Chapter Fourteen

Simon was proud of the fact that it only took a few minutes to return the library to its original state. Granted, that state included piles of untouched papers, and it wasn't as if Simon and Isabelle had brought many things with them, and they had spent a solid eight hours trapped underground instead of running the Institute, but it was still satisfying to sweep the last scraps of paper into a trash bag and neaten the pens on the desk.

Isabelle, who hadn't lifted a finger to help, was chatting on the couch with Magnus. Jocelyn and Luke had gone to make dinner and Maryse was waiting outside for the Silent Brother, so it was just the three of them in the library. Four, Simon realized; Alec was standing so quietly and solemnly in the corner that Simon had forgotten he was there.

Apparently Isabelle had also noticed her brother's behavior, because she lobbed a crumpled ball of paper at him; it hit him in the center of his forehead and fell at his feet.

"I just cleaned!" Simon said indignantly.

Isabelle ignored him. "What's up?" she asked Alec, who was frowning and appeared not to have noticed the paper.

"Did Jace say anything to you?" he said. "When they got back?"

She shrugged. "He said he loved me. And he was grateful for me. Why?" she added, grinning. "You didn't get a big heartfelt speech from your parabatai?"

Alec didn't smile back. "Something's up with him," he said, touching his shoulder. "He's in pain, but he wouldn't say why. I don't—" He winced suddenly, his fingers closing tightly around his shoulder. "I'm going to go find him," he said, but he only made it a few steps before doubling over.

"Alec!" They all went to him, but he pushed them aside and staggered out into the hallway. Maryse had just entered with two Silent Brothers.

"What on earth—" she began, but they were already dashing up the steps, Alec leading the way.

And then, as they burst onto the landing, Simon felt something he had never felt before—a coldness spreading from his left forearm through his whole body, as if someone had injected him with ice water. He stumbled, catching himself against the wall.

"Simon, come on!" Isabelle tugged at his arm and he started to run again, fumbling for his sleeve as he went. He had just pulled it up when Alec threw open the nursery door and stopped abruptly, nearly making the rest of them crash into him. Simon looked past him, and his heart lurched.

Clary and Jace were lying motionless on the floor, their fingers inches from each other. Lexie was clutching the top of her crib and screaming; without hesitation, Isabelle picked her up and carried her out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her. It opened again almost instantly.

"What's—" Maryse cut herself off with a gasp, freezing in the doorway. The Silent Brothers moved soundlessly around her and parted the crowd, kneeling between Clary and Jace. Simon pressed himself against the wall, staring at the scene, unable to breathe or blink. Jace seemed unharmed save for the small, not nearly fatal cut above his hip, but Clary—her skin had turned gray, her lips and eyelids blue, and her chest was rising and falling so shallowly that for a horrifying moment, Simon thought it had stopped altogether.

What happened here? Brother Enoch asked without looking up from examining Jace.

Alec pointed a shaking finger. "Silvershadow."

Simon followed his gaze. There was a small puddle of something metallic beneath Jace, already seeping into the floorboards. A stele lay between him and Clary.

"She tried to heal him," said Simon hoarsely.

Magnus stepped forward and crouched by Clary's head. "I can help her," he said, "but I need the room and some time."

We will take Jace to the infirmary, said the other Silent Brother, whom Simon only vaguely recognized. The rest of you may wait upstairs.

As they loaded Jace onto a stretcher, Simon made to follow the others out of the room, but Magnus said, "Wait. Not you." He looked back; Magnus beckoned him over. "You can give her strength."

Simon sat down beside Clary and took her hand. It was freezing cold, and he tried to warm it between his palms. It was only then that he caught sight of his parabatai rune. It had turned gray—not the pale silver-white of used-up runes, but as if it were fading from his skin. The cord that bound him and Clary was so painfully taut that he had to swallow a wave of nausea.

Magnus, his hands hovering above Clary's body, was frowning uncertainly. "You...you can help, right?" said Simon tentatively. "I mean, you have. I remember—"

"I know," said Magnus sharply, "but that was years ago and she wasn't pregnant then. Now, I need you to sit there quietly and stay out of my way, got it?"

Simon's swallowed again and tightened his grip on Clary's hand. "Got it."

There was light, blinding light that burned Clary's eyes even before she opened them. When she did, she found some thin material obscuring her vision. She ripped it away and sat up in one motion, but when she looked down, her head spun with a heart-stopping fear.

She was lying on a pyre, stacked so high that she couldn't see the floor below, only an endless whiteness, like a blank canvas. She scrambled to her feet, still clutching the silk that had bound her eyes, but the structure rocked beneath her and then she was falling, and she hit the ground with a blow that should have broken every bone in her body. Though she wasn't quite sure if she had a body at all, even as she stood. It felt as if she were made of smoke, that if she let her mind shut off, she would simply dissolve and become part of this nothingness.

"Is that what you want?" asked a soft voice behind her. She turned, and he was there, with his fair hair and grass-green eyes that were so like hers, but would never darken with age the way hers had.

"Jonathan?" she whispered. "Is this real?"

He shrugged, a small smile twisting the corner of his mouth. "I suppose it's as real as anything else," he said. "But you're asking the wrong questions, Clary."

"What do you mean?" said Clary, but it was another voice that answered, a smooth drawl that sent a chill down her spine.

"Well," said Sebastian, trailing a finger across her shoulder as he came around her, "there are so many more interesting things to discuss, aren't there? Try again. Go on."

Clary struggled to understand. "Where are we?" she asked, but Sebastian only clicked his tongue.

"Not quite," he said. "Again."

Clary bit her lip in frustration. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Why are you here? Why am I here?"

"Ah," said Sebastian, his black eyes glittering like beetles. "There it is."

"Clary," said Jonathan gently, "what do you remember?"

She cast her mind back, and it came to her in flashes: the nursery, Lexie wailing, the spiderweb of silver lines.

"Jace," she whispered. Sebastian chuckled, but Jonathan's gaze was sympathetic. "Is he—" Her voice stuck.

"If he was," Sebastian said casually, "would you go with him?"

As he said it, something strange happened. It reminded Clary of dipping a dirty paintbrush into water and watching the colors bloom, twisting into something else. She recognized the carved stone walls of the infirmary, and there was Jace lying on a bed, Alec sitting beside him and squeezing his hand, Silent Brothers Marking him with runes, pouring potions down his throat. Clary reached for him and felt as if she were coming apart at the seams, as if she were simply a drop of paint in that welcoming water...

"Clary!" said Jonathan sharply, and she came back to herself with an unpleasant lurch. Jace was gone, and there was only that white expanse and the dazzling light. "Clary, you have to choose. You have to think this through."

"Choose?" she said dazedly. The light had grown painfully bright, making her vision tunnel towards it. "Choose what?"

"She made her choice," Sebastian said stonily. "Didn't you, Clary?"

Cold was spreading through her, as if she were freezing from the inside out. She collapsed to her hands and knees and watched as her nails turned blue, as her breath turned to mist.

"N-no," she gasped. "No...I can't..." She thought she heard crying, a sound so familiar to her that it sent a spear of longing through her heart. "Lexie..." The word was a sob.

"That's right," said Jonathan softly. "Think about Lexie. Think about your baby."

"Think about Jace," Sebastian said, his voice filled with a dark glee.

She was too cold to think about anything. The tears that fell from her eyes turned to ice and shattered on the floor. She raised her head, blinking against that blinding light. "Please..."

"All right, then," Sebastian said quietly. "Make your choice."

The light went out like someone had blown out a match, leaving spots in her vision. The floor fell out from beneath her, and she was tumbling through the air, the wind whipping her hair around her face so that she only caught flashes of an inky black sky dappled with stars—and then she saw herself as a great mirror rushed up from the ground and she crashed into it, sinking into the waters of Lake Lyn, and she was thrashing, not knowing which way was up and if she was swimming or drowning—

"Simon, keep her still!"

She was choking on brackish water, unable to draw breath. Light burst around her, and she squeezed her eyes shut—but it was sapphire-blue, and the voices that spoke were familiar.

"Calm her down, do something—"

"Clary—Clary, it's okay—hey, just breathe, it's okay..."

It was like a bubble had burst in her throat, and then she was gasping, pulling in lungful after lungful of cold air. Someone was holding her hand so tightly it hurt. Everything hurt; she felt as if she had just been thrown across the room.

"I'm going to get you a blanket, okay?" She hadn't realized she was shivering uncontrollably. The hand released hers, and she felt the floor vibrate beside her. Then something heavy was draped over her body. She tried to open her eyes, but the world swung wildly and she closed them again. A word formed on her lips involuntarily, but it was too much effort to voice it.

"Don't try to talk yet, biscuit," said Magnus, his voice more soothing now. "This is delicate work. I need you to stay still and try to control your breathing."

She tried, but great shuddering gasps were still escaping her. The word came again, and she forced her voice to work. "L...L..."

"Shh," said Simon, taking her hand again. "Lexie's fine. She's with Izzy. Let Magnus work, okay?"

Clary had never felt so exhausted. She sank into the floor, sucking in air and trying to sort through her muddled thoughts; she was sure she had been dreaming about something, but whatever it was had left no memory behind, only a strange sense of yearning. The last thing she remembered was...

She cracked her eyes open again, turning her head with a huge effort. Through her slitted lids, she could see a small wet patch on the floor, shimmering silver. She hadn't dreamed that, then, much as she wished she had. But that begged another question, one she couldn't bear to ask.

"He's alive," said Simon softly; evidently he had followed her gaze. "He's up in the infirmary."

Alive. Relief rushed through Clary. She had done it. She had saved him. Another shudder wracked her body, making her toes curl and her fingers tighten on Simon's. She was still struggling to breathe, but Simon said, "Just relax," and she must have done so, because when next she woke, there were voices murmuring above her.

"...done all I can for now," Magnus was saying. "She should be okay, but stay with her a little longer and make sure she doesn't overexert herself."

"Why, where are you going?"

"To check on Alec, see if he needs anything. I'll bring you an update on Jace."

The door opened and shut. Clary forced her eyes open, squinting up at the vague shadow leaning over her. The lights had been dimmed, pale gold mixing with the pearly moonlight pouring through the window.

"Hey," Simon said. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you if anything happens."

She ignored him and tried to sit up, but her right arm gave out under her weight, making her hiss in pain.

"You okay?"

She propped herself on her good elbow. "Broke my arm earlier," she said, her voice sounding thin and weak. "Must not have healed properly."

"Lie back. I'll take a look at it."

The effort of holding herself up was too much, so she lowered back down to the floor and drew her right arm out from under the blanket. Simon eased her gear jacket off her, then inhaled sharply. "Clary, your wrists...what happened?"

She looked down; their capture and the vines felt so long ago that she had forgotten her wrists were still bound sloppily in the scraps of her shirt sleeves, now soaked in blood. "Long story," she said. Simon glanced at her briefly before taking her right arm gently and turning it over. He slid the makeshift bandage aside, then took out a stele and set it to her skin. It stung more than usual, her body still so cold.

"Your wrists should be okay, but I think I want to bind your arm," Simon said, sitting back on his heels and tucking his stele away again. "Do you have a first-aid kit?"

"In the bathroom," Clary said. Simon disappeared through the door and was back in a minute, already riffling through the kit. He extracted a roll of bandages and began to wrap up her arm.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. She couldn't tell for certain in the low light, but she thought he was avoiding looking at her.

"I'm okay," she said.

"You sure?" She nodded. "Good," said Simon, snapping the bandage into place with a clip. "That means I can yell at you."

Clary blinked. "Yell at—"

"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, tossing the kit aside and sitting firmly beside her. "And no," he added as she opened her mouth, "don't tell me you wanted to save him, I don't want to hear it. There's a difference between trying to save someone's life and sacrificing your own, and you knew where the line was, and you crossed it."

"I didn't know—" Clary began, but Simon made a frustrated noise.

"You knew," he said. "You knew what it felt like, you'd done it before. Don't tell me it was an accident."

"So, what," Clary said, starting to get angry, "was I supposed to let him die?"

"If he was going to die, why did you have to go with him?" Simon burst out, and she was shocked to hear his voice break. "How do you think we would have lived with that? What about me? What about Lexie? What about the baby?"

Clary winced. "Simon," she whispered. "Stop. Please." She reached for his hand, but he stood and walked to the window. She pushed herself up with difficulty, leaning on one hand. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"Are you," said Simon coldly, "or are you just glad it worked?" She opened her mouth and closed it again, unable to answer. "I don't like who you've become," Simon said quietly. "You've never been reckless. You've never—you've never not cared."

Silence seemed to stretch in the infinite space between them. Nothing Clary wanted to say felt like a good enough response.

"There wasn't time," she said finally, feebly. "I should've stopped, you're right. But I didn't have time to think it through." It felt like what she was supposed to say, but the phrase felt oddly familiar, and it made a curl of worry uncoil in her stomach. She tamped it down automatically.

"It's just—" He turned toward her, silhouetted in the moonlight, his face shadowed. "You were blue," he said. "And my rune—" He wrapped his fingers around his forearm. "It looked like it was disappearing. It felt like you were disappearing. And the funny thing is, it was the most I'd felt in weeks. Since this all started, you've been—somewhere else, all locked away, and then you went off without me, and it—it feels like you're slipping away." He said it all in a rush, breathing hard by the end. "Just...just tell me you're still here," he said, his voice pleading. "Tell me you still...want to be here."

She tried to read his expression, but it was too dark to see his eyes, though she could tell his posture was rigid. "Simon, what are you asking me?"

It was a moment before he spoke. "Did you do it on purpose?" he said quietly, almost as if he didn't want to hear the answer. "Did you want to go with him?"

"I..."

"Wait," he said. "You said you couldn't think it through. So think it through now."

She cast her mind back to that moment. She tried to envision another scenario, one where she had given up and watched his breathing slow, felt his heart stop; but a world without Jace...she couldn't picture it. She couldn't fathom it.

"No," she said, and she heard Simon exhale. "No, it was an accident. I—I wasn't thinking, that's all." She sat up slowly, her limbs trembling from the strain. "Can I see him now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course." Simon's voice had softened, and his touch was gentle as he helped her to her feet, supporting her as she leaned heavily on him. "I love you, okay?"

She couldn't look at him. "Yeah. Love you too."

They moved slowly, Clary still unsteady on her feet. It felt like an eternity before they reached the infirmary. As they approached, Maryse sprang up from the bench where she was sitting beside Isabelle.

"Clary!" she said. "Come here, sit down, you're pale as a ghost." Clary was surprised until she realized why Maryse was being overly nice.

"I'm okay," she said, releasing Simon and balancing against the wall, trying to keep from swaying.

Magnus, who was leaning beside the infirmary doors with his phone in his hand, looked disapprovingly at Simon. "I thought I told you not to let her move around," he said.

"I'm fine," Clary insisted, some of her energy returning as impatience. "How's Jace? What did the Silent Brothers say?"

Magnus sighed. "They won't let anyone in," he said. "But Alec's been texting me. He says Jace is...well, he's holding on."

Clary stared at him; her vision went hazy. "Holding...holding on...?"

"Clary!" said Isabelle sharply, and Simon caught her as her knees gave out. He lowered her onto the bench.

"What does..." Clary's voice came out as a hoarse whisper. She swallowed. "I don't understand. I thought I healed him. I thought the poison was gone."

"It's complicated," said Magnus gently, "and there's a lot we don't know. The important thing is that he's alive."

But Clary heard the unspoken implication: for now. And all at once, she was faced with the idea that Jace could die. She hadn't really thought it possible, if she were honest with herself; even when she had seen the silvershadow marking his chest, the all-consuming need to save him had left no room for entertaining the thought of him dying. The idea was absurd, and she almost laughed, but then she was shaking, pressing her hands against her mouth so hard that her teeth ached. She needed—she didn't know what she needed. Something to do, something she could control—

"Where's Lexie?" she demanded suddenly of Isabelle.

Isabelle looked a little taken aback at her tone, but said, "With your parents. I think they put her in your bed."

"Did a Silent Brother—"

"They said she was fine," said Maryse. "Unharmed."

"I want to see her," Clary said, and she started to get up only to be pushed firmly back down by Simon.

"You need to rest," he said. "And anyway, she's probably asleep. It's past midnight."

"What?" Clary looked around. She knew night had fallen, but she hadn't realized how truly dark it had gotten. Her eyes found Magnus. "How long..."

"Hours," he said quietly. "It wasn't easy."

He looked pale too, and Simon's face was lined with exhaustion. It felt like you were disappearing, he'd said. They had spent hours by her side, coaxing her carefully back to life. She felt at a loss for words, but she had to say something.

"Thank you," she said finally. She reached up and took Simon's hand. "Both of you. I'm—I'm grateful." Magnus gave a soft smile but said nothing, and Simon squeezed her hand, then released it.

The door opened; Clary leaped to her feet and regretted it instantly as the floor seemed to rock beneath her. Simon caught her again, but she didn't let him set her down this time. Brother Enoch slipped through the door and closed it behind him so quickly that Clary didn't even get a glimpse of the infirmary.

There has been little change, he said before any of them could speak. We will continue working, but perhaps it would be prudent for you all to get some rest and return refreshed in the morning.

"Can I see him?" Clary asked.

Brother Enoch turned to her. She got the feeling that he was searching her with his gaze, though of course his eyes remained resolutely stitched shut. You are expecting, he said.

She felt herself close off. "I know," she said stiffly.

I should like to examine you, if you will consent.

"Don't you need to tend to Jace?" Clary asked.

Brother Ibrahim can manage for a moment. Come.

He led her to the end of the corridor and around the corner. Sit, he said, motioning to the stone bench beneath the window. She sat. Brother Enoch sat beside her and placed a long-fingered hand on her rounded stomach. For a long while, he said nothing; it was as if he were listening for something.

"Is it okay?" Clary whispered finally.

He, Brother Enoch corrected.

A boy. Jace would be excited—would have been. She pushed the thought aside. "Is he okay?" she asked again, not sure what she wanted the answer to be.

He is alive, said Brother Enoch.

"But?"

But I worry the stress you have been through will take a toll on him. You should not have tried to extract the poison yourself.

"I couldn't let Jace die," Clary said.

The Silent Brother said nothing, only moved his hand across her stomach. He is small for sixteen weeks, he said. If Clary hadn't felt so detached, she would have been surprised; she was further along than she had thought. If you refrain from exerting yourself further and eat well, he should reach the appropriate size.

"I'll do that," said Clary. Brother Enoch gave her another probing look. She stood. "Are we done here?" He inclined his head, and she followed the corridor back toward the infirmary, the Silent Brother trailing behind her. She didn't look at anyone as she sank onto a bench and heard Brother Enoch open and close the infirmary doors.

"Clary?" said Isabelle tentatively. "Everything okay?" Clary nodded without looking up and felt Isabelle come over and sit beside her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Hey," she said quietly. "He'll pull through this. Worse things have happened."

"Worse things," Clary echoed. "What could be worse than this?"

Maryse stood. "Right," she said briskly. "Sitting here catastrophizing won't do anyone any good. I say we listen to Brother Enoch and get some sleep. All of you, let's go."

Clary didn't move, even as Maryse walked away, Magnus peeled himself off the wall and trudged down the corridor, and Isabelle gave her shoulder a squeeze before following him. "No, you go ahead," she heard Simon say. "I'll be there in a minute."

As their footsteps faded away, he took Isabelle's spot beside Clary. "Come on," he said softly. "You need to sleep." She shook her head, and he sighed. "I know," he said. "I know this is all scary and sudden, but—"

"It wasn't sudden," Clary whispered. "It was five days. Five days, and he—and I—" She knotted her fingers tightly in her lap. "I tried to heal him, right when it happened," she said, half talking to herself, trying to put the pieces together. "And he said he was fine, and I didn't know—I didn't—I should've—" Bits of their journey through Faerie flashed through her mind, things she seemed to have registered without thinking about them. "He was coughing. And he was in pain. And I didn't even notice."

"It's not your fault," said Simon. "I'm sure he was trying to hide it from you. Especially if you'd already tried to heal him and it didn't work, he wouldn't have wanted—Clary, where are you going?"

She couldn't answer, because she didn't know. She was already halfway down the hall, catching at the wall as she went, as the corridor swung around her. Simon called after her, but she didn't look back.

Somehow, Clary found herself standing in front of her bedroom door. She didn't quite know how she'd managed it, considering that her legs were shaking from the effort, her head swimming. All she wanted was to lie down and sink into a dreamless sleep where she didn't have to think about anything at all. But when she opened the door, she found Jocelyn and Luke sleeping in the bed, Lexie curled up between them. The witchlight from the corridor spilled into the room and across Jocelyn's face, and she stirred.

"Mom?" Clary whispered, and it was as if she were a child again, coming to Jocelyn's room in the middle of the night after waking from a bad dream, climbing into her bed, being comforted with a warm hug and a bedtime story.

Jocelyn sat up, blinking blearily, and then her eyes widened as she woke properly. "Clary," she breathed. She slid out of the bed and crossed the room to fold Clary into a hug. Clary went limp, her muscles relaxing. "Come on," Jocelyn said, "let's let them sleep."

She led Clary out into the hallway, where they sat with their backs against the door. Jocelyn stroked her hair until Clary put her head on her mother's shoulder, feeling very small. "Maryse told us what happened," Jocelyn said. "But Magnus needed space, and we didn't...we wanted to look after Lexie, but—" She gave a sharp exhale. "I want to be mad at you, but I'm just glad you're okay."

"I'm sorry," Clary whispered. "I just..."

"I know, baby." Jocelyn's free hand found Clary's, and she rubbed her thumb across it. "How is he?"

"He's...he..." Her throat closed up, and she found her eyes burning. She blinked hard, swallowed painfully. "He's alive," she said. "That's all I know."

"But that's something," said Jocelyn. The repetitive motion of her hands was making Clary's fingers twitch, and she pulled away, pressing her palms into her eyes, willing herself not to cry, not to unravel. "Sweetheart," Jocelyn said softly. "I know you want to be there for him, but I think you need to rest. Things will look better in the morning, I promise. Will you try to sleep?"

She said it in the same motherly tone she'd used all Clary's life: will you eat a little more? Will you call if you're going to be late? That voice had always been home to Clary, an anchor that grounded her. She had resented it in her teenage years, when she'd felt forced to listen to it, but she had come to appreciate it. And she wanted to listen to it now, to her mother's better judgment; but as she felt herself relax, something stirred at the back of her mind, a presence she knew all too well.

Clary wrenched her eyes open. "I can't," she said. "I can't sleep."

She felt Jocelyn's gaze on her. "Clary," she said, "what aren't you telling me?" Clary shook her head rapidly. "Sweetheart. Will you talk to me?"

And the words spilled out of Clary. "It was Leviathan," she said. "He's behind the Scourge, and he's why they took Lexie. He wants revenge, he's trying to escape, and he..."

She clamped her mouth shut. There was a beat of silence before Jocelyn finished quietly, "And he's been sending you dreams." Clary drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. "How long have you known he was involved in all of this?"

"Months," said Clary hollowly. "The first one was a few months ago, and the next day I found out I was..."

"Oh," Jocelyn breathed. "Is that why you didn't tell anyone?"

Clary shrugged. "I didn't think it mattered. And the dreams aren't as bad as they were with Lexie. But tonight..." She hugged her knees in closer. "Something happened. I think it was the rune I banished him with, it stopped the ritual somehow. That's the only reason Lexie's...okay." She swallowed. "But he's angry. And as soon as I fall asleep..."

"I can keep watch," said Jocelyn softly. "I can wake you up if anything happens."

Clary shook her head. "I can't sleep," she said again.

"Then I'll stay up with you," Jocelyn said simply. "Do you want to go wait outside the infirmary?"

Clary nodded gratefully, and her mother helped her to her feet. She was shivering, so Jocelyn ducked into the bedroom and returned with a throw blanket and a pillow. Within minutes, they were back outside the infirmary, the hallway now deserted; Simon must have gone to bed.

Jocelyn set the pillow on a stone bench and sat on it, patting the spot beside her. When Clary sat, Jocelyn wrapped her in the blanket, tucking it around her like she used to when Clary was little. Clary curled up against her mother the way Lexie did with her. She supposed it was true that children never stopped being children in their parents' eyes. She could easily imagine holding her own daughter like this in twenty years.

And my son, said a small voice inside her, but she couldn't think about that now. She was finally starting to warm up inside the cocoon of the blanket, and it was making her drowsy.

"It's okay," Jocelyn whispered as Clary stiffened and shifted, trying to keep herself awake. "You can sleep. I'll take care of you."

There was fear beneath Clary's heavy exhaustion and grief, but she couldn't help but sink down into darkness...

And then she was in the gray world, and the storm had ceased. It left a ringing silence in its wake, like time had frozen, stilling the wind and making smoke hover on the horizon.

Clary became aware of a quiet, repetitive sound—a tap, tap, tap of droplets on stone. She turned, and Leviathan was there, his palm dripping black blood onto the floor. Her heart thumped with a dull fear as she tried to take a step back, only to find her feet rooted to the ground.

"So," said Leviathan, his eyes crackling with rage. "You have your daughter back. Jace is alive, if only barely. And you..." He smiled, and it was as if he'd run an icy finger down Clary's spine. "I suppose you think you've won. Well? How does it feel?"

Clary tried to speak, but her voice had been stolen, and nothing came out. Her heart picked up its pace, and Leviathan's eyes seemed to glimmer like light rippling across obsidian as he drank in her fear.

"Yes," he breathed. "Oh yes, very wise. You should be afraid." He moved away, flicked a finger to twist an armchair out of the smoke, and sat languorously. "I can be patient," he said softly. "But however long it takes, I will have my vengeance, Clary Fairchild. I will strip away everything you love until you are begging me to end it."

His smile grew, and he looked away as if he were listening to something. "And so it begins," he said, and Clary's world tilted—

She woke with a start, her heart pounding, making her breath come out in gasps. Jocelyn was rubbing her shoulders.

"You're okay," she said soothingly, and then to someone else, "Could you give her a few minutes?"

Clary opened her eyes, blinking sleep away. She was lying on her mother's lap. The sun had begun to rise, turning the hallway a soft orange. A Silent Brother was standing in front of the infirmary doors.

She sat up so suddenly that her mother gasped. Her heartbeat had quickened again. "How is he?" she asked the Silent Brother in a voice rough with sleep. She recognized him; he and Brother Enoch were the Silent Brothers who had attended her when she had gone into preterm labor and almost lost Lexie. Remembering this did nothing to alleviate her nerves.

We did all we could, Brother Ibrahim said, and Clary's stomach gave an unpleasant swoop, as if the floor had dropped out from under her. He is alive. But he will not wake.

Clary struggled to understand this. "He's alive?" she repeated slowly, stupidly.

In a manner of speaking, said Brother Ibrahim. The poison was unfamiliar to us, and its effect was vicious. His body seems to have responded by going into a survival state from which we cannot revive him.

She tried to wrap her mind around this, around Jace being alive, but not alive. Jocelyn, seeming to sense her disorientation, squeezed her hand and asked, "How long will that last?"

There was a pause before he replied, and that alone made Clary's stomach fill with dread. Silent Brothers were not known for their tact; she had never known any of them but Jem as Brother Zachariah to have much compassion, except when delivering the most dire news. And now Brother Ibrahim's tone was terrifyingly gentle as he said, I do not want to give you false hope. The chances he will wake on his own are very slim. There are potions we can give him to keep him nourished and comfortable, but that is the most we can do.

The words went through Clary's mind like it was a sieve. She didn't understand, she couldn't understand. She stood, the blanket falling from around her shoulders and pooling at her feet.

"I want to see him," she said. The Silent Brother stood aside, and Clary went into the infirmary.

Alec seemed to be talking to Brother Enoch, but he looked up as she entered. "Clary," he said hoarsely.

She came further into the room. It didn't make sense, none of it made sense; Jace was right there, and he was breathing slowly, and she could remember all the times she had woken before him and watched him sleep, and she was certain that any moment now he would open his eyes and smile at her and they would start their morning like any other.

"Can I have a minute?" she heard herself say, and Alec nodded and got up, murmuring something she didn't hear as he passed her. When the door had closed and the infirmary was silent, Clary approached the bed.

"Jace?" she said. "Can you hear me?"

If he recognized her voice, he gave no sign of it. He lay there immobile, his chest barely rising and falling.

"Jace," Clary whispered again. "Tell me it's not true. Tell me they made a mistake, okay? Just...just wake up and tell me that. Please."

For a moment, she tricked herself into believing that maybe he had taken a deeper breath, maybe something had stirred inside him. But he was still.

Tears pricked her eyes. She crawled onto the bed and curled up beside him, tucking her head against his shoulder. Her hand found his. She intertwined their fingers—and if she squeezed hard enough, she could almost pretend he was squeezing back.