of his fireplace.
He had been staring at that diamond necklace for the last hour or so, mesmerized by its beauty and its mystery. After the guards had left, this was the only thing that had been there to preoccupy his time, and his mind had traced it in endless mental circles, trying to decipher what that stranger had meant to show him through this piece of jewelry.
Argyle had memorized every detail of the narrow, glittering string – from the luxurious cut of the expensive stones, to the way that the diamonds had been shaped to look like tiny stars at the clasp, to the short message engraved in the platinum backing:
Noli me tangere, the graceful lettering wrote, for Caesar's I am, and wild to hold, though I seem tame. – from V.
It had not taken long for Argyle to interpret who 'V' was.
Judging from the star-motif and the lavishly expensive nature of the necklace, it was obvious that this band was a Morgenstern piece – so the 'V' clearly stood for the name 'Valentine'…
What had been more difficult to find out, however, was why Valentine had sent it – and for whom… Having a message like that in jewelry was not uncommon, Argyle supposed, but it was not something one saw everyday… Usually, engraved messages like that were saved for specialty engagement jewelry…
Inquisitor Silverspear had not gained any ideas from that train of thought, so, after a little research, Argyle had decided to find out a bit more about the message on the necklace.
The lines written into it were actually from an old, 16th century sonnet by Thomas Wyatt, called "Whoso List to Hunt."
But that poem only filled Argyle with more confusion, rather than gave him a concrete answer.
The sonnet was a story of pursuit – a tale of a man falling helplessly in love with a beautiful, captivating, but completely unattainable woman… The woman, the object of the speaker's desire, belonged to another man – called Caesar, in the text… And the woman's commitment to Caesar was shown by a string of diamonds she wore around her neck, engraved with the same message that this necklace bore: 'Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am, And wild to hold, though I seem tame.'
It still did not make any sense, to the Inquisitor.
He had concentrated; he had searched through his own personal memories, as well as Eve's, trying to find a glimpse of this necklace – but he had not recovered anything.
This piece of jewelry was an answer, he knew. But it was an answer to a question Argyle could not uncover – making this enigma all the more frustrating.
To narrow down options, Argyle finally deduced that this necklet most likely did not belong to Eve… After all, even if Eve had kept any memories of it from him, this message was too romantic to be meant for her…
No.
This necklace was for another – and if this was part of a set of engagement jewelry, like Argyle suspected, then there was only one woman that this piece could belong to:
Jocelyn Graymark, Valentine's ex-wife.
Argyle twisted the necklace in his long, pale fingers, thoughtfully. The diamonds glittered like a collection of teardrops in the firelight.
But why would the intruder want to remind him of Jocelyn Graymark?, the Inquisitor wondered. What relevance did she have to him? And how had the boy gotten the necklace in the first place?
Argyle did not know.
But the Inquisitor decided that as soon as he could get out of this place tomorrow, he would pay Jocelyn a visit and ask her about it.
The faster he solved this puzzle, the safer Eve would be.
Even though he had sent a letter to Jace Herondale, telling him to watch over her, he knew that ruse would only help for so long. Especially against the strength of someone like that mystery intruder had been.
Slowly, Argyle Silverspear lowered the necklace to his lips and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the metal glow against his skin.
How did you like this chapter, readers?
I really enjoyed all the Argyle Silverspear, in this chapter... I like that he is less of a pushover here, and that you can see more of his past... And also I loved Jace and Alec's fight... If I was Alec, I would probably feel the same way, though, so I cannot blame him for being so angry and suspicious of Eve... Even though I do love Eve so much... Oh, I'm torn!
P.S. Can anyone guess who the necklace belong to? Anyone? Any 'Morgenstern Girl' readers? :)
Until next time!
Love, Fishie.