Chapter 106 – The Angel in Him

The Inquisitor let us sleep in. It was almost noon when one of her messengers knocked on the door of the sickroom, carrying fresh clothes for all of us. Half an hour later, another rolled in a trolley with breakfast. The abundance of fresh fruit, baked goods and juices gave a subtle hint of the mood in the city.

So it was no great surprise that from the moment we left the Basilias's steps, freshened and dressed up, we were surrounded by a crowd of people. Shadowhunters, werewolves, vampires and warlocks alike, applauding and cheering us. A united Shadow World. Not even Jonathan's presence dampened their spirits.

Jace had gone ahead with Isabelle. The two of them basked in the attention of the people, nodding their thanks and shaking hands with familiar faces here and there. Isabelle wasn't yet fully recovered, but the healers had declared her healthy enough to accompany us – something she would have insisted on anyway, health or not. The encouragement made her glow as if she had a fire of her own within her.

Jonathan and I walked closely behind them, shoulder to shoulder, backs straight and chins raised. Anyone who had not believed the rumors about the reunion of the Morgenstern siblings before, certainly did now. It was my attempt at a strategy to use the little time before the Clave interrogation to get the general public on our side. By deliberately leaving any visible weapons behind in the Basilias, we showed ourselves vulnerable. They had to convince themselves that Jonathan was now one of them; that he was comfortable enough to walk through their ranks unarmed. Because he no longer needed weapons. Because we were all on the same side.

I could see the Shadowhunters' mixed feelings about my brother. The poisoned, cruel Morgenstern son who had killed his own mother and recruited within the Nephilim to kidnap his own sister. That was what they thought of him.

But it was no longer just about what the Shadowhunters thought. At the end of the day, the opinion of the majority is the truth, Imogen Herondale had said by the lake. The Shadowworlders vastly outnumbered the Nephilim. They were all that mattered. Because where the Nephilim had once been the oppressive lawmakers of the Shadow World, I had now given the Shadowworlders their own voices. An alliance that was paying off today. While it had taken the Shadowhunters months to respect me, the rest of the Shadow World had started doing so much earlier.

While the Shadowhunters congratulated Jace and Isabelle in particular, the Shadowworlders' approval quickly shifted to me. The outcast, isolated Morgenstern daughter who had risen from the ashes of her own origins without help, who was still alive despite every obstacle created by the Nephilim and who had stood up for an equal Shadow World. Who, together with her brother, had brought them lasting peace and so much more.

The light the Shadowworlders placed on me shone easily over to Jonathan. Although enough of them were more reserved toward him, their eyes didn't slide over him with disdain. Many who congratulated me congratulated him. To all who didn't, I told the truth. Jonathan Morgenstern, the Lightbringer. The son who had judged his father for his sins. The one who had killed Valentine Morgenstern. Because that was all that should matter. And in the eyes of the Shadowworlders, it did.

Jonathan, who didn't like being the center of attention for so many Shadowworlders, endured it all thanks to the drilled training instilled in him by that very man. While we had not had time to talk since his transformation, while he was the broken, empty boy in front of me, here he was playing the humble, exhausted boy. It wasn't far from the truth. He had always been the quieter of the two of us. The fact that you could catch a glimpse of the horrors he had had to live through through his thin curtain was an enormous advantage.

The fact that people believed us didn't calm the anger that was growing in my chest. That my brother had to be dragged through the streets like a broken doll to be acquitted of something he wasn't to blame for. That they lured him out into the open like a wounded animal, even though he was overwhelmed and scared. Because Jonathan was overwhelmed and scared, and broken and empty. He could not fool me. Not his sister, who had known him since she was born. Not me, who was a little more familiar with panic attacks than I would have liked.

Brother Zachariah followed us through the streets of Alicante like a shadow. Even though he was here to monitor Jonathan, I didn't worry about turning my back on him. A testament to how much I had grown. And no matter how long it took us to get ahead, no matter how late we were for the Clave meeting – because we would definitely be late – Zachariah didn't say a word. I had a strange feeling that he was enjoying this as much as Jace and Isabelle. I could not say where it originated from. The thought was enough to bring a genuine smile to my lips.

We had just left Angel Square behind us, our group slowly but surely growing into a march, when Adam squeezed through the crowd and joined us. All the better. They all knew him, Nephilim and Shadowworlders. A common enemy. And no matter how much I loathed it, I was relieved that their shared dislike focused almost exclusively on Adam once he appeared. No matter how much it hurt him, because the remorse was written all over his face even though he was one of the heroes, Adam would get over it. He had nothing to lose – but Jonathan everything.

The closer we got to the Gard, the more people accompanied us there. After all, we all had the same destination. When we reached the gates, I already felt like the center of an earth-shattering procession that would storm and overrun the Gard if necessary. The air smelled of spring, sweet, fresh and alive. The sun shone across the midday sky and would have melted the remaining snow in Idris in a few days. The sound of my boots on the cobblestones was no longer accompanied by a splash; Alicante was free of all the dampness of winter. Even the first songbirds were back. If I had not been so nervous, this could have been my perfect ending.

We stopped in front of the Gard to wait for Alec and Magnus. The rest of Alicante streamed around us like a trickle of water into the spacious rooms of the building. I imagined Imogen's face in my mind's eye, how annoyed she must be that half the city was late for the Clave meeting because of us. All the more smugly, I strutted through the foyer in front of the assembly hall with my friends, picking up Aaron and Maia on the way.

Our shining uniforms and armor stood out among the others present. With Aaron at the front, we entered the crowded assembly hall, which immediately fell silent. For a moment you could have heard a pin drop. Then the clapping began again. We walked down the long stairs to applause, between standing lines of Shadowworlders and Shadowhunters. This time we didn't shake hands or wave. Majestically and gracefully, we glided down the steps, and their cheers were different from before, too. Deep and meaningful and emotional. Respectful. Remembering. Grateful. Honoring. Not all of us had returned. So many, not just from our unit, had lost their lives. We had struck the final blow, but so many more lives had been lost along the way.

The Inquisitor was already waiting for us next to the podium where she gave most of her speeches. To my surprise, there was an expression of mild fulfillment on her face, completely different from what I had expected. Her lips raised at one corner in a small smile, she watched our parade. It was only when I was almost in front of her that I realized why she seemed so different to me: Her gray hair, usually pulled back tightly, was free of any braids and fell smoothly over her shoulders. It made her look a decade younger.

It was the first crack in my mistrust. The first glimmer of hope that my doubts about the Nephilim were perhaps deeper than justified. That they had perhaps been slow to put their trust in me, but that it had paid off. That their respect for me had perhaps developed gradually but now blossomed even more firmly. Like a snowdrop that, hardened by evolution, bloomed in defiance of the snow.

"Community of Nephilim, Community of the Shadow World," Jia Penhallow raised her voice along with her arms. Imogen stepped towards us and motioned for us to line up next to each other. "Our alliance has paid off. Valentine Morgenstern is dead and the war against the demon army was defeated in a short battle. We have approved a secret operation to return the Angel Blade to the Clave's possession. Under the leadership of Aaron Wrayburn and with the help of Clarissa Morgenstern's brilliant plan, this unit managed to infiltrate Valentine's camp and save us all. "

Jace and Isabelle gave me amused glances. Brilliant plan was a compliment from the Consul, which I certainly would not have received from the Inquisitor. With a smile, I took Jonathan's hand and even though I had informed him of my new plan, he flinched at the touch.

As if on cue, as if Imogen could read my thoughts, she continued, just right. "Under Valentine's instructions, Jonathan Morgenstern entered the city yesterday at noon, with the goal of deactivating the demon towers at the right time. In a fight, Clarissa managed to wound him using a rune for Heavenly Fire and burn all the demon blood from his body. Freed from the prison imposed on him by his own father, he used the fire to kill not only Valentine, but also his entire demon army."

It seemed as if, amidst all the joy, people were finally remembering that Jonathan had been their enemy until now. Very few people knew his face, although you only had to look at it once to recognize Valentine in it. The only things he had inherited from our mother were his green eyes and precise hands.

I glanced sideways at my brother, who continued to show humility in his expression. An emotion that was foreign to Valentine. They could not compare him to our father. They had to recognize him as a person in his own right. If only they could see inside my head to be fully convinced.

Many of the Shadowhunters were whispering among themselves, looking at our clasped hands and examining Jonathan from head to toe. It was clear that they were still afraid of Valentine. That they didn't want another revolution by a fanatic. Swallowing my fear, I looked for reactions from the Shadowworlders. Unlike the Nephilim, they had little interest in his blood. None of them seemed worried. All parties had sent fighters to Brocelind Forest, including the Shadowhunters, whose almost half of the population had been there. They had all seen with their own eyes what Jonathan had done.

Imogen silenced the rumor mill before it could get going. The Shadowhunters had a habit of eradicating anything that threatened them. I could sing a song about it, but most of all, the Shadowworlders could. Imogen recounted the entire operation to the listening Shadow World. Starting with the dispatch of Aaron after my supposed death, through to the second plan that Jonathan and I hatched. She called Aaron forward, who described from his perspective how they had been almost completely slaughtered by a group of faeries in Brocelind and how they had come across Jace's part of the unit in the camp. Isabelle and Alec told of a golden tent, the search for the protective spell and how a mixed unit of Valentine's had captured them shortly before the north beach.

And then, as I had expected it because it made perfect sense, Imogen called Jonathan over. The vast assembly hall fell silent, as if we were in a meeting of the Silent Brotherhood. Jia Penhallow held up Mellartach, which had hung on the wall behind the two thrones until now. Although it had been freed from the Infernal Conversion thanks to Magnus and cleansed of Valentine's sins, I felt as though I could still see every inquity in it. At the thought of our mother, my face twisted of its own accord – a mirror image of Jonathan's. We were both thinking of the same thing.

This time it was me who flinched as Jace's warm fingers closed around mine. This time his thumb on the back of my hand was no balm. Nevertheless, I squeezed his hand so hard that it must have hurt him. In typical Jace fashion, he didn't say a word, didn't let it show in any way.

Jonathan stood with his back to the podium, his stony features turned to the audience. The Consul placed the Angel Blade in his flat hands and stepped back to leave the field to Imogen. As Inquisitor, she would conduct the interrogation. "To convince us of Jonathan Morgenstern's complete innocence, he will present his report under the Mortal Sword. I also have a few more questions for him."

My brother did exactly as he was asked. Just as we had practiced that morning. His newly insensitive, cool voice, thanks to the pain of the sword, naturally strained into a more vulnerable, more exposed version of itself. His face wrapped in absent dejection, he told them everything; from our departure with the Morgenstern Ring to Brocelind to our father's death by the Heavenly Fire.

A story that had them all leaning forward to listen to his every word. For the Morgensterns had always been excellent speakers. Only under Mellartach they had to stick to the truth instead of being able to bend the narrative to suit their interests. The more you resisted the truth, the more the Sword hurt. Jonathan's syllables rolled off his tongue like a waterfall, placing no emphasis on actions or people. He rattled off Lyall's execution as quickly as Isabelle's summoning of the demons. Images flickered in my mind, but his narrative lost all meaning, all emotion.

As soon as Jonathan finished describing Valentine's death, the Shadowworlders immediately relaxed. The Nephilim, however ... Because of the fire, there was no body by which everyone could confirm Valentine's death for themselves. But what difference did it make? The last time, despite the banished body, he had reappeared eighteen years later, as if he had never been erased from the earth. Another death by fire, and while last time there had been no witnesses to Valentine's death other than the bodies, this time they could only rely on the word of hundreds of pairs of eyes. Personally, I much preferred the second option, but I was also biased.

"No wonder we didn't trust you at the beginning, if you're capable of things like that," Isabelle murmured past Jace, who was standing between us, probably referring to the look on Jonathan's face.

"I wish I was as good as him," I replied curtly. But I was secretly sure that the mask was not as fake as he wanted me and my friends to believe.

My brother had never learned to allow his emotions, even before his transformation. I had been the more impulsive one, he the more reserved one. In the past, I had not associated this trait with coldness; he had been a gentle, keen, funny brother; as long as father had not been around. Then he had been mainly protective and disciplined. But in our old life there had been no emotions like sadness or fear. Now there were.

The Inquisitor stalked Jonathan like a snake searching for the weak point of her prey. It was her way of asking questions, even if her expression didn't show the cold concentration that it had during previous trials. "The forces accompanying me can attest to Jonathan's previous stories," she noted, finally stopping to his right, her back to the Clave members and Shadowworlders watching them. "Since Valentine Morgenstern's return to the public eye of the Shadow World, you, Jonathan Morgenstern, have killed a multitude of Shadowhunters and Shadowworlders. Among them dozens of the New York Brigade. My bodyguards. And finally, Jocelyn Morgenstern, your own mother, with the Sword in your hands. Why did you take the lives of each of them and all the others ?"

When the Inquisitor said our mother's name, Jonathan and I flinched so violently that there should have been no doubt about his innocence. Suddenly his face burst open like a tottering wall, and he could not contain the dangerous mix of remorse and grief.

Tears rolled down my cheeks. Pain for my mother and my brother alike. No matter what the Clave decided, Jonathan would have to live with the knowledge of this act forever. This Mortal Instrument, sacred to the Nephilim, would always bring back the death of his mother.

From a distance, I noticed Jace putting his arm around my shoulder and pulling me to his chest. His warmth was a small comfort that I gratefully accepted. The smell of the assembly hall, old wood and cold brickwork, was covered by fresh soap and sweet maple. So familiar now that my pounding heart relaxed all by itself. At least a little.

"I wanted to kill them all," Jonathan answered the question and my heart sank again. The hall took a collective, sharp breath. "I because the demon blood changed my nature but did not block it. I could only regret my actions after it had been burned out of me. Until then, I thought all my actions were right, more or less anyway."

"So, looking back, you would not have wanted to commit these murders without the demon blood?" Imogen asked, unimpressed.

"I ..." Not only Jonathan was shaking, but his voice was too. The pain of the Sword was visible on his face, which immediately silenced the whisperers. "To understand what I would or would not have done, you must understand that perspective is important. Would I have committed the murders if Clary and ... my mother had stayed? Sooner or later, our father would have tasked Clary and me with killing Shadowhunters from the Clave. We thought we were doing the right thing. We knew nothing else, Clary and I, because as children we believed what our parents taught us. On the other hand, I would never have hurt my mother in my right mind."

"The reason Clarissa and Jocelyn escaped was your transformation by Valentine. But let us say they would have left anyway. Would you have continued to follow Valentine's orders?"

"No." The answer came like a shot. "Wherever my sister goes, I go too. Valentine put family first. Because it was always just Clary and me, we knew each other inside and out. Without her, I would not have gone into battle."

I swallowed hard; squeezed my eyelids shut. We used to be two sides of the same coin. Now ... We still fought as if we were in the same body. But as for everything else ... I wasn't sure I knew who Jonathan was anymore. He wasn't the boy I knew inside and out, and I didn't think that part of our connection would ever return. Too much had happened.

"Very well." Her boots clicked across the marble floor as the Inquisitor took a few steps. It probably helped her think. "So far we know that even without the poisoning you would have gone to war for Valentine, but you put the well-being of your family above your father's interests. But is all that enough to make you switch sides, like your sister? She has fought for our cause long enough to believe in her sincerity. You made the greatest sacrifice, you killed your own father, but who did you make that sacrifice for?"

Every muscle in my body tensed. Jace looked down at me, worried. He knew that all this questioning was getting to me. What he could only guess was that I was most afraid of this answer.

"For my sister."

"Explain this."

"You want to hear that I did it for the Nephilim, but that would be a lie." Although Jonathan clenched his jaw in pain, his words carried a natural confidence. "Our father spent his life speaking of the superiority of the Nephilim – extolling the value of one's bloodline and purity. But ultimately, he was only interested in power. He betrayed his family. Stole my soul, drove our mother to her death, orphaned Clary. I killed him in retaliation because my sister was a happy child before he turned her into a wreck for my sake."

My outside betrayed every emotion, but inside I was speechless – eating through my insides, tightening around my throat. Jonathan didn't look at me, or anywhere else. Jace, beside me, shifted his weight from one leg to the other. He wasn't used to having anyone protect me - didn't know what Jonathan's return to my side meant for him and the others. How would Jonathan, from my old life, fit into my new life?

Happy child. To him, I was still the little sister. Not an adult to wage war. I had blamed his condition in the Basilias after our fight on the absence of demon blood, but how much of that was true? I had been happy before, before our mother had revealed the truth to me. But only because I had never known true happiness. Under Valentine, my life had been restricted, every path to the world outside the Morgenstern estate paved with lies about what awaited me. This new world, with all its revelations, had taken my breath away, yes. But that didn't mean that everything after had suffocated me. With everything I now knew, I would rather live a life of truth than one of lies. A choice Valentine would never have granted us. Because he, too, had known the truth.

Did Jonathan compare his last clear memory of me to the person I had become? I knew I had changed. That this new world had demanded so much of me. How much of that did he see? He, the only one who truly knew the person I had used to be.

Imogen didn't seem particularly convinced by his answer. It wasn't what she wanted to hear, because he had not excluded his father's ideas in any way. She could not just let someone like that loose on society. "And you did not consider the benefits to society as a whole that came with Valentine's death?"

"Family first," Jonathan said. I murmured quietly in unison. "Always." There were few things that Valentine had impressed upon us as much as that mantra. Jonathan had internalized it so deeply that even the demon blood had not been able to burn it out of him completely.

"Tell me, Jonathan, what do you think of your father's ideas? You do not seem to be opposed to them in terms of content, only his betrayal of the family is a thorn in your side. Does it not interest you that he has put thousands of lives in danger with his plans?"

"I have not been myself long enough to form an opinion on the state of the world. I have not had the months of adjustment that Clary has. But I already know that the ideas he shared with us are not based on truth. Brother Zachariah gave me a neutral summary of the history of the last eighteen years after I took the Heavenly Fire. Valentine portrayed the Morgensterns as victims; claiming that we were all being targeted for his heroic revolution against the corrupt Clave. We hated the Clave, but how could we not? We believed they were the villains. He justified his contempt for the Downworlders with their demonic blood; that it made them evil. For these reasons, I was willing to risk thousands of lives. To defend my father from his enemies. Now I know better and would not follow his plans. However, his betrayal on a personal level weighs heavier on me, which is why I justified his death at my hand."

"I guess I cannot ask for more for now," Imogen sighed wearily, more to herself. The last eighteen years had drained her like few others in this hall. Only Jonathan seemed to be a few years ahead of her in the torment. The two of them next to each other made an oppressive picture if you didn't know the story behind them. "You have lived your entire life isolated from the Nephilim, growing up under false influences that must never poison our community again. Will you abide by the laws of the Nephilim, which also include the Accords with the Shadowworlders?"

"I will," Jonathan nodded curtly. I could not help but smile. A weight was lifted from my heart. Not because I had expected a different reaction, but because I had given up hope a long, long time ago that this moment could become a reality.

Don't torture yourself with guilt or melancholy, dearest sister, for he is gone, the demon had said to me five days ago. Even though Jonathan insisted that he and the demon had been one and the same, I would always draw the distinction. That my brother had returned to me was nothing short of a miracle, for which I was forever indebted to Ithuriel.

Arms raised, addressing the audience, the Inquisitor concluded her questioning. Less like crushing Jonathan under one finger, as was her way as a judge, but like the opinionated leader of this community that she had been every second of her tenure. "In my opinion, Jonathan Morgenstern's hearing revealed what was already widely known: none of his crimes were committed voluntarily, so I would suggest to the Clave that he be acquitted on all charges due to incapacity. However, since this is not a trial, but merely an interrogation," she stepped in front of Jonathan and exchanged a brief glance with him before carefully taking Mellartach from his hands. "You may go. Unless the Clave believes a trial is necessary."

The assembly hall fell into thoughtful silence. My heart was pounding so loudly against the inside of my chest that I wondered how Jace could not hear it. A few solitary figures rose from their seats in the ranks. Surrounded by hundreds of seated Shadowhunters, they didn't stand out as expected. On the contrary, they were swallowed by the blackness of the Nephilim gears. Like tiny islands engulfed by an endless sea.

Jonathan slumped down before Imogen even spoke the official words. As if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders as soon as the Sword no longer touched him. Relieved to be free of its contact, or to no longer have to hold onto our mother's instrument of death?

"Welcome to the Nephilim community, Jonathan Morgenstern." The Inquisitor's words caught me off guard, barely penetrating my ears, as if there was a heavy curtain in front of them.

It was over. It was actually over. He was free. We are free.

I didn't notice how I tore myself away from Jace. My feet carried me to my brother so quickly that it felt like a blackout. I had just been standing in Jace's arms, and then I threw myself around Jonathan's neck. He caught me, pulled me to him as if he could feel all the hopes that were raging inside me like a storm.

Two sides of the same coin. Maybe, just maybe, we would be able to overcome all the pain someday; look to the future instead of the past; start a new chapter in life. Without weapons. Without war. Without punishment.

A chance for true peace.

We're getting just a little bit closer to the end. I really had to push myself to upload today. Yesterday, I finished the new Hunger Games book Sunrise on the Reaping, and it absolutely wrecked me. I've never cried so much over a book—and making me cry is not easy. One day, I hope I'll be able to write such beautiful parallels and symbols like Queen Suzanne. I'm still feeling pretty down, but proofreading this chapter at least helped distract me a little.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. You can feel that we're slowly but surely approaching the end, can't you?

See you next week,
Skyllen