Chapter Four

Jace

As Alec dropped to the floor, Jace felt the ground beneath him give. He was completely unaware of what was being done to him: Valentine gripping his arm, slicing the rune off his skin, and then admiring his work. Distantly, he could hear Isabelle screaming his name and Alec's name, and then a string of curses at Valentine. He wished she wouldn't because he knew Valentine had a short temper. He slumped, completely unable to support his own weight, and Jonathan had to hold him up.

"He's not taking to it well," Jonathan said conversationally. "Look at him, he can't even hold his own weight."

"Well, Jonathan," said Valentine, taking Jace's limp body and positioning him on the floor. Jace blinked up at him and then leaned forward on his knees. He couldn't breathe evenly, and the room was spinning all around him; his stomach was sore and he wanted to lie down. "He's just had a very traumatic operation of sorts; he'll need a moment to recover."

"I don't want to be paired with him," Jonathan said simply.

Paired with him? Jace wondered, and he recalled vague memories from what seemed to be another life. Paired with-with…

"Alec!" Isabelle screamed, shaking his limp body. "Alec, wake up!"

"Alec," Jace croaked. Yes, he knew the name, he knew who Alec was. He lurched forward, as if scrambling about blindly for his brother. "Alec, where are you?"

"Jace, don't make a fool of yourself," chided Valentine, watching Jace scrabble on the floor. He grabbed Jace by his shoulder though Jace was fighting him off. "Come here, it's time you were joined to your parabatai."

Joined to your parabatai? I was paired. Jace wanted to hit Valentine for some reason, though he didn't quite know why. He couldn't focus on anything, his world was spinning and there was nothing to hold him down. It was like gravity didn't exist.

"Jonathan, if you would come here a moment," Valentine said, and lugged Jace backward. Jonathan eyed Jace with bland contempt, and Valentine frowned at him. "You might not like it, Jonathan, but this is my decision, and it's the only way to set our family to rights. Jace can give you your freedom; that's what you wanted."

Jonathan rolled his eyes but then offered his father his arm. "Jocelyn had just better stop pestering me once this is over," he growled, but Valentine shot him a warning look and flicked his stele.

He whispered a few words over the stele and had Jonathan make the customary vow; Jace, who was still staring about bemused, was forced to spit out an oath by Valentine who had to use his obedience rune to bring the words out. Valentine first marked Jonathan, who scowled through it all, and then turned the stele on Jace who felt the familiar burn.

But with the burn came that horrible feeling of gravity tugging him relentlessly back down. Suddenly Jace crashed back into his body, and he felt that connection that tied him and his parabatai shoot through him. He felt the pull and his eyes roved up to Jonathan, who stared down at him with a burning look.

Your parabatai, said a voice in his head. It was an order, a command, an instinct. This boy was his other half, his new partner, his brother-but he just couldn't bear it. Jonathan is your parabatai now, not Alec.

"I hate you," Jace hissed through his teeth.

Jonathan smiled gracefully. "I do hope you'll change your mind, little brother, in due time."

"I'm not your brother," Jace snapped back. "I'm not your brother you-"

"Silence!" ordered Valentine, and Jace's voice stuck in his throat. He turned his hateful gaze on Valentine, the man who had tied him to Jonathan, and had to suppress the urge to lunge at him. "Please, remove the Lightwoods and take them to wait in the antechamber. Their foster father will be here to collect them shortly."

Jace snapped about just in time to see Isabelle being pulled off Alec and dragged to her feet; Alec was unconscious. Jace saw him and jerked in his direction, but he realized he could no longer sense Alec across the distance; Alec and he were no longer bonded, and it hit him like a blow. He doubled over. "Wait!" he cried, but Isabelle and Alec were being removed and Valentine had a hand on his shoulder.

"Jace, you'll come with me; it's time you went home." Valentine glanced at Jonathan. "Will you please stay here and finish up the rest of the cell block? I'm sure dinner will be ready by the time you arrive. Besides, I think it's best Jace acclimates to his new home without you breathing down his neck."

"As you'll have it, Father," Jonathan said stiffly.

Jonathan pulled Jace onto his feet and led him forcefully from the room. Jace tried to fight him, tried to run back to his brother and sister, but Valentine walked him from the room, out of the Gard and down to the road where a carriage was waiting. As they went, Jace wondered what was to become of his friends; he was so concerned about them that he didn't realize Valentine was speaking as he helped him up into the carriage.

"…find yourself very comfortable with me, Jocelyn, and Jonathan."

Jace blinked. "And Clary?"

Valentine's eyes flickered. "Clarissa has much yet to learn, and I don't want to reward her too soon. Eventually, Jace, you two will be reunited, but not now."

"When were you planning on telling me that Clary and I weren't related?" he said evenly, though the blood under his skin was boiling.

"As soon as you deserved to know," Valentine answered. "My daughter is as much your reward and you are for her. You gave me no reason to trust you or reward you, Jace, but now you have. All that remains is Clarissa's consent."

Jace mulled it over, but noticed that Valentine was watching him very closely, and said quickly, "What do you want with me?"

Valentine leaned back in his seat, observing Jace. "Jocelyn was unhappy, and it seemed the only thing that would please her was to have her family back. You can imagine how difficult this would be for me to do."

"Well, locking her up in your house certainly does throw a wrench in the romantic date night." Jace watched Valentine, wondering if he had pushed him too far. "I don't see how I can fix your family."

"You can fix the hole Jonathan made," was all he said, and refused to speak of it anymore.

Jace stared out the window, watching Alicante pass by, but none of it mattered. He felt strangely empty, and knew it was because Alec was no longer bound to him. Nervously, Jace tested the connection between him and Jonathan, just to see what it felt like, and he got only a dull, throbbing, hatred. Jace pulled away from it at once. When he looked out the window, he saw them approaching a very large, very extravagant house, and he realized that this was Valentine's home. They came to a stop before the house and Valentine left the carriage first, calling over his shoulder, "Follow me."

Jace trailed Valentine up the front walk, but before they stepped up to the porch, Valentine turned and led them around the side of the house and to a small door in the back, coated in ivy. When Valentine unlocked the door and pushed it wide, Jace saw a servants' stair that probably ran up all the many levels of the house. Curious, Jace stared ahead but didn't move.

Am I going to be a servant here? Jace wondered, not putting it past Valentine. After all, Jace had given him what he wanted; bound to Jonathan like he was, the other boy was sure to feel Jace's more empathetic tendencies. He's got no other use but to keep me alive for Jonathan's sake.

"Go up to the third floor, Jace," Valentine said, and pushed him in. It was a tight fit, and Jace wondered how Valentine, such a broad man, could move easily in the wooden stairwell. When then reached the third floor, Valentine steered him into a lavish hall. "Second room on the right, if you please."

Jace paused outside a closed door, wondering again what might be on the other side. When he didn't open the door, Valentine reached around him and threw it wide. Jace was surprised to see a bedroom, clean, ordered, and ready-made for an inhabitant. He paused on the spot, but Valentine gave him a sharp shove and closed the door with a snap behind them.

"Why are you doing this?" Jace asked, exploring the room. It was nice, rather larger than his room at the Institute. "Why did you bring me here?" He turned around and saw Valentine smiling at him, and he'd never seen a more terrifying look. Never, not once in all the years he had lived as Valentine's son, had Valentine fixed him with such a hungry, possessed smile. Instinctively, Jace drew back a step, and then another, and another, until his back was brushing against the wall. "What do you want with me?"

Valentine, instead of answering, reached over to the desk opposite the bed and pulled the chair out. On the chair was a flat, wide box; Valentine offered it to Jace. "Open it, Jace."

Jace stared at the box. "What's in it?" Valentine thrust the box into Jace's hands, and smiled even wider. Slowly, Jace's fingers pulled the box apart and found clothes: jeans, a tee shirt, and a loose, buttoned shirt. Jace raised one eyebrow and tossed the box aside. "Have you gone completely insane?"

Valentine took his time going over to the bed and picking up the box. "Jace, I've explained this to you. Jocelyn was inconsolable. She wanted her son back; I couldn't give her Jonathan, so-"

"So you're giving her me?" Jace spat, the truth dawning on him. "That's why you forced Jonathan and me to become parabatai, because you wanted us to be brothers? You really have lost it, you know that? All those years on your own must have done a number on you-" Valentine's hand smacking across Jace's face cut him off.

"I raised you, Jace, to be Jocelyn's son, and so you are." Valentine eyed the box in his hand. "Dinner is in two hours; go wash off and get into these clothes. I'll be back in thirty minutes to see you've fixed yourself up." Still smiling, he gave Jace a push in the direction of the bathroom, and then turned and left.

Jace just stood there, his mind racing as he processed everything he had just heard. I raised you to be Jocelyn's son…Jace considered his upbringing, all the training, all the pain, all the hard work and determination-all the things a shadowhunter family as old as the Fairchilds would have liked. But there were all the small things, too: learning to sail a boat, learning to play the piano, his spaghetti birthday-all the things Jocelyn would have indulged her son in.

Did Valentine only save my life and raise me to make Jocelyn happy? Is that all he ever really wanted me for? For some reason, even though Jace had learned to hate him over the last few weeks, it still hurt to know that the man he had considered his father had only ever thought of him as a replacement, something he could mold to make Jocelyn happy. He must have been ecstatic the day my mother died.

With that thought, Jace threw the box of clothes across the room and stormed into the small, adjoining bathroom. Jace had been in the cell a few days, and before that, he had been trekking across Idris for Valentine and Jonathan, and as a result, he was rather dirty. Jace scrubbed away the dirt and blood and sweat, not quite sure how it all could have been on him. Afterward, he stared at himself in the mirror, considering his reflection. He didn't look too good; there was a cut across his cheek, a wide array of bruises, and some nasty looking demon burns.

Jocelyn is gonna love this, he thought bitterly, but then realized he didn't know anything about Jocelyn. He knew she was Clary's mother, and he knew she had been artistic and rebellious, but what did that mean? Had he gone before Myrse looking like this, she would have sent him back to his room to fix up, but what would Jocelyn do?

Jace eyed the clothing with disgust; they were so horribly Mundane. He managed to get into the jeans, but when faced with the prospect of the shirt, he couldn't take it. Jace tossed the box off the bed where is skidded on the floor. He threw himself on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, trying to work through the shock of being here. Ten minutes later, though, when Valentine returned and saw the clothing on the floor, he knew he was in trouble.

"Jace, what did I tell you?" he asked, examining the shirts. "Come over here, boy."

"I'm not Jonathan," Jace said simply, though he got up and went to Valentine.

Valentine laughed. "I know that, Jace." Valentine spun him around and jerked his arms up; for a moment, Jace thought he was going to hit him, but then he felt Valentine pull the shirt over his head. "No one can be Jonathan; he is unique. He is the best shadowhunter of this age, he will take my place when I have died, and he is perfect; you, Jace, are none of those things. What you are, is the son Jocelyn wants. Jonathan is a Morgenstern, you are a Fairchild."

Jace felt a snarl working up and he pushed Valentine away. "I can get dressed myself!"

"Apparently, you can't," Valentine snapped, and jerked Jace back over. "Apparently, I have to do everything for you because you're still a little, whining child. Stand still!" It was an official command, and in the back of Jace's mind, a voice said STILL. He couldn't move. Valentine took out the other shirt, a nice plaid thing, and tugged Jace into it. "Now, when I take you to meet Jocelyn, you do whatever she says. If you play the role well enough maybe I'll give you something you want. Maybe I'll see how dear Clarissa feels about rejoining the family."

Isabelle

The men threw Isabelle down in a large empty hall full of nothing but tall pillars. She landed heavily, unprepared for the fall, and still weak from the Cup. Beside her, Alec was dropped like a sack of potatoes, and he landed in a heap of pale, glistening skin. Isabelle crawled over to her brother and glared up at the men who had left them. They stared back, unblinkingly, and that was when Isabelle saw they had no marks.

So this is my parents' fate, Isabelle wondered. When they are stripped of their marks it must drive any sense of self from them. She pulled away and wrapped her arms about Alec, cradling his head on her lap.

"Alec, Alec, come on, wake up." Alec didn't respond and Isabelle pinched his cheek. "You need to wake up before someone comes for us. Please wake up. Open your eyes."

Alec remained silent and unconscious, and after a few minutes Isabelle gave up. She wondered if maybe this was better for Alec after what he had gone through. It must be a traumatic experience, to be so closely tied to a person and then have them torn away from you. Maybe it was like when a person you loved dearly died.

Like Max, she thought after a beat.

The loss of Max was still so powerful a blow that Isabelle shied away from it. When she closed her eyes she could still see Max's face, still hear his voice in her ears, still feel the warm weight of his small body against her. Especially on that last night when she had taken him upstairs and tucked him tightly into bed. The memory of it all haunted her still, and she suspected it would haunt her forever; so maybe that was what Alec was feeling. And who was she kidding? After Max died, she would have loved to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

"Okay, Alec, keep sleeping, sleep until you stop hurting," she whispered, and she continued to run her hands through his hair in the most comforting gesture she could.

As the minutes ticked by, Isabelle began to think about Jace. Her last image of him was being held back by Valentine, his face panic stricken and Alec's name on his lips. He had seemed as lively and driven as he always had, not at all like Alec. She assumed it had something to do with being bound to Jonathan; Jace had a connection again, Alec had been left alone.

Valentine had said he had plans for Jace, and it was hard to imagine what those plans might be. When the truth had come out about Valentine raising him, Isabelle had been shocked by how brutal his childhood had been. The thought of him returning with that man, even if he had time to recover and grow, didn't sit well with her. Wherever Valentine had taken Jace could only be worse than where she was going.

This, however, just brought back the resounding thought that she and Alec were being taken somewhere. Fear bubbled up in her throat and she felt like she was choking. Her parents had been taken away, stripped of their runes, and were going to be made slaves. She was never going to see them again, and if she did, would they recognize her? It left her and Alec with this mysterious foster family who was going to be keeping them until they were twenty-one.

"We'll just have to be strong," Isabelle said firmly to Alec. "We're Lightwoods, and that's no small name. We have a history, an honor, a family name to uphold." She couldn't help but remember Jace when he came to their family-his foster family-with his bland, unseeing eyes and careless manner. "We'll be just like Jace, you and I. We'll go with this family, but we'll still be Lightwoods."

"You'll excuse me for saying this, but I don't believe the name Lightwood exists anymore."

Isabelle looked up and found herself staring into a face that was going to be etched in her memory as the traitor who had ruined their lives. The dark hair, the beaked nose, the prominent cheekbones, she knew them all rather well. However, though she knew him, she couldn't find the voice to speak.

"Why is the boy here?" he asked sharply, his thick Romanian accent washing over Isabelle. "I thought I was only taking the girl."

One of the blank, cloaked figure moved forward and bowed. "The boy was spared, Consul; Valentine told us to bring him to you."

"Well, I don't want him; take him back to his parents. He doesn't belong within the Clave-"

"Screw you, Malachi!" Isabelle spat, springing up to her feet. She could feel anger coursing through her quicker than ever. "You did this, you helped Valentine do all this. I'm not going with him," she added to the cloaked figures about her. "Take me back to a cell in the Gard, I'll rot there before I go anywhere this traitor!"

"Careful how you toss names around, my dear," Malachi said, smiling a little at her. "It's a new age and the only traitors are those who deny the power of Valentine."

"You sold us all to him," Isabelle hissed.

"And look where it got me," Malachi smirked, running his eyes over Isabelle. "More importantly, look where it got your parents and friends. They're either dead or imprisoned, and if you're not careful, you could join them."

"I'd rather."

Malachi examined Isabelle another moment and then turned to the men about him. "If it is Valentine's will, then I'll take the boy, but the Angel knows I don't want him. I have no clue where I'm going to put him. Why isn't he awake?"

Isabelle could feel her fingers digging into her palm. "He's been hurt."

"A pity he didn't die," sniffed Malachi. "Carry him out to the carriage on the road; Isabelle, walk with me."

"I'm going with Alec," she breathed.

Malachi's eyes darkened. "I'm not going to start my role as your guardian with you flouting me. You will join me now, Isabelle."

If Isabelle had any intention of going with Alec, she missed her chance when one of the men lifted Alec and hurried away. She made to follow, but Malachi snatched her arm and tugged her back. She broke her arm from his grasp, but he seemed unconcerned by her little display. He set off at a forceful pace and Isabelle had no choice but to follow; after all, he did have Alec.

They left the Gard and headed for the street before the building. Waiting for them was a small, carriage, a man sitting at the reins. When he saw them approaching he tipped his head to Malachi and then gave Isabelle a double take, even dirty and dressed in her brother's worn shirt, she cut quite a figure. Malachi opened the door to the carriage and helped Isabelle in, but she tried to fight when she saw one of the men dumping Alec in the small seat behind the carriage. Malachi just shoved her in, snapping the door shut.

As soon as they were in the protective silence of the carriage, Malachi turned to face Isabelle with a dark look. "I won't bandy words with you, Isabelle, but I must impress upon you how little patience I have for children."

Isabelle, seated across from Malachi, could only hear the pounding of blood in her ears. "What a coincidence, I don't have much patience for ugly, middle-aged, cowardly traitors."

"See, that right there is what I was referring to," Malachi sighed. "I have agreed to take you on mostly because Valentine wanted to keep a close eye on you, and he had to make sure you'd go to a suitable home."

"Mostly?" Isabelle asked sharply. "How much money did he give you?"

Malachi chuckled darkly. "No money, my dear, no, I have no interest in that."

"Then what?"

"We'll come to that another time," Malachi said simply, and Isabelle felt his eyes resting on her uncomfortably. "For the moment, I'd like to lay down a few rules, and I hope you will understand."

Isabelle crossed her arms and looked away. She wasn't going to sit there and listen to some man who had betrayed them all tell her how she was going to live. Maybe Malachi knew how she felt, maybe he just wasn't accustomed to people ignoring him, because he reached across the carriage and took Isabelle's chin in his hand, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"You will keep yourself presentable and polite; I entertain many important people and am an influential member of the Clave, and I won't have a wayward daughter. When you arrive you will begin lessons for keeping a household-"

"What?" Isabelle spat, slapping his hand away.

Malachi raised an eyebrow. "Did you think I was going to let you continue with this reckless, highly inappropriate, warrior combat? No, I was raised a traditionalist, and that is how I will raise you. When I was growing up, the Clave didn't allow women to do such things." He smiled at Isabelle's indignation. "It's a new world, Isabelle, and you have a new place in it."

"I'm not going to be your housekeeper," Isabelle said icily.

"You will find that you'll be whatever I tell you to be," Malachi shrugged. "As I was saying, once you're settled, I'll have the housekeeper begin lessons for you. I think you will find that those chores alone will keep you very occupied. Since it seems your brother is unwell, you will be charged with his care, and, once he's more himself, he will be placed under your supervision. Keep in mind, Isabelle, that while you will be watching over your brother, I am still his legal guardian, and I can punish him as I see fit."

"Don't you touch him!" Isabelle snarled.

"I won't have to as long as you keep him in check, Isabelle," Malachi chided. "You have to remember, though, that I didn't want Alec, and he is easily disposable."

Isabelle was shaking. He's right, he's right and you hate it, but he's right. He has Alec and no one is going to come to save you; your parents are gone and Valentine took Jace. You're all on your own now.

"Don't hurt my brother," Isabelle finally said, though the words tasted like ash in her mouth. "I'll keep your house and your rules, but you can't hurt Alec."

Malachi smiled as the carriage they rode in slowed before a large house set on a sloping lawn. Isabelle saw the towering house and felt her heart miss a beat. These last few minutes marked the last moments of freedom. Whatever lay ahead, she knew she would rather go back.

Luke

Darkness had become a constant companion, and it was lucky chance that Luke was a werewolf, and could shift at will. Trapped in the cells deep below the Gard, Luke hadn't seen the light of the sun in days. He had suspected that part of his punishment was this darkness, but little it did to faze him anymore. His wolf eyes more than served their purpose; he had spent the last two days curled up in his wolf form, waiting for Valentine.

Surely, he's coming, Luke thought, flicking his ears forward as a scream echoed from far above him. He'll come to gloat, at least; he hasn't had the chance to with the Clave.

Luke knew Valentine well; he had been gracious, polite, conservative and restrained while dealing with fellow shadowhunters. He had wanted to show them that it was them, not him, who had sunk so low; he had to be the perfect, generous, forgiving leader for the Clave. However, he had a bone to pick with Luke-a very personal bone-and he could be as cruel and crazed as he wanted. Luke, after all, was a werewolf. He was an animal.

He might kill me, Luke thought carelessly. I certainly have earned his enmity; besides, he thinks Jocelyn and I…Luke shied away from the thought of Jocelyn because she had been on his mind so much those last few days.

Valentine had been obsessed with Jocelyn, truly consumed with his desire to have her back. Jocelyn had once told him that a Morgenstern will never let what is theirs go; she was sure Valentine would burn down the world and dig her out of the ashes. Now, Jocelyn had been forced to go back to him. Luke had watched Jocelyn rush to Clary's side, had watched Valentine's hungry eyes devour her, and then he had lifted her onto his horse and she had been spirited away. It hadn't helped that Clary had been taken away with her; if anything, it just made it that much worse.

Clary was too wild, too willful, too much a Mundane for Valentine; Luke knew he would not suffer Clary's behavior. Luke had no trouble admitting he was scared for Clary, scared for what Valentine might do to her. She was, after all, the reason Jocelyn had left him, and Valentine would hold her accountable. He wouldn't care that she was his daughter, his wonderful, talented, funny, sweet daughter. He would only care that she had torn Jocelyn from his arms.

The wolf in the cell whined a little. Clary was practically his daughter, far more his daughter than Valentine's. He felt a strange stirring in the pit of his stomach; it was pulsating anger directed at Valentine. He knew, then, without a doubt, that if he ever got wind of Valentine hurting Clary, he would tear his throat out.

You had better just kill me, Valentine, because if you don't, I won't rest until I've killed you.