Chapter 65 – The Sword's Verdict

What followed was probably the part of the Clave meeting that I had given the least thought to when I had walked into the hall earlier. I had come here determined to beat Blake's friends once and for all. I had only been partially successful. Which wasn't my fault. I made neither the laws nor the judgments. And that could be my downfall. Because the next item on Imogen's long list was my own verdict.

This announcement was followed by further discussion among the ranks of the Nephilim. It had been going on for five minutes and so far, only one person had called for my death. I took that as a good omen. Especially since the majority of Shadowhunters had vehemently rejected that option.

As Isabelle reached for my hand, crushing my fingers, I turned to her, hiding my worries behind a veil of confidence. I wondered if I was as good an actress as Jace as I lifted the corners of my mouth into a small, easy smile. "Don't worry. They would be foolish to kill me before the end of the war. Until then, at least I'll still be of use to them."

"Please stop saying things like that. One sarcastic person in my life is enough."

"But it's the truth. Somehow."

Isabelle sighed. Jace clenched his jaw. Upon the suggestion of the Clave, Imogen decided that my killing of all six boys at the country house was to be considered self-defense. It was natural and self-evident that I had wanted to escape from there and if they had been stupid enough to stand in my way, then they were responsible for that fate themselves. The same applied to the boy who had attacked me after Blake's death and had subsequently been brought down by me. I hadn't started the fight, so I had just been defending myself. Imogen hadn't quite put it that way, but the content was close.

The families of the dead Shadowhunters jumped to their feet, loudly protesting this decision. They hurled insults at me that I had never heard in my life before and demanded a reassessment of the facts from the Inquisitor. But the reports from today's Clave meeting must have really touched the members. Because unlike last time, when a large number of them had turned against me simply because of my origins, there were now dozens of voices in my favor that rose from the numerous ranks. Who not only defended me, but also the Inquisitor's verdict.

This meant that seven of the eight murder charges would not be part of my sentencing. I collapsed and whispered a silent thank you to the Archangel. Isabelle gently stroked my back. To my surprise, her fingers were shaking. Just as Jace had predicted last night, however, most did not vote for self-defense regarding Blake's death. This was more complicated, and they were right.

"She murdered him in cold blood," complained Cynthia Ashdown, who actually had the nerve to say anything at all at the trial. "She threw a knife into his back and slit his throat as he lay on the ground. This is cowardly behavior."

The silence that followed dripped with disbelief at her double standards. And if I hadn't been on the verge of a panic attack, I might have laughed at the puzzled and indignant looks from some of the Shadowhunters who looked like they didn't know why they were here in the first place, with people like Cynthia Ashdown walking around and saying things like that.

"She murdered him after your vile son sliced her up for hours like a token," someone shouted from higher up. "What else would he have had to do before it was okay to fight back?"

Cynthia started to answer, but someone nearby beat her to it. "One should take into account the timing of the events. Blake's actions precede Clary's. He had already committed several offenses before she acted. Everyone in this room knows full well that she was just reacting. Blake was already a lawbreaker. So why do we act as if Clary's actions weigh as much as his?" When I looked closer, I realized that it was Aaron Wrayburn who was speaking. He had already stood up for me at the last Clave meeting and now he did it again. We had been in battle together. That was enough for him to recognize me as one of their own.

"Reacting?" replied a bald man from the left. He pointed his finger at me and gestured in jerky movements. "Blake ran away, and Clarissa threw a knife at his back. I understand that she wanted revenge, but she didn't kill him out of self-defense, but out of cold blood. He ran away. She could have pulled herself together, but she took advantage of the situation."

If I was honest, I didn't think much of the classification as self-defense. There had been occasions to kill Blake that could have been declared self-defense. For example, our sword fight when he had followed me down the slope. But Blake had let the arrow fly, and I had been so freaked out when it had hit Adam that I couldn't control myself. After the torture, it had been the last straw that had caused my emotions to overflow yesterday. I had freaked out. Snapped. That was the reason why I had killed Blake.

"One can argue whether it was self-defense or not. But one thing is certain: Clarissa did not murder out of cold blood." A new, unknown voice. He was standing not far from the Lightwoods and the small woman sitting next to him had her arms crossed over her chest and was giving Cynthia Ashdown degrading looks. "We were in the anteroom earlier when Cynthia Ashdown tried to kill Clarissa in front of everyone present. She swung her dagger at her. Everyone in the room saw the panic on Clarissa's face. This girl was terrified. This kidnapping traumatized her. And what needs to be done to put an end to that fear, I don't need to explain to the warriors in this room. It wasn't cold-bloodedness, it was her survival instinct feeling threatened. We shouldn't punish anyone for that. From what I've heard, I'm surprised she didn't do worse to the boy than just cut his throat."

Those present, who had not yet heard of Cynthia's attempted murder, were now wide-eyed again. "How can this woman still sit here as if nothing has happened?" shouted an indignant voice from above. The approval in the hall was so enormous that the Inquisitor had problems keeping the crowd under control.

"Wait, what happened up there?" Isabelle blurted out in disbelief, and she turned to me and Jace. "She tried to kill you?" I nodded and the astonishment on her long face gave way to anger. "And when were you going to tell me that? First Adam and now this. Seriously, I can't believe I have to find out about that like this!"

"What was she supposed to say, Hi Isabelle, nice to see you. By the way, Blake's mother was about to murder me in front of everyone in the anteroom?" Jace raised his blond eyebrows expectantly.

"Something like that," Isabelle replied tightly. "Wow, I can't believe this. How can it be that they suddenly stop at nothing? As if Valentine wasn't enough of a problem for all of us."

After everything this unfamiliar man had said about me, I couldn't help but look at Jace. Our eyes met and I could see my thoughts reflected in his pupils. His statement had been incredibly helpful in increasing my sympathy among the Nephilim, but the panic on my face had had nothing to do with Cynthia's attack on me. It had been the announced trial that had taken my breath away. But they didn't know that. To anyone watching, it must have seemed as if her attempted murder had thrown me so off guard.

"They realize that their time is running out. Especially because of Valentine," Jace replied, breaking eye contact with me.

"I've heard enough," Imogen cut icily through the noise of the Nephilim. I wondered if human governments were just as chaotic or if humans had found a more humane way of communicating where one person didn't always have to call the rest of the room to calm down.

The Inquisitor turned her back on the Clave and strode toward me. The voices behind her grew quieter as they realized that Imogen had made a judgment. She came to a stop in front of our bench, maybe a meter in front of me. When I sat, she towered over me even more than she already did. She looked down at me with her cold, emotionless eyes. Except they weren't completely numb anymore. There was something swimming in her cloudy irises that I couldn't interpret. She glanced from me to Jace, who was still sitting mostly still next to me. He returned his grandmother's gaze. For a blink of an eye, before her attention returned to me and stayed there.

Imogen took a deep, labored breath and began. "Clarissa Morgenstern. How this interrogation has revealed, during your abduction, you murdered eight Shadowhunters of this community. Murder is one of the most serious crimes in our law. However, you did not murder arbitrarily, but in response to a life-threatening situation. Due to extensive viewpoints, I have concluded that you acted in self-defense and fear for your own life. Because of these particular circumstances, I cannot convict you for any of the eight victims. You yourself have been a victim in this matter, as the interrogation of those already convicted has shown. Therefore, I absolve you of any guilt."

It felt like something was falling from my shoulders, the weight of which I hadn't been able to feel until now. A sound of relief escaped my lips, lost in the din of Shadowhunters reacting to Imogen's verdict. I lowered my head into my hands and couldn't help but take a few controlled breaths in and out to keep my heart rate in check. Only now, when it was all over, did I actually understand how much I had dreaded this verdict. How afraid I had been of being rejected by this community again. But that hadn't happened. They had stood up for me. They hadn't reduced me to my blood. No anymore.

Both Jace and Isabelle put their arms around my back. "It's over," Jace murmured, surprisingly sounding as breathless as I felt.

"It's over," I confirmed, lifting my head from my hands. I squinted against the witch-light and a second later was nearly knocked over by Isabelle's embrace.

"Thank the Archangel. Imagine if we had to visit you in prison every day or something." She grinned widely and stuck her tongue out at the convicts on the other bench. "Justice is wonderful."

"Let's hope she punishes Malachi with the full force of justice." Jace's expression had softened somewhat, but still seemed tense. I looked at him and looked away again, his words from earlier coming back to me. And even though he had apologized, I didn't understand what was wrong with him. Why he was acting so strange. Why he had snapped at me.

The Inquisitor didn't allow herself a break. She rushed from one agenda item to the next like a well-oiled machine on an assembly line. In her profession there was no room for dawdling and hesitation. It would be a waste of time. She tucked a strand of gray that had escaped her severe braid behind her ear and directed two of her guards to bring forward Malachi.

He tried his hardest to be a burden. He trotted forward with heavy steps, moving so slowly that I could see the exasperated twitch that crossed Imogen's face. The guards pushed Malachi roughly into the chair and his shackles rattled. The former Consul was not deterred. He had his head held rigidly upright and his reserved gaze did not rest on any particular point. His posture exuded power and prestige, as if he were actually still the Consul and this was just another negotiation he had to preside over.

This time Imogen didn't have to ask the Nephilim for quiet. This was their leader. The one who had betrayed them all. A spy for my father who had fooled them all. For how long? If people like that made it to such a powerful position, what spies did he still have in store?

The Inquisitor waved Magnus Bane over and finally turned to Malachi, who shifted his attention to her expectantly. She didn't react immediately but allowed this exchange of glances between them. Her persistence against his pride. Then she opened her lips and explained to him the procedure of the rune and the spell. As if she wanted to follow every procedure meticulously with him, so that afterwards no one could claim that she had not treated him lawfully.

Imogen raised her arm, stele in hand, to place the rune on his neck. A murmur ran through the crowd. A hint of voices rose from all sides like the rush of a wave growing louder as it neared the shore. It seemed like it was building, growing in shock and astonishment as more Nephilim joined the voices. Until the wave finally hit the shore and broke in a synchronized chorus of panicked screams.

I had no idea what had suddenly come over people. A shiver of goosebumps ran up my arms, an instinct I blindly trusted, and a moment later I was on my feet. Looking for the error; the threat. It didn't take long for me to find it. Or rather, him. My sharp intake of breath was lost in the commotion of the Shadowhunters around me, some of whom had also jumped to their feet.

Imogen turned toward the rows of seats, a grim expression on her face. Her body suddenly froze as if someone had flash-frozen her. For an agonizingly long moment her features slipped from her grasp. By the time she caught herself, he had already descended the steps and reached its foot Her guards took up positions in front of the Inquisitor and blocked the path to the podium.

My father was dressed in a tailored, dark blue suit that fit perfectly and flowed around his figure. No sight of a weapon belt. His full, white-blond hair was combed back strictly. There was an unerring self-assurance on his angular, stern face that eclipsed even Malachi's arrogance. His dark brown, focused eyes sparkled with satisfaction.

Imogen's mouth opened to address Valentine, perhaps to stop him. Her bodyguards drew their weapons as he continued toward her, not about to stop. When he simply walked through them, they shook in surprise and whirled around to watch his movement.

A projection. He was nothing more than a projection. Another ragged breath escaped my throat and my trembling fists unclenched. It was probably the same trick Malachi had used to summon Valentine during my kidnapping. My eyes darted to the former Consul, only to see that he wasn't wearing a ring on any of his bony fingers. If it wasn't him who had called him, then it must have been someone else. Another spy. Another of my father's henchmen among these hundreds of Shadowhunters. Somewhere in the middle and untraceable.

Imogen slightly cocked her head as Valentine effortlessly passed by her guards. Her iron wall was intact again and now that my father, who in her eyes was responsible for her son's death, stood before her, an unquenchable contempt blazed in her blue eyes.

"My dear Imogen," said Valentine in a pleasant, smooth voice. His lips turned up in a polite gesture and I had to control myself not to snort. I knew my father. I knew his spare, honest smile and this had nothing to do with it. "I am happy to be here today, even if it is a surprise for you."

"A surprise, albeit an unpleasant one," the Inquisitor replied imperiously, taking a tactical step to the side, away from the bound Malachi. Her robes swirled around her legs, and while she didn't carry any obvious weapons, I was sure she had at least one hidden somewhere. "After you ran away with your son in New York, I was not sure if we would meet again. Eighteen years dead and then such a sudden appearance, only to disappear again."

"And even though I have been out of the picture for eighteen years, you are preparing for war. But not against me, right?" My father sounded innocent. Interested. Maybe a little amused.

"You attacked the Silent Brothers and stole Mellartach. And if you want to keep us in the dark about your plans, you should teach your son to keep his mouth shut. But restraint has never been a strength with which you Morgensterns could score." A cold smile graced Imogen's lips. She clearly enjoyed showing off Valentine.

Valentine's mouth twitched. Barely noticeable, but visible if you were close enough. And we were. Still, he hadn't looked in my direction once. Of course, he knew I was here. It was just his way of punishing me by ignoring my existence. "And if so. Restraint is for the ordinary. And no Morningstar is ever ordinary. Not me and neither my children, as you have probably noticed."

"What do you want, Valentine?" asked the Inquisitor, her patience at an end after the lengthy session. "You certainly did not come here to talk to me about your daughter. Or is this another attempt to abduct her? I have to admit, I did not think that was your style."

Valentine's features hardened and his eyes darted to me so quickly that my heart jumped. I felt my body automatically stand up straighter. He had shifted his attention to me too quickly for me to be able to hide my emotions.

"Clarissa and I already discussed during our last encounter that I disapprove of her current lifestyle," he explained matter-of-factly and much less cultured than he had just been. I knew all too well the dissatisfaction that flashed in his eyes. "Sometimes parents have to resort to extreme measures to set their children on the right path. After all, we know what is best for them."

I didn't move an inch, but I didn't avoid my father's piercing gaze either. Distantly, I noticed that I was holding my breath. Jace and Isabelle had gotten to their feet shortly after me and I felt Jace stand to his full height next to me and Isabelle reach for a dagger of her own accord. Although of course it was no use since he was nothing more than a hologram.

"But I am not here for Clarissa today," Valentine continued, his eyes snapping back to Imogen.

I audibly exhaled through my nose, pushing the air out of my lungs. The world began to spin around me. Jace moved closer to me and grabbed my arm. I didn't know if he was able to sense how I was feeling or if it was just a reflex.

"I am here for two things," my father said, approaching Malachi, who looked at him with wide eyes; almost adoring. That made me sick. He leaned towards the former Consul and looked at him with a friendly expression. "First of all, I cannot allow my dear Malachi to reveal any of my secrets."

"Thank You, Lord Valentine," Malachi gushed. "I would never willingly reveal Your secrets. Thank You for saving me from this."

"You have served me well, my friend." My father smiled and the expression in his eyes changed. A ruthless villainy replaced the simple satisfaction, sparkling like raw power in his dark eyes. It was the first time I recognized Jonathan in him and realized that some aspects of this new Jonathan seemed to have been there before, just never brought forth. The fact that for that one second, he looked like an older image of my brother made me lunge forward with a warning scream.

Too late. My father had already reached out to Malachi, who was eagerly leaning toward him. He assumed that Valentine would save him. I should have known from the start that this was never part of his plan. Malachi was no longer of any use to him as an exposed spy.

My father's hand slid right down Malachi's neck, who raised his eyebrows in confusion, unsure of what that was about. I sprinted towards them, but the bench was too far from the podium. So I could only watch as his hand materialized out of nowhere, still plunged deep into Malachi, up to the wrist. Malachi let out a sudden, gurgling sound and opened his mouth, gasping for air. Then Valentine yanked his hand out of the former Consul, taking his throat with it.

Imogen jumped back and, to my surprise, took me with her. Malachi collapsed and fell lifelessly forward from the chair. The pool of blood that formed around his head was spreading further with every second.

"That settles my first point," said Valentine without reaction, as if he hadn't just killed a man. To my surprise, the room had fallen into an uneasy silence. My father wiped his bloody hand and then turned back to Imogen. "Ah, Clarissa, how nice of you to keep us company. I heard about the massacre you caused. I could not have done it better." He smiled contentedly. Like I did exactly what he expected me to do. "And that leads me to my second point."

I had the distinct feeling that I was going to throw up. Imogen was still holding my arm. As if she didn't want me to move closer to my father if I did decide to switch sides after all. Pulling myself away wasn't an option as her hold was like that of iron. I raised my head and when our eyes met, I couldn't ignore the silent warning in her blue eyes. No warning to obey her. Warning to stay safe.

When I realized that she was trying to protect me from him, I staggered. Imogen believed that Valentine would harm me if I got close to him. Just like he had taken out Malachi without warning. She was worried because I had clearly broken away from my father several times and he had tried unsuccessfully to capture me several times. Imogen Herondale was afraid for me. For me. That was even stranger than the fact that my father had just successfully killed one of them in a room overflowing with Shadowhunters.

"I have the Mortal Sword," Valentine announced loudly and, out of nowhere, it suddenly appeared in his right hand. The way he presented himself here, he looked more like a warlock than a Nephilim. He held up the sword so that no one would miss it. "The Infernal Conversion is almost complete, and there are already too many demons to summon for the Nephilim community to have any chance of surviving this battle. In five days, I will summon the Archangel Raziel using the three Mortal Instruments and express my wish for a stronger Shadowhunter race. After that, me and my son will use this sword to launch an attack on this city where, conveniently, all of our enemies have already gathered. There will be nothing left of you weak Nephilim." He had turned away from Imogen and me and was gesturing in front of the dozens of rows of seats that listened to him in silence. Although they loathed him, they wanted to hear what he had to say. How paradoxical that they also loathed me but had no interest in my voice. "You will die. You will not be able to win against the power of the demons. But there is a way out. All those who are ready for a new, glorious era of the Nephilim and want to follow me have five days to leave Alicante and join me. I swear to the Archangel that you will be spared and be a part of my new civilization. For the rest who refuse ... I respect your decision and your courage to die. Even if it is foolish."

Footsteps echoed through the hall behind me and suddenly Jace was on my other side. He and his grandmother exchanged a look and she slowly pulled away from me. I took a demonstrative step back to make it clear to her that I had no intention of approaching my father. We watched him with serious faces as he finished his speech to the Clave.

"Five days. If you have not left the city by the last rays of sunshine on the fifth day, you do not have to bother anymore. Ride to the northern edge of Brocelind Forest. There you will find my entourage."

His words echoed incessantly through the room, as if their echo would never disappear. As if the many Shadowhunters were replaying it over and over again in their heads. The restless silence didn't break, not even when Valentine turned his back to the hundreds of pairs of eyes.

I didn't bother to question his plan out loud. Or his state of mind. He wasn't bluffing. And that this war came about was nothing new or surprising to me either. Aside from the fact that I had been expecting it ever since the attack on the Silent City, he had raised Jonathan and me knowing that sooner or later we would make his dreams come true. It's just that I had seen myself on the other side of the line for far too long. For eighteen years I had imagined going into this battle behind him. Blind and naive and stupid as I had been. Right now, I was wondering how I could ever have believed his worldview.

"Actually, I only came here with two topics in mind," he murmured thoughtfully, his attention once again on me. I was a thorn in his side. "But now that I am face to face with you, I cannot just go and leave you here without further ado. It goes against my instincts. It is wrong."

"What do you plan to do?" I asked distantly, before Imogen or Jace could speak. I knew him. I knew how to talk to him. Had the circumstances been different, it could have been a simple question of strategy.

"You have become a permanent disappointment, completely different from what I had planned. It is unfortunate," he said, and beneath the cloak of severity there was a hint of actual disappointment.

"It would be easiest to kill me," I replied matter-of-factly, as if it was really just another strategy we were discussing. That was the point with him. No matter how bizarre or crazy things sounded, Valentine was serious about them and considered them seriously. In his world, things like irony, jokes and sarcasm didn't exist. He understood them, sure, but anything that came out of his own mouth was always truly up for debate.

Jace and Imogen exchanged another look and this time I sensed their tension. They thought I was crazy, maybe blamed it on childhood trauma or torture or whatever.

"It would be," my father admitted, taking a few steps closer but remaining out of reach. "But that is not what I want. This is not how I envisioned it. I have already lost your mother irrevocably, so she can no longer play a part in my visions. But through her death I know what that finality feels like. I do not wish the same fate for you."

"I will not return to your side, father." My tone was not gentle, but neither was it harsh. "You have to accept that I have chosen a side. I will fight for this side and if I have to, I will die for it."

Valentine raised his chin and angrily gritted his teeth. His gaze was so intense that I had trouble maintaining the cool facade. "It is a mystery to me. At first, I thought your mother had made this world appealing to you. But even after her death, you held on to it. You have lived under my care all your life; I have revealed to you the truth about everything here. The weakness, the arrogance, the delusion. I know you have experienced it firsthand. My spies have reported how often you have clashed with Imogen or Malachi because you refused to bow to them. Because you have seen what is going wrong. Still, you stayed."

"Just because a part of the system is damaged doesn't mean you have to overturn the entire system."

"Maybe so, but I think there is more to it than that. There is more keeping you here than just this flawed system," he said, letting his eyes wander. "What if I restored your clarity of vision? What if I get rid of what is keeping you here?"

There it was again, that instinct. That sparkle in his eyes. The scruple of asserting his will, come what may. Another shiver ran through my body. My muscles tensed, reacting subconsciously. My eyes followed his every movement precisely.

My father smiled as I took a defensive stance. It amused him. I understood why too late.

The Mortal Sword flashed through the air, hissing as it sliced through it, faster than any other Shadowhunter of ordinary blood could have wielded. Not in my direction, no. Of course not. He said he didn't want to kill me. Instead, straight towards Jace's defenseless chest.

One moment he had been too far away to be a threat, and suddenly here he was, right in front of me and about to cut Jace in two. Jace reacted promptly and jumped backwards. Not far enough to completely escape the blade. I heard it tearing apart the fabric of his gear, cutting into his flesh, and him gasping for air. I heard Imogen start to gasp fearfully. I reacted more slowly than Jace, the panic coursing through my veins and paralyzing my muscles in the blink of an eye. I stared at my father as he moved for a second blow; I could see it in his eyes.

I lunged forward without thinking twice. Without weapons, without defense. It was enough of a surprise for him that he tried to slow his blow. Someone screamed behind me. Instinctively, I ducked under the sword. Not knowing if my father would swing Mellartach again, I fell forward, arms outstretched as I found myself firmly on my feet again. A blink of an eye later, I was clutching the hilt, which was long enough to accommodate both of our hands.

"Clarissa." Oh, my father sounded furious. So furious.

We stood directly in front of each other, not a meter separated us. And between us stood the Soul Sword. Like a silver crystal, it reflected the witch-light, casting shadows on my father's face that only further distorted his features. Now that I was so close to him, I realized that only his arms had materialized. The rest of his body continued to be nothing but a projection.

"Let go, Clarissa," he growled, pulling on the sword's hilt with all his might.

I was knocked off my feet and flew through the air for a moment before I found the ground again. Stumbling, I followed his movements, but didn't let go of the sword. "Make me do it."

Only then did I realize that this was more than just Jace's defense. What I was clutching here was the Mortal Sword, Mellartach, one of the three Mortal Instruments. If I managed to acquire this, my father's entire plan would collapse like a house of cards.

My father continued to tug at the sword, and we spun in circles. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jace's horrified face being held back by his grandmother, as well as the guards. I had to grit my teeth as Valentine tried to pry my fingers away from the magazine. A strangled sound escaped me as he bent one of my fingers so that I was on the verge of seeing stars. When the familiar cracking sound reached my ears, I had to pull myself together not to fall to my knees.

I shouted. With anger and with pain. "You think you can make me give up by breaking my fingers?" I hissed, challenging and angry and amused. "You're a day late. I've had enough experience in a torture chamber to know what real pain is. Go ahead, break another finger. Try your luck."

Valentine stared at me in dismay. Of course, he knew about Blake Ashdown and had just hinted at it himself. Eventually his features turned to resignation. "I really tried to avoid it, dear daughter," he actually sounded sad. Disillusioned. And when he removed one of his hands from the hilt, I immediately realized what was going to happen next as it went to his jacket. "The fact is, I need this sword more than I need you."

I put all my strength into getting the sword out of his hand. But even with one hand, his hold was iron and almost insurmountable. I, a woman with significantly less mass and height, simply did not have the same level of muscle to win this fight.

The dagger in his other hand was ordinary. No special engravings, no special blade. As if it were an emergency tool that should only be used if all else failed. That time now seemed to have come for my father.

"I know you will not forgive me, Clarissa. But I do not forgive you for leaving me either. So this conflict seems to be evenly balanced."

Valentine raised the dagger, and I knew I should let go. It didn't make sense if he was going to get the sword sooner or later anyway. But my fingers refused to work. I couldn't let go. I couldn't be the one who couldn't stop him from the tragedy that was coming in five days.

I tugged and pulled and tore at the hilt of the sword. No chance.

My father wasted no time as he brought the shining silver dagger down on me. He didn't do things by halves. I leaned my body back, but I couldn't really dodge because I was still holding onto the sword. However, as it turned out, I had misjudged him. He didn't even try to kill me. No, he kept his word.

I began to scream as my father plunged the dagger through one of my hands. A clear cut. Right through the middle. My eyes widened and for the blink of an eye I saw Blake driving his dagger into my leg. Then the Clave chamber spun around me, swaying in its orientation. My legs gave way, stumbled and suddenly my knees hit the ground.

There was a hole in my hand. This mans who called himself my father, had cut right through my muscle. I had no choice but to let go. My right hand was useless, unusable, dead. Except the pain shot up my arm like a bolt of lightning. My vision went white, and I couldn't help the heavy breathing that mixed with the agonized moans.

My other hand was still clutching the hilt. I forced my feet to regain their balance.

"I am impressed," my father said approvingly. "You have a pretty high pain tolerance. This will be of utmost use to you as a warrior."

I allowed myself a look at my hand. Blood rushed out of the wound like water from a leaky pipe. And that's exactly how it was. Dark red liquid dripped onto the floor. My other hand continued to hold on to the sword as if it were a life preserver that would free me from this sea of blood.

Valentine raised the dagger again and I croaked out a laugh. "You really are pathetic."

He raised his eyebrows, even though I knew he didn't actually care. Then his gaze darted past me and his brown eyes darkened. Another weapon flashed through the room, and then suddenly a dagger also embedded itself in his hand. Except this one got stuck because it had been thrown. My father growled in pain. The same instinct that had caused my fingers to let go now dropped his dagger.

I wanted to pull, to make another attempt to snatch the Soul Sword from him, but I had no strength left in my veins. The pain distorted my senses, sapping my energy, drawing my focus to the wild throbbing in the back of my hand.

Then Jace was at my side. Blood trickled down his chest where the sword had caught him, but he didn't seem to notice. There was this focus in his golden eyes that shone so intensely that I had to look away. The angelic power. It gave my father pause; made him marvel at it. His work. He had created this.

Jace loomed next to me like a bloody, fierce angel of death. His golden blond hair flowed disheveled around his ears while his angry gaze was fixed solely on my father. Unlike my father, he didn't hesitate. Within a second, Jace had drawn his seraph blade and brought it down on my father's arm in a whistling hiss.

Valentine's eyes widened and for the first time I could see fear in them. He tried to avoid it; tried to move his arm. But like me, he wasn't ready to let go of the sword. And with the sword still in my grasp, there was no way to avoid that fate. Jace's blade struck his forearm and with the full force of his swing, it sliced straight through. Both me and my father stared in surprise at Jace's sword, which had severed his hand from the rest of his arm.

And then both he and I staggered back, in opposite directions. My father screamed, raised his head, and stared in horror at his limp arm, the end of which was now nothing more than white bone and arteries that relentlessly pumped his blood to the ground. His blood mixed with mine and he looked up, straight at me, right at me.

I felt like he was actually looking at me for the first time in that moment. Truly looking. As if I had previously been nothing more than a tool and had now become a real, serious threat.

I shifted my weight and squeezed the fingers of my good hand tighter around the hilt of the Mortal Sword. The Mortal Sword, which now lay in my hand alone, which I now wielded.

"Clarissa," it came from his lips. A deep, dangerous sound from his throat. The inhuman pain of his hand likely clouded by adrenaline and rage.

He took a step towards me and Mellartach seemed to move of its own accord. "I think it's time for you to go," I murmured, holding the blade to his hologram's throat.

Jace marched across the blood to my side. A smug, brutal smile played on his lips. Mimicking my movement, he raised his seraph blade and positioned it below my father's throat. "You heard your daughter," he said as the blood continued to run down his torso. The heat of his body crusted the blood running down my fingertips.

"Do not fool yourself," Valentine growled, backing away from us. "Just keep a close eye on it. I will find a way to get it back."

"I wouldn't have expected anything less," I replied, my features neutral. "But you better hurry up, though. Your war begins in five days, after all."

"I changed my mind," he said quietly. Valentine could not control his anger at this embarrassment. "I do not want to spare you any longer. The next time I get my hands on you, I will kill you." With those words, the connection was cut somewhere, and my father's projection disappeared.

Well ... Valentine is pissed. Really pissed. Did Clary just saved the Nephilim the war? Let me know your thoughts!

Skyllen