Authors note:
Hello people, I have returned from the dead.
Well, no. But I have returned after another lengthy absence-apologies for that. But I have a lengthy chapter to make up for it! Thanks to people who followed, favourited and reviewed, it means a lot to me-please keep on doing so, particularly when it comes to reviews, I would like to know your opinion on my work-in-progress work.
Anyway, here is the chapter. It's mainly plot, for once. Enjoy it, and I am going now to stretch my back!
"What?" Simon heard Jace say incredulously. It wasn't a "What?" of surprise (Since when is Jace Whatever surprised? Simon thought privately), but one of hostility, disbelief and mockery-mainly mockery.
"Back up," Simon intervened hastily, attempting to squander the inevitable collateral damage Jace caused, "you're saying we can all leave and never return to this place, except for one of us, who can't even leave?" He paused, then added for good effect: "What the hell?"
"Allow me to rephrase, mundane," the fae monarch answered. "Not quite. This place is a faerie place, though not as grand as it should be-and as such, under my control. Who enters and who leaves is entirely up to me. And when the lot of you leave, one of you shall remain behind." Her gaze rested on Isabelle. "You."
"To what end?" Alec asked as Isabelle remained impassive. "What do you want?"
The Seelie Queen's smile grew, somehow reminding Simon of the devilish cocktail that had turned him into a rat so long ago. It had been blue, a deeper blue than the eyes he was gazing at, and entrancingly so, but its remains had oozed over the floor and its sickening sweetness had stained his paws.
"To business," the Seelie Queen began. "My grandmother had a crown, entirely made of adamas, and intended to pass it on to my father when she died. However, when the Nephilim got wind of it, they slew her and hid the crown."
"Why?" Simon asked. It seemed safer if he and Alec did the talking.
"The crown has remarkable magical properties," the Queen explained. "It is said to be passed down from our ancestors, the angels, as a gift. I would like it to be returned to its rightful owners."
"Because of said special powers," Simon concluded. "And to send a message to all the Downworlders and Shadowhunters in the wide, wide world."
"But what do you want with Isabelle?" Alec questioned. Everyone got the unspoken question: Why do you want us to do it?
"Do you think faeries haven't tried throughout the centuries?" she returned. "Only those with the Angel's blood can retrieve it. And you two, of course," she nodded to Jace and Clary, "have more than enough."
"Isabelle has the Angel's blood in her veins. Simon doesn't," Alec pointed out. "No offence," he added quickly when Simon and Clary both glared at him, "I meant that in a different way. Like, why get rid of one more Shadowhunter to do your bidding?"
"If you want a Shadowhunter to do you a favour," the faerie answered sagely, "threaten a Shadowhunter. You can leave now," she dismissed with a small gesture, "just remember: if the Clave gets wind of my demand, so do the fae."
The faeries' laughter echoed in Simon's ears.
"So," Magnus began, "that adamas crown. Probably the crown of Queen Mab."
"Like the Shakespearean Queen Mab?" Jace asked. "Like she driveth o'er a soldiers neck; and then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, of breaches, ambascados, Spanish blades, of healths five fathom deep; and then anon drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, and being thus frightened, swears a prayer or two and sleeps again Queen Mab?"
"Well, that's all drivel of a madman," Magnus answered dismissively. "Pretty drivel, though. But yes, that Mab."
"Is that what the crown can do?" Clary asked further. "Influence dreams?"
"Probably not," Magnus answered. "Remember Lilith and Ithuriel? It was just a party trick for them. Most faeries or warlocks can do that on their own."
"Hey, that's cool," Simon commented, offering him a biscuit.
The Seelie Queen had sent them back to Magnus's loft, who had taken to seeing them appear out of thin air with good grace. They had explained the situation hurriedly, aware of the deadline. They couldn't risk Isabelle getting hungry in the court. Thankfully, Magnus was a fountain of knowledge.
"Indeed, young Simon. But no thank you." Simon nodded and offered the biscuits around to everyone else. After a quick glance in Magnus's direction, he offered Chairman Meow one. He turned it down. "As to what the crown can do, it's unclear. Lost to history. A whole bunch of guesswork, and the guesses are all simultaneously really far-fetched and very plausible. Nobody knows, except maybe the faeries."
"And where is it?" Clary wondered.
"Idris."
Alec looked up. "How do you know that?"
"Think, Alexander." His boyfriend grinned. "All this 'only those of the Angel's blood' stuff didn't clue you in?"
Jace's eyebrow quirked up. "You're just guessing, aren't you?"
"It stands to reason," Magnus shrugged. "Only Shadowhunters can enter Alicante without needing permission. And Idris is, after all, considered Shadowhunter home country. Where else would the Nephilim consider it safest?"
Clary sighed. "Alright," she announced, "who's up for another trip to Idris under difficult circumstances?"
Faeries were as vain as ever. To make up for the fact that they were living in a subway tunnel, they'd decorated their hidey-hole so much so that Isabelle, despite knowing better, almost mistook it for a palace. Almost.
It was rather palatial, to be fair. Just a hall with a few doors on either side, but the faeries had somehow raised the roof, cleaned everything up, and made it luxurious. White marble and candlelight refracting off glittering jewels and gold accents. There was even a dais.
What gave it away were the occupants of this space. Their beautiful faces were overshadowed by narrowed eyes and lowered brows and unsmiling lips. Disdain and worry was written all over their faces. Isabelle almost pitied them for their hardships-okay, she pitied them a little. The Faerie Folk were a proud lot, capable of true beauty, great warriors, as Magnus had told her, and now they were hiding in subway tunnels. The Clave's judgement was harsh. Sed lex, dura lex. The Law is hard, but it is the Law.
It wasn't the Angel's Law. Isabelle sometimes wondered if Raziel thought harshly of the warrior race he had created because of the common preference for vengeance over mercy. She had learnt enough in her almost seventeen years to know that these people deserved redemption. Although she wasn't exactly forgiving for the ways she was being used as a hostage.
"A snack, young Nephilim?" the Seelie Queen offered. Isabelle shot her a glare that was more out of principle than with actual loathing. Although she hated the Seelie Queen, it was better to hide emotion.
"Is this what you do all day?" she asked instead. "Hide in pretend luxury, get others to do your bidding, stay inside?"
"Well," her captor considered, "I can't leave. It would be unseemly to roam around unescorted. My people can, but given their loyalty to me, they do so with caution."
"So...eat, drink, be merry," Isabelle summarised, "when you're in hiding."
"Oh, more than that, make no mistake." She laughed. "I like you, Lightwood girl," she continued. "Meliorn was a little fond of you, though I understand neither of you truly cared enough for one another to stay once you grew bored. But you would be a respected warrior in my ranks, and as for your outfits..." She examined Isabelle's current one. "Well, they aren't unheard of."
"Fashion and war. The only things I'm respected for. Great."
"You have a reputation, Isabelle Lightwood," the Seelie Queen corrected. "A rather admirable one, too."
"I don't have a reputation for my patience, do I?"
"Well, no," she admitted. "But, as you said, eat, drink, be merry," she echoed, "while we wait."
"You're not used to waiting, are you?" Magnus asked.
"I've waited before," Simon replied defensively.
"No," the warlock considered, "I don't think you have. Well. Not in the way I meant."
"I know what way you meant," Simon said tonelessly. "And I've done that, too."
"But you're not used to it, are you?" Magnus asked, setting down some cat food for Chairman Meow. "Waiting for loved ones to return from battle, waiting for loved ones to be returned to safety."
"Are you?" Simon returned.
"Yes," Magnus answered. "After all, I am immortal."
"But age doesn't matter," Simon retorted, "does it?"
Two pairs of cat eyes turned on him. "You're a quick one, mundane," Magnus complimented approvingly. "You're right, age doesn't matter. You could be 10 or 100 and fearing for a loved one, realising just how fragile life is, knowing this uncertainty, does not get easier. But being immortal, you learn to wait for other things. Redemption, love. Longer than ordinary men can wait."
"Are you used to waiting for loved ones to come home?" Simon asked, curious but cautious.
Magnus laughed. "Yes," he answered. "But I have seen many generations of little girls and boys die of old age and still been waiting."
"So...what are you saying, exactly?"
"My point, Simon Lewis," Magnus explained, and Simon suddenly remembered the amounts of times he had forgotten Simon's name, "is that you are capable of walking through hell for your Isabelle, and she may slay a thousand demons to return to your arms, but all you can do now is..." He spread his arms, at ease and yet Simon saw some of the hidden tension he was harbouring. "Wait."