13: Divided

The White Room is colder than Magnus ever expected it to be, and far more ridiculous than its name might imply- enough to be predictable in an entirely disheartening manner; it's quite the accomplishment.

Magnus lies on the plain, white cot staring at the plain, white ceiling nestled between white walls and white everything. He breathes in the white, gentle glow of the eerie healing energy and it burns. The unfamiliar magic hums in the space between white thoughts and apathy, occasionally stooping down to pet a stray glimmer of red hot pain. It takes a while Magnus can't measure to grow numb to the sensation, but when he does- time and thought both still.

All that's left is the white- a constant fixture in a universe that is all it. The bright nothing stings Magnus' eyes until they leak, but the sensation of tears hardly registers. He turns his gaze to stare at his own hands; they are the only trace of color in the room. With his clothes striped and replaced with a drab camouflage of white, white, white, Magnus feels himself fading. He imagines himself sinking into the sheets and past the floor.

Magnus knows where he must be: Washington's Gravity Hill, in some abandoned shack no mundane would look twice at. The Order's newest home-base after the fire in the Salem branch. Magnus has never been to the White Room in the previous branch but he imagines it must've looked much the same. Not many décor options for a room that's supposed to be distraction-free and maddening. He wonders if the rest of the building is somehow similar to the previous one. Magnus doesn't remember much of it, his first and sole lengthy visit being when he entered his coterie decades ago. And yet, the distinct impression of ancient furniture and ancient men leaves him hoping for a change.

There's a faint whisper, like a hushed exhale, and an old, cloaked man appears by one of the walls. His clothes are well-worn- dark with golden trimming- old school, wizard picturesque. The sudden presence of color makes Magnus' eyes burn and tear again. He stares at the man like a starved animal, taking in the dull grey color of his woolen cloak, the rich green of his vest, the darkness of his stare. The white of the walls, the white of absolutely everything, seems to glow around him.

"Magnus Bane," the man thunders. His voice cuts through the silence like a well-aimed arrow, piercing Magnus' ears until they ring. The words echo in Magnus' head long after they've been uttered, and when their remains finally fade- Magnus listens to the man's breathing. It's the only sound besides his own beating heart which he's already grown deaf to.

The man smiles as he takes in Magnus' hungry gaze. Magnus' eyes snap to the sudden movement. "You've been here a while," the man observes quietly, his assessment true and cold. "Have you healed?"

Magnus opens his mouth to answer but hesitates. Not because he doesn't know the answer, but because he has doubts he can voice it. The man looks at him expectantly, and tuts when the answer delays. He turns to leave.

"Yes," Magnus croaks before the man has the chance to fade away whence he came, leaving Magnus with nothing but white walls and white noise again.

The man twists his head to look at him. His expression shows cold disinterest, and for a skin-crawling brief moment Magnus remembers the Inquisitor. "Good," the man says.

Then he disappears.

x

Alec stares at the window all day long. The pale blue hardly changes, darkening slightly every so often with the shadow of a wandering cloud. It is hours before Alec gives up hope and rolls away from his strategic gazing point on the floor to move around the room again. The cell is small- seven steps wide, eleven long. The ceiling is high though, and Alec can't hope to reach the window even if he jumps. The walls are plain and smooth except for the runes inscribed onto their surface along the parameter, so there's nothing to help him climb.

He stalks the room like the caged animal he feels he's been succumbed to, barely holding back a frustrated groan.

Seven steps, turn, eleven, turn, seven, turn.

The cell is silent. The sky remains pale blue.

x

Sleep is elusive in the White Room, but the silence lulls Magnus into short boats of lucid dreams. The first is of last night- of pain and surprise and fear. The second is full of pleading blue eyes and hoarse calls Magnus can't make sense of. The third is a symbol- dark and beautiful- seared into pale flesh. Magnus slips out of each dream back to white and nothing, slipping in again not long after. It's a circle he doesn't know how to break and doesn't have enough energy to even try.

The dreams latch on to him fiercely, like perinea sensing blood. He lets them bite.

The man comes in again when the hoarse calls fade and the blue of concerned stares melts away. "Are you ready?" he asks.

Magnus doesn't know what he's referring to, but murmurs, "yes" anyway. He wants to get out.

The man eyes him quietly. "You are lying." He appears marginally disappointed with the truth in his own assessment. His eyes grow steadily darker as resignation soothes the harsh lines of his face.

The man disappears again. He comes in several times later- but he never seems to think Magnus is telling the truth.

x

The sky finally darkens. When it does, the glamoured door flickers visible long enough to allow a hand to push in a tray through a slate near the ground. It fades away before Alec opens his mouth to say something, anything.

There's a glass and a white, slightly cracked plate on the tray, with some alien, grey substance that Alec presumes to be food. He drinks the water from the glass. He eats the food; nothing can be worse than Izzy's attempt at ravioli. He waits until the door opens again.

When it does, he's as quick as a viper. He grasps the hand through the slate just as it withdraws back. "Why am I here?" Alec demands. It comes out rougher than he'd expected from himself.

"Eat your damn food, Lightwood," the man on the other side growls. His tone reminds Alec of those old, Shadowhunter families who used to throw baleful looks at his parents behind their backs. Some of them still do, only they don't bother hiding it anymore. "You pull this stunt again and I'll let you starve." And with that, Alec's hand is shaken off and the door disappears.

Alec doesn't get the chance to talk to the guard again. The door appears each time in a different wall, and the marks of concealment slowly litter the walls until Alec can't tell where it'll appear next. He thinks such a precaution is rather absurd. He doesn't even have a stele, and he can't incapacitate anyone through the tiny slate in the thick, metal door even if he really wants to.

Waiting for the guard proves futile. Two days in- Alec quits trying. Lunch comes in when he's asleep- so bored he drifts off- and with it comes a man.

The rustling of his robes and the sudden, looming presence wakes Alec up faster than any alarm-clock ever did. He jumps from the bed, quickly spinning on his hill until he is facing the intruder. His brain slowly catches up with his body and Alec find himself staring at a small, plump man in dark robes.

Alec recognizes him easily by his robes. The new Inquisitor.

The man puts the tray down on the floor and rubs his chubby hands with a satisfied smile. "Morning, my dear boy," he murmurs. His voice is surprisingly light, almost to the point of being grating- as if he's high on fairy dust. "So good of you to join me."

Alec shies away when the man takes a step forward. "I'm Inquisitor Eldertree," the man introduces himself, a smile pulling at his lips. It's a surprisingly unpleasant expression. "And you, my dear Alexander, are very lucky."

Alec has his doubts and it shows on his face. Eldertree grins wider. "Everything will be as it was again," he says, rolling the words on his tongue like sweets. "We can make you a model case. It will be marvelous."

"What are you talking about?" Alec finally asks. Eldertree's eyes light up like Christmas lights. He makes a vague gesture with his hand.

"You will make it so much easier to justify harshening the Downworlder policy."

Alec's heart skips a beat. "What do you mean?"

The Inquisitor claps his hands and rocks back and forth in place like a child. His eyes are sharp, dark and calculating. The smile attains a sudden cruel quality. "The mark you sport- it is prime example of why consorting with Downworlders is a terrible, terrible idea," the Inquisitor murmurs. "And when you're sentenced to exile- don't you look at me like that, Alexander, it would be a small miracle if you lived at all, given that-" The Inquisitor pauses abruptly, gesturing again. He must be talking about the mark. "-But it's all good now that we have you, isn't it? The Council would be forced to act." There's a pregnant, short silence before Eldertree says, with the same manic grin and light, airy tone: "The Downworlders will finally retain their rightful place at the bottom of the chain. We'll breathe easy again."

Alec reckons his breathing stopped somewhere between 'exile' and 'bottom of the chain'. Eldertree doesn't seem to notice. "Won't you help me with that, boy?" he doesn't quite ask. Settling on the small, plain bed at the center of the room the Inquisitor continues, "Your family won't suffer should you assist me willingly. I might even hush up the whole affair- no one will know where you've gone to, no shame befalling the already tainted Lightwood name. You'd like that, won't you?"

Eldertree looks as him as if he's got Alec all figured out and neatly sorted into a drawer labeled 'mine'. Alec straightens his posture and makes sure his voice is steady when he barks out, "No."

Eldertree frowns as if he didn't realize such a response was at all possible. "No?" he asks, lips curling. He doesn't seem to be the sort of man who can stomach refusal. "I don't believe you have a choice here, Alexander," he ventures, almost pleasantly.

Alec gives him an unimpressed look. "I'm not selling him out," he tells the Inquisitor simply.

It takes realization a moment to settle on Eldertree's face- but when it finally does- fury quickly follows. "Quit the silly loyalty. You can't possibly care for a demon."

There's no point telling Eldertree Downworlders aren't demons. The harsh lines on his soft, oval face suggest he would never listen. "Watch me," Alec says instead.

"I can arrange for a harsher sentence, Alexander. I don't imagine you fancy dying so young."

Alec narrows his eyes, bristling. "You'd kill a fellow Shadowhunter?"

Eldertree's lips twist. "You're not a Shadowhunter anymore," he tells Alec, his voice reminiscent of the late Inquisitor before him. "You're a Downworlder's pet. We have no use for you."

"Then you'll kill me either way." The words leave a bitter taste in Alec's mouth. His breathing echoes in between waves of nausea.

The Inquisitor appears briefly impressed with Alec's deduction. Then the mask settles back in and his voice drips sugar and lies when he says, "Quid pro quo, my boy. Help me help you."

Alec snorts.

Eldertree waits a moment for him to quake. Alec doesn't, so Eldertree opts for another angle. "Your family," the Inquisitor reminds him. Alec's eyes narrow further. Eldertree seizes the opportunity to bite. "What would become of them if you die?"

"They'll survive," Alec grits out. He viciously ignores the hollowness the words leave behind. He figures holding his ground is the only way against a man like Eldertree. It's his only way to win.

The Inquisitor smiles. Alec's stomach drops at his expression. "I'm sure you're no great loss," Eldertree murmurs, "however there is plenty to judge your family for. I'm sure that if prompted I can find something to present the council with." Eldertree's eyes glim like steel. "Your parents were in the Circle. Your brother is Valentine's son. What if the Council discovers they've adopted and raised young Jonathan as a favor to Valentine? What if it becomes apparent they never left his service and have been raising a traitor to stab us all in the back?"

"They did no such thing!" Alec's voice escalates quickly. "Jace isn't a- he's not a traitor. He hates Valentine. And so do my parents."

The smile is back on Eldertree's face, twice as vile. "I'm sure you think so, my boy. I'm sure you do. But unfortunately, the circumstances show otherwise, as will my personal testimony and that of a select few. The Council would see the truth then. Would you like to risk that?" Eldertree pauses to examine the effect his words have had on Alec. Apparently satisfied with the expression on Alec's face, he murmurs, "As I thought. I will come to collect you in three days. Prepare your tale as you would like to present it, but do consider what's at stake."

Eldertree heads to the door, but before he departs he turns back and murmurs, "Blood is thicker than water, Alexander. Let the Downworlder have what's coming to him."

The door shuts behind the Inquisitor's back and the glamour settles in.

x

"Are you ready?" the man in the dark robes asks. That's all he appears to be able to do. Magnus stares at his hands- not white, trembling- and breathes, slowly. His head is clear. The air comes easy. Words don't.

The man waits. Magnus rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling. There are no shadows by the corners, no rough patch of color, no texture to focus on. Pure and whole, large enough to swallow him entirely. Magnus just stares. He doesn't try to look for anything anymore.

The man is gone.

Magnus' eyes remain fixed on the ceiling.

x

The sky keeps changing colors if you look at it long enough through narrowed eyes, unblinking. Alec stares up at the window from his corner on the floor and sees red. It reminds him of Magnus' blood and the battle on the ship, of every fight he ever had with Jace and every demon he ever had to face. It makes him think of his first kill and bloody sunsets in the forest outside Alicante's walls.

He wonders if he'll ever see the sunset again. If the price of it is even worth it.

The first time Magnus wakes, truly and completely, the world attacks his eyes like a vicious cat. Color- rich, brilliant, vivid color- burns his retinas in a spectacle like fireworks and schizophrenia spiced with gin. Magnus' eyes begin to tear. For a brief, terrifying moment, Magnus wonders whether it's a dream.

"Welcome back," a voice tells him. It doesn't dispel the fear. Magnus turns to the source and sees the thin silhouette of a woman, branches sprouting from her scalp like medusa's snakes. "You've been in the White Room longer than I've anticipated."

Magnus croaks something incomprehensible. Willa comes closer and as she leaves the light her face becomes visible, yellow sunlight smudged like paint across her face. "You're safe," she tells him. "You're with the Order. They won't get you."

It takes Magnus a moment to realize what Willa's on about. When he finally does, a laugh escapes him. He hadn't thought of how he'd gotten here at all since he woke up surrounded by nothing. The laugh stops as abruptly as it's started when memories finally sink in. Then he remembers the dreams. The dreams and Robert Lightwood and pain. He recalls the brilliance of concern, blue-washed. Memories flood him as if a dam has been breached by the sudden absence of white, healer magic. "Where's Alec?" Magnus asks, even though there's no logical reason for him to be there or for Magnus to be concerned. Magnus has seen him last when he left the house that night, before Robert Lightwood and before the presence of white. Alec should be back where he left him, unharmed. He probably doesn't even know about any of this.

"In Alicante," Willa says. Magnus stares at her.

"What?"

"He'll be going through trial," Willa continues as if she hadn't noticed the note of alarm in Magnus' tone. "The Inquisitor assured me that-"

"You have handed him over?" Magnus gets up too quickly. He sways a tad, face pale, yet his looming presence retains its charms. Willa takes a step back and tilts her head to look him in the eye. "I did it for you."

"You did it for yourself," Magnus snaps. For a fleeting moment he imagines he sees remorse in Willa's eyes. It's all the confirmation he needs. "This is not the way I expected you to pay your debt."

"Life for life," Willa murmurs. Her face darkens quickly. "I believe it's only appropriate."

Magnus bristles. "You surrendered Alec to the Clave thinking it's 'only appropriate'?"

The muscles in Willa's jaw shift subtly. Her mouth becomes a thin line as she murmurs, voice clipped, "He's not the one I am indebted to. The sacrifice was necessary."

Magnus' lips curl in disgust, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth. "It wasn't your call," he snarls.

"It wasn't your call in Pendle, either," Willa throws back. Her eyes are wild but her posture remains as stiff and controlled as her voice no longer is. "You could've saved my sister."

"I was able to save only one of you. You were younger, you haven't lived yet. You were the obvious choice."

"And between you dying by the Clave's hand and you losing your rank, I chose to sacrifice the boy, a fleeting fascination though he may be." Willa's eyes narrow as she spits back at him, "It was the obvious choice."

Magnus takes a slow, deep breath through the nose before saying, his voice dangerously low, "Pendle was a mistake. I shouldn't have bothered."

"You shouldn't have," Willa agrees. "But you did. And I owed you for it."

She turns on her heel. The light streaming from the window draws bright, silver contours over her silhouette. She trembles slightly and the few remaining leaves on her head rustle softly. Magnus glares at her back.

"You know he's more than a fleeting fascination. You know."

"I do," she says without turning her head. He can't see her eyes.

"Then why?"

"Because it was my only shot at freedom." She turns to face him one last time. Her eyes are as right as her sudden smile. "And my freedom matters far more than his."

x

Eldertree returns to the cells, timely as promised. His eyes are dark and hungry. He looks at Alec the way a cat eyes an unsuspecting pigeon, inching closer. "Have you decided?"

Alec nods, slowly. A grin breaks on the Inquisitor's face. "Wonderful," he croons. "The trial shall take place this afternoon."

Alec nods again. His hair falls into his face, hiding his eyes. He hears the Inquisitor rubbing his palms together. There's a gleeful huff before the man murmurs, "remember your family, Alexander."

Alec snorts but doesn't lift his head. The Inquisitor huffs again- this time apparently displeased- and hauls Alec up on his feet. He drags him to the glamoured door and knocks on it five times in a strange rhythm. It swings open soundlessly. The hall beyond it is narrow and long, doors on each side. Alec is reluctant to leave the comfort of his own cage, but the Inquisitor's hand on his arm leaves him little choice. They march through the hallways, turning often enough for Alec to forget where they originally came from. They stop before a plain door, dark brown wood with a small silver handle just like the rest.

Eldertree opens the door with his stele. His hand steers Alec inside. "You're to remain here," he instructs. "Think."

The door swings shut behind him.

The room is bare save for a chair in the middle. Alec sits, and waits.

x

After Willa leaves the man returns. He gives Magnus a quick, assessing glance. He doesn't say anything- doesn't ask if he's ready yet. He just nods, curtly, and doesn't shut the door when he exits. Magnus follows.

As they make their way to the center of the current branch Magnus' stomach knots. "How many will be present?" he asks.

"Twenty-three."

Magnus carefully maintains his stride, though his first instinct is to halt. "Full-house?"

The man moves his shoulders minutely, hardly a shrug but close in intent. "It's an unusual case," the man explains, tone bleak and slightly bored. "You will find many came here out of sheer curiosity rather than profound concern for your fate."

"Shocking."

"Not at all."

They round a corner. There's no door to the grand hall, just wood, arching from the hallway up all the way to the arched ceiling. A large oculus at the top lets in a single, wide beam of midday sun. It falls across a spacious, wooden chair with armrests and leather-straps. Magnus knows who it's meant for. He steers toward it without being prompted.

The crowd steers as he enters their line of sight. Silence falls; Magnus' heels tap oh so terribly loudly on the wooden floor. The men and women seated around him in a perfect circle follow his movement with hungry eyes. He settles. The straps bind his wrists with a single snap of his guide's fingers.

"Magnus Bane," a woman greets him as she steps forward from her place to Magnus' right. Her skin is dark and her posture is regal. She holds herself tall and formidable, like a wolf at the head of its pack. Magnus can't help but feel like a deer, surrounded by predators.

He schools his features and stares at the woman coolly. Animals react to fear.

"I am the Head of the Order," the woman introduces herself. Magnus doesn't remember her. The head used to be a wrinkly man with ice for eyes. "And I will be the one to conduct the questioning in this trial."

Magnus waits. She doesn't offer her name. Instead, she takes the only chair within the circle apart from his. It has a wide frame and is made of heavy wood, designed like a throne with lion paws for legs. Sitted, the woman turns to eye Magnus with unnerving calm. "We shall begin."

The crowd cries back, "Begin!" and the hall is suddenly plunged into darkness. The only light is that directly on Magnus' chair.

"Are you aware of the accusations made against you?" he hears the voice of the woman across from him, but he can't see anything but the vicious glim of her eyes.

"No," Magnus replies. Someone in the crowd snorts. Magnus ignores them.

The woman's voice echoes in the hall, reciting a list in the martyred tones of the exceptionally bored. 'Illegal bonding', 'violation of the Accords, clause seventeen' and 'exploitation of the resources given to you in accordance to you rank' are a few that stick to mind.

When she's done, another voice asks, "Is that clear?". The tone is harsh. Magnus nods.

"Crystal."

"What is your plea?"

Twenty-three warlocks and witches still their breath as Magnus weighs his words. The air fills with anticipation and the sort of ferocious thrill one gets from watching others plummeting down, like rocket shooters, pushed forwards solely by their own idiocy.

Magnus makes up his mind quicker than customary. He opens his mouth to speak. The crowd draws in an excited breath. He can feel their eyes on his skin, prickling like an array of a thousand miniature daggers. They want him to plummet.

"Guilty."

His fall echoes in the sudden, surprised exhale of twenty-three mouths. Somehow, they all appear disappointed.

"Are you aware that by admitting thus, the council may choose to forego this trial?"

"Yes."

There's another hiss of disappointment from the crowd. Magnus has a hard time believing they will give up on the show.

They don't. The vote on whether they should continue with his trial or not goes as expected- twenty three to none in favor of watching Magnus sit on the chair for another fortnight, pretending to fight off accusations he accepts. Magnus hopes they'll find the show boring quickly.

They don't.

Sorry about the delay (and by delay I mean too damn long, what the hell was I thinking). RL's been crazy-busy and I'm a lazy bum. That's my excuse for taking so (too) long to get on with this chapter. On the bright side- it's finally here, and everyone's still in one piece! (ain't that an accomplishment?)

(guys are any of you on tumblr?)