Author's Note: Welcome to the new chapter of this story! Thanks for the reviews. It would be nice to hear from more of you. I would love to read your stories as well but it's hard for me to do that when I have no idea who is reading this story so please, make yourselves known to me. I'm thrilled you've taken the time to read my story, and I would love to thank you personally. Please keep in mind, I own NONE of these characters. Refer to Chapter 1 if you need clarification.
Chapter 8: Spoils
Just before Stephen departed the Fairchild Manor, Valentine took him aside and said that he and Michael were to steal the Mortal Cup the following night. Stephen was exhausted, emotionally, and physically. He couldn't bear the idea of stealing the Cup; however, he couldn't imagine not stealing the Cup either. Valentine wanted the Cup, and so Stephen would bring Valentine the Mortal Cup.
The plan was foolishly simple. Stephen was to dress in his guard uniform and meet Michael at the Accords Hall. They would access the Cup close to midnight, when no one else was around, and would claim they wanted to pray, only if asked. Then, if all was still going according to plan, Michael would swipe the cup for a decoy one, and place the actual Mortal Cup in a satchel Stephen would carry. They would leave town and come to the Fairchild Manor, where they would spend the night, so that Amatis and Michael's wife, Josie, would assume they were at work. No one in the Circle knew of the plan, though Stephen had a feeling Robert had an idea of it.
It was half past six in the evening when Stephen stood in the bathroom upstairs in the canal house, fiddling with the brass buttons on his uniform jacket. The day had been spent with Amatis, barely speaking. Stephen's stomach was an empty pit of burning hunger and nerves. Amatis had to know something was going on, but she was too distracted by Luke's death to ask.
"You look nice," Amatis said, walking over to the bathroom door. She was dressed in a set of Stephen's pajamas. The baggy shirt and pants hid her post partum body, which still showed some signs of pregnancy. Her hair hung down in her face, tangled into a rat's nest. Stephen, by comparison, had cut his hair and shaved. There were dark circles under his blue eyes, and his cheekbones were more obvious now, as opposed to a month ago.
"Thank you," Stephen said.
Things felt so strained between them, as if their marriage wasn't prepared for difficult times. Stephen couldn't find the right words to say to his wife. Nothing ever came out right.
"I've been playing things over in my mind," Amatis said. She walked into the bathroom and perched on the lid of the toilet. "About that night, with the party."
"What about?" Stephen asked.
"I think I might have been poisoned," Amatis said. "I got so sick, so fast, and then I lost the baby…" Stephen nodded. "It's just seems suspicious, is all."
"It's not suspicious. It was a party. No one else got poisoned. I didn't get poisoned," Stephen said. He dropped his hands onto the bathroom sink. "There was something wrong with the baby, or, perhaps, you weren't strong enough to carry him. I don't know. You had a miscarriage, Amatis. It happens. Stop looking for a reason why."
"All the books say that most miscarriages occur early in the first trimester, but I was at 20 weeks. The midwife told me, last week, everything was fine," Amatis said. "Then we went to that party, and I lost the baby that night."
"I don't need reminded," Stephen snapped. The awful events of that night were something he might never forget. "Why would someone poison you? Who wouldn't want us to have a child?" Amatis took a few breathes and looked down at the floor. Stephen turned to his wife, no longer wanting to look at himself in the mirror. "Who, Amatis? Who are you accusing of murdering our son?"
"Valentine Morgenstern," Amatis said. Stephen rolled his eyes. "He's never liked me, Stephen. Even before we were together, he expected me to go mad the way my mother did. And I saw how he looked when I told him we were having a boy. He hated the idea of me being the one to have your son. He wanted someone else for you. He poisoned me." Stephen stared at Amatis as though she was speaking in a foreign language.
"Maybe he was right. Maybe you are going mad, the way your mother did," Stephen said. It was an ugly topic to discuss, but Amatis was the one who brought it up. Truth be told, when Stephen heard Amatis's scream upon learning of Luke's death, he wondered if his wife might ever recover from the heartbreak.
Amatis gaped at Stephen. He ignored her gaze and walked into their messy bedroom to sit on the bed and pull his boots on.
"It's suspicious," Amatis said, following. "I've never liked that Circle. In the beginning, Valentine was talking about reform, but now… you went on that Initiation and came back changed. It seems like ever since then, we've had bad luck. Our marriage hasn't been the same. I think you need to leave the Circle."
"No," Stephen said. He couldn't explain it, but in the almost twenty four hours since Valentine asked Stephen to be his second in command, Stephen came to understand why Valentine felt the way he did. Luke had been taken from them by a pack of savage beasts. Was Stephen to sit by, idle, and not want to avenge his friend's death? What good would that be? The werewolves would kill again, and so would the vampires. The warlocks would continue to do their magic, promoting their own brand of evil, and the faeries would still cause problems. The Accords protected the Downworlders, but where was the protection for the Nephilim?
"You really think Valentine is a god, don't you?" Amatis asked. "You think he can do no wrong? He can. Our son is dead and so is my brother and the Circle is to blame."
"You have lost your mind." Stephen finished tying his boots and stood up. "Valentine only wants to see the laws reformed. The Accords are well over a hundred years old. They are of little use in these modern times. Valentine is not a monster or a god; he's merely a man who wants to see change. Now go to bed. I'll be home in the morning unless I get asked to work a double." He gave her one last pitying look and started down the steps.
"I know what happened that night," Amatis said. "Celine told me."
Stephen stopped so fast, he nearly fell down the steps. There were any number of things Celine could have told Amatis. Stephen didn't know Celine well enough to have confidence in her ability to keep secrets. Celine, after all, had nothing to lose.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Stephen said.
"She told me about Valentine bringing you back to the manor. You were covered in blood and bruises and your arm was sliced open and barely healed. Celine cleaned you and dumped holy water down your throat," Amatis said. "Why did she have to dump holy water down your throat, Stephen? Why were you covered in bruises and blood?"
"I can't talk about it," Stephen said. "I swore, Amatis." He turned to her, his eyes pleading. She might have let it go before, but that was when she still believed that there were no secrets between them. "What else did she say to you?"
Amatis smiled and look down on him. "What else is there to say?"
Before, they were on the same page, always. Now, Stephen felt like Amatis was either far ahead of him, or behind him, but no longer with him the way she was before. Their marriage was starting to crumble, quickly, and Stephen couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to fix it.
"I'm late to work," Stephen said. He hurried down the steps and out the front door.
Stephen took Nicias to a bakery on the edge of town. He stowed the horse in a stable close by, then walked inside the bakery to find it nearly empty at this time in the evening. There was a set of boots sticking out of a booth beside the entrance to the kitchen. Stephen walked back and fell onto a bench beside Michael, who was dressed in his guard uniform as well. The table was littered with plates of pastries and two steaming cups of cocoa. Michael sipped a cup of black coffee.
"Charming place for a first date, darling," Stephen mumbled.
"I didn't want to rush things. Dinner carries with it such high expectations," Michael said. "Have a chocolate croissant, pumpkin." He slid a plate over to Stephen and sighed. Stephen took a bite of the croissant and felt it stick in his throat. He sipped the cocoa instead of continuing with anything solid.
Stephen imagined preparing to steal a significant artifact by hiding in dark corners and reviewing a plan over and over, but this way was better. They could eat pastries and make small talk and pretend that they weren't really going to do what they planned to do.
"Can I ask you a question?" Michael asked. Stephen shrugged. "You come from a good family. The Herondales are upstanding… for the most part. What made you want to join the Circle?"
"Your family is far more upstanding than mine," Stephen said. He picked up an éclair, took a small bite, and mulled his answer over in the time it took to chew. "I spent a year at the Academy taking classes, learning about the world. Nothing much has changed in the thousand years we've been on this earth. There are always the same conflicts, the same resolutions, the same problems. No one has come up to a solution to these problems and so they keep occurring. My great grandfather dealt with the same shit we're dealing with now. There needs to be a change."
"That's why I'm here," Michael said. "Someone has to make things happen. I'm not going to lead a group of people to do that, but I'll follow Valentine. I'm loyal to him, until someone scrapes my bones off the ground and gives me a proper burial. 'Til the end."
Stephen wished he could have Michael's steely resolve and unwavering sense of purpose in Valentine's Circle. Instead, he sat beside Michael, drinking hot chocolate, eating pastries, and doubting his purpose. So many times, he opened his mouth, prepared to tell Michael that this plan wasn't a good idea, that it was insane, that they shouldn't do what they were sent to do, but he couldn't say the words, because his mind was saying that this was right. Valentine needed the Mortal Cup. Stephen needed Valentine to help avenge Luke's death. This was the right thing to do, however wrong it felt.
At a quarter to eleven, Michael paid a hefty bill and walked out of the bakery with Stephen. The city streets were empty at the time of night, save for the occasional drunk Shadowhunter, wandering between pubs. They rode across town to the Accords Hall, which was lit up with witch light and candles.
The front door of the large building was open, as the building was never locked. They tied their horses up and Stephen followed Michael inside to the building's hushed interior.
The first room Stephen and Michael came to was filled with chairs, as well as a large fountain close to the door. The ceiling was entirely made of glass. Stephen looked up to catch a glimpse of the shining demon towers in the middle of the city. He shivered and fell against Michael; Michael put an arm around Stephen's shoulders and patted him lightly on the chest.
They walked down a corridor to a room filled with glowing candles. Two guards stood outside the room, each holding swords and dressed the same as Stephen and Michael. Stephen felt himself start to sweat and grow nauseas. In that moment, he wanted to die.
"We were hoping to see the Cup. My partner wishes to pray for his family," Michael said. He put a hand on Stephen's lower back. Stephen looked up at the guard and nodded quickly.
"My family," Stephen said. The guards looked Michael and Stephen over a beat too long, and then stepped aside, allowing them access to the room. Michael kept his hand on Stephen's back and shoved him into the room.
The Cup sat on an alter at the back of the room. Each of the four walls of the room were covered with stone shelves which, in turn, were covered with tiny, burning candles. Stephen staggered forward and knelt before the Cup, folding his hands in prayer. Michael sighed and got an unlit candle he carried over to Stephen. He knelt beside Stephen.
The Mortal Cup was gold, with a band of rubies around the rim of it. The air around the Cup seemed to throb with currant, as if it might electrocute anyone that would touch it, though no one would. The Mortal Cup wasn't mean to be stolen. This plan was foolish. It would never work.
"For Isaiah," Michael mumbled he lit the candle with a match. Stephen could smell the heavy perfume scent of the candle. The entire room felt humid, the air thick and hard to breath. Stephen thought he might pass out. He rested his head against his hands.
"Angel, forgive me," Stephen whispered. "I've done terrible things." He had taken a world religions class back at the Academy and extensively studied Catholicism. In that religion, a man could confess his sins and pray for forgiveness. The Nephilim could do the same thing, but it was never clear if the Angel forgave, or not.
Michael set the candle down, glanced backwards, then carefully lifted the Mortal Cup and placed a replica of it in its place. He opened up a small satchel Stephen was carrying and slid the Cup inside. Stephen could feel the power of the Cup pulsating close to his body.
"Ready?" Michael whispered. Stephen nodded and climbed to his feet. Michael put an arm around his waist, supporting him, and walked with him out of the room, nodding to the guards, who allowed them past. Stephen waited to be seized, knocked to the ground, and searched. He would be going to prison tonight.
"Gentlemen?" One of the guards asked. Michael stopped, his fingers digging into Stephen's side. He turned around slowly. "Good luck with your family."
It took every last bit of self control Stephen had to calmly walk out of the Accords Hall. Once outside, he willed away the urge to get sick and instead walked with Michael to their horses. Michael was all business, Stephen was falling apart. He was barely able to climb onto his horse, and even then, he barely had the strength to point her towards the far end of Angel Square.
"Let's put it back," Stephen whispered. Michael turned around and looked quickly at Accords Hall, though no one pursued them.
"No," Michael said. He rested a hand on Stephen's thigh, his eyes tense and frightened. "Let's go."
It was an hour's journey though pitch black countryside to Fairchild Manor. When they were clear of town, Michael heeled his horse into a gallop and Stephen took off in pursuit. The moon was high in the sky, just a small sliver that barely gave off any light. All around them, hidden behind shadows, night creatures screeched and called out as Stephen and Michael thundered past. Stephen imagined vampires tearing him off his horse and biting his neck, killing him, an eye for an eye.
Halfway through the trip it began to rain, soaking clear through Stephen's uniform, all the way to his skin. He started to feel faint; the only thing that kept him conscious was the fear of being thrown off his horse at such a high speed. Finally, there was light in the distance, and Stephen and Michael burst into a clearing to see the Fairchild Manor lit up in front of them.
They stowed their horses in the barn and walked up to the front door, which was unlocked. When they walked inside, Valentine wasn't there to greet them. Instead, Celine was knelt at the bottom of the steps, dressed in a long nightgown, scrubbing blood off the floor.
"Is everything alright?" Michael asked. Celine looked up, smiling and shrugging. She wore no makeup, and looked barely seventeen.
"Jocelyn fell down the steps," Celine said. "She's alright, bruised, of course, but not hurt badly. The fall put her into labor, though. The baby should arrive sometime before dawn. Valentine's with her, but I'm sure he'll be able to step away and see to his house guests."
"Right, of course…" Michael began. He eyed the blood stain on the floor, then regarded Celine's earnest smile.
"Go ahead upstairs and let him know you're here. You'll be staying in your usual rooms. I'll be right up to pour you both hot baths," Celine said. This time, she directed her words to Stephen.
Stephen side stepped the bloodstain and followed Michael upstairs. Michael took the satchel from Stephen, and the minute the Cup was away from Stephen's body, he felt stronger, as if the Cup had been sapping his strength.
That was the last Stephen saw of Michael, that evening, anyway. Stephen went to the room he stayed in before, stripped off his wet clothes, and poured his own piping hot bath. When that was done, he dressed in a brand new pair of pajamas left on the bathroom counter and went into the bedroom, where he crawled into bed and quickly fell asleep.
A little while later, Stephen felt another blanket being tossed onto the bed. There was the scent of orange blossoms in the air, as well as extinguished match and candle wax. Stephen opened his eyes to see Celine standing beside the bed once again, dressed in lacy negligee. He imagined himself telling her he wasn't interested; that he was married, but none of those words left his mouth.
"To the victor go the spoils," Celine whispered.
Stephen grabbed Celine by the wrist and pulled her into the bed. She came willingly, tossing a leg over his hips and settling onto his lower stomach. She leaned down as Stephen closed his eyes, and pressed her lips to his. Stephen's lips parted as he returned her kiss. There was something so glorious about giving in to one's primal desires, throwing caution to the world, saying "fuck it" to the rules of the world. He ran a hand up her back and tangled it into her hair, pulling her closer. Stephen didn't bother asking why Celine was there, he just kissed her hard and passionately, allowing himself to forget about the Mortal Cup and Isaiah and Luke and everything that was wrong with his life.
"Luke was the only other one…" Celine said between kisses, "I thought you would want to know."
Stephen didn't care. His body was throbbing and he felt alive, suddenly, as if he'd been sleep walking for the last three weeks. Stephen slipped his tongue into Celine's mouth and sucked on her lower lip. Celine moaned lustfully and ground her hips against his body, rubbing her warm, sensitive parts against his slowly stiffening cock.
Celine's nightgown was silky soft and felt cool against his body. Stephen pulled the straps down so that her breasts fell free from the fabric. Celine's skin bore no scars of any kind. She wore only a few runes, just the most important, permanent ones. She would never have to worry about seeing battle, as Celine served another purpose.
Stephen slid his hands up her nightgown and pushed it over her head, leaving her in nothing but a silky pair of white boy shorts. Celine pulled Stephen's pants down, tossed them aside, and raked her nails down his chest to his hips. She knelt over him and licked her lips before taking the entire length of Stephen's cock into her mouth. Stephen grabbed her by the hair and arched his back.
"What are you-" Stephen gasped. Celine tucked a strand of her behind her ear and smiled.
"Spoils," she whispered.
The sensation of Celine's mouth on his shaft felt both foreign and familiar. Amatis never relished oral sex, not this way, anyway. Celine enjoyed pleasuring Stephen. She teased her tongue up the underside of his cock as she stroked its slippery length, tight sometimes, loose, other times. Stephen felt himself harden painfully as his lower stomach started to tingle. He closed his eyes as the world began to fade away.
"No," Stephen said. "Not… that… no…"
Celine released him and straddled him once again. Stephen put his hands on her hips, wanting to pull her body against his. He thought about pressing inside of her and feeling nothing between them.
"I need a condom," Stephen said. He blushed and felt himself start to sweat. "Do you have one?" Birth control wasn't normally accepted in the Shadowhunter culture, as it was believed that if one was going to have sex, one should be having sex for the purposes of reproduction. Stephen wasn't planning on reproducing ever again.
"Of course," Celine said. She kissed him once more, then climbed out of bed and walked over to the bathroom. She lost her panties along the way, and the sight of so much unmarked skin caused Stephen to take notice of all of the parts of her body he had yet to explore. Celine returned a moment later with a small square of plastic she presented to Stephen. "Are you sure?"
Stephen looked up at Celine, who gazed down at him. Her lips were swollen, her hair tousled in a sexy way, and she looked as innocent as ever. He wondered what he was to be sure about: the sex, or the fact that he would wear protection. Celine wasn't forcing him into it as she had been before. She was offering him a choice he had to be sure of. Before now, she was just along for the ride, but she stopped at a crossroads and let him make the decisions.
"I'm sure," Stephen said. He pushed Celine onto her back and sat up, kneeling over her body. He brought the condom up to his mouth and tore open the wrapper, and carefully applied the condom to himself. He looked up to see Celine reclined against the pillows on the bed. She placed her hands on his waist, and pulled him close. Stephen closed his eyes, kissed her lips, and pressed into her.
The minute he was inside of her, nothing else mattered. Stephen wondered how something so wrong could feel so right.
Celine arched her back and pulled her knees further apart. Stephen sunk his nails into her right breast, then released it and took her by the hips as he thrust. At her begging, he grabbed the head board of the bed to give himself more leverage. He fucked her hard enough and fast enough to make her nothing more than an unrecognizable blur beneath him, and it was then that he finally achieved the state of numbness he so desired.
When he finally came, his body shook with spasms that traveled over every inch of his skin. Stephen collapsed onto the bed beside Celine, covered in sweat. Sleep came quickly, and the last thing Stephen remembered was Celine pulling the sheet up over them before she curled around his body, rather than Stephen being the one to hold her. She knew what he needed, whether he knew or not. They fell asleep together.
Sometime later, in the middle of the night, Stephen woke up to the sound of a baby screaming.
Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please review. I really do appreciate you reading, could you please at least make yourselves known to me? I'll take anything: criticism, praise, encouragement… writing is a solitary task and that the very least I want to know that I'm writing for someone. There's no teaser, as the next chapter is pretty short. Thanks for the reviews!