Chapter Seven

Alec

It was the sound of heavy breathing that woke Alec, that, and the warmth radiating off an alien body. He rolled over carefully, more for his own comfort than fear of alerting his guest, and squinted through his lids. At first, all he saw was a mass of black, and he thought faintly that he had somehow ended up sleeping beside a werewolf.

Or, Magnus has seriously updated his hair style.

Alec smiled grimly and opened his eyes fully. The mess of black fur turned out not to be fur at all, but instead, the long black hair of Isabelle Lightwood, and it was her heavy, sleep breathing, that had awoken him. Gently, Alec prodded Isabelle in the small of her back, and she stirred, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like Simon.

"Izzy," he croaked. "Izzy, wake up…"

Maybe it was just because Alec was there and Isabelle had always been so close with her siblings, but she jerked suddenly into wakefulness, sitting up and turning about to stare down at Alec. Her mouth opened wide, like she were about to say something both loud and endearing, but the words evaded her and she flung herself at him in a warm embrace.

"Alec!" she rasped. "I've been so worried about you. When Valentine severed you and Jace, and you didn't wake up, and then Malachi took us here and said he'd thrown you in the attic…" Isabelle kissed both his cheeks, clutching him very close. "I thought you were going to-not going to make it, and I can't do this alone, Alec, I just can't."

Isabelle's words poured into Alec, confusion and pain mingling to leave him looking faintly lost. "Malachi?" he finally asked.

Isabelle sat back, still holding one of Alec's hands. "He's the one who adopted us-on Valentine's orders, of course. After you passed out, Valentine had his cronies drag us out and he came and picked us up. I guess he's still the Counsel, and a bunch of other important things now, and we're stuck in his care."

Alec ignored the mention of his passing out, mostly because he didn't want to consider what had caused him to feint. "Why did Malachi want us?"

"It was on Valentine's orders; I don't think he wants us running underfoot, you know?" Isabelle hadn't met his eyes, and Alec sensed she was holding something back. "He thinks we're going to cause problems, try and start a rebellion or something. This way, Valentine can keep his most trusted servant's eyes on us."

"Just what I wanted," Alec shrugged, and rolled onto his back. He was still sore all over, it felt like he'd just recovered from a bout of flu and then been beaten soundly. There was sharp pain that radiated from his arm, to his shoulders and the base of his spine, and it left him with jerking muscle spasms and a pounding headache. This was coupled with a stomach turning nausea that constantly threatened to make him vomit. The rest of his body was just sore from the strained muscles, and he recognized the first stirrings of hunger. "Is there something to eat?"

Isabelle slapped her head. "Of course! Myra told me to get food in you the moment I got up here, but you were still sleeping and I was so tired…Here, I've got chicken noodle soup and bread."

Alec struggled to sit, but Isabelle promptly came and helped him up. She stirred the soup while Alec watched her. "Why are you taking care of me? Is Myra not up to it?" he asked.

Isabelle's eyes definitely didn't meet his this time, and Alec knew it. "She's the housekeeper, very busy."

"Izzy," Alec said, and managed to grip her arm, albeit, very weakly. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Eat first," she said sternly, and held up a spoon full of steaming stew. Alec obliged her for a few minutes, and then caught her gaze again. Isabelle ran a hand through her messy hair. "Malachi told me he doesn't really want you; he thought he was just going to get me. He said that you're going to be placed in my care, and I'm not exactly in the position to argue with him."

If he only wants my sister, he's got another thing coming, Alec thought darkly. "What's he said to you?"

Isabelle stared down at the soup in her hands. "Only that I'm not to be trained anymore."

Alec's mouth fell open. "He said what?"

Isabelle's lip was trembling and Alec was horrified to see that there were tears welling in her eyes. He had never seen Isabelle cry-except when Max had died-and he realized just how deeply this was disturbing her. "He said that he didn't believe in women being trained as warriors. I'm going to begin training as a…housewife." She said the last word with such disgust it sounded like a curse.

Alec knew how passionate Isabelle had been about hunting, fighting, anything that involved sharp weapons, and to hear that she was being stripped of the one thing that had made her happy, drew out of Alec something that might be considered muted outrage. He wanted to be angry for Isabelle, he wanted to be furious, but for some reason, he couldn't feel the necessary emotions.

What's wrong with me? Alec wondered, staring down at himself. Look at me, I'm useless, I'm worthless, life is wasted on me. My sister is practically a slave, and here I am, lying in bed. Alec felt his himself sink lower and lower, and suddenly a wash of memories overcame him. I just stood there while Valentine split me and Jace, while he took away my brother and best friend. I just let him! I don't fight, I don't struggle, I don't do anything. I just stand to side and let everyone I love suffer… As if it weren't enough, Alec carefully probed the raw spot in his mind where Jace's presence once lingered, and felt a horribly, painful throbbing sensation. It burned through his body and ignited a seizure in his spine. Unable to control it, Alec starting jerking wildly.

"Alec!" Isabelle cried, and she took Alec's shoulders and held him fast. He continued shaking, twisting, and gasping for breath. "Alec, what's wrong?"

"I-I-I-" Alec couldn't even speak he was shaking so badly. The seizures went on for almost five complete minutes and all Isabelle could do was help Alec lie down and wait for it to end. Alec was reduced to a small, prostrate figure, covered in sweat and panting.

"What happened?" Isabelle asked gently, finding a bath towel folding in a small cupboard and wiping his face clean.

"I tried to test the-the connection between me and Jace," he said weakly, panting. "You saw what happened…"

Isabelle sighed and rested her head against Alec's. "You have to be careful, Alec. I was scared you were going to die when you were split, and now…Alec I can't be alone here." Isabelle curled up beside Alec and he weakly reached an arm out and draped it behind her.

"I'm not going to leave you, Izzy," he said firmly. "I'm still your older brother, and I'm still here to protect you. Believe me."

Isabelle closed her eyes and sank down into the blankets. She considered herself, and where she had been only a month before; she didn't think her past self would believe that she'd be sleeping in the same bed as her ailing brother, terrified of the morning, and wishing she could be anywhere else. Lying beside Alec, listening to his heart beat, she tried to sleep. "I believe you."

Luke

"You're not looking too well, Lucian," said Valentine, seated across from the crumpled form of his former parabatai on a bench. He watched the unresponsive figure, the weak rising and falling of the lungs, and the muscles twitching in his semi-conscious state. "Perhaps I could bring you some bread, or does your kind prefer raw flesh?"

The jib about food ignited just enough anger in Luke for him to respond. When Valentine finished speaking, Luke flexed his clawed hands and then launched himself at Valentine. It was only the chains that bound Luke that saved Valentine's life, but Luke's claws scythed the air, three of them caught Valentine, slicing through his dress shirt. Valentine gave a furious cry and stood up, eyes gleaming.

"I'll take your flesh, Valentine!" Luke snarled. He showed his teeth-all sharp and pointed like a wolf's-and grinned.

Valentine narrowed his gaze at Luke. "You'll take nothing of the sort, Lucian, not while you're in chains you won't."

Luke stood up to his full height and eyed Valentine with mounting hate. "Why are you here, Valentine? Don't you have some poor, helpless, children to subjugate?"

"Subjugating children?" Valentine smirked. "I would never dream of it. You have so many false ideas of me; where did they come from? You certainly never felt this way when we were young."

"It's been a while since we were young," Luke said indifferently. "Recently, though, you have been cutting quite a path of destruction, one I can't say I'd be too proud of."

"Careful, Lucian," Valentine said.

"Or what?" Luke shot back. "What more can you possibly do to me? You've taken my pack and done who knows what with them, you took Jocelyn, you took Clary, and you locked me in a cell so far below ground I can't even remember seeing daylight. You've not left me much to be afraid of."

Valentine's face had remained impassive to most of Luke's outburst, but the mention of Jocelyn and Clary had brought a furious gleam to his eyes. "My wife and daughter are mine to do with as I choose. Regardless of the fact that you implemented yourself into Jocelyn's life, you will certainly not remain there long."

Luke growled. "What have you done with them?"

"Nothing," Valentine said with a twisted smile, "but made them happy. I have given Jocelyn everything she ever wanted: a house, a family, and, most importantly, her son. She is all but in love with me again."

"Your lying never really got to me," Luke sniffed. "I find it hard to believe that Jocelyn forgave you for killing her son."

"You think I speak of Jonathan," Valentine smirked.

"You're not?" Even Luke was confused.

Valentine smiled. "You met Jace, didn't you?"

Luke frowned. "What have you done to that poor boy now, Valentine?"

"I didn't know you'd come to care for the boy," Valentine said, amusement in his eyes.

"What did you expect? You destroyed his childhood and spent the last few months driving him mad. He's still only a child-"

"I didn't destroy his childhood."

"You treated him like an animal!" Luke snapped. "It didn't take a doctor to see the broken soul. How badly did you treat him? How many times did you hit him? How much did you scare him?"

Valentine frowned. "I raised him to be the best shadowhunter he could be, the best second only to Jonathan. He's the perfect son now."

"What are you doing with him?" Luke's eyes narrowed. "Hurting Clary, no doubt."

"Clarissa," Valentine said, annoyed at her nick name, "is perfectly fine, though I do think she'll behave herself given that I control her mother and Jace."

"Is that what you're doing with Jace? Using him to control Clary?" Luke was seething, and all he could think of was Clary's face, small, pale, and wide-eyed when she looked to him for help. "You've reached a new low, Valentine, if you have to threaten your daughter with her boyfriend."

This seemed to irk Valentine, and he drew a few steps closer. "I'm not here to discuss my parenting with you, Lucian-"

"I hardly call you a parent," Luke cut in.

"I am here because there's the small matter of your continued existence to deal with," said Valentine. "While I would very much like to kill you, I think Jocelyn would be upset if I executed you in public, and I have no intention of upsetting her just after we reconciled. So, this leaves an interesting conundrum."

"You've been executing Downworlders?" he asked, his mind racing to Simon.

Valentine must have known where his thoughts were at. "Well, not all of them. Some will serve a better purpose than a corpse, so, like you, I have them restrained in the Gard. But I'm planning on moving you all soon; I think somewhere nice and dark, but first-" Valentine's eyes moved up and down Luke again, as if trying to see something that wasn't there "-I need you to talk to Jocelyn. She respects you, trusts your judgment." This he said grudgingly, and Luke was pleased by how much it pained him to say it.

"I promise you, Valentine, that anything I have to tell Jocelyn would not help your cause," Luke snorted.

"You're going to tell her what I want," Valentine said simply.

"And why would I do that?"

"Because," said Valentine smoothly, "I'll let you see my daughter one last time before I remove you. I'll let you have your little moment with the brat, and I'll fix her up beforehand. I'll admit," Valentine smirked, "Clarissa is not in good order, a bit banged up."

Luke growled low in his throat. "What have you done to her?"

"Nothing she won't recover from-" he paused, thoughtful "-if I set to work soon. If not, those broken bones might not set right."

Luke refrained from lunging at Valentine, but he felt a tremor work in his hand. Don't rise to it, don't let him know. "Jocelyn won't be happy if you bring her daughter back to her in pieces."

"That's where you're going to come in," said Valentine. "I'll bring Jocelyn to meet you, and you'll tell her that you think she's better off with me. Make her believe it's right to be with me."

Luke shivered. "I'm not going to do that."

"Then I'll leave Clarissa right where she it, and I don't think the poor girl can hold much longer."

Whatever else he is, you know Valentine's always been a man of his word. If he says Clary is in danger, than she must be. "Just because I tell Jocelyn something doesn't mean she'll believe it. She's always been strong willed; you'll only be able to convince her if you go through with your promises. Give her back Clary."

"Tell her that you think I'm a good man," Valentine said swiftly. "Tell her you trust me to take care of her and her children, and then, I'll give her back her daughter. She'll see then that you were right about me."

Luke shook his head. "I can't make Jocelyn love you again, Valentine."

Valentine grinned. "Just make her trust me; you did it when were younger, you can do it again. Besides, you're not going to risk Clarissa's life for all this?"

"Clary is your blood, and you're willing to kill her over this?" Luke snapped. It was one thing to taunt him, but to hurt Clary was another. "Jocelyn will hate you if you hurt Clary."

"Clarissa won't have to suffer anymore if you just do as I say," Valentine said, annoyed. "It doesn't matter much to me either way. You see, I've given Jocelyn back her son, so to speak."

Luke continued to stare at Valentine, reading his face as best he could. "Jace," he said.

Valentine bowed his head. "Yes, the boy is serving his purpose well; Jocelyn is happy with him."

"You replaced Jonathan with Jace," Luke observed. "You destroyed his family, you took him captive, you ruined his life, and all because you wanted to make Jocelyn like you?"

"It worked," Valentine shrugged. "She's content with him, but I'm willing to spare Clarissa if you'll say what I want you to. She doesn't have to die."

Luke ran a hand thoughtfully through his hair, but no matter how he tried to think it through, it all ended with Clary either dying at his refusal or him telling Jocelyn how good a man Valentine was. All this time you think it over, Clary is suffering. Stop biding your time, stop wishing you could have had Jocelyn, and do what a father is supposed to. "I'll tell her what you want, Valentine, but it doesn't mean Jocelyn will love you."

Clary

It seemed like things couldn't get much worse than they were at that point: Clary's arm was broken so badly that she couldn't move the fingers on her right arm, her body was too weak to move from days and days of no food, and her throat was so dry she couldn't speak anymore, just make small, rasping noises. In the dark, Clary couldn't see where she was or even guess how long she had been there; she hoped it had been days and that someone was coming for her, but she couldn't know. She knew only darkness and pain and that raw fear. Hopelessness, too, had begun to set in, and with it came very cruel whispers.

So, Valentine didn't lie, you really are completely in his care, she thought despairingly. He gives you food, he gives you water, he can free you, and it seems like he's not coming back for you. Clary shuddered.

She had given up fighting and was now resting, barely breathing, just lying on her back and thinking of light and the sun and the feel of the wind on her face when Clary heard a door open. She jerked, unable to lift her head very high, and cringed when light hit her face. A small whine escaped her gag and she wondered what Valentine had come for now.

"Clary?" She knew that voice, and it wasn't Valentine. "Clary, where are you?"

Jace! Jace, I'm here, help me! Unfortunately, the only sound that came from Clary's mouth was a breathless grunt. It was enough though, because Jace fumbled with something-a witchlight-and the room was suddenly thrown into a blaze of light. It was too much, and it blinded Clary, so she closed her eyes, but the next moment she felt hands on her face. Gentle hands, careful hands, hands that caressed and stroked.

"Clary, oh god, Clary," Jace whispered, rubbing her cheeks and tearing the gag free from her mouth. "What happened?"

Clary couldn't speak, and instead she made a plaintive, gasping sound, resting her head in his hand. Jace knew then that Clary didn't have the ability to speak, and instead, he focused on the runes that bound her wrists and ankles; they were days old, and glowing just faintly, but there were burns from the runes, and they were leaking blood. Jace gently ran his hands down her wrist and that's when he saw the ugly bruising on her right arm and felt the broken bone.

"I'll kill him," Jace whispered, and Clary groaned. He felt along her arm, testing the bones. "I'll have to set the bones once we're out of here; Valentine hasn't given me a stele." Clary only nodded and pressed her face more into Jace's hand. "Are there any other broken bones?"

Clary licked her lips, determined to speak to Jace. "…no…" she managed to gasp, and Jace fiercely kissed her.

"Don't speak," he said against her lips. "Just let me take care of you. I'll get you out of here; I just have to break these runes first."

Clary struggled vainly. If Valentine catches you he'll be furious, Jace! she wanted to cry, but settled instead for moaning.

It seemed that Jace knew something of her thoughts, and examined the runes above her head and fiddled with the small, silver disk, similar to the one Alec had used to free him from Malachi's Configuration. "Don't worry, Clary, Valentine sent me down here; he wanted me to get you…now I know why." The sight of the woman he loved, so destroyed and helpless had woke in him a fury he didn't think he could feel. "He's just doing it to goad me. Here, stay still a minute," Jace warned, and then broke the connection between the runes, freeing Clary's hand.

"…My mom," she croaked, watching Jace handling the runes at her ankles. "My mom…"

"She's alright," Jace said quickly, "actually, better than alright. Valentine is only interested in keeping her happy. Please, don't talk, Clary."

Clary rested her head back on the pillow, but all she could think of was the horrible things Valentine must be doing to her mother at that moment. Agitated, she tried to sit up, but Jace pressed her back down. She was forced to lay on the bed, seconds becoming minutes as Jace broke the runes. The moment she could move, Clary tried to roll off the bed, but she barely had the strength to move, and she collapsed with a muffled grunt.

"Don't, Clary; just wrap your arms around my neck, I'll carry you," Jace said, and sat down so Clary could twine her arms about Jace. He scooped her up, holding her back and legs protectively. He made to stand, but stumbled a bit with a grimace of pain. Clary saw how he cringed and knew he was hurt.

"You're hurt…" she mumbled against his neck.

Jace shifted her weight and moved on to the door, and suddenly he was through it and all Clary could think was that she was free. Small tears pricked her eyes. She was still in the basement, but she wasn't in that horrible crawl space anymore. Jace saw the tears and sat her on the wooden steps that would take them up and out into the open.

"Don't cry, Clary," he murmured. "Please, don't cry. I'm going to take you out of here, and I'm going to fix you, and I'm going to take you to your mother. I'll take care of you." He kissed the tears off her face and then smiled. "Look, look up," he said, and then crossed her and pushed open the doors that opened to the outside world. Sunlight hit her face and Clary felt the light hit her eyes, blinding her completely. She ducked her head, whining; Jace landed before her, covering her face from the light. "Okay, okay, here, I'll cover your eyes." Jace felt along his shirt and ripped off a strip of the fabric, tying it around her eyes. "There, this should help with the light."

Clary reached out and felt Jace's shoulders. "Thank you," she said softly.

Again, Jace levered Clary up into his arms and held her lightly, making sure he didn't touch anywhere there might be bruises or cuts. The cellar was not formally attached to the house, and the only way to get back in was to go through the back yard and up the servants' stair. All the while, Clary was silent, though Jace was sure she must have been in great pain, and when they reached the third floor, Jace peeked about and then hurried her into his room. He snapped the door shut, and then deposited her gently on the bed before he pulled the shades on his windows closed and turning the lights off.

"Alright, Clary, it's okay now," Jace said, and undid the blindfold.

Clary still squinted, but she could see now, and she was looking about, exploring the room. She saw the orderly wardrobe, the attached bath, the small, empty bookshelf, the perfectly made bed, and, finally, Jace. He was seated before her, biting his lip uncertainly, as if not sure she would still like him, but when his eyes met hers, Jace saw a painful, hopeful light.

"Jace!" she cried and threw herself at him with all the strength she could muster.

Jace caught her up and before he really knew what she had done, Clary was kissing him. It was fierce, more fierce than he thought Clary was capable of kissing just then, but he felt her fingers of her working arm tangle up in his hair, tugging slightly and he felt her lips against him, and he knew she was very much alive and with him.

Clary was having a hard time believing that Jace was there. Her last memories of him were those last nightmare moments when he'd been dragged away with the Lightwoods, and she felt her heart go with him. Part of her thought Valentine-or, more likely, Jonathan-had killed him, and she had thought that if he was dead, she certainly wouldn't want to live. Even when Valentine had taunted her, she had only felt that hopelessness that she would never see him again.

Here he is, Clary. Don't let him go, don't let him leave your sight, she thought firmly to herself.

Clary would have continued kissing him, but there was a sudden pounding on the door, and Clary jerked back. The sharp motion jarred her arm, and she gave a cry of pain. Jace caught her before she fell back, and held her in the circle of his arms, his eyes on the door. After a few seconds, the door opened on its own accord and Valentine stood on the other side.

No! Clary thought frantically, and scrabbled against Jace vainly, but he still held her firm.

Valentine came in slowly, locking the door behind him. His eyes swept over Jace and Clary, huddled like lovers on the bed, and he smiled. "I see you've collected my daughter, Jace. What do you think?"

Clary could feel Jace shaking and she realized after a beat that it was with anger. "I'm going to kill you for this."

Valentine's eyebrows shot up, and Clary thought he was going to lunge across the room at him, but his smile only widened. "You're hardly in the position to do that."

Jace narrowed his eyes. "What do you want? Haven't you done enough harm for once?"

"I'm not sure," said Valentine, coming closer, until he towered over Clary, "I understand what you mean. Clary was safely tucked away until it was okay to bring her out into the light. There is still unrest among the Clave, and I couldn't risk my precious daughter being in danger."

"Is that what you tell Jocelyn?" Jace sneered.

"It's what she believes, or will, after she's spoken with that degenerate," Valentine shrugged, and his eyes glittered.

"Luke!" Clary gasped, and then time she broke Jace grip. Unable to hold herself, she tumbled off the bed and onto the hard wooden floor with a heavy thump. She gave a disgruntled cry but tossed her hair out of her eyes and glared up at her father. "Where's Luke?"

"Listen to her," Valentine said conversationally to Jace, as if Clary weren't even there. "How she rasps out her pathetic orders. She certainly has her mother's nerve, but, unlike her mother, I see no reason to allow for it."

Jace stood up carefully, flinching at the wounds in his side. "Don't hurt her, please, I can take care of her, keep her quiet until Jocelyn wants to see her."

Keep me quiet? Clary wondered staring hard at Jace. Why are you doing this? Why are you playing along like it's all alright?

"You'll do more than keep her quiet," Valentine warned, smiling again, that smile that had so frightened Jace before. "So far, you have served only the purpose of making my wife happy, but perhaps you can have another use." Sharply, Valentine tugged Jace out of the bed and grappled with him; it wasn't hard, since Jace's broken rib and ankle deterred him from fighting. Clary lurched at Valentine, but fell flat again.

"Leave it alone, Clary," Jace warned, feeling Valentine's hands clamp down on his wrists. "Just leave it alone."

"She won't listen to you," Valentine said, smirking. "She's too stubborn. I think that she will only listen to pain, hers and your own. You must realize what this means?"

Clary squirmed, winded from her fall. "…Don't…" she rasped.

"You've left me with few choices, Clarissa," Valentine shrugged, and took both Jace's wrists in one hand, so as to free his other. "I need to know you will not flout my authority, and if I must resort to such brutish acts, I will."

His hand, now fisted, made contact with Jace's broken rib. Jace grunted, doubled over, and spoke through his gritted teeth. "Don't listen to him."

"I do not need Jace alive, Clarissa," warned Valentine. "I have used him to serve my ends thus far, and while I admit, I am fond of the boy, I will not hesitate to punish him."

"Don't," Clary reached out a hand, trying to touch Jace.

"Perhaps we ought to have a chat, Clarissa?" Valentine asked, holding onto Jace like he was a rag doll. He gave Jace a firm shake, one that twisted his ankle painfully; he gasped loudly. "Just to put a few things in order?"