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𝕯usk 𝕿ill 𝕯awn / you've got no place to hide.
chapter four ━━━ clave and covenant.
[ the mortal instruments series ]
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˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢˚⠀⠀CHAPTER FIVE: Clave and Covenant

"Do you think she'll ever wake up? It's been three days already."

The room fell into a heavy silence. The words echoed in their ears, stirring a mixture of emotions, worry, and helplessness.

Baela, Rhaena, Jeyne, Jessmyne, and Ceraella immediately tensed, their previous excitement vanishing. Their hearts pounded with unease, dread creeping into their expressions.

"No..." Baela whispered, shaking her head in denial. "She has to wake up."

Rhaenyra clenched her jaw, her arms tightening around herself. Despite the envy and hatred she held for Alyssa, she did not want her to die. She had seen too many loved ones taken from her-Laenor, Harwin, Lucerys. The idea of Alyssa's counterpart slipping away, of history repeating itself, made her stomach twist painfully.

Daemon's heart felt like it had been pierced by a million daggers. He had barely begun to acknowledge her, barely started seeing her as his daughter-his little girl. And now, he might lose her? His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "She will wake up," he snarled, as if sheer force of will could make it true. The thought of her lying motionless, unaware of how much she meant, of how much he wanted to protect her now, sent rage coursing through his veins.

Corlys let out a heavy breath, his face grim. "Three days..." He muttered under his breath, shaking his head. The sea had taken many he loved, but this? This waiting, this uncertainty, was almost worse.

Rhaenys crossed her arms, but her fingers dug into the fabric of her sleeves. She hated feeling powerless. She hated watching from the sidelines, unable to do anything to help. But beneath the frustration, beneath the stoic mask, was a mother desperate to see her daughter open her eyes.

Aemon, Baelon, and Ceraella, who had spoken so confidently of Alyssa's strength just moments before, suddenly found themselves without words. Aemon swallowed hard, his usually sharp tongue failing him. Baelon's jaw tightened, refusing to believe this could be the end. C

Ceraella's hands curled into fists-she couldn't accept this. "She is not dead."

Helaena held her children close biting her lip anxiously.

"You have to give her time. Demon poison is strong stuff, and she's a mundane. She hasn't got runes to keep her strong like we do."

"Mundies die easily, don't they?"

"Isabelle, you know it's bad luck to talk about death in a sick room."

Three days, Clary thought slowly. All her thoughts ran as thickly and slowly as blood or honey. I have to wake up.

Baela, Rhaena, Jeyne, Jessmyne, and Ceraella grasped each other's hands, grinning in elation. "See? We knew she'd wake up," Rhaena murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

Corlys and Rhaenys exchanged a look of quiet relief, the kind that only comes after fearing the worst. Corlys, for all his stoic pride, let out a low exhale, nodding approvingly. "Tough girl," he muttered.

Ceraella scoffed. "And here I thought I was the one with no tact." not appreciating Isabelle's comment. The rest just as much felt the same.

Alicent didn't speak, but her fingers clutched her pendant again. It's bad luck to talk about death in a sick room. A warning she should have heeded long ago. She cast a sidelong glance at Rhaenyra but said nothing.

But she couldn't.

The dreams held her, one after the other, a river of images that bore her along like a leaf tossed in a current. She saw her mother lying in a hospital bed, eyes like bruiseonin her white face. She saw Luke, standing atop a pile of bones. Jace with white feathered wings sprouting out of his back, Isabelle sitting naked with her whip curled around her like a net of gold rings, Simon with crosses burned into the palms of his hands. Angels, falling and burning. Falling out of the sky.

"I told you it was the same girl."

"I know. Little thing, isn't she? Jace said she killed a Ravener."

"Damn right, she did." Cristopher lips twitched holding back a smirk, "Atta girl." he muttered under his breath proud.

"Yeah. I thought she was a pixie the first time we saw her. She's not pretty enough to be a pixie, though."

The room immediately tensed.

Baela and Rhaena shot up, their chairs scraping against the floor. Baela's eyes flared with indignation, her voice sharp as a blade. "Excuse me?" she demanded, daring anyone to repeat the insult.

Rhaena, always the calmer of the two, wasn't far behind, her expression cold. "Not pretty enough? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," she scoffed, crossing her arms.

Aemon leaned back, smirking as he threw in his own words. "Please. She's called the Realm's Sun for a reason. She outshines everyone." His voice held that easy confidence, but his eyes flickered with something deeper-something protective.

His grin only widened as he caught the looks on Rhaenyra and Alicent's faces. It was rare to see them react the same way, but both were displeased.

Rhaenyra's lips pressed into a thin line. She had always prided herself on being the most beloved of House Targaryen in her youth, but hearing Alyssa be compared to some of their greatest ancestors? It stung in ways she didn't want to acknowledge.

Alicent, on the other hand, clutched her pendant again, her grip tightening. She had heard Alyssa praised before, but this? This was different. Rivaling Baelon the Spring Prince, Aemon the Dragonknight, and even Alyssanne the Good Queen? She swallowed hard.

Daemon, who had been silent, merely smirked. He didn't need to say anything already knew his daughter was incomparable. And if others failed to see it? Well, that was their blindness, wasn't it?

Meanwhile, Corlys let out an amused huff, muttering under his breath, "Tch. Not pretty enough. What nonsense."

Rhaenys, however, simply smirked, satisfied. Let them talk. Alyssa had already proven time and time again that she was far more than just a beauty.

"Well, nobody looks their best with demon poison in their veins. Is Hodge going to call on the Brothers?"

"I hope not. They give me the creeps. Anyone who mutilates themselves like that-"

"We mutilate ourselves."

"I know, Alec, but when we do it, it isn't permanent. And it doesn't always hurt..."

"If you're old enough. Speaking of which, where is Jace? He saved her, didn't he? I would have thought he'd take some interest in her recovery."

"Hodge said he hasn't been to see her since he brought her here. I guess he doesn't care."

"I would have thought he'd take some interest in her recovery," he repeated, his voice edged with something sharp. "And yet, nothing?" His lips pressed into a thin line, his disappointment palpable. "If it were me, nothing would've stopped me from being there the moment she woke." His tone was final, absolute.

Alicent's grip on her pendant loosened slightly. She softened, just for a moment. No matter the world, Alyssa always pulled through. But deep inside, there was a twinge of resentment-Alyssa always had people who cherished her, who waited for her. Unlike herself.

"Sometimes I wonder if he looks! She moved!"

Baela, Rhaena, Ceraella, Jeyne, and Jessmyne let out excited squeals, gripping each other's arms in anticipation.

Cristopher's rigid posture eased, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Atta girl," he murmured, relieved.

Corlys shot the screen a begrudging nod, his earlier irritation lessening.

Alyssa's sons exchanged knowing grins, while Aemon let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"I guess she's alive after all." A sigh. "I'll tell Hodge."

Clary's eyelids felt as if they had been sewn shut. She imagined she could feel tearing skin as she peeled them slowly open and blinked for the first time in three days.

She saw a clear blue sky above her, white puffy clouds, and chubby angels with gilded ribbons trailing from their wrists. Am I dead? she wondered. Could heaven look like this?

"You're not dead sweet girl," Rhaenys said eyes shining in relief to see her okay.

She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. This time, she realized that what she was staring at was an arched wooden ceiling, painted with a rococo motif of clouds and cherubs.

Painfully, she hauled herself into a sitting position. Every part of her ached, especially the back of her neck. She glanced around. She was tucked into a linen-sheeted bed, one of a long row of similar beds with metal headboards. Her bed had a small nightstand beside it with a white pitcher and cup on it. Lace curtains were pulled across the windows, blocking the light, although she could hear the faint, ever-present New York sounds of traffic coming from outside.

"So, you're finally awake," said a dry voice. "Hodge will be pleased. We all thought you'd probably die in your sleep."

Baela, Rhaena, Jeyne, and Jessmyne stifled their laughter, exchanging amused looks at Ceraella's remark.

"Well, at least she's honest," Baelon chuckled, shaking his head. "Blunt, but honest."

Aemon smirked. "Sounds like someone we know," he said, nudging Ceraella, who rolled her eyes but didn't deny it.

Cristopher, however, didn't share their amusement. His jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing at the screen. "That's the first thing she says to her?" he muttered, disapproving. "No concern, no relief-just that?"

"I mean she's cautious. It's normal to feel wary." Cregan said, seeing Isabelle's point of view.

Corlys scoffed, crossing his arms. "Some people have a damn strange way of showing they care."

Daemon was barely listening, his focus solely on Alyssa-Clarissa, as they called her here-seeing her awake, moving, brought a strange kind of relief washing over him. His fingers twitched the urge to be by her side, to do what he never got to do, to protect her, nearly overwhelming.

Rhaenys, however, smirked knowingly, watching the interplay between the others with mild amusement. "She'll be fine," she said confidently. "She always is."

Clary turned. Isabelle was perched on the next bed, her long jet-black hair wound into two thick braids that fell past her waist. Her white dress had been replaced by jeans and a tight blue tank top, though the red pendant still winked at her throat. Her dark spiraling tattoos were gone; her skin was as unblemished as the surface of a bowl of cream.

"Gods she's beautiful." Ceraella eyed the woman in interest only to be pulled into a furious kiss of jealousy by Baelon. The woman rolled her eyes at her brother's husband.

Some of the elder Targaryens watched in a sense of deja vu seeing the late Alyssa I and Baelon Targaryen be reborn this time through Alyssa Royce-Targaryen's children.

Viserys I's face twisted with a bitterness he couldn't hide, his thoughts clouded with the passing years. Alyssa, his niece, had been the first child he ever held and loved. Before Rhaenyra came into the world, before he ever held his child, there was Alyssa-his pride and joy. She had been the first child to make him feel that deep, protective love a parent feels for their own. Yet now, as he looked at her, his mind was consumed with a question he couldn't escape: Why was Daemon blessed with a daughter like Alyssa?

He loved Rhaenyra, more than anything in the world. She had been his hope, his dream, his heir. But he couldn't deny the flaws that always seemed to linger, shadowing her legacy. Her children's beloved grandsons carried the weight of her imperfections. Brown hair. It was a small thing, perhaps, but it felt like a symbol of everything that was not quite right. It reminded him that Rhaenyra, for all her strength and brilliance, had been unable to pass on the full Targaryen flame. Her children were not like the others, like the great Targaryens who came before them.

Still, Viserys loved them. He loved his grandsons and cherished them with all his heart. Their brown hair didn't change that, but it didn't stop the nagging feeling that he'd been denied something precious that Alyssa's bloodline seemed to have kept so effortlessly.

Aemma... Aemma would have loved them too. She always loved without hesitation, without any of the complications that gnawed at him now. If she had been here, she would have embraced Rhaenyra's children as her own, without question. It was a painful thought, one that brought warmth and sorrow all at once.

But as he stared at the Targaryen legacy before him, the question lingered, unspoken and unresolved: Why had Daemon been blessed with Alyssa? And why had Rhaenyra's children not been the same?

Daemon, for once, was speechless. His gaze flickered between Baelon and Ceraella, seeing pieces of his long-gone mother and father reflected in them. It was a strange, almost surreal feeling that made his heart clench with something he couldn't quite name. Regret? Longing? He wasn't sure.

"Sorry to disappoint you." Clary's voice rasped like sandpaper. "Is this the Institute?"

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Is there anything Jace didn't tell you?"

Clary coughed. "This is the Institute, right?"

"Here?"

Isabelle nodded. "Hodge was furious. You got ichor and blood all over the carpet in the entryway. If he'd done it while my parents were here, he'd have gotten grounded for sure." She looked at Clary more narrowly. "Jace said you killed that Ravener demon all by yourself."

Alyssa (Clarissa's family ) smirked, feeling proud of their family member.

A quick image of the scorpion thing with its crabbed, evil face flashed through Clary's mind. She shuddered and clutched the cup more tightly. "I guess I did."

"But you're a mundie."

"Amazing, isn't it?" Clary said, savoring the look of thinly disguised amazement on Isabelle's face. "Where is Jace? Is he around?"

Isabelle shrugged. "Somewhere," she said. "I should go tell everyone you're up. Hodge'll want to talk to you."

"Hodge is Jace's tutor, right?"

"Hodge tutors us all." She pointed. "The bathroom's through there, and I hung some of my old clothes on the towel rack in case you want to change."

Clary went to take another sip from the cup and found that it was empty. She no longer felt hungry or light-headed either, which was a relief. She set the cup down and hugged the sheet around herself. "What happened to my clothes?"

"They were covered in blood and poison. Jace burned them."

"Did he?" asked Clary. "Tell me, is he always really rude, or does he save that for mundane?"

Jace let out a snicker, shaking his head as he realized how Ceraella and Alyssa were related. "Gods, they're the same person," he remarked, a mix of amusement and disbelief in his voice.

"Oh, shut up, Strong," Ceraella shot back, rolling her eyes. Before a potential argument could break out, the scene on the screen continued, drawing everyone's attention back.

Aemond smirked at his cousin's comment, letting out an amused laugh, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and humor. "Can't deny it, Ceraella's got Alyssa written all over her."

Aegon II's laughter rang out, loud and carefree, ignoring the disapproving glares from both Alicent and Viserys. His laughter was unabashed, clearly entertained by the exchange, as he leaned back in his seat, a grin plastered across his face.

"Oh, he's rude to everyone," said Isabelle airily. "It's what makes him so damn sexy. That, and he's killed more demons than anyone else his age."

Clary looked at her, perplexed. "Isn't he your brother?"

That got Isabelle's attention. She laughed out loud. "Jace? My brother? No. Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, he lives here with you," Clary pointed out. "Doesn't he?"

Isabelle nodded. "Well, yes, but..."

"Why doesn't he live with his parents?"

"I don't remember her being so insensitive." Cregan groaned while the other's baffled at Clarissa's words.

For a fleeting moment, Isabelle looked uncomfortable. "Because they're dead."

Clary's mouth opened in surprise. "Did they die in an accident?"

"No." Isabelle fidgeted, pushing a dark lock of hair behind her left ear. "His mother died when he was born. His father was murdered when he was ten. Jace saw the whole thing."

"Oh," Clary said, her voice small. "Was it... demons?"

"Honey please stop talking." Rhaenys rubbed her forehead. Although this version of her wasn't her daughter, she blamed it all on Jocelyn.

Isabelle got to her feet. "Look, I'd better let everyone know you've woken up. They've been waiting for you to open your eyes for three days. Oh, and there's soap in the bathroom," she added. "You might want to clean up a little. You smell."

"Why won't she answer her questions?" Rhaena folded her arms in annoyance.

Clary glared at her. "Thanks a lot."

"Any time."

Isabelle's clothes looked ridiculous. Clary had to roll the legs on the jeans up several times before she stopped tripping on them, and the plunging neckline of the red tank top only emphasized her lack of what Eric would have called a "rack."

She cleaned up in the small bathroom, using a bar of hard lavender soap. Drying herself with a white hand towel left damp hair straggling around her face in fragrant tangles. She squinted at her reflection in the mirror. A purpling bruise marked her left cheek, and her lips were dry and swollen.

As Clary cleaned up in the bathroom, the reactions from the women in the room were nothing short of amusing, each one offering their unique perspective on her appearance and clothing.

Baela couldn't help but watch Clary with a raised eyebrow, genuinely curious as she struggled with Isabelle's ill-fitting clothes. She wasn't being judgmental-in fact, she was quietly impressed by Clary's resilience. "What is she wearing?" she muttered under her breath, but there was a touch of admiration in her voice, as though she was eager to see how her "big sister" would make it work. It was clear that Baela wasn't judging Clary for the makeshift outfit; instead, she was silently rooting for her to pull it off.

Rhaena, always the free spirit, waved her hand dismissively at the wardrobe issue. "Who cares?" she said confidently, giving Clary a grin. "Our sister looks hot," she added, as though it was the least of anyone's concerns. Her casual confidence seemed to fill the room, as she was unbothered by Clary's clothes and more focused on the fact that her sister looked strong and capable.

Her declaration earned an astonished gasp from Rhaenys, who had been quietly observing. "Rhaena!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with a tone of mock disapproval. There was no malice in her words the bemused frustration of someone who often found herself caught between her family's antics. Still, she couldn't hide a smile at her daughter's unabashed words.

Daemon, on the other hand, wasn't quite as amused. His glare shifted between Rhaena and Rhaenys, annoyance simmering beneath the surface.

He imagined that Laena, if she were here now, would be rolling in her grave, sneering at him for how he had handled his relationship with their daughter.

He looked away, his eyes darkening with regret, as the chatter of the room continued around him, oblivious to the weight of his thoughts.

Alicent couldn't hide her disapproval as she watched Clary struggle with Isabelle's clothes. "She's dressed like a whore," she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing at the outfit.

Before Alicent could retort, Viserys I's voice rang out sharply. "Enough, Alicent!" His tone silenced everyone. "You will show respect to my niece. She looks lovely, bruises and all. And she survived. That's what matters."

Rhaenyra shot her father a look. Not believing who would be this way if it were her.

I have to call Luke, she thought. Surely there was a phone around here somewhere. Maybe they'd let her use it after she talked to Hodge.

Daemon's sharp gaze flickered toward her, and an uneasy tension crept over him. The mention of Luke immediately sparked jealousy, though he hid it behind his usual mask of indifference. His voice, laced with subtle bitterness, cut through the room. "What could he do?"

"Seems a lot more reliable than you it seems," Balerion replied earning some looks from the room that a God had been the one to put Daemon in his place.

She found her Skechers placed neatly at the foot of her infirmary bed, her keys tied into the laces. Sliding her feet into them, she took a deep breath and left to find Isabelle.

The corridor outside the infirmary was empty. Clary glanced down at it, perplexed. It looked like the sort of hallway she sometimes found herself racing down in nightmares-shadowy and infinite. Glass lamps, blown into the shapes of roses, hung at intervals on the walls, and the air smelled like dust and candle wax.

In the distance, she could hear a faint and delicate noise, like wind chimes shaken by a storm. She set off down the corridor slowly, trailing a hand along the wall. The Victorian-looking wallpaper was faded with age, burgundy, and pale gray. Each side of the corridor was lined with closed doors.

The sound she was following grew louder. Now she could identify it as a piano being played leisurely, yet with undeniable skill. She couldn't quite place the tune.

Baelon, usually so composed, leaned forward, her fingers tapping lightly on the armrest. He too felt the pull of the music. "It's beautiful," he murmured, his voice softening as she allowed himself to be swept away by the gentle tune.

Baela sat beside her, her eyes wide with awe. "It's so calming," she whispered. "Who's playing?"

Aemon, ever the brooding figure, appeared uncharacteristically still, his posture relaxed as he listened. "It's got a haunting quality," he said, his voice low, but there was an unmistakable hint of approval.

Turning the corner, she came to a doorway, the door propped fully open. Peering inside, she realized it was a music room. A grand piano stood in one corner, rows of chairs lined the far wall, and a covered harp occupied the center of the room.

Jace was seated at the piano, his slender hands moving fluidly over the keys. He was barefoot, dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt, his tawny hair ruffled as if he had just woken up. Watching the quick, sure movements of his fingers, Clary remembered how it had felt to be lifted by those hands, his arms holding her up, stars hurtling around her head like silver tinsel.

Aemon, watching his cousin's deft movements on the keys, felt an odd sense of frustration. "Father always had a talent with instruments," he murmured, trying to disguise his irritation, though the comment left a bitter taste on his tongue. His hands clenched into fists, the slight jealousy bubbling just beneath his calm exterior.

The Royce children, including Jeyne, shared a knowing glance, all nodding in quiet approval. "Of course," one of them muttered, a faint smirk playing at their lips. They had grown up under the shadow of such talent, and it seemed only natural for the younger generation to acknowledge it with a resigned acknowledgment.

Cristopher, watching Jace, puffed out his chest with pride. "A talent like that can't be ignored. It's in the blood," he said, a grin spreading across his face. He wasn't one to shy away from a compliment or recognition, especially when it was well-deserved.

Tyland, however, rolled his eyes at his older brother's reaction. "Yeah, because Jason's so brilliant," he muttered sarcastically, his tone dripping with cynicism earning snickers from his nephew and nieces. "While I'm busy being intelligent and well-rounded, he's busy showing off on a piano." His words were tinged with a mix of rivalry and frustration, though there was a subtle, begrudging admiration for Jace's/Cristopher's skill.

The room fell into a brief silence as the soft notes from Jace's playing drifted through the air, pulling everyone into a quiet moment of shared appreciation. It was hard not to acknowledge the beauty of the music, even if it did stir up old feelings of competition and sibling rivalry within the Targaryen and Lannister families.

She must have made a noise because Jace twisted on the stool, blinking into the shadows.

"Alec?" he asked.

"It's not Alec. It's me." She stepped farther into the room. "Clary."

The piano keys jangled as he got to his feet. "Our own Sleeping Beauty. Who finally kissed you awake?"

"Nobody. I woke up on my own."

"Was he silenced?" Rhaena commented earning laughter from the family.

Meanwhile, the adults but a select few stifled their laughter. Corlys and Rhaenys shook their head--that was all Laena.

"Was there anyone with you?"

"Isabelle, but she went to get someone, I think. She told me to wait, but-"

"I should have warned her about your habit of never doing what you're told." Jace squinted at her. "Are those Isabelle's clothes? They look ridiculous on you."

"I could point out that you burned my clothes."

"It was purely precautionary." He slid the gleaming black piano cover closed. "Come on, I'll take you to Hodge."

The Institute was a massive vast, cavernous space that seemed less like it had been designed by architects and more like it had been hollowed out of rock over centuries by water and time. Through half-open doors, Clary glimpsed countless identical rooms, each with a stripped bed, a nightstand, and a large wooden wardrobe standing open. Pale stone arches supported the high ceilings, their intricate carvings depicting repeating motifs: angels and swords, suns and roses.

"It's beautiful." Ceraella was practically in awe just like the others by the architecture.

"Why does this place have so many bedrooms?" Clary asked. "I thought it was a research institute."

"This is the residential wing. We're pledged to offer safety and lodging to any Shadowhunter who requests it. We can house up to two hundred people here."

"But most of these rooms are empty."

"People come and go. Nobody stays for long. Usually, it's just us- Alec, Isabelle, Max, their parents me, and Hodge."

Rhaenys frowned, her gaze lingering on Clary as she processed the words. "That's a small group," she murmured, assuming there would be more people involved in something as significant as the Shadowhunters. She had imagined the ranks to be far larger.

Cristopher shook his head thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing as he recalled what his counterpart had said earlier. "Remember what my counterpart said?" he asked, more to himself than to anyone else in the room. "Yes, there are lots of Shadowhunters, but only thousands left. History says there used to be many more. Whatever happened... must've caused a lot of them to fall."

His voice trailed off, and the room seemed to fall into a quiet contemplation. The tension between the present and the past was palpable as if the very weight of history was still haunting them all.

Rhaenyra and Aegon exchanged looks, their thoughts stirring beneath the surface.

Aegon II, ever the skeptic, was the first to break the silence with a sharp, almost dismissive laugh. "Falling, huh? Sounds like something more happened than just a few casualties."

Ceraella, now even more curious, leaned forward. "What the hell happened?"

"It'll be explained soon," Balerion said earning groans of frustration.

"Max?"

"You met the beauteous Isabelle? Alec is her older brother. Max is the youngest, but he's overseas with their parents."

"On vacation?"

"Not exactly." Jace hesitated. "Think of them as foreign diplomats, and of this as an embassy, of sorts. Right now, they're in the Shadowhunter home country, working out some very delicate peace negotiations. They brought Max with them because he's so young."

"Shadowhunter home country?" Clary's head was spinning. "What's it called?"

"Idris."

"I've never heard of it."

"You wouldn't have." That irritating superiority was back in his voice. "Mundanes don't know about it. There are wardings-protective spells up all over the borders. If you tried to cross into Idris, you'd simply find yourself transported instantly from one border to the next. You'd never know what happened."

Viserys II leaned forward slightly, his voice a whisper as he processed the information. "Fascinating," he murmured, eyes wide with the realization of what such power could mean. He turned to his family, all of whom were equally captivated. "To have that kind of power... Imagine what it could do for the realm. Protect them from all their enemies."

The Targaryens shared a look.

"So it's not on any maps?"

"Not mundie ones. For our purposes, you can consider it a small country between Germany and France."

"But there isn't anything between Germany and France. Except Switzerland."

"Precisely," said Jace.

"I take it you've been there. To Idris, I mean."

"I grew up there." Jace's voice was neutral, but something in his tone let her know that more questions in that direction would not be welcome. "Most of us do. There are, of course, Shadowhunters all over the world. We have to be everywhere because demonic activity is everywhere. But to a Shadowhunter, Idris is always 'home.'"

The Targaryens all came up with a conclusion. One nod from Balerion was enough to tell them that Clarissa, their Alyssa was a Shadowhunter.

"Like Mecca or Jerusalem," said Clary thoughtfully. "So most of you are brought up there, and then when you grow up"

"We're sent where we're needed," said Jace shortly. "And there are a few, like Isabelle and Alec, who grow up away from the home country because that's where their parents are. With all the resources of the Institute here, with Hodge's training-" He broke off. "This is the library."

They had reached an arch-shaped set of wooden doors. A blue Persian cat with yellow eyes lay curled in front of them. It raised its head as they approached and yowled.

"Holy shit," Daeron muttered, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief, clearly taken aback by what lay beyond. His words echoed through the quiet space, and the others followed suit, their eyes wide as they gazed into the vast library before them.

"Wow," Cristopher whispered. Jeyne, Cregan, Tyland, and Jessmyne were agape.

Aemond's breath caught in his throat. His obsession with books had always been a quiet part of him, but standing in front of such a treasure trove left him speechless. Alicent, equally stunned, clasped her hands together, her usual composure faltering for a moment.

Viserys, though taken aback, could hardly contain his excitement.

Rhaenys and Daemon for the first time glanced at each other sharing the same thought rolled their eyes.

The atmosphere was thick with shared awe, each of them quietly marveling at the library's beauty and the thought of all the stories, secrets, and wisdom contained within.

Even the children, who had never known such a place, stared wide-eyed as though the world had just opened up before them.

"Hey, Church," Jace said, stroking the cat's back with a bare foot. The cat slit its eyes in pleasure.

"Wait," said Clary. "Alec and Isabelle and MThey'rethe only Shadowhunters your age that you know, that you spend time with?"

Jace stopped stroking the cat. "Yes."

"That must get kind of lonely."

"Not when his parents are not in the picture," Cregan concluded by feeling pity for his friend's counterpart. The rest shared the same pity while the Royce children glared at anyone who looked at them.

"I have everything I need." He pushed the doors open. After a moment's hesitation, she followed him inside.

The library was circular, with a ceiling that tapered to a point as if it had been built inside a tower. The walls were lined with books, the shelves so high that tall ladders set on casters were placed along them at intervals. These were no ordinary books these were books bound in leather and velvet, clasped with sturdy-looking locks and hinges made of brass and silver. Their spines were studded with dully glowing jewels and illuminated with gold script. They looked worn in a way that made it clear that these books were not just old but well-used and had been loved.

The floor was polished wood, inlaid with chips of glass and marble and bits of semiprecious stone. The inlay formed a pattern that Clary couldn't quite decipher might have been the constellations or even a map of the world; she suspected she'd have to climb up into the tower and look down to see it properly.

In the center of the room sat a magnificent desk. It was carved from a single slab of wood, a great, heavy piece of oak that gleamed with the dull shine of years. The slab rested upon the backs of two angels, carved from the same wood, their wings gilded and their faces engraved with a look of suffering as if the weight of the slab were breaking their backs.

Behind the desk sat a thin man with gray-streaked hair and a long, beaky nose.

"A book lover, I see," he said, smiling at Clary. "You didn't tell me that, Jace."

"So you did talk about her. Quite a lot actually," Rhaena giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She leaned over to Baela and Ceraella, whispering among them as they quietly made bets.

Each of them shared amused looks as the situation unfolded before them, their eyes flicking between Jace and Clary.

Rhaenys and Corlys eyes soften seeing their daughter slowly start to be involved in the world she was robbed in.

Daemon, however, was not amused. His jaw tightened, his gaze darkening as he watched the scene. His fingers gripped the arm of the chair a little too tightly.

He didn't enjoy seeing his alternate daughter- someone who shared so much of Rhaenyra and Laena's spirit for a Lannister.

It was one thing to deal with the complex relationships in his world, but now there was this Jace, this alternate version, sharing his stepson's name. He didn't know what to feel about it.

Jace chuckled. Clary could tell that he had come up behind her and was standing there with his hands in his pockets, grinning that infuriating grin of his.

"Gods you two are the same." Jesmyne laughed blinking back her tears. Just like the others, and the rest of Westores had heard about the love story between Alyssa and Cristopher, a story much grander than Alysanne and Jaehaerys or Aegon and Rhaenys.

Even Alicent's heart softened at the story.

"We haven't done much talking during our short acquaintance," he said. "I'm afraid our reading habits didn't come up."

Clary turned around and shot him a glare.

"How can you tell?" she asked the man behind the desk. "That I like books, I mean."

"The look on your face when you walked in," he said, standing up and coming around from behind the desk. "Somehow I doubted you were that impressed by me."

A small chuckle rippled through the room at his teasing.

Corlys smiled softly, his eyes drifting to Rhaena as he leaned back in his chair. "Remember when she first saw our libraries, my love?" he asked, his voice rich with fondness. "She was so captivated, lost in the books, like a child discovering a treasure chest."

Rhea's smile was tinged with nostalgia as she looked toward her husband. "Yes," she replied with a faint, bittersweet laugh. "She was drawn to the libraries. The shelves full of knowledge became her refuge. It was the only place where she found comfort... away from the world."

Daemon's expression softened, the mention of Alyssa bringing a rare warmth to his face. But it contorted into hurt realizing he never knew these things about. That he didn't have a good memory of them.

Clary stifled a gasp as he rose. For a moment, it seemed to her that he was strangely misshapen, his left shoulder humped and higher than the other. As he approached, she saw that the hunch was a bird, perched neatly on his shoulder glossy feathered creature with bright black eyes.

"This is Hugo," the man said, touching the bird on his shoulder. "Hugo is a raven, and, as such, he knows many things. I, meanwhile, am Hodge Starkweather, a professor of history, and, as such, I do not know nearly enough."

Clary laughed a little, despite herself, and shook his outstretched hand. "Clary Fray."

The room tried not to be freaked out by the raven.

"Honored to make your acquaintance," he said. "I would be honored to make the acquaintance of anyone who could kill a Ravener with her bare hands."

"It wasn't my bare hands." It still felt odd to be congratulated for killing something. "It was Jace's-well, I don't remember what it was called, but-"

"She means my Sensor," Jace said. "She shoved it down the thing's throat. The runes must have choked it. I guess I'll need another one," he added, almost as an afterthought. "I should have mentioned that."

The room erupted in a mix of laughter and grins, but it was Cristopher who couldn't help himself. "Oh yeah, she killed that demon bastard like a champ," he grinned, throwing a teasing look towards Rhaenyra. "And you think a boar is a feat?"

Rhaenyra's face flushed with indignation, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "How dare you-" she began, her voice laced with fury. "You stupid lion-"

Before she could finish, Balerion, ever the peacekeeper in the room, waved his hand dismissively, a knowing smirk on his lips. "Enough," he said, his tone both calm and teasing. "Let the film continue."

The room stilled, but not before a ripple of laughter spread through the Targaryens, except for Rhaenyra, whose glare could've melted steel. Aegon snickered, clearly enjoying the chaos, while Aemond's lips twitched into an amused smile. Even Daemon's usual gruff demeanor softened slightly, though he still watched the scene unfold with an amused glint in his eye.

"There are several extra in the weapons room," said Hodge.

When he smiled at Clary, a thousand small lines rayed out from around his eyes, like the cracks in an old painting. "That was quick thinking. What gave you the idea of using the Sensor as a weapon?"

Before she could reply, a sharp laugh sounded through the room. Clary had been so enraptured by the books and distracted by Hodge that she hadn't seen Alec sprawled in an overstuffed red armchair by the empty fireplace.

"I can't believe you buy that story, Hodge," he said.

At first, Clary didn't even register his words. She was too busy staring at him. Like many only children, she was fascinated by the resemblance between siblings, and now, in the full light of day, she could see exactly how much Alec looked like his sister. They had the same jet-black hair, the same slender eyebrows winging up at the corners, the same pale, high-colored skin.

But where Isabelle was all arrogant, Alec slumped down in the chair as if he hoped nobody would notice him. His lashes were long and dark like Isabelle's, but where her eyes were black, his were the dark blue of bottle glass. They gazed at Clary with a hostility as pure and concentrated as acid.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean, Alec." Hodge raised an eyebrow. Clary wondered how old he was; there was a sort of agelessness to him, despite the gray in his hair. He wore a neat gray tweed suit, perfectly pressed. He would have looked like a kindly college professor if it hadn't been for the thick scar that drew up the right side of his face. She wondered how he had gotten it. "Are you suggesting that she didn't kill that demon after all?"

"Of course, she didn't. Look at her she's a Mundie, Hodge, and a little kid, at that. There's no way she took on a Ravener."

"What the fuck is his problem?" Baela got defensive just like Ceraella and Rhaena did.

"Kind of reminds me of a certain someone." Aemon eyed his brother.

"I am not like that...this child!" Baelon spat.

"I'm not a little kid," Clary interrupted. "I'm sixteen years old. Well, I will be on Sunday."

"The same age as Isabelle," Hodge said. "Would you call her a child?"

"Isabelle hails from one of the greatest Shadowhunter dynasties in history," Alec said dryly. "This girl, on the other hand, hails from New Jersey."

"I'm from Brooklyn!" Clary was outraged. "And so what? I just killed a demon in my own house, and you're going to be a dickhead about it because I'm not some spoiled-rotten rich brat like you and your sister?"

Alec looked astonished. "What did you call me?"

Laughter spread around the room.

"Just as balls," Cregan exclaimed practically in tears.

Cristopher looked like he was in love all over again.

Jace laughed. "She has a point, Alec," Jace said. "It's those bridge-and-tunnel demons you have to watch out for"

"It's not funny, Jace," Alec interrupted, starting to his feet. "Are you just going to let her stand there and call me names?"

"You're the one who opened your mouth first," I scoffed, crossing my arms.

"Yes," Jace said kindly. "It'll do you ggoodto think of it as endurance training."

"We may be parabatai," Alec said tightly. "But your flippancy is wearing on my patience."

"And your obstinacy is wearing on mine. When I found her, she was lying on the floor in a pool of blood with a dying demon practically on top of her. I watched as it vanished. If she didn't kill it, who did?"

"Raveners are stupid. Maybe it got itself in the neck with its stinger. It's happened before-"

"Now you're suggesting it committed suicide?"

Alec's mouth tightened. "It isn't right for her to be here. Mundies aren't allowed in the Institute, and there are good reasons for that. If anyone knew about this, we could be reported to the Clave."

"That's not entirely true," Hodge said. "The Law does allow us to offer sanctuary to mundanes in certain circumstances. A Ravener has already attacked Clary's mother and could well have been next."

Attacked. Clary wondered if this was a euphemism for "murdered." The raven on Hodge's shoulder cawed softly.

"Raveners are search-and-destroy machines," Alec said. "They act under orders from warlocks or powerful demon lords. Now, what interest would a warlock or demon lord have in an ordinary mundane household?" His eyes, when he looked at Clary, were bright with dislike. "Any thoughts?"

Clary said, "It must have been a mistake."

"Demons don't make those kinds of mistakes. If they went after your mother, there must have been a reason. If she were innocent-"

"What do you mean, 'innocent'?" Clary's voice was quiet.

Alec looked taken aback. "I-"

"What he means," said Hodge, "is that it is extremely unusual for a powerful demon, the kind who might command a host of lesser demons, to interest himself in the affairs of human beings. No mundane may summon a demon-they lack that power there have been some, desperate and foolish, who have found a witch or warlock to do it for them."

"My mother doesn't know any warlocks. She doesn't believe in magic." A thought occurred to Clary. "Madame Dorothea-she lives downstairs she's a witch. Maybe the demons were after her and got my mom by mistake?"

Hodge's eyebrows shot up into his hair. "A witch lives downstairs from you?"

"She's a hedge-witch-a fake," Jace said. "I already looked into it. There's no reason for any warlock to be interested in her unless he's in the market for nonfunctional crystal balls."

"And we're back where we began." Hodge reached up to stroke the bird on his shoulder. "It seems the time has come to notify the Clave."

"No!" Jace said. "We can't-"

"It made sense to keep Clary's presence here a secret while we were not sure she would recover," Hodge said. "But now she has, and she is the first mundane to pass through the doors of the Institute in over a hundred years. You know the rules about mundane knowledge of Shadowhunters, Jace. The Clave must be informed."

"Absolutely," Alec agreed. "I could get a message to my father-"

"She's not a mundane," Jace said quietly.

Hodge's eyebrows shot back up to his hairline and stayed there. Alec, caught in the middle of a sentence, choked with surprise. In the sudden silence, Clary could hear the sound of Hugo's wings rustling. "But I am," she said.

"No sweetie you are not." Rhaenys talked to the screen as if she could talk to Clarissa.

"No," said Jace. "You aren't." He turned to Hodge, and Clary saw the slight movement of his throat as he swallowed. She found this glimpse of his nervousness oddly reassuring. "That night-there were Du'sien demons, dressed like police officers. We had to get past them. Clary was too weak to run, and there wasn't time to hide-she would have died. So I used my stele-put a mendelin rune on the inside of her arm. I thought-"

"Are you out of your mind?" Hodge slammed his hand down on top of the desk so hard that Clary thought the wood might crack. "You know what the Law says about placing Marks on mundane! Y ou of all people ought to know better!"

"But it worked," said Jace. "Clary, show them your arm."

With a baffled glance in Jace's direction, she held out her bare arm. She remembered looking down at it that night in the alley, thinking how vulnerable it seemed. Now, just below the crease of her wrist, she could see three faint overlapping circles, the lines as faint as the memory of a scar that had faded with the passage of years.

"See, it's almost gone," Jace said. "It didn't hurt her at all."

"That's not the point." Hodge could barely control his anger. "You could have turned her into a Forsaken."

Two bright spots of color burned high up on Alec's cheekbones. "I can't believe you, Jace. Only Shadowhunters can receive Covenant Marks-they kill mundanes-"

"She's not a mundane. Haven't you been listening? It explains why she could see us. She must have Clave blood."

Clary lowered her arm, feeling suddenly cold. "But I don't. I couldn't."

"You must," Jace said, without looking at her. "If you didn't, that Mark I made on your arm..."

"That's enough, Jace," said Hodge, the displeasure clear in his voice. "There's no need to frighten her further."

"But she has to know! It's about time someone gave her the answers she needs." Ceraella yelled.

"But I was right, wasn't I? It explains what happened to her mother, too. If she was a Shadowhunter in exile, she might well have Downworld enemies."

"My mother wasn't a Shadowhunter!"

"Your father, then," Jace said. "What about him?"

Clary returned his gaze with a flat stare. "He died. Before I was born."

Jace flinched, almost imperceptibly. It was Alec who spoke. "It's possible," he said uncertainly. "If her father were a Shadowhunter, and her mother a mundane-well, we all know it's against the Law to marry a mundie. Maybe they were in hiding."

"My mother would have told me," Clary said, although she thought of the lack of more than one photo of her father, the way her mother never spoke of him, and knew that it wasn't true.

"I doubt she would." Viserys II said sadly, the others either sharing mixed anger and other emotions about Jocelyn hiding something so important and how it put Clary in danger.

"Not necessarily," said Jace. "We all have secrets."

"Luke," Clary said. "Our friend. He would know." With the thought of Luke came a flash of guilt and horror. "It's been three days-he must be frantic. Can I call him? Is there a phone?" She turned to Jace. "Please."

Jace hesitated, looking at Hodge, who nodded and moved aside from the desk. Behind him was a globe, made of beaten brass, that didn't look quite like other globes she had seen; there was something subtly strange about the shape of the countries and continents. Next to the globe was an old-fashioned black telephone with a silver rotary dial. Clary lifted it to her ear, the familiar dial tone washing over her like soothing water.

Luke picked up on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Luke!" She sagged against the desk. "It's me. It's Clary."

"Clary." She could hear the relief in his voice, along with something else she couldn't quite identify. "You're all right?"

"I'm fine," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't call you before. Luke, my mom-"

"I know. The police were here."

"Then you haven't heard from her." Any vestigial hope that her mother had fled the house and hidden somewhere disappeared. There was no way she wouldn't have contacted Luke. "What did the police say?"

"Just that she was missing." Clary thought of the policewoman with her skeletal hand and shivered. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the city," Clary said. "I don't know where exactly. With some friends. My wallet's gone, though. If you've got some cash, I could take a cab to your place-"

"No," he said shortly.

The phone slipped in her sweaty hand. She caught it. "What?"

"No," he said. "It's too dangerous. You can't come here."

"We could call-"

"Look." His voice was hard. "Whatever your mother's gotten herself mixed up in, it's nothing to do with me. You're better off where you are."

"But I don't want to stay here." She heard the whine in her voice, like a child's. "I don't know these people. You-"

"I'm not your father, Clary. I've told you that before."

The hurt on Clarissa's face sent everyone into a spiral of shock and fury. Rhaenys was red with anger, her hands clenched at her sides, just as Corlys' face twisted into a deep scowl.

"How dare he!" Rhaenys hissed. "To think I thought he was a decent man. Especially since her real father is dead."

"He will die screaming," Daemon muttered, his eyes narrowing with lethal intent.

Corlys, incensed, shot Daemon a loathsome look, his voice dripping with venom. "You!" He jabbed a finger in Daemon's direction. "Don't. Get. To. Talk," he spat out each word with disgust. "You are not her father! You don't get to feel sorry or care about this version of her!"

Daemon's jaw clenched, his fury rising as Corlys continued.

"I am her blood father! What good are you?" Daemon snapped back.

Corlys was relentless, the anger burning brighter in his eyes. "I'm the one that stuck around while you were cavorting with your whores and chasing after a brother who does not love you! I raised her and taught her right from wrong!" Corlys roared, his voice echoing in the room.

Daemon wasn't one to apologize ever had been- but the weight of his failures, laid bare in front of the room, left him unable to defend himself properly. Instead, he merely sat there, seething, but silent. His pride would not let him admit the truth aloud, but it was clear on his face.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes. "I'm sorry. It's just-"

"Don't call me for favors again," he said. "I've got my problems, I don't need to be bothered with yours," he added and hung up the phone.

She stood and stared at the receiver, the dial tone buzzing in her ear like a big ugly wasp. She dialed Luke's number again, wand aited. This time it went to voicemail. She banged the phone down, her hands trembling.

Jace was leaning against the armrest of Alec's chair, watching her. "I take it he wasn't happy to hear from you?"

Clary's heart felt as if it had shrunk down to the size of a walnut: a tiny, hard stone in her chest. I will not cry, she thought. Not in front of these people.

"I think I'd like to talk with Clary," said Hodge. "Alone," he added firmly, seeing Jace's expression.

Alec stood up. "Fine. We'll leave you to it."

"That's hardly fair," Jace objected. "I'm the one who found her. I'm the one who saved her life! You want me here, don't you?" he appealed, turning to Clary.

"Say yes say yes!" the trio of girls chanted beginning with their mother/sister.

Clary looked away, knowing that if she opened her mouth, she'd start to cry. As if from a distance, she heard Alec laugh.

"Not everyone wants you all the time, Jace," he said.

"Don't be ridiculous," she heard Jace say, but he sounded disappointed. "Fine, then. We'll be in the weapons room."

The door closed behind them with a definitive click. Clary's eyes were stinging the way they did when she tried to hold tears back for too long. Hodge loomed up in front of her, a fussing gray blur. "Sit down," he said. "Here, on the couch."

She sank gratefully onto the soft cushions. Her cheeks were wet. She reached up to brush the tears away, blinking. "I don't cry much usually," she found herself saying. "It doesn't mean anything. I'll be all right in a minute."

"Most people don't cry when they're upset or frightened, but rather when they're frustrated. Your frustration is understandable. You've been through a most trying time."

"Trying?" Clary wiped her eyes on the hem of Isabelle's shirt. "You could say that."

Hodge pulled the chair out from behind the desk, dragging it over so that he could sit facing her. His eyes, she saw, were gray, like his hair and tweed coat, but there was kindness in them. "Is there anything I could get for you?" he asked. "Something to drink? Some tea?"

"I don't want tea," said Clary, with muffled force. "I want to find my mother. And then I want to find out who took her in the first place, and I want to kill them."

"She wants to go looking for the dead." Rhaenyra stated, "It's clear what happened to her."

"There was nobody mother." Luke lightly defends.

"Unfortunately," said Hodge, "we're all out of bitter revenge at the moment, so it's either tea or nothing."

Clary dropped the hem of the shirt-now spotted all over with wet blotches-and said, "What am I supposed to do, then?"

"You could start by telling me a little about what happened," Hodge said, rummaging in his pocket. He produced a handkerchief-crisply ffolded andhanded it to her. She took it with silent astonishment. She'd never before known anyone who carried a handkerchief. "The demon you saw in your apartment-was that the first such creature you'd ever seen? You had no inkling such creatures existed before?"

Daeron leaned back in his chair, his eyes half-lidded as he took a big bite of the hamburger Balerion had conjured for him. He let out a satisfied hum, ignoring the envious stares from his brothers. The chaos around him didn't seem to faze him at all, as he calmly chewed and took another bite, clearly enjoying the meal.

He noticed the hungry looks from Aemond and Aegon, though, and with a smirk, he grabbed the large basket of fries beside him. "Alright, alright," he muttered, tossing a few fries to his nephews and niece Jaehaerys, Maelor, and Jaehaera then handing some to Helaena as well, giving her a playful grin. "Here, share the love."

The kids eagerly grabbed the fries, but there was no denying the sour looks from Aemond and Aegon, who were glaring at Daeron's casual enjoyment of the food. "What's the matter, brothers?" Daeron teased, lifting another fry to his mouth. "Are you too busy sulking to enjoy some proper food?"

Helaena chuckled, a soft smile on her face as she took a fry from the basket. "I'm glad someone's enjoying themselves," she said with a wink, nudging Aemond's arm.

Clary shook her head, then paused. "One before, but I didn't realize what it was. The first time I saw Jace-"

"Right, of course, how foolish of me to forget." Hodge nodded. "In Pandemonium. That was the first time?"

"Yes."

"And your mother never mentioned them to you nothing about another world, perhaps, that most people cannot see? Did she seem particularly interested in myths, fairy tales, legends of the fantastic-"

"I get that she's trying to protect her but look where that got her," Rhaena said earning murmurs of agreement.

"No. She hated all that stuff. She even hated Disney movies. She didn't like me reading manga. She said it was childish."

Hodge scratched his head. His hair didn't move. "Most peculiar," he murmured.

"Not really," said Clary. "My mother wasn't peculiar. She was the most normal person in the world."

Many snorted at that statement.

"Oh if she knew." Everyone connected the dots that Jocelyn was a Shadowhunter. It was so obvious, but what was she running from?

"Normal people don't generally find their homes ransacked by demons," Hodge said, not unkindly.

"Couldn't it have been a mistake?"

"If it had been a mistake," Hodge said, "and you were an ordinary girl, you would not have seen the demon that attacked you if you had, your mind would have processed it as something else entirely: a vicious dog, even another human being. That you could see it, that it spoke to you-"

"How did you know it spoke to me?"

"Jace reported that you said 'It talked.'"

"It hissed." Clary shivered, remembering. "It talked about wanting to eat me, but I think it wasn't supposed to."

"Raveners are generally under the control of a stronger demon. They're not very bright or capable on their own," explained Hodge. "Did it say what its master was looking for?"

Clary thought. "It said something about a Valentine, but-"

Hodge jerked upright, so abruptly that Hugo, who had been resting comfortably on his shoulder, launched himself into the air with an irritable caw. "Valentine?"

"What the hell is a Valentine?" Jacaerys said while some took note of how Hodge reacted.

"Someone that strikes fear." Cristopher ignored the 'Velaryon boy'.

"Yes," Clary said. "I heard the same name in Pandemonium from the boy-I mean, the demon-"

"It's a name we all know," Hodge said shortly. His voice was steady, but she could see a slight tremble in his hands. Hugo, back on his shoulder, ruffed his feathers uneasily.

"A demon?"

"No. Valentine is-was-a Shadowhunter."

"A Shadowhunter? Why do you say 'was'?"

"Because he's dead," said Hodge flatly. "He's been dead for fifteen years."

Daeron leaned back, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Three coins says he's alive." He turned to Aegon II, who, without hesitation, clasped his hand in agreement.

Aemond and Helaena exchanged knowing looks, shaking their heads at their brothers' antics. "You're both impossible," Helaena muttered, though there was a trace of amusement in her voice.

But while Daeron and Aegon made light of the situation, the rest of the room was far less at ease. A heavy silence fell as the weight of Hodge's words settled over them.

"Does he pose a threat to Clarissa?" Rhaenys asked, her sharp gaze fixed on Balerion.

The ancient dragon did not answer immediately, but the flicker of unease on his face spoke volumes.

Rhaenys' stomach twisted. Corlys' jaw tightened. Beside them, Viserys II, Cristopher, and Cregan shared grim looks, each one coming to the same conclusion this 'Valentine' was alive, he was a danger. And that was something none of them could ignore.

Clary sank back against the couch cushions. Her head was throbbing. Maybe she should have gone for that tea after all. "Could it be someone else? Someone with the same name?"

Hodge's laugh was a humorless bark. "No. But it could have been someone using his name to send a message." He stood up and paced to his desk, hands locked behind his back. "And this would be the time to do it."

"Why now?"

"Because of the Accords."

"The peace negotiations? Jace mentioned those. Peace with who?"

"Downworlders," Hodge murmured. He looked down at Clary. His mouth was a tight line. "Forgive me," he said. "This must be confusing for you."

"You think?"

He leaned against the desk, stroking Hugo's feathers absently. "Downworlders are those who share the Shadow World with us. We have always lived in an uneasy peace with them."

"Like vampires, werewolves, and..."

"The Fair Folk," Hodge said. "Faeries. And Lilith's children, being half-demon, are warlocks."

"Holy fuck." Joffrey muttered earning looks from his siblings considering he never swore and the fact that he was five.

Rhaenyra was too busy in shock along with the others to scold her son.

"So what are you Shadowhunters?"

"We are sometimes called the Nephilim," said Hodge. "In the Bible, they were the offspring of humans and angels. The legend of the origin of Shadowhunters is that they were created more than a thousand years ago when humans were being overrun by demon invasions from other worlds. A warlock summoned the Angel Raziel, who mixed some of his blood with the blood of men in a cup and gave it to those men to drink. Those who drank the Angel's blood became Shadowhunters, as did their children and their children's children. The cup thereafter was known as the Mortal Cup. Though the legend may not be fact, what is true is that through the years, when Shadowhunter ranks were depleted, it was always possible to create more Shadowhunters using the Cup."

"Was always possible?"

"The Cup is gone," said Hodge. "Destroyed by Valentine, just before he died. He set a great fire and burned himself to death along with his family, his wife, and his child. Scorched the land black. No one will build there still. They say the land is cursed."

"Is it?"

"Possibly. The Clave hands down curses on occasion as punishment for breaking the Law. Valentine broke the greatest Law of aalltook up arms against his fellow Shadowhunters and slew them. He and his group, the Circle, killed dozens of their brethren along with hundreds of Downworlders during the last Accords. They were only barely defeated."

"Why would he want to turn on other Shadowhunters?"

"He didn't approve of the Accords. He despised Downworlders and felt that they should be slaughtered, wholesale, to keep this world pure for human beings. Though the Downworlders are not demons, not invaders, he felt they were demonic, and that that was enough. The Clave did not agree and felt the assistance of Downworlders was necessary if we were ever to drive off demonkind for good. And who could argue, that the Fair Folk do not belong in this world when they have been here longer than we have?"

"So basically he's the Maegor of this world?" Baelon compared and wondered who was worse. The others shifted at the mention of the Targaryen.

"Did the Accords get signed?"

"Yes, they were signed. When the Downworlders saw the Clave turn on Valentine and his Circle in their defense, they realized Shadowhunters were not their enemies. Ironically, with his insurrection, Valentine made the Accords possible." Hodge sat down in the chair again. "I apologize, this must be a dull history lesson for you. That was Valentine. A firebrand, a visionary, a man of great personal charm and conviction. And a killer. Now someone is invoking his name ..."

"But who?" Clary asked. "And what does my mother have to do with it?"

"Yes, what connection does that woman have with that madman?" Corlys asked Balerion and huffed when he got no reply.

Hodge stood up again. "I don't know. But I shall do what I can to find out. I will send messages to the Clave and also to the Silent Brothers. They may wish to speak with you."

Clary didn't ask who the Silent Brothers were. She was tired of asking questions whose answers only made her more confused. She stood up. "Is there any chance I could go home?"

Hodge looked concerned. "No, I-I wouldn't think that would be wise."

"As much as I don't trust this man he is right...it could be a trap." Aemon sighed, not wanting his mother to be in danger.

"There are things I need there, even if I'm going to stay here. Clothes-"

"We can give you money to purchase new clothes."

"Please," Clary said. "I have to see if I have to see what's left."

Many who loved Alyssa felt sympathy.

Hodge hesitated, then offered a short, inverted nod. "If Jace agrees to it, you may both go." He turned to the desk, rummaging among the papers. He glanced over his shoulder as if realizing she was still there. "He's in the weapons room."

Hodge smiled crookedly. "Church will take you."

She glanced toward the door where the fat blue Persian was curled up like a small ottoman. He rose as she came forward, his fur rippling like liquid. With an imperious meow, he led her into the hall. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw Hodge scribbling on a piece of paper. Sending a message to the mysterious Clave, she guessed. They didn't sound like very nice people. She wondered what their response would be.

The red ink looked like blood against the white paper. Frowning, Hodge Starkweather rolled the letter, carefully and meticulously, into the shape of a tube and whistled for Hugo. The bird, cawing softly, settled on his wrist. Hodge winced. Years ago, during the Uprising, he had sustained a wound to that shoulder, and even the lightest weight, like Hugo's-or the turn of a season, a change in temperature or humidity, or too sudden a movement of his could awaken old twinges and the memories of pains better forgotten.

There were some memories, though, that never faded. Images burst like flashbulbs behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes. Blood and bodies, trampled earth, a white podium stained with red. The cries of the dying. The green and rolling fields of Idris and its endless blue sky, pierced by the towers of the Glass City. The pain of loss surged up inside him like a wave. He tightened his fist, and Hugo, wings fluttering, pecked angrily at his fingers, drawing blood. Opening his hand, Hodge released the bird, who circled his head before flying up to the skylight and then vanished.

Shaking off his sense of foreboding, Hodge reached for another piece of paper, not noticing the scarlet drops that smeared the paper as he wrote.

As the screen went back everyone in the room sat gathering their thoughts.

。˚❀ ©️𝑎𝑚𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑘𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑒 ·ꕤ.ﾟ

𑁍˚. 𓄼 Hi everyone thanks for reading this chapter! Hope everyone is doing well.

𑁍˚. 𓄼