Author's Note: This chapter contains mentions of torture, mentions of captivity, mentions of starvation, nonconsensual touching (sort of?), brainwashing (sort of).
Chapter Twenty
The Institute's greenhouse was almost as beautiful as it always was.
Almost.
Since Hodge had broken free of the place, the plants' care had been neglected, and things didn't quite have the same spark that they used to. The greens and yellows of the foliage seemed duller and the flowers—of the plants tough enough to still blossom without constant care, and nutrients, and pH adjustments—just a bit more wilted and flat.
Izzy had tried hard enough to keep up with the care of the greenhouse after the betrayal of their tutor, but her thumb was about as green as a stop sign, and she quickly abandoned the effort. Even Jace himself had tried to shoulder the task, but it had almost been too painful to visit the place—not that he told anyone as much. Every time he did venture up there, he could only picture Hodge.
Hodge giving him botany lessons under the great glass ceiling, sun streaming in around the plants, shadows dappling his face and darkening the canyon of the scar that flowed down his right cheek; Hodge plucking leaves and seeds, grinding them up in a mortar and pestle to cure Jace's insomnia, or nightmares, or restlessness; Hugo circling overhead, letting him know Hodge was always near, if he needed him, when Jace would come here for peace and quiet; Hodge raising Jace the absolute best he knew how, even if he might be Valentine's demon son; and then Hodge selling him off to Valentine for freedom; Hodge, dirty and shaggy and starved, pulled up from a cell in the Gard; Hodge dying in his arms, coughing up blood from a blade placed in his chest by—
Sebastian.
And so, slowly, Jace stopped coming to the greenhouse, too. He stopped reliving those memories over and over, and though the plants died just a bit more every day, Jace was able to start a new phase in life—one with Clary. Beautiful, strong, amazing Clary, who loved him as much as he loved her, who brought him back from the dead, who was not his sister.
The peace hadn't lasted for long, not with Lilith's claws in him. But still, through it all, he had Clary.
And that was the other thing. Without Clary, the greenhouse seemed even more dead than it had when Hodge had left. Because just a few feet away, Jace had kissed her for the first time on those very steps, and her stunning had rivaled every exotic plant in the room.
Now, the silence the greenhouse offered that used to be so comforting to him was horribly unsettling. But Jace had needed somewhere to go, somewhere he could be alone, while he waited for nightfall, and he couldn't stand being downstairs a moment longer, not with all the bickering and crying.
After at last changing into clean clothes, talking Alec into letting him go, and miraculously—likely thanks to the pity—convincing him not to tell anyone that Jace would be leaving, he'd managed to sneak upstairs. As he passed down the long halls, he overheard enough to remind him that he couldn't stay here right now.
Izzy fighting with Robert, an blatant tone of blame in her words and accusations of a mistress; Jocelyn frantic; Luke and Maia mourning over their lost pack members; Simon uncharacteristically quiet and shell shocked-looking; Alec, ever the responsible one, being comforted by Magnus as he worked out their trip back to Alicante with their mother's body.
And as much as he knew he should be there for these people—his only family and friends—he just…couldn't.
He still ached all over. And every twinge of pain, every black and daunting memory of Sebastian's house in the mountains, reminded him that Clary probably felt a thousand times worse right now.
If she even could still feel.
They'd been through a lot. Jace knew that. He knew that despite all odds, they'd somehow always come out alive. But this…this felt horribly different. This felt fatalistic. Final.
Like he'd just lost both his legs, and there was no magic, or mark, or prosthetic in the world that could grant him ambulation.
Alec's words were rudely lodged in his brain, looping over and over through his thoughts. Clary's been turned…. It won't even be her that you save…because all of the Clave's efforts have failed to find a cure. Clary is gone.
But how could he know? How could he ever be sure? It was like he'd just been handed a note during wartime: Clary Fray, Missing in Action, presumed dead. No body to be found. No witnesses. Just gone. And as much death and destruction as Jace had seen, he just couldn't wrap his mind around that word applied to Clary. Dead? Gone? No, it couldn't be. Because he hadn't seen it. How could he truly know if he hadn't seen her cold, dead body? He needed to know for sure. He couldn't just accept that she might be dead. Might be gone.
And what was worse, none of that was even exactly true. Not dead, not gone, just not Clary. Not really, anyway. Just the shell of her, filled with Sebastian's thoughts and words and desires. Her soul sucked free of her body, left to evaporate in the demonic portal she'd been ripped through as she was turned.
Jace wanted to think that, to a degree, he understood what that felt like. What it felt like to have Sebastian's will forced upon you. But even when he was under the twining spell, Jace was still, in many ways, himself. Not his true self, maybe, but that Jace still existed. But, if it was true that Clary was turned, then it couldn't be like anything Jace had ever experienced. If it was true that she was turned, there was literally no such person as Clary anymore. Not dead, not gone, just…nonexistent.
Shit.
If there was ever a time when Jace needed one of Hodge's concoctions for restless overthinking, it'd be right about now.
Except he didn't even deserve what small amount of relief that would offer. It was his fault all of this happened, after all—he had to suffer the consequences.
With a heavy sigh, Jace dropped his head into his hands.
And then practically jumped from the step he was sitting on when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.
He whipped around, gripping the rail tightly, but it was only Simon, standing there with eyes downcast. Jace shifted his gaze back to the room, pushing down the rising embarrassment threatening to show on his cheeks.
Jace couldn't remember the last time someone had snuck up on him.
"Hey," Simon said meagerly, and he awkwardly sat down at the base of the spiral staircase, a few steps below Jace. He was gripping a brown paper bag, which he set in his lap.
"So, I overheard some of what you and Alec said in your room."
Jace looked down at him steadily, waiting for the vampire to scold him, to tell him not to go. But Simon just shook his head slowly, holding up his hands. "Not here to stop you."
"What, then?" Jace asked, his voice sounding too hollow and scratchy.
Simon passed up the paper bag, and Jace accepted it with a frown, slowly unfolding the top to peer inside.
"You haven't eaten since we got you out. And something tells me Sebastian wasn't feeding you too well while you were there."
There was an apple, a small container of what looked to be peanut butter, some crackers, and pepperoni. And although up to this point Jace had felt like he might never have an appetite again, now, as he looked down at the food, his stomach growled.
"I know it's not much, just whatever I could scrape up from the kitchen. Just promise you'll eat a little—"
But Jace was already wolfing down the crackers and pepperoni. He saw Simon smile faintly, and quickly looked away. The vampire seemed to take his silence as permission to continue speaking, and went on.
"I wanted to come with you, at first. But I think I need to be here, for everyone else. And I think…I think as much as you want to find Clary, that you also need to be alone for a bit. After everything that's happened, it makes sense that you don't want anyone around." Simon looked up expectantly, as if he had asked a question and was expecting an answer, and Jace paused, half way through scooping out another mouthful of peanut butter.
"Okay," he replied, unsure what else to say.
"Look, I know we've never exactly gotten along well. But will you promise me something?"
"Depends," Jace shrugged.
"Will you promise to check in every so often? I mean, if this takes a while…. If it takes some time to find her, can you send us a message or something, every few days, so we know you're okay? And you have to let us know if you need help, too."
Jace swallowed, the peanut butter suddenly too tacky in his mouth, and he longed for a bottle of water. "Okay," he repeated, and Simon passed him a plastic water bottle that Jace hadn't noticed before, as if reading his thoughts.
"And…" Simon continued, "you promise you'll tell us—tell me—as soon as you find them? I want to be there," he said, and his voice lowered into something more stern. "I want to be there when it's over. I want to see him die."
Jace looked up sharply, surprised by the venom in his tone, but now it was Simon who was looking out over the greenhouse, his fingers clenched tightly where they rested on his thighs. The sun was just starting to slide under the horizon, the room rapidly darkening.
He balled up the paper with the empty plastic bags, slipping the apple into his pack for later. Jace didn't remember ever explicitly saying he planned on killing Sebastian out loud, but he supposed it was a given. If this was ever going to end, they all knew he had to die. Sure, Jace knew no one had any qualms with this, but he certainly hadn't expected Simon of all people to be so adamant about it.
"Sure," Jace said firmly, though at the moment, he couldn't tell if he was lying or not. If he did find Clary and Sebastian, he might not have the time to inform Simon and the rest of them. If that ended up being the case, Simon would just have to settle for Sebastian's head on a pike as opposed to a live viewing of the act.
As he stood, only wincing a bit, Simon rose with him.
"Are you leaving now, then? Shouldn't you tell the others?"
"Yes, and no," Jace said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "It's best I leave quietly. I can't face Jocelyn right now, and I've already spoke to Alec—"
"What about Iz? She's going to kill you if you don't at least say goodbye."
"Izzy will understand."
At that, Simon laughed. "I don't think she will," he said, and Jace shrugged again in return.
"She's got enough on her plate right now. You'll look out for them? Alec and Izzy?" Jace asked, and as he stepped down off the staircase, coming face to face with Simon, he saw how much he had changed since he'd first met the mundane. Of course, he wasn't a mundane anymore, but it was more than just that. He looked older, and stronger, and Jace knew this was someone he could trust.
He never thought he would think that about Simon.
But, then, he never thought he would be in this position either.
"Of course," Simon said, and stuck out his right hand. Jace took it.
"Be careful, Jace."
"Yeah. See you later, Simon."
By the time Jace reached Turtle Pond, it was almost nine, and the moon was just high enough in the cold, winter sky.
He knew that coming here was a long shot. The gateway might be closed, or he might not be granted audience, or the Queen might not even be present—off somewhere in her Northern territories. And if he did get to meet her, asking for her help was a gamble.
But he already knew that. The real question was what would he be willing to offer in order to get Clary back?
It was pointless to try and predict what the Seelie Queen might ask of him in exchange for information, but as much as he'd like to think he'd give anything for a lead, he reminded himself that the Queen had a way of making you wish you never asked for help in the first place, whether you got what you came for or not.
He would do anything for Clary.
But that didn't mean he shouldn't still be smart about how he went about this.
Nearing the edge of the pond, he set down his pack, only keeping his stele and a small assortment of weapons on him. Mud clung to his boots, weighing down his steps, loud sucking sounds echoing off the small bank.
As he stepped up to the shores of the shallow pond, he tried to steel himself. He couldn't go into this without his head on straight, and as impossible as it felt to pull himself together while Clary was in danger, a horrible feeling was beginning to blossom in his gut the closer he came to the entrance of the fey realm. Neither fear, nor hesitation, but some foreboding sense that he just couldn't put a finger on, some lurking emotion that hadn't been there until he'd arrived at these gates. Some Shadowhunter gut feeling that put him on edge.
He needed to be level headed, for Clary.
The water was freezing, colder even than the last time Jace had come here months ago, and as it soaked into his clothes, sapping away his warmth, the feeling in his physical body at last seemed to reflect how he felt inside: icy, and weighted.
He slipped through the water, rising up to his knees, then his hips, then stomach, until the reflection of the moon, half full tonight, hovered a few feet before him, a slightly rippling hologram over the surface. Somehow, it was unobstructed by the thin layer of algae and pond scum that coated the surface of the water—and now his gear. A perfect, mirrored reflection, craters and all.
"Lumine lunae ductus," he whispered beneath his breath, almost subconsciously, before taking in a deep lungful of air. He readied himself for the strange falling sensation he knew of passing through the gateway, before turning his back on the moon and rocking backwards on his heels.
He fell slowly at first, as one moves slowly through water or punches slowly in a dream, and then all was blackness. There were a few seconds of full body cold, the slight spike of panic at being completely underwater with no up or down in sight, and then he was falling through air, landing lightly on his feet despite the pinch of pain that jolted up from his still healing ankle. Water streamed from his hair and clothing, and he swept his bangs up to keep the rivulets of stale smelling pond water from his eyes.
He was in the same hallway he'd been in the first time he came here, the packed dirt walls and floors, the slightly luminescent moss providing enough light to see down the corridor. In a strange moment of reminisce, Jace turned back, almost expecting Clary to drop down from the ceiling, wobbling and wet, about to fall. He'd reached out and steadied her, that day.
Easy does it.
He shoved his hands deep in his jacket pockets.
The halls were silent and dim, roots breaking through the ceiling in tangles of wood, and there wasn't a person in sight. Recalling what Isabelle had said about waiting there for a guide, Jace waited, stiff and cold, for what seemed like a very long time. After what must have been at least thirty minutes, he considered continuing down the hall alone. Surely it couldn't be that they weren't aware he was here? The Queen knew all that occurred in her kingdom. So why wasn't he being approached?
After another ten minutes, just as he was beginning to think something was wrong, a slim figure emerged from the shadows, ducking under low hanging roots, and Jace straightened, his hands clutching tight in his pockets to refrain from reaching for his weapons belt.
The off feeling was only growing worse.
As they came into focus, Jace saw that the figure was a young boy, obviously fey by the sharpness of his eyes and his quiet, elegant step.
"You waited," he observed thoughtfully as he came to a stop in front of Jace, and his voice was cool and smooth like the soothing babbling of a creek. The slightly amused quirk of his head made alarm bells go off in Jace's mind.
A test, he realized suddenly. To gauge how desperate I am.
How long could the Queen make the Shadowhunter wait before he lost it, and barged in of his own accord?
"Of course," Jace said steadily.
The boy's smile was narrow and moderate. His skin was beige and honey, thin braids here and there tucked in among the delicate waves of his ashy brown hair. He wore a gauzy white blouse with a silver, long sleeve undershirt, and a silken, silver tie belt to match; his pants were a dark grey, and all of this, along with the fine silver leaf patterns across the clothing, made his hair even more a beautiful ashen brown color. Light brown eyes looked Jace up and down quickly—all the time the boy needed to pick out every weapon tucked in his clothing, Jace was sure.
"Come, then," he said, spinning on his heel and starting down the hall. "I am Callum, an advisor of our Lady."
Though he appeared to be only about fourteen, Jace knew a fey's appearance could be deceiving. This advisor could be decades older than himself.
Jace followed, at last relieved to be moving.
"Thank you for—" Jace started, but the boy waved him off quickly. "You may save your thanks for the Queen. It is not by my grace that your visit was allowed."
As they walked, they fell into a cautious silence, Jace carefully observing the surroundings, Callum continuing a steady pace up ahead despite their difference in length of leg. The floors slowly shifted from earth to cool, echoing stone, and the further they walked the more Jace felt something wasn't quite right. He remembered white marble with black veins running through it, a semi-gloss polish that made the heels of shoes clack in clean, loud steps. But this floor was dirty—unwashed slabs of stone—and soon the dirt walls were the same material.
He stopped momentarily as he stepped over a dried stain on the floor, a dark rust brown that could have only been wine or blood. Jace was willing to bet it was the latter.
His head spun, and when he looked back up, he saw there were tally marks all down the walls, slim lines cutting through the grime. If he were to count them, there had to have been hundreds, tens of hundreds.
A tally for every sixty seconds.
An eternity spread across the walls.
Jace opened his mouth to say something, but Callum was disappearing around a corner, and he had to jog lightly to catch up. When he entered the new hall, he saw the marble floor he remembered from before.
Jace clenched his jaw, taking a deep, quiet breath to steady himself.
The roots breaking through the ceiling became more sparse as they continued onward, the ceiling opening up a bit more, the mossy walls growing a bit brighter. And as they rounded another corner, Jace's eyes ahead of him, something in the corner of his vision made him stop again. He took a step to the side, slowly turning to look at the unnatural, metallic glint that had caught his eye in the earthy halls of the Court.
Hanging from the ceiling was a set of manacles, what he had at first simply passed off as roots. They were long and sturdy, a few inches off the wall, crusted blood layering the inside surface. He'd seen those before. Been in them before. Jace swallowed thickly, a heavy feeling settling in his chest, and he had to curl his fingers tightly into his palm to keep from rubbing at his still slightly bruised wrists.
"This way," came a just slightly impatient voice, and when Jace looked up he saw Callum standing at a curtain of vines further down the hall, face impassive. He looked back toward the wall, and the manacles were gone.
So the tricks had already begun.
"Is there a problem?"
"No. No, of course not," Jace said, moving to join Callum at the curtain. When he looked through the parted vines, he was greeted not by the wide room he'd met the Queen in before, which he came to think of as the court, but by a long dining hall. The walls were a light green, the space open and welcoming, a few faeries attending to silver platters of food and beverages on the large oaken table.
"This is not the courtroom," Jace said slowly, and Callum brushed inside, gesturing to the feast. "No. You caught our Lady as she was preparing for dinner. She asked that you join her." Callum walked up to a chair as heavy and intricately carved as the table appeared, sliding it back slightly, and with narrowed eyes, Jace hesitantly sat down. He wasn't under the impression that the Queen invited just any guest to join her in a meal, and his skin prickled as Callum's fingers brushed across his shoulder as he released the back of the chair and exited the room through another entryway.
Jace looked around the room carefully, taking in each entrance to the room and every fey present. They were each beautiful and hideous in that way faeries could be, bright and shimmering and elusive and siren-esque, with wings of brilliant golds and blues, and ribbons of silk hanging from their clothes like fluttering tails of kites. They all tended to the room, fixing the arrangements of food, and straightening decor, save the two fey knights, who, though they were more intimidating than the rest in their armor, looked no less elegant.
"Jonathan Herondale."
Speaking of elegance. The Queen, as stunning as ever, slipped between the vine curtains. She wore an ivory white gown, long and flowing, a cut up the leg with the straps low on her shoulders. As she walked across the tiled floor, he saw she was barefoot, her feet as pale and delicate as the rest of her, deceivingly so.
"Jace is more than fine, if the Lady pleases."
She hummed sweetly, sitting down at the opposite head of the table, her chair taller than the others, making it so she was looking down at Jace slightly as she turned to him. Her gaze was no less sharp than he remembered, even five yards away, down the long length of the table.
"Well, Jace. You will forgive me if I am not exactly thrilled to see you." She turned narrowed eyes on him as a faerie began filling her glass with a brightly colored liquid from a diamond cut glass pitcher. "It is always a pleasure to have beautiful things such as yourself in my Court, but any time I am graced by a visit from you and yours, something is asked of me."
Jace knotted his hands together in his lap as the cup in front of him was filled with the same drink. The faerie serving him was tall and skinny, dressed in the same ribbons and fine silk clothes that the others were, his hair a light pinkish blonde and his eyes a light shade of violet, his skin tanned ivory, and he gave Jace no more than a, perhaps slightly judgemental, look, before returning to his post along the wall.
"Surely it's not odd to have those in want of advice from such a wise queen," Jace replied, eyes squinting in a slight smile, though his lips were unwilling to curl.
"I do not think it is advice that you come here for." The Queen swept her hair over one shoulder, leaning forward to pluck up the wine glass before resting her elbows on the table, dropping her chin onto her open palm. Her dress slipped down, lengthening the stretch of cleavage he could see, and her sharp eyes settled on him lazily, waiting for his response.
Jace hesitated only a moment. The quicker he could leave here, the better. Best to ask outright. "Not precisely. I come to you for knowledge. For any information that might lead to the location of Clary Fray."
If the Queen was shocked by his request, she didn't show it. Instead she took a short sip of wine, letting out a pleased sigh after she swallowed. "Is it Fray, that she goes by these days? I would say Fairchild, but that seems unfitting as well."
Jace said nothing, trying to push down the curdling feeling in his gut.
When he didn't reply, she sat back a bit, plucking up a berry, some variety Jace didn't recognize, from a small plate on the table. "Morgenstern, perhaps?" she asked, and as she bit into the fruit, the purple skin breaking against sharp teeth, it's sticky juices mixed with the gloss on her lips.
He recognized the jab, and buried any instinct of outburst or insult. "You know of the situation, then," he said slowly. "She is missing."
The Queen laughed, the sound light and fluttering, as soft as a butterfly's wings. "My boy, it was not long ago that you yourself were missing along with her, hmm? Has your time away not drained you? Why so eager to cut to the chase? Why not stay a while?" She gestured vaguely to the large dining hall, and seemingly, beyond, to the entire rest of the underground space. "Refresh yourself, reenergize," she implored, "...then we can talk of these tedious matters."
Jace thought of the stone walls and floors of his cell that he'd seen in the hallway, the shackles hanging tauntingly from the ceiling.
He smiled politely. "I apologize for my urgency to discuss the matter. But, it's…a time-sensitive subject."
"Very well. At least eat while we deliberate."
It was an old trick, one she had tried on him and his friends before, and though Jace wanted to think that it was an overused gimmick—one insulting of his intelligence at that—it was as if the offer suddenly heightened his awareness of the magnificence of the spread in front of him.
What he had not given much more than a glance before now came into focus, and he saw the bounds of fresh and exotic fruits, tender meats cooked to perfection, heaping piles of sweets and delicacies. And despite his first decent meal in a while having settled too heavily in his stomach on the walk over from the Institute, Jace was instantly glad he'd eaten Simon's dinner. If he hadn't, he might have been much more tempted than he was to take a bite.
After starving for a week, he very well might have gorged himself on this food if he hadn't eaten already. He shivered inwardly.
"I'm afraid I ate just before arriving. If I had known I would have been granted the honor of dining with her Lady, I would have saved my appetite," he said, at last pulling his eyes up from the table. But in an effort to appease, he pulled his wine glass towards him and held it loosely in his palm, as if considering taking a sip.
She made a noise that seemed one of gentle disappointment, before shifting back to a queenly, matter-at-hand tone. "You know what you are asking. For my Court and I to pick sides. I am certain that you of all people understand—Jonathan Morgenstern is a dangerous enemy to make. I told your friends just the same when they came asking for help finding you, back when you were lost the first time. And surely, aiding you in stealing away his sister, would make my Court a quick rival of his. Or, at the very least, a mark for his vengeance, I would expect."
"I understand, but surely there's something that I could give you in exchange that would make your assistance worthwhile. Afterall, you agreed to help my friends before, in return for the faerie rings."
"And yet, the rings were instead stolen by Clarissa for her own benefit," the Queen said sourly. But Jace's gears were spinning. Perhaps there was something he could offer after all.
"What if I could retrieve them for you? Jonathan took them, after discovering what Clary was using them for. He would not be stupid enough to throw away items of such power. If I find Clary, I can take the rings from Jonathan and return them to their rightful place with your people." It hadn't been a plan to offer to get the rings for her, but as he spoke, it seemed to him to be a good one. If she accepted, the deal would pose no threat to himself if he managed to uphold it. But the Queen seemed unconvinced, and Jace wasn't surprised that the solution wasn't that simple.
"Your uncertainty does not instill my confidence. You know not for sure where he might keep them, nor whether you would be able to defeat him in order to recover them."
"I've beat him before," Jace snapped, a bit too quickly, and the Seelie Queen smirked, amused by the slight outburst. Her satisfied look gave him chills, as though he was a pinned insect and she was an eagerly persistent child, poking and prodding, at last thrilled to have gotten under the armor.
"Yes," she remarked. "And yet he grows stronger with each passing minute. Since this defeat of him that you so haughtily boast, he managed to bind you to him with dark magics, has grown his very own army, and, only days ago, held you captive."
He must have been making a face, his lips thinning into an impatient line, because she added, "I mean not to insult you, of course. You are without doubt one of the strongest Nephilim of your generation. But, I expect he may be stronger still."
Jace bit his tongue, hard, setting down the glass to keep from breaking it.
"All of this, and not to mention…" she mused, setting her own glass down, "I sense all of this is not as simple as a rescue attempt."
"How do you mean?"
"Well," she hummed, twirling her hand in the air, "let us just say I would not wish to assist such a pretty thing in a lovers suicide. Now tell me, how would a dead Shadowhunter repay his debt?"
Jace bristled at the comment, opening his mouth and shutting it again, deciding his words carefully. "I can assure you," he insisted, "I intend to kill Jonathan Morgenstern. You will not have to worry about his retaliation on the Fair Folk if he is dead. And if you help me find her, then it will lead me to him. I can offer you that, in exchange. His head, for your aid."
"Yes, yes—I am sure you intend to kill him. But can you? And besides, his death is your desire; it would not benefit me. I am not on his bad side yet. I would not agree to have him killed in exchange for the very thing that would make him a threat to my people in the first place."
"Then, what?" Jace said lowly, his words pressed between clenched teeth, his patience rapidly thinning. "What would be worth risking his wrath on your Court?"
"That is the question," she sighed deeply, a pause passing over the room. The silence was only broken by the soft breathing of the other faeries, and a faint music drifting in from rooms beyond. "Tell me," she at last said, dragging the tip of her finger over the rim of her glass. "What would you be willing to give?"
Jace sat back, swallowing thickly. He knew this question was bound to come—he just hadn't thought of a good answer yet.
The Queen seemed to sense his hesitation, leaning forward, a predator locked onto its prey. "Why not just stay here?" she proposed again, her voice like the syrupy liquids of a pitcher plant. "Why not stay, and forget all of your troubles? Why continue fighting when you are bound to lose eventually?"
This time, his reply came quickly. "Some things are worth fighting for."
At that, she smiled, looking down as she plucked at a flower that had been garnish on some dish of sweets. "How precious," she cooed, and then glanced up at him through her lashes. Her white-blue eyes flashed in a way that only worsened the knot in his chest.
"What if I could give you Clarissa? Would you stay with us then?"
"What?" Jace startled, caught off guard by the question, and pushed harder back into the chair, but the Queen only grinned and slowly dragged her eyes from him to the back of the room. He followed her gaze toward the vine doorway at the corner of the dining hall, across from the one he'd entered through, and suddenly found that he was holding his breath, his pulse beginning to quicken. A moment later, a figure parted the ivy, stepping through into the light.
And Jace's heart leapt into his throat.
She was short, thin, and dressed in a shimmering, bronze dress that made the color of her hair and the freckles up her arms and cheeks look darker than they were. Despite the extravagance of the outfit, her hair wasn't pinned up in some fancy manner, instead flowing loosely over her shoulders in messy curls. He'd always thought she looked most beautiful that way.
She practically glowed in the soft light of the dinning hall.
"Jace?" Clary said, as if she herself was confused on how she got there, glancing over at him quizzically.
His throat tightened and his stomach plummeted, and he was suddenly shoving back his chair.
"What is this?" he hissed, turning angrily to the Queen, but she was kicked back, her feet perched on the table in what would have been an un-lady-like position if it was anyone but her, her gown slipping up her thigh as she refilled her wine.
"Jace, oh, thank God," Clary said, quickly walking towards him now, her arms reaching out for him. Without thinking, he stumbled backward around his chair, away from Clary, away from whoever—whatever—this was, but she was already flinging herself forward, wrapping her arms tightly around him.
He instantly froze, turning his head away as she tucked her face into his chest, arms stiff at his sides, eyes wide in shock and anger even as her touch sent a racing warmth down his spine. Shakily, he gripped her by the shoulders and shoved her back.
He'd expected games. He'd expected half told truths, and deceiving round-a-bout answers, and teasing. But this…. Jace hadn't expected this. And knowing that it was fake made it all the more painful to see Clary's face.
He pushed Clary further back, keeping his eyes anywhere but on her.
"I will not be your evening entertainment," he fumed, looking again to the Queen, but she seemed amused regardless of his wanting no part in it.
"Entertainment?" the Queen laughed. "You must think me awfully rude. No, this is just an offer. Stay here. Stop your ceaseless struggle in that sad, mortal world you call home. I would get something pretty to look at, and in exchange I could give you your own pretty thing."
"I—I know this isn't real," he said, but his voice was desperate, and even as he said the words he was growing more and more unsure. The room was starting to warm, the lights becoming softer, his eyes drooping lower as a sense of comfort began to overtake him. He bit his tongue again, trying to fight the strange sensation.
"How can you say that?" Clary whispered, and Jace felt her hands reach up to cup his jaw, turning his face to hers. He sucked in a sharp breath, all the blood seeming to rush to his head as he locked eyes with her.
This was a glamor. It had to be—of course, it had to be.
But it looked just like Clary—every freckle in its proper place, the curve of her lips, the shape of her eyebrows, the love and relief in her eyes all just right as she looked at him. And it felt like her, too, her hands small and soft, the slight callusing of her middle finger from how she held a pencil when she drew, the exact heat of her body as she pressed closer to him, the rhythm of her heart beating through her chest, almost as rapid as his own.
"I finally have you back," she half-sobbed, and his hands moved up on instinct to comfort her, as if he was caught in a trance, or watching his own possessed body from above himself, and he cautiously held her face, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks, a movement so familiar between them.
He felt the world around him grow hazy, that horrible feeling that had been haunting him since he'd arrived melting away, and everything faded out but her.
He frowned, squinting down at her, unsure what to think or do or say. How could this be real? He'd seen her taken away by Sebastian, seen her writhing in his arms and pulled through a portal to some unknown place. And now here she was, living and breathing and unharmed.
"You're…you're really okay?" he whispered, and his voice sounded so very distant and strained. Clary nodded frantically, her eyes glistening, and he ran a hand through her hair, the curls softly slipping through his fingers. He shut his eyes tight as she pushed her face back into his shirt, which was growing wet with her tears, and he trembled, holding her tighter as a fog seemed to envelope them.
"Jace," she said, concern pitching her voice as she looked up, and she slid her arms up to his shoulders. "You're shaking."
He barely seemed to register her words, his heart rushing with adrenaline, and with the nagging feeling that something wasn't right, but mostly with pure and utter relief.
Clary was okay.
She was safe, and unharmed, and un-turned, and here in his arms.
He felt hands move to the back of his neck, pulling his face down, and he only opened his eyes when he felt Clary's lips press against his. Her touch was hesitant at first, and then, as he leaned into it, eyes falling shut again, the kiss grew deeper, more passionate, filled with all of the I love you's and I missed you's they never got to say when they briefly saw each other in the mountain house.
Slipping his hands down her back, he pulled her to him, gripping so tightly at her dress that he thought it might tear, but he didn't care, couldn't care, because he was with her and that was all that mattered. Their lips broke apart momentarily, so they could both gasp for breath, and as he pressed his forehead against hers, he tried to ground himself, tried to form some sort of coherent thought past the fog, but all there was was Clary, right in front of him, her breath his own, that sweet music growing louder and clearer in the background.
And then he was tripping over something on the floor behind him and falling backwards onto something soft, a divan—had that always been here, just against the wall?—and Clary was falling, too, landing on top of him with a short burst of surprised laughter that made him want to cry out in relief, and pushing herself up off his chest just enough to reconnect their lips.
Jace gasped into her mouth, the kiss heated and heavy this time, bright bursts of color popping behind his eyelids as he pushed up into her desperately. His skin felt like it was aflame everywhere they touched, her nails digging into his shoulders, his hands finding her waist, and there was nothing—nothing—else in the world.
Except the music, that scratched at his ears in an oddly pleasant way. That, and the fog that seemed to hover just around them, blurring the room behind Clary so that the only thing in focus was her.
That didn't usually happen when they kissed, did it?
But what did it matter? When Clary was safe—her back smooth under his fingertips instead of torn and scabbed—when she was so close to him, her lips moving down his neck now, hands pushing under the bottom of his shirt, when they were together, how could anything else matter?
Except…how did he get here? And where was here?
Clary ground down against his hips, and Jace groaned, his breath catching in his throat.
"Wait. Clary, wait," he mumbled, his words slurred as he tried to push her hips off of his, away from the growing hardness in his pants.
He normally had no problem lifting her, but now she felt as though she weighed an extra hundred pounds, and she remained unmoved as he pushed at her, instead moving to grip his hair and tugging his head back so she could kiss at more of his neck.
As pleasant as it was being near her, his head was beginning to ache in a way that was quite distracting, and his fingertips felt numb with how fast he was breathing.
"W-wait. Slow down," he tried again, removing her hand from his hair with one hand and catching her face with the other, and she at last pulled herself away from his neck and stilled, looking down at him, her breathing so heavy that her dress barely managed to stretch to cover her chest with each panting inhale.
"Just…slow down…. I was so worried about you." He let go of her hand, and reached up to push back her curls. The ceiling spun behind her head, a halo of gold and blue, and she looked more angelic than ever.
She smiled sadly, and the concern in her eyes and the way her lips quivered made his heart feel like it had been speeding down the highway and had swerved off the road to wrap around a telephone pole, twisting agonizingly in his chest, and all he wanted to do was comfort her.
"I know," she said, her voice cracking. "I was worried about you, too. But I'm okay. Look, I'm really okay," she insisted, and leaned back over him, kissing him once more, until he was moaning and lost beneath her.
And then her hand slipped down between them to fumble at something, her fingers tugging at the button of his jeans.
"Uhhnn…Clary, wait—"
"Why wait?" she whispered into his ear, dragging her tongue up the side of it. "I love you so much."
"I love you, too," he shuddered as she nipped at his bottom lip, "but now's…hahhh, Clary, slow down…it's not the right place. You just got back, we shouldn't…." The words slipped from his mouth without thought, echoing around the room before coming back to him, his brain delayed in registering their meaning, and he frowned, snatching at her hand to stop her from pulling down his zipper.
'Not the right place'? What did that mean?
He tried to sit up, lost in the haze, confusion prickling at the back of his thoughts, but she shoved him back down, hard, pinning his wrist above his head.
Something wasn't right.
This wasn't right.
It was all too fast. He only just got her back. This was too much too quickly; he just wanted to hold her and never let go. He didn't need to be doing this with her right now. Who knew what happened while she was kept prisoner? They shouldn't be…they should slow down—
His head throbbed, and when he reached up with his free hand to gently push her away, a dim golden light cut across his field of vision.
What was that?
Clary pushed up his shirt, kissing down his chest.
He fought to focus his eyes over the back of his hand, the apparent origin of the soft glowing light, and when his vision at last slid into focus, his head about to split apart with ache, he saw the familiar Voyance mark, the permanent rune working so hard that it was a light gold instead of black, and was burning slightly across the skin.
The fog that had been plaguing him at last seemed to clear, if only a little, and he jerked upright, grabbing at Clary once more, shoving her back so she was half an arms length away.
"Jace?" she asked, and she sounded so worried, so genuine, and he practically melted back into the haze then and there. She pushed in again, trying to capture his lips, but he turned his head to the side, struggling to keep her at bay.
"Stop," he gasped, as she grabbed at his waist. "Clary, stop—"
His voice choked off as a flicker passed over his field of vision, a glitch, a ripple over Clary's face, and he managed briefly to see beneath the glamor.
Tanned skin, bare of freckles. Light violet eyes where her green ones should have been.
The calming music that had been playing fell apart, broke down into discordant notes that worsened his headache. Now instead of heat, he felt goosebumps spread outward from where their skin touched, and a full body shudder passed over him, all pleasure draining from him as fast as the color did from his cheeks.
He growled, pushing the person still above him backwards and rolling off the divan, scrambling to his feet, and he was at last able to see the room again: the green painted walls, the moss coming through the cracks in the tile, the long oak dinner table covered in food that looks so much less appealing now.
When he looked back to the divan, he saw the cup bearer from before, spread out over the cushions, a visible flush to his face, his clothes rumpled, and he grinned amusedly at Jace's crumbling expression.
"You," Jace seethed, whipping his gaze toward the head of the table, towards the Seelie Queen, who was still lounging back in her chair, now with her eyes dark and laser focused on him, her satisfaction clear as day. "How dare you, you f—"
"Oh, my. I'd bite your tongue if I were you—before you say something you cannot take back," she said, rising from her chair and rounding the table to face him. "Or perhaps Clarissa would like to bite it for you," she chuckled.
"You—"
"I," she interrupted, her tone hardening, "only made you an offer. And an incredibly generous one at that. If you stay, I could give you a life free of trouble with Clar—"
"Don't you say her name!" Jace shouted, but as he took a step forward, so too did the knights at the back entrance to the room. His fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that his shoulders shook, and he bit back a string of obscenities.
"I simply saw your suffering and offered a solution," the Queen sighed, and though her tone was of disappointment, her eyes were still alight with amusement.
"No. You were so allured by the last kiss you forced upon us in this court that you wanted more, is that it? Well, I'm tired of your games. If you refuse to make a reasonable exchange for information, then I will take my leave," he snapped, and when the Queen only smiled, soft and sweet and knowing, he spun on his heel for the exit.
Ten feet from the door, Clary's voice, stolen and false, and yet so very, very real, came to him from his right.
"Jace," she whispered, but instead of sounding sweet and relieved as she had before, her voice was ragged and weary, and he slammed his eyes closed, continuing for the door.
He wouldn't look. He wouldn't be trapped in this ploy again.
"Jace, please," Clary begged, and he involuntarily hesitated, his feet tripping to a stop as his heart began to slam harder against his ribs, his throat tightening at the pain in her tone.
"Please, take her offer. Please stay with me," she sobbed, and, still facing the door, Jace choked out some feral noise of pain and frustration.
He took another step for the door.
"Please don't leave me!"
Clary's scream was so pitiful and wailing and desperate that Jace again froze in horror. His fingers twitched, and he resisted the urge to cover his ears.
"Stop this!" he yelled, turning back toward the Queen, but as he did so, his eyes fell over Clary, and his heart nearly stopped in his chest, his stomach turning so quicking that he thought he might be sick all over the floor.
She was no longer in the bronze dress from before, instead dressed in plain cotton shorts and a dirty and ripped up tank top. She knelt on the tile, her wrists shackled in front of her, and her skin looked pale to a sickly degree, her eyes glassy from tears and darkly shadowed underneath.
"Please," she cried, "please, Jace. Don't leave me again."
And the fog started to return, and all he wanted to do was throw himself to the floor, break her chains and pull her up into his arms and never never never let her go.
His chest shook with a repressed sob, and the dining hall spun around him.
This wasn't real.
But he still couldn't drag his eyes away, couldn't look anywhere else, and suddenly she was gasping—no, the glamor was gasping—and blood was starting to drip down her arms, little, shallow cuts opening in the skin.
"Jace, help me," Clary pleaded, reaching her cuffed hands out to him, but he was frozen in shock, his limbs locked in place. Guilt washed over him in tsunami force waves.
He took a step back.
Her blood began dripping onto the floor, and his stomach twisted into knots at the sound, the whole room falling quiet so that it was the only thing he could hear.
"Make it stop," he demanded, finally managing to look up at the Queen, but she just held his gaze, eyes curious, calculating, unsympathetic to—or parasitic of—his raging emotions.
He felt hands grab at his leg, Clary's hands, gripping onto the fabric like it was a lifeline, as though Jace could actually do something to help her, as if Jace hadn't already left her behind, as if she wasn't already gone, as if it wasn't already too late for the real Clary—
"Make. It. Stop!"
Jace had thrown the dagger before he'd realized it, and it landed in the oak dining chair that the Queen stood next to, just inches below where her dainty hand rested on its back, before his screaming had even finished echoing around the hall.
The knights were moving instantly, but the Queen held her hand up to stop them, her eyes glinting dangerously enough that if Jace wasn't so pissed and miserable, he would have been more threatened by her than the armed guards.
"Fine," she said sternly, and the weight of the finality in her voice let Jace know that, at least for now, the games were done. Not looking away from the Queen, he felt the glamor's fingers release his leg.
"If you will not choose to stay, then this is what I ask in exchange for information to help you find Clarissa: your loyalty."
"What?" Jace hissed, and he felt the wall of his control crumble just a bit further.
"I would not bind you to the Seelie realm. But there are places you can go, things you can do, that those of my Court cannot. It would be beneficial to have a Shadowhunter loyal to me. You would serve as a gatherer of information, an errand boy, a soldier, whatever the Court needs," she stated, approaching him as she spoke, and despite all the hatred and frustration, he almost laughed out loud.
"You have got to be kidding me," he said, throwing his hands up. "That's your offer? Information that may help me find her, and in exchange I sell my soul to you? You're insane."
"Think long and hard, Jonathan Herondale. You won't get another chance at my aid," she said, but he was already shaking his head, coming to stand directly in front of her. She was shorter than him, but she stood her ground as he glared down at her, her clear blue eyes like sharp daggers of ice.
"No," he growled, reaching around her to pull his dagger from the chair and tuck it back into his belt. "Now take off the glamor. And don't ever steal her face again."
If he'd expected the Queen to become angered at the threat, or to retaliate in any way, he was wrong. The quirk of her mouth never dropped, and she shrugged. "You were much more charming the last time I saw you."
"And you're much more psychotic than last I saw you. So I guess we're both disappointed."
"Very well. It's your loss, Nephilim," she sighed dramatically, and then reached up, one of her long fingers coming to rest under his chin. "Do you not at least wish to say goodbye before you go? This may be the last time you see her alive and well."
Jace only glared, grinding his teeth.
"Again, your loss. After all, I hear that the Clarissa you'll be retrieving will not quite be herself." She dropped her voice to a whisper, and using the point of her nail to push his chin to the side, directed his gaze to the glamored fey still kneeling on the floor.
Except this time, Clary's face wasn't as it normally was. The glamor showed deep black eyes in place of her usual green ones, as if the pupil had expanded to swallow the iris whole.
They were the eyes of the Endarkened—the eyes of Sebastian, and so too was the devilish grin that split her face.
Jace swallowed, clenching his jaw harder, and though the Queen pulled her hand away from his chin, he didn't look away from Clary.
"Remove it," he said firmly. "The glamor. Remove it."
After another second or two, the glamor began to peel away, and Jace watched as Clary's skin darkened and her hair shortened, and the form shifted and changed.
And yet, as the fake Clary disappeared, slowly replaced by the cupbearer, Jace felt like a piece of him was torn away along with the magic.
What if that really was the last he ever saw her?
Another long moment passed, and Jace only realized he was still staring at the fey on the floor, as if waiting for Clary to return, when the young man waved amusedly.
When he felt a hand on his arm, he whirled around so violently that the person stepped back with their hands up.
It was the advisor—Callum.
"Come. I will show you out," he said quietly, and if Jace thought he caught a hint of bitterness in the Seelie's eyes, it was covered as quickly as it had appeared.
Jace followed Callum out of the dining hall without another word, or glance at the Queen.
The walk from the dining hall to the exit felt much longer than it had on the way in, and they moved in complete silence the entire way.
Jace, still seething from his interaction with the Queen, wanted to scream.
His head still pounded from the strength of the glamor, and his skin still crawled where he'd been touched by it, as though a residue of the magic still clung to his lips and neck and chest.
Never in his life had he felt so horribly violated, both physically and mentally, and it took all of his willpower to break down in the dirt corridor and scream until his throat was torn and ragged.
It wasn't until they reached the exit that Callum spoke again.
"Do not return to the Court," he said, his voice low.
"Oh, really?" Jace huffed angrily, sarcasm dripping from his tone as he came to a stop next to the gateway that led out to the pond. "That's your official guidance, is it? As an Advisor?"
He was about to tell Callum that he planned on never returning, but then the fey grabbed his shoulder, and Jace was startled by the intensity in his eyes.
"What—"
Jace Lightwood—listen closely.
Jace broke off, mouth closing slowly as he heard his own name called out in his mind. He looked to Callum quietly, his brows knitting together in question. "How are you—"
I was born with this gift. Not many of the Seelie possess it. But that is of no matter. I need to speak to you privately. The Court has eyes and ears everywhere. We must not converse aloud. Think your words clearly, so I may hear them, Callum said—or thought—rapidly, and it was not unlike the way the Silent Brothers spoke into one's head, except it felt somehow less invasive and cold.
Like this? Jace thought, and Callum nodded, wavy bangs falling into his eyes.
I know how to help you find your Clarissa.
Author's Note: First, I know Simon can't be in the Institute. I just dont care. I love him, and I want him there. Second, I remember reading the runes light up upon activation. I don't know if this is only for temporary marks, or if the light is only present for a few seconds upon activation, or what, but it fit well for plot purposes. Lastly, if Clary has to suffer, so does Jace; sorry, bud.
Now, in response to several comments...
As always, thanks for reading and reviewing! I want you all to know how much it means to me when you comment your thoughts and ideas. Since the last chapter and mention of the ring—based on some comments and PMs—I think I scared a few readers (which, really, is kind of the point!) A few of you have expressed some concerns that with this ring, the focus of the story might shift towards Clary falling in love with Sebastian and ultimately accepting him.
I really appreciate you all sharing what you think (again, it means a lot to me to hear your opinions, whether good, bad, or simply suggestions and advisory comments) and though I don't want to give away spoilers, I will assure you this: what I love about Clary is that throughout the entire series, she is one of the strongest, most unwavering characters we meet. She grows as a person, of course, but her morals and mental strength are consistently steady, if not stronger with each book. The story I am writing is about her dealing with some of the worst possible situations she could be in and literally putting that strength to the test. Granted, there can be some fun in writing whumpy content, but the ultimate goal here is not to have her broken down under Sebastian's will. I have always set out with the goal of having Clary prevail, having her survive—with her sanity—and having her overcome her obsessive brother to eventually reunite with Jace. Perhaps knowing that will make some of the darker chapters more bearable, but, with all that in mind, it certainly won't be easy for her, and the ring is still going to pose a challenge. Just rest assured, it's nothing Clary can't overcome. Again, thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone who's been following along, and thank you for sharing what you think. I will see you with the next chapter soon.