Chapter Thirteen
Clary
All Clary could think, as she pushed hanger after hanger, was how much she hated dresses. It seemed like she had spent her previous life in jeans with holes in the knees, shirts with paint splotches, and scuffed tennis shoes. Before her was an entire wardrobe of nothing but dresses, skirts, blouses, tights, and formal shoes. Then only pants she owned were black fighting gear that was washed every day and folded neatly and placed in a drawer. The jeans and shirt she'd worn were scavenged from her mother.
Why do I have to wear a dress? Clary thought angrily. What's so important about wearing a dress when Aline is over? Furious, Clary chose a mauve, knee-length number with a low, straight neck, wide straps, and belt across the waist; she threw it on her bed and then began tossing shoes aside.
"Why do you push me so, Clarissa?"
Clary stood up straight, but didn't turn to face her father. "I didn't think it was prudent to be wearing something so nice if I was just going to ruin it."
Valentine took Clary's shoulder and spun her around to face him. "If you paint so poorly that you need to wear trash clothing, perhaps you shouldn't be painting at all. It was meant to be a gift to your mother, having time with you, but if you treat it so crudely, I will have to revoke it. Aline can take rune lessons with you, if you must."
Clary felt her father's fingers squeezing her arm painfully, and she tried to tug away, but he jerked her forward. "You're hurting me."
"Good," Valentine said sharply. "You're an embarrassment to the name Morgenstern, and you know it. I should have left you to die in that cellar."
"Can't have my mom missing me, though, can you?" Clary snapped, and finally managed to pull herself free. Either the words or the action annoyed Valentine, because his hand snapped across her face sharply. The force sent Clary tumbling sideways into her bed.
"If you think you can hide behind your mother, you're wrong," Valentine said evenly, and Clary scrambled back as he advanced on her. "While your mother is the reason you are still alive, she certainly cannot protect you from retribution. Jocelyn knows that you must be trained, and she knows that requires discipline."
Clary was holding her sore cheek. "She won't just let you hurt me."
Valentine smiled. "She didn't know I beat Jace, and she won't know what I do to you. Now, take those filthy clothes off."
"Are you insane?" Clary demanded. "It's just a shirt-"
Valentine lunged at her, catching the collar of her shirt and tearing it. Clary shrieked, and Valentine covered her mouth before Jocelyn heard her. She squirmed back and forth while he tugged the tatters of the shirt off her, and she managed to kick him in the chest as he tossed it aside. Valentine grunted in annoyance more than pain, but fell back, clutching his rubs. He reached for his daughter, who was clambering off the bed and racing for the door.
Mom, she thought frantically. Get to Mom.
Clary was in the hall suddenly, and she raced for the stairs. She didn't care how she looked, half naked with a bruised cheek and tangled hair, she had to get away from her father. She heard Valentine's angry cries behind her, and she took the first staircase, two steps at a time
"Clarissa!" Valentine snarled after her.
Clary hit the landing, glancing back and forth for the next stair down to the ground level and her mother. She darted to the stairs and reached the first step when something solid hit her squarely in the side. Clary hit the floor and she saw stars in her eyes; sitting on top of her was Jonathan. He grinned down at her, eyes sparkling maliciously.
"Little sister, what are you doing?" he asked in a horrible patronizing voice.
"Get off me!" Clary ordered, hitting his chest with her small fists. "Get off!"
"I get the feeling if I did that you might not stay put," Jonathan said pleasantly. "Now, what are you doing, dressed so…invitingly?"
Clary stopped in struggle to look up at Jonathan, and she realized very suddenly that she wasn't wearing a shirt and that Jonathan was sitting on her, their bodies touching up and down. Her eyes narrowed. "Get off me, Jonathan," she said slowly and clearly.
Jonathan smiled and placed the pad of his thumb on her lower lip, forcing her mouth to open. He watched her pulse race, and her eyes dart back and forth. "Jace and I…we have a connection, you know, and sometimes, I get these feelings from him. Usually, I don't feel human emotions, usually, it's just bland contempt, maybe a bit of pride, but that's all. These human emotions, they're very interesting." Jonathan's thumb left her lip, but his hand came to rest on her throat. "Jace wants you. As your older brother, I feel as though I ought to do something about that. The dreams he has…such naughty thoughts."
"You're sick," Clary spat.
"I'm sick?" Jonathan laughed and his hand dropped to her collar bone, rubbing small circles with his thumb. "I'm not the one thinking about you like this, lying beneath me, panting. Of course, when Jace thinks about it, you're usually not this covered." One of Jonathan's hands reached down to the waistband of her jeans. "Jace would prefer you naked."
"Stop it!" Clary yelped when Jonathan's hand tugged on jeans. "Let me go!"
"He even thinks about you fighting back sometimes," Jonathan chuckled. "I really should have a chat with him about you. After all, you're-" Jonathan stopped speaking, and his head snapped up. A moment later, he was standing up, holding Clary up against the wall by her hair and hands. "I have her, Father."
Valentine approached slowly, taking his time while Clary struggled in vain. "Why do you insist on doing this, Clarissa? Why must you prove again and again to me how little I love you?" Valentine drew level with her and jerked her chin to face him. "Why do you make me hate you?"
Clary tore her chin out of his hand and spat at his feet. "The feeling is mutual."
"Is it?" Valentine asked, more curiously than angrily. "Jonathan, bring her, we have a lesson to teach young Clarissa."
Not again, Clary thought as Jonathan grabbed both her wrists in one hand and covered her mouth with the other. She fought all the way back up the stairs, down the hall, and to her room, but Jonathan never lost his grip. Jace, where are you?
Valentine snapped the door to her room shut and she was jerked out of her thoughts. "So, you hate me, Clarissa?"
Jonathan didn't let her go, but he uncovered her mouth. "You kidnapped my mom. You're holding all my friends hostage. You ruined my life."
"I gave you Jace, didn't I?" asked Valentine, enjoying the effect the boy's name had on her. "I've given you a home, I've given you protection, I've given you an education, I've even given you clothing…if you'd be willing to wear them."
These last words were spoken in a low, dangerous voice and Clary looked up at him. "You don't care about me, you only care about how it looks to everyone else! You want the whole world to think you're a loving father and husband, but they know the truth! We all hate you!"
Valentine's eyes darkened and he drew level with her. Clary tried to free herself, but Jonathan forced her to stand before her father, unable to protect herself. "You think that, my dear? You think everyone hates me? Did you know that your mother loves me?"
"No." Clary shook her head. "You don't know what love is."
Valentine laughed. "You do? I'll tell you something, then, Clarissa, because you're such a grown young woman." Clary twisted in Jonathan's arms. "The night I brought you back to Jocelyn, she forgave me for the past."
"She'd never-"
Valentine grabbed her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. "She and I made love."
Liar, was Clary's first desperate thought, but there was triumph in his eyes. He's lying, he's lying because he wants me to think my mother hates me. "She wouldn't. She loves Luke!"
Clary saw a dark look cross Valentine's face and she knew she must have said something that angered him. It was a small victory, though, because Valentine hissed and struck her across the face one, twice, three times. She felt tears welling in her eyes and running down her cheeks. "Don't ever speak such things again, Clarissa."
"I hate you!" Clary sobbed, thrashing back and forth in Jonathan's grasp. "I hate you!"
"And I you," sneered Valentine. "You're a waste of my time, Clarissa, and a waist of good blood. The only thing that spared your life was your mother's love, and that's mine now."
Jonathan, sensing Clary's weakness, released his hold on her, and she collapsed to the floor. Valentine and Jonathan looked down on her dispassionately, but she blinked back the tears that were threatening to pour and launched herself at her father viciously. It was a waste because Valentine picked her up and deposited her on the bed. She considered fighting again, but Jonathan looked ready to hit her.
"This dress is quite appropriate," Valentine said, looking over the dress she had tossed aside. "Now, put it on."
Clary paused, confused. I hate you, I hate everything about you, she thought as she stood and covered herself with the dress, but Valentine's eyes were just as bland as they had been before. He doesn't care what I look like, he doesn't even think I'm human.
"Put it on, Clarissa, quickly." Valentine raised one eyebrow. "Hurry up!"
"Get out of my room, then!" Clary snapped.
"So I can come back and find you pouting on your bed?" Valentine said coolly. "I think not. Get dressed and make yourself presentable for my inspection. I won't have a daughter less than perfect." As he said it, his eyes roved from her freckles, to her plain face, to her messy hair, and he frowned.
"Then-then turn around!" she ordered, and her eyes moved to Jonathan, who was smirking all over at the sight of her half-naked and helpless.
"I think she's shy, Jonathan," laughed Valentine, and his eyes were gleaming. "Not quite sure of herself as a woman yet; how do you expect to impress young Jace if you're not even comfortable in your own skin?"
"Shut up-"
"When Jocelyn was your age, she was certainly secure in herself; your mother was a woman, beautiful, powerful, commanding…how she raised such a pathetic excuse for a daughter I'll never know."
"Just stop." Clary looked away, and though she didn't want it to matter, Clary felt her cheeks heat.
"Embarrassed?" Valentine drew a little closer and smirked. "You're sixteen, Clarissa; don't you think it's about time you became a woman?"
Jonathan chuckled. "I pity Jace the life he'll have once these two are married."
Valentine shared a laugh at his expense and then turned back to Clary, who was staring with her mouth open. Married? "One day, Clarissa, one day; though how I'll ever convince Jace to go through with it, I don't know. I'll probably have to threaten his family to make that happen."
He's just being cruel, he's just being cruel to make you feel horrible. "I'll put the dress on!" Clary finally shouted, swiping her and at him. "I do it!"
Valentine fell silent, but the sneer was still in his eyes and in his smile. Clary turned her back on her father and brother and shimmied the dress over her hips and up onto her shoulders before reaching under and pulling her pants off. Valentine watched carefully before coming up behind her and running his fingers through her hair; Clary tried to pull away, but Valentine pulled her back.
"Let me go!"
Valentine hit Clary hard enough in the side that she doubled over and had to curl up in a ball. Some of the tears she had been holding back dribbled down her face and she had to hold back a cry of pain. His hand moved again to her hair, but this time, he twisted it up.
"Brush this mess and pull it back. Put some make-up on too, I don't care what people say about freckles, I find them disgusting."
Jace
The moment Aline had gone, Jace dashed back to the house. He had had no doubt that Valentine had gone after Clary, and whatever condition he'd left her in-if he'd left her-had been worse than the one before. He entered the house quietly, hoping to sneak past any unwanted eyes and took the stairs two at a time, landing catlike on the landing. The first floor was empty, though, and Jace met no one on his second trip up the stairs. When he began to creep down the hall, though, he heard the softest, muffled sobbing he'd heard in a long time.
Clary, he thought at once, and raced to her room.
At first, Jace saw only an empty room, the curtains pulled open for the sunlight to stream in. He glanced around but didn't see Clary; he carefully checked the bathroom, but it was bare too. As he turned to leave, though, he saw a small figure, hunched over on the floor on the opposite side of bed. Small sniffling noises kept coming out of it.
"Clary?" Jace asked, drawing closer. "Clary, are you alright?" Clary jerked out of her ball and looked up to Jace. A hiss slipped through Jace's teeth when he saw the bruise already forming below her left eye and the dried blood on her lower lip. "What happened?" he said, falling to her side and pulling her into him.
"N-nothing," Clary stammered, and wiped at the dry blood. "Don't worry about it."
Don't worry about it? It's the only thing I ever worry about these days. Jace reached out and gently inspected her face; the bruise purpling under her eye wasn't the only one: he saw a bright red mark on her right cheek, and a blue area by her right ear. "How did this happen?"
Clary pulled her face away but Jace caught it and pulled back. "Clary, tell me what happened."
"I was supposed to put a dress on but I didn't want to," Clary shrugged.
Jace noticed for the first time that Clary had changed out of her jeans and shirt and was in a pleasant dress. "Valentine told you to wear this?"
Clary nodded. "I didn't want to, and he got mad."
"So he hit you," Jace finished, brushing the pad of his thumb over her bruised eye. His hand moved down to hold hers, but Clary gasped in pain; when Jace looked down, he saw that her wrists were blotched in purple and blue. "What happened here?"
Clary turned away. "Jonathan. He was here too."
Jace flinched internally as it did every time his parabatai was mentioned. Of course, thinking of him around Clary made Jace want to hurt him, but the bond the two shared reverberated through him, reminding him that Jonathan's life was now tied to his. To hurt Jonathan was like hurting himself. His stomach ached at the idea. "What did he want?"
Clary's gaze didn't meet Jace's when she said, "Nothing."
Liar, Jace thought gently. "Clary, don't lie."
"Jace," she said, and he could tell by the way she kept looking away that something was bothering her. "I-I think your connection with Jonathan is…well, it's making him feel things."
Jace felt an odd stirring in his belly. "What do you mean?"
"He-he tried to-" Clary was looking at Jace's hands on her wrists and saw only Jonathan's long, artist fingers holding her down. "-to kiss me, Jace."
He tried to kiss me. Jace stared at her, uncomprehending. He stared at her lowered eyes and trembling lips, at her chest, rising and falling erratically, at her delicate wrists and tangles up limbs. He tried to kiss me.
"He tried to what?" Jace hissed.
Clary bit her lip. "He said he could feel what you feel, and that it was rubbing off on him. He tried to kiss me."
Jace could feel himself shaking violently. "He tried to kiss you. He held you down and tried to kiss you."
"No, Jace, it's not like that-"
"What else did he do?" snarled Jace. "What else?"
Clary was staring at Jace, and she was shocked to see that his pupils were wide and dark, and he seemed beyond himself. Jace, for his part, felt a horrible bubbling anger in his chest, anger he'd never felt before. He knew it was wrong to be furious, because his anger clouded his judgment, but it didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter except that Jonathan be punished for having hurt Clary. It took Jace a minute before he realized Clary was speaking to him.
"…suffer for me."
"What?" Jace asked.
"I don't want you going after Jonathan, Jace, you'll only suffer for me," Clary repeated, watching Jace carefully. "Jace, please, calm down. You're scaring me."
Scaring you? I love you, Clary, and I want the man who hurt you to-
"Jace, Jonathan said that he could feel what you felt, so what if you're feeling what he feels?" Clary asked softly, gently brushing his hand with three fingers. "Please, loosen your grip on my arm, it's hurting."
Jace's eyes jumped down to his hand around her wrist, and he realized he must have been crushing the bones there. Suddenly, all the anger rushed out of him like a balloon deflating. "I'm sorry, Clary," he whispered, and then lifted her hand up and kissed her knuckles. "I'm sorry."
"It's alright, Jace," Clary sighed, more upset now at seeing Jace so distraught than her own pain. "Do you think it's possible?"
"That I'm feeling Jonathan's emotions?" Jace shuddered as a ghost of the anger he'd just felt passed over him. It made him sick. "I suppose, but I'd rather not consider it. Here, let's just-let's just try and fix you up, okay?"
Before Clary really had time to say otherwise, Jace had helped her to her feet and was leading her to the bathroom. He sat her on the edge of the bathtub and found a hand towel. As he tried to bring down the swelling in her cheek, he cursed under his breath.
"This isn't going to work," Jace said, watching the faint purple turn darker and darker. "Your mother is going to see these and ask what happened."
"I'll hide them with makeup," Clary said thoughtfully. "I wish I was as good as Isabelle; she'd know how to hide this."
Jace smirked. "I don't think Isabelle was much in the business of covering up bruises."
"Well, I suppose any man who tried to hit her probably wouldn't live to tell the tale."
Jace opened his mouth to answer, but was hit with that powerful loneliness, the loss of his family. Yes, Isabelle wouldn't have let any man get the better of her…expect for Valentine, he got the better of her, and now I don't know where she is or what's happened to her. At least she has Alec- That was too much for Jace, and he slumped a little bit in pain.
"Yes, I'm sure she would know what to do."
Clary watched Jace closely. "You miss them."
Jace turned his focus back on Clary's bruises. "Yes, but it doesn't bring them back to me, so I guess it doesn't matter."
"It does matter." When Jace continued fussing over her, Clary's hand snapped out and caught his. "They're your family, and it should matter to you. Maybe there's some way you can see them again."
"Clary, I don't think…"
"What if I speak to Valentine?" Clary offered. When Jace just stared at her in horror she shrugged. "I'll tell him I'll behave myself-he's always going on about that-and that I'll do whatever he says, and maybe you can mention to my mom-"
"Your mother has enough problems without adding me to it," Jace said quickly. "Clary, I appreciate it, I really do, but I don't think Valentine is going to let me see the Lightwoods." Clary opened her mouth to argue, but Jace kissed her, affectively silencing her next words. "I never thought in all my life I'd lose Isabelle and Alec, I never thought there was something worth losing, but that was before I met you. And the truth is, Clary, that'd I'd rather be here with you, then there without you."
Clary felt the lingering tingle of Jace's kiss. "Jace, you know that I'd do anything to help you."
"I know," he said tiredly, helping her up and leading her to the sink. "I've never met someone like that before, and I guess I'm still getting used to it."
Clary had been staring at herself in the mirror, at the ugly bruises and nasty cut on her lips, but at those words, her eyes moved up to Jace. He was looking away, thinking, and she felt a sudden urge to make him understand that he still had friends, that he was still wanted, that he was loved. She turned about and firmly kissed him on the lips. Jace, who had been thinking about the only other person who had cared about him, Alec, was surprised when he suddenly felt Clary against him. Naturally, his hands wrapped around her waist and he held her against him.
"You'd better," Clary warned him gently, resting her head against his chest. "I don't want to have to go the rest of my life trying to prove to you how much I love you. I expect you to know it."
Isabelle
Since her disastrous experience with the harp and Mr. Grunald, Isabelle had been keeping mostly to herself, going to her classes each day and biting her tongue every time Malachi or Mr. Grunald made a snide remark. She had come to accept that harp lessons and household chores were a part of her new life. She would sit daily in the lavish sitting room and pluck strings while the old musician complained that she was too harsh, too biting, and she would never produce the beautiful melodies most of his students could. Through all of it, Isabelle simply sat and nodded her head, but she had never been known for her control and decorum.
Isabelle would go to the kitchens after where Myra would be waiting for her, and rant and cry and complain about Mr. Grunald. For her part, Myra turned out to be a very sympathetic, tender woman. She listened to all Isabelle's objections, agreeing when appropriate, and offered her the gentle cajoling her mother never would have. Myra also happened to be very helpful, constantly letting Isabelle go early, or sending her up with food for Alec. Though Isabelle wasn't learning much about cooking, she had at least found an ally in her struggles against Malachi.
Perhaps the best balm for her anger was Emma and her dance lessons. Emma, apparently, commanded some form of respect among the shadowhunters, and though Isabelle had tried to wheedle it out of her, all Emma would say what that "I could not dance with such passion unless I was this passionate about all aspects of my life, could I?"
Malachi would defer to Emma's judgment when it came to lessons, at least, and Emma proved to be a master conspirator. She would demand that Isabelle begin her lessons earlier than usual and then tell Malachi she had to hold her over for extra stretching when in reality, she would send her off early. What was best about these lessons, for Isabelle at least, was that they were her new outlet for her emotions. With her demon hunting taken away from her, Isabelle had grown rather anxious and jumpy, but the constant dance lessons were working the usual stress relief shadowhunting had.
However, life with Malachi had reached its lowest yet. Since he'd attacked Alec, he had expressly forbidden Isabelle to see him. She didn't care, but Alec always begged her to go back to her room when she came to visit him every night. Isabelle had already had a few close shaves, but Myra had always caught Malachi right before he went to look for his ward. She had taken to sneaking up to his room once all the lights were out and Malachi was tucked away for the night, and sleep in his room instead.
One night, though, a week or so after Malachi had attacked Alec, Isabelle couldn't help herself. She went for Alec almost as soon as dinner was done. When she arrived, she was pleased to see that Alec was standing, supporting himself with a chair. Since the attack, Alec had made a point of rising and trying to walk; he was determined to be back on his feet.
"Isabelle," Alec pleaded as he watched his sister close the door silently. "You can't keep doing this. Malachi will find you, and when he does, he'll punish you."
"Oh, don't worry," Isabelle said, waving a hand. "Myra and her son are working for us now, and they're keeping an eye on that old bat. Besides, I've got news."
Alec smiled a bit at Isabelle's words. "News? Well, this is a development."
Isabelle cocked a hip. "Malachi told me there's going to be this huge celebration next month, and all the shadowhunters are expected to attend. The families of prominence are dining together and celebrating in private."
"And so?" Alec pushed off from his chair and managed to find his feet.
"So," Isabelle sighed, "Malachi is the Counsel, isn't he? He's a man of prominence, and we are his family; we're a family of prominence."
"Wonderful," Alec muttered. "We can go sit and listen to traitor shadowhunters agree with themselves."
Isabelle moved to Alec's side, helping him to stand straight. "Alec, you don't get it. Families of prominence. Who is the most prominent family in all of Idris?"
"Valentine," Alec said after a beat.
"Exactly," Isabelle said, excited. "And who would be with Valentine?"
"Jace and Clary." Alec felt a rush at the name if his brother. "You think we'll be able to see them?"
"See them, speak to them, maybe even plan with them!" Isabelle's eyes were gleaming.
"Plan what?" Alec asked.
"Alec, just because we lost this battle doesn't mean the war is over," Isabelle said breathlessly. When Alec looked skeptical, Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Come on, you know Jace, do you really think he's just sitting there, watching while Valentine takes over? I'm sure he and Clary are already trying to plan some sort of escape."
"Jace always wanted a plan," Alec hedged. It seemed too much to hope for, that Jace and Clary were trying to plan some rebellion, but it seemed the only thing to cling to at this point. Alec nodded. "So, what have I got to do?"
"We need to get you better," said Isabelle firmly. "If you're up on your feet, if you're training, Malachi will have to take you. He'll want everyone to see you, anyway."
"And how am I supposed to get better?" Alec asked as one of his knees gave out and he stumbled.
"Emma said she'd help," Isabelle said promptly. "My dance teacher. She said you can come, and while I dance, she'll help you get your strength back with muscle exercises."
Alec barked a laugh. "Izzy, do you really think Malachi is going to let me sit in on your dance class. He and Valentine already know I'm gay, and they don't like it; is putting me in a dance class, really likely?"
"You're not in the class," Isabelle said. "Emma is going to tell Malachi that I need an audience to practice in front of, and since you're not really doing anything else, it can be you."
"Is that going to work?"
Isabelle shrugged. "Malachi does whatever Emma tells him, at least where I'm concerned."
Alec bit his lip and Isabelle squeezed his arm. "Alec, please. It's not over, none of it. Clary can make new runes, can't she? Maybe-maybe when all of this is over, she'll be able to free Jace from Jonathan and join you two back together. You and Jace could be parabatai again."
Isabelle knew she had touched on Alec's thoughts when his eyes got wider. "You really think this can work?"
"It has to," Isabelle said. "Because what else is there?"