AN: The suits clary and Simon use here are like the suit Celaena uses in the Throne of Glass Series.

Disclaimer: I'm pretty sure you know what I'm going to say by now. I don't own the Mortal Instruments. Cassandra Clare does.

Jace felt bile rise in his throat as he saw Clary letting Sebastian lead her onto the dance floor like she was trophy hanging off his arm. He knew perfectly well that Clary was probably letting him, and that hurt even more.

But it made no sense why it hurt. Why wouldn't she let him? She had to hold her cover, and an ordinary girl at court wouldn't refuse a dance with one of the highest ranking bachelors for a hundred miles. She probably wasn't even interested in him. She was just trying to appear normal.

He kept telling himself this, even though he knew that false hope only ends in pain.

And he couldn't suppress a smile when she bobbed in her trademark mocking curtsy, and walked off, leaving Sebastian looking very put out.

Clary hurried down the corridor to her chambers, Simon easily keeping pace with his long, still-gangly legs. When she reached her door she threw it open and didn't even bother to tell Simon to look away, trusting him to take the initiative and do it instinctively as she shimmied out of the grand dress and threw on her own suit, after digging it out from under her bed. Whilst she tightened the straps and ran a routine check all the blades were in working order, Simon filled her in.

"So, the guards sighted a small but large enough to be suspicious gathering near the East gate, on the opposite side of the moat. Closer inspection revealed that they're carrying weapons. They disappeared soon after. We think they swam through the moat and climbed up the sewer pipe. It's not unheard of."

"But disgusting. We don't actually have to go up the pipe, do we?"

"Don't be so squeamish. But no. We tracked them to where they'll pop out inside the castle. If I go down to the moat and scare those that are left enough that they run up the pipe, then you can be up there waiting for them to come out. Easy prey."

"Why are you going near the moat?"

"Because I look more threatening." She was forced to concede on that point. She looked like a doll. So she only nodded. "They'll come out in the empty guest chambers in the East Wing. Considering how close the room is in relation to the Morgensterns' lodgings, we think they're trying to make it look like the Herondales ordered an assassination of the Morgensterns."

"That sounds plausible. And that will definitely be the first conclusion they'll jump to after the tensions tonight at the 'welcome' ball." Clary's mind was running a thousand miles per hour. Whoever organised this was a mastermind... And mastermind's knew when to retreat. "If they see us, they'll run like Hell."

"Clary!" Simon hissed. She swallowed. Oops. She was already suspected of witchcraft. She didn't need heresy and blasphemy added to that list as well. Simon only shook his head ruefully.

Finally, Clary had finished her checks. She grinned at Simon, letting that wildness that always seized her light up her eyes. The same feeling was reflected in Simon's face, like the same angel that had breathed it into her, had done the same for him.

"Ready to go, Lewis?"

"You bet, Fray."

As they made their way to the East Wing, swiftly and silently moving down the least used passageways, Clary felt the battle calm descend. She felt every pound of her heart like the beat of a drum and her legs moved lithely, with a loping grace instilled from a decade of training. Once they'd reached the stairs where Clary went up and Simon went down, she saw him touch his throat. Simon was Jewish, a fact that few knew, and believed in his religion enough to keep to it even when so many other Jews had been persecuted for their beliefs. Despite this, Simon still always wore a necklace with the Star of David on it around his neck, as a token of his faith.

With a companionable nod to each other, they parted ways.

Jon couldn't help a flare of smug satisfaction when he saw the insolence with which Clary Fray treated his friend. Sebastian had always been a bit of a player, flirting with all of the girls at home, so it was amusing to see him try it on the sullen, guarded redhead. He sank like a flooded ship. She didn't fall for his charms and blatantly left him floundering in the middle of the dance floor. Afterwards, Sebastian looked up and caught Jon's amused grin, then responded with a scowl. It just made Jon laugh all the harder.

About an hour later, the Morgenstern heir startled to feel stifled by the fluttering atmosphere of the ballroom and started wandering aimlessly down the corridors, far too proud to admit he was lost. He was padding quietly past another row of identical doors, when he heard loud footsteps. There only seemed to be one pair of footfalls, but he could hear three voices: two male, one female. He raised an eyebrow at the unlikely trio as they rounded the corner.

Jace Herondale walked on the left, doing his best to keep up with the pace set by the other two. It was his footsteps Jon had heard; the others were as silent as ghosts, despite the fact the middle one was limping, letting the thick carpet muffle any noise.

On the right was a tall-but-not-massively-tall boy, slightly younger than Jon, with brown hair and olive skin. He was fairly gangly, but he moved with the same grace as trained warriors. His lanky form was encased in a tight-fitting outfit of leather and steel, that looked tough enough to stop a cannon ball.

The third, the female, was Clary Fray. She wore the same outfit as the brown-haired boy and she limped with her left foot seemingly hurting. Despite this minor setback, she kept up with her friend with ease, matching his grace with her own and leaving Jace scrambling to keep up.

Jon narrowed his eyes at her face. Now he saw her without the mask, he knew what was so familiar about her. A suspicion took root in his mind.

The Morgenstern leaned against a wall, faking nonchalance, trying not to show his burning curiosity as to what they were doing.

"Well, well," he drawled. "What do we have here?"

God, Clary hated those rebels.

There'd been more than Simon had originally thought, and they caught onto what was happening quickly. They'd been prepared to fight, and whilst she'd been able to beat them due to the enclosed area, one of them had managed to sink a short blade into the juncture between the top of her boot and the thick trousers. Now she was limping rather heavily, and would have to clean up the wound once she got back to her chambers.

Fortunately, Simon had turned up soon after and had helped her dispose of the bodies down the same sewage pipe from which they'd come. After the two were finished, they'd watched their hands and were now just trying to get to Clary's room so they could clean up her leg.

However, there was the small complication that as soon as they crossed onto the correct floor, they ran into the one and only Jace Herondale.

Jace was walking down the corridor in the opposite direction to them as they passed. He didn't hear them because of their soft tread but they heard him and Clary barely managed to fix her limp by the time Jace caught sight of them. His eyes instantly flew to Clary, before they flicked towards Simon. The corners of his mouth tugged down as he studied Clary and it turned out she hadn't done as great a job at hiding her limp as she thought.

"Are you alright?" He asked, brows creasing. Clary muttered a 'yes' in response, not really having the energy to ask why he wasn't at the ball. "Where are you going?"

"Back to my chambers." Clary said shortly. Jace raised an eyebrow at her snappish tone and, to her annoyance, fell into step with them, in the direction they were going.

"Did you get hurt being an assassin?" He inquired, and the part of Clary that wasn't considering strangling the persistent fool almost thought there was actual concern in the question. Simon snapped his head to look at Jace, then glanced down at Clary.

"He knows?"

"Somehow."

They kept walking, and despite being injured, Clary still couldn't help laughing at how Jace couldn't keep up with her and Simon. It was sort of funny, seeing the confident, suave Prince completely out of his depth. He questioned them extensively about what they'd done, but both were masters at vague answers, and he eventually gave up.

Clary heard the muted footsteps before she saw him. As they came round the corner, Jonathan Morgenstern was leaning against a wall casually, gaze flitting over the group. "Well, well," he sang. "What do we have here?"

Clary had to admit: they made an unusual group.

Jonathan pushed himself off the wall, gaze now fixed solely on Clary. "And why are you limping?" She didn't give him the courtesy of an answer, just walking past and ignoring his comment. "It's rude to ignore a Prince, you know!" He called after her. He fell into step with Jace, who walked behind Simon and Clary.

"Don't bother," she heard the Herondale Prince mutter. "You won't get any answers. I've been questioning her for years."

Jonathan, the nosy idiot, only raised his eyebrow even higher. "Can't speak for yourself, Clary?"

"I've nothing worth saying, Jonathan." She replied sweetly.

"You have no respect for titles do you?" There was no reprimand in his voice, only pure curiosity.

Clary stopped altogether, turning round to face the Morgenstern Prince. She folded herself in an incredibly low bow that was somehow more mocking than her barely-a-curtsy. Her leg barked in pain but she ignored it. "My sincerest apologies my liege," she tittered. "But a title is nothing more than ink on a paper that will one day rot, and a sound on the air that will sound fade."

Jonathan looked at her with a growing smile. "I like you," he said cheerfully, his snooty demeanour gone. "You're blunt and bold and don't take elitist nonsense from anybody."

Clary nodded as she started walking again. "That pretty much sums me up," she said as she reached her door. She twisted the handle and walked inside.

Isabelle sat on her bed. "Clary, where were you? You-" She broke off when she saw Clary's outfit, and the thin trail of blood now trickling down her boot. "Right. Okay. Let's get you cleaned up."

Clary nodded, then moved out of the doorway, letting Simon come in. Isabelle blushed when she saw him; she'd always had a small crush on Simon.

Clary plopped herself onto the bed, beginning to unbuckle the myriad of straps that held her suit to her body. She slid her right boot off and stretched her cramped foot with a sigh.

When she looked up, she saw Jace and Jonathan had been trying to pass into the room, only to be stopped by Simon. The Morgnstern scowled at her friend. "Let us through. Have you no respect for your superiors?"

"Remember what you were saying earlier about elitist nonsens?" She asked him. He only looked at her, abashed. "Thought as much." She bent down to unbuckle her other boot. "Let them through, Simon." Clary waved a dismissive hand. "It's more trouble than it's worth."

That comment got her two sets of narrow glares, but they grudgingly stepped into the room.

"Toss me the cleaning rag, Isabelle." Clary called, and caught the flying white cloth. She unbuckled her boot and slipped it off, revelling in freeing her foot from the tight quarters. She then went to wipe the blood off her ankles, hissing as the muscles twinged. Once it was clean, she started to move further up the leg when Jonathan called "Wait."

Confused, Clary stopped dabbing her leg and shifted to try and see what he was staring at. He moved over to sit next to her on the bed and gently ran his finger over the skin of her foot. "What's this?" He asked. She looked closer and saw what he was looking at: a faint blotch, one she would have mistaken for a scar had it not been a shade darker than her skin rather than light, in the vague but unmistakable shape of a star.

Review? Again, I'm typing up the next chapter as you read this, and reviews inspire me to post it sooner.