Chapter 102 – Planned All Along

--- 30 minutes before sunset. ---

"Clary." A breathless, croaking whisper, but still unmistakable in the silence of the Brocelind forest. Jace fell to the ground, his eyes wide with shock, fixed on me.

Surprise welled up inside me. Had I transformed back without realizing it? I could hardly care less when I saw the state Jace was in. At the end of his sanity, on the brink of madness.

I didn't move; I didn't dare look down at myself. But suddenly everything happened very quickly. The rest of the group whirled around to me. Lyall, Isabelle, Adam. They looked back and forth between Jace and me, their weapons at the ready and their faces set in grim determination. No, my cover had not been blown. It made the fact of Jace's uncharacteristic behavior worlds worse. As if stung by a tarantula, he jumped back to his feet a step behind Adam; searched for my gaze again.

"Clary," Jace repeated. Amazed and hopeful and desperate. It broke my heart, made the bile rise in my stomach. I had done this to him. He started to run toward me when Adam held him back with such force that Jace almost landed in the snow a second time.

Just as I began to wonder if his angelic power might make him immune to my runes, he seemed to wake up from the illusion that had gripped him for a few seconds. The torment melted away like an iceberg – all that remained was burgeoning confusion and, finally, the iron hardness he had shown me in the first days of our enmity.

Pure relief surged through me at that familiar feeling. It meant that my Jace wasn't completely lost. It made it easier for me to play my role. To finish it.

I forced my lips up in an amused smile – remembering how easy it had always been for Isabelle to get out of her skin. Looking her in the eyes didn't make my act any easier. I felt Jonathan's presence at my back even before I heard him – the group visibly tensed as he appeared. The faeries were already in position, hiding far enough to avoid being noticed.

To my surprise, both Adam and Jace raised their eyebrows in recognition, Adam in regret and Jace in astonishment.

"Milo Coldridge," Adam said stiffly, as if the name gave him some kind of power. I immediately wondered how well they had known each other. Hopefully not too well, because any doubt about our identities was dangerous, even if it was my friends who had it.

"Adam Demonhunter." Jonathan played along, deliberately keeping a distant expression on his face. We exchanged glances for a few seconds, then I stomped toward the unit we had come to support. His feather-light steps followed mine and he must have given a signal, because the rest of our patrol came out of their hiding places at that moment.

It felt wrong to be the center of their hostility. It felt like it had before – before they had gotten to know me. This could have been a different reality, I realized. If Jocelyn had never fled with me, the battle lines could have looked exactly the same today. Responding appropriately to their resentment ... I didn't know how to. As I walked toward them, circling the axe in my hand, my heart pounding, I pondered how I could convince them of Vanessa Ashdown.

Lies were easier to digest when mixed with truth. Not that I was an expert at lying, but I had learned that the hard way over the past few months. Time to show that I was a good student.

"I'm so glad to see you all alive," I told them, looking Jace straight in the eyes. As if I was Clary and they were my friends. As if I meant it. Because it was the truth.

This is nothing but an act, I reminded myself. Just like I had done at the party last night, to step out of myself. Only stepping out would not be enough this time, stepping into Vanessa Ashdown would.

I thought back to Blake Ashdown and how he had playfully turned our encounters into torment. How he had held back his malice until the perfect moment. The delight in his sadistic eyes when he could finally give it free rein.

My name is Vanessa Ashdown. I hate Downworlders and seeing them and their allies suffer makes my day. I'm a haughty piece of shit and I let everyone know it. Getting inside other people's heads and fooling them makes me forget that I'm just an average fighter with below average intelligence.

"Did you think we would miss your scent? Too bad you can't scout the paths parallel to you with a wolf's nose, otherwise you would have noticed us for sure." I confidently put my hand on my hip and provocatively raised the right corner of my mouth. Our reinforcements prevented Jonathan and me from letting the unit go or revealing ourselves to them. This required a change of plan. I didn't have to look at Jonathan to know that he was thinking the same thing.

"Vanessa." Oh yes, Adam knew Vanessa Ashdown. The others didn't. I knew what would happen once Jace found out her last name. But we were running out of time, so any delay would have been irrational.

I looked at Adam thoughtfully. A mix of different emotions flew across his face, as if he could not decide what to make of my presence. I could only hope that he and Vanessa had not been too close. I didn't have access to her memories. Thank the Angel.

"The traitor." The axe in my hand spun faster around its own axis. Time to drop the bomb. "After everything you did to my cousin, I'm not surprised that you're here."

"Cousin?" Isabelle asked. The roar that was building in my chest was immediately banished to the back of my mind. The Parabatai bond was calling for her, but she was oblivious. My premonition that they all thought I was dead had already been confirmed by the sight of Jace. But witnessing Isabelle's cluelessness firsthand made me uncomfortable. How deep had her grief been, how hectic her departure to this place, that she had not had a moment's peace to check her rune? Even after the Parabatai's death, the rune only faded and never truly vanished. She must have misinterpreted it, checked it too soon, and in all the turmoil that followed, failed to notice how it had regained strength.

"But yes," I smiled at Isabelle, not really meaning it. The deep desire for an honest smile scratched against the inside of my Parabatai rune. I wanted to send her a secret sign – so that she would recognize me – but I didn't know how. "My cousin Blake, to whose death the good Adam inevitably contributed."

Saying Blake's name proved an obstacle even now. Every memory of him made my blood boil and freeze at the same time. The images of those hours in his basement burned vividly against the inside of my mind's eye as if it had all happened recently.

"Vanessa Ashdown." Jace was usually good at keeping his emotions in check, but today nothing was ordinary. It was as if I could see right into his soul. I knew exactly how he would react – maybe because I knew him better than almost anyone else – maybe because after my death he felt a greater hatred for everything that had ever caused me pain. "Then I hope you're looking forward to seeing your cousin again soon."

Anticipating his attack was almost too easy. Fighting him, however, was anything but. I had already raised my axe when the first hint of an attack began to appear in his pupils. Two steps later and I came towards him, returning his blow with as much force as I needed to hold my ground against him and not completely blow my cover. Because the real Vanessa Ashdown would always lose in a fight against Jace Herondale. Just not today.

While I saw Isabelle, Adam and Lyall copying Jace's attack from the corner of my eye, my heart began to beat wildly when Jace and I finally crossed our weapons – when we were only inches apart. The surprise that he wasn't superior to Vanessa drove him mad. I, on the other hand, had a hard time not lowering my axe and throwing myself around his neck.

Jace looked straight into my eyes and my heart stopped. Not a single emotion appeared on my face. Any taunts Vanessa would have thrown at him for underestimating her were lost in my mind as I had to use every ounce of strength not to burst into tears at his appearance.

It had been less than ten hours since we had last seen each other – not even half a day – and yet this person seemed to be a completely different person than the one I had faced this morning. Jace looked as if someone had challenged him to a duel and utterly defeated him. As if someone had grabbed him by the collar and dragged him through hell and back.

A life without you makes no sense to me. I don't want to take a single breath in a world where you're no longer here. That's what love means to me.

I had known before that Jace loved me. All the words – whether spoken or not. All the gestures – whether secret or visible to all. But now, confronted with the product of my death, I became painfully aware of what that love really meant.

To love is to destroy. To be loved is to be the one destroyed.

Just as grief widened my eyes and threatened to burn my retinas, Jonathan stepped into my field of vision behind Jace. In one inevitable move, he kicked him in the back of the knee. I backed away as Jace fell into the snow, pursuing him while he never took his eyes off me. His anger blazed like the Heavenly Fire about to reach its peak.

My mind snapped to Jonathan, who had lost some of his fearsomeness in Milo's form – at least for me. Jace's anger seemed to spread to me like an unquenchable flame. I didn't need his help. I was his equal and he finally had to accept that. "I told you–" I burst out angrily before I thought better of it and snapped my mouth shut. Milo Coldridge's dark brown irises gave nothing away and yet Jonathan must have seen something in Vanessa Ashdown's. He knew me. "I would have defeated him alone." I wanted to face him alone, that was what I didn't say.

"I know." It sounded too knowing. As if he knew my every thought. "But we're running out of time."

Jonathan was right, as usual. I could not allow myself to get emotional – no digression. It would not help any of us, not even Jace. Coldridge's eyes bored into mine, and I stepped back almost imperceptibly from the kneeling Jace. The rest of their unit was already in the power of our reinforcements.

I watched Jonathan hoist Jace to his feet. It was a strange exchange. We had not gotten around to talking about Jace before. I had no idea what my brother thought of him – no idea if he thought he was worthy of me. But the rough way he grabbed Jace by the collar of his uniform made it pretty clear. So, probably not. What a surprise.

No surprise, however, was Jace's well-hidden dagger, with which he almost slashed Jonathan's abdomen. My axe rested at his throat before he could carry out the maneuver. I looked up at Jonathan with a barely concealed grin. The scene reminded me too much of one of our first days of training in the Lightwoods' garden, when Jace had knocked me to the ground in a moment of my arrogance because I had not knocked the sword out of his hand.

"You should have disarmed him first," I chided Jonathan for his carelessness, trying to bury any amusement. Next time you should wait with your arrogance until you've disarmed me.

Jonathan ignored me as he tied Jace's hands behind his back, more roughly than necessary. "I thought the Herondales were fair warriors," he spat, and to my dismay I saw the golden light of Heavenly Fire pulsing against the inside of his veins. What was it with this perpetual hatred between Herondales and Morgensterns? "Or do they pretend to have honor, just like the Inquisitor does?"

"Since when is fighting supposed to be fair?" I repeated, almost in a trance, what I had said to Jace that distant day – and what he had smugly thrown back in my face me seconds later. Before Jonathan could inflict any more pain on Jace, I ripped the restraints from his hands – just as he shoved Jace in my direction and marched over to Isabelle, his shoulder blades unnaturally tense. "You should know that better than most," I called after him reproachfully because I could not keep my damn tongue still. A warning that he needed to control himself better.

"Damn it, what have you become, Coldridge?" Jace suddenly shouted.

My muscles tensed immediately, and even without Jonathan in my line of sight, I would have known that he, at least inwardly, turned to stone. What was Jace talking about? What was he even saying? Over his shoulder, our eyes met – as casually as possible without arousing suspicion. Neither he nor I had an answer to Jace's question, which he seemed to want an answer to. I felt the others around us slowing down to listen to us – Isabelle, Adam and Lyall leaning towards us as far as their bonds would allow.

"We were never really friends ... but this?" Since I was standing behind Jace, I could not see his face. He sounded strangely vulnerable. Almost betrayed.

Jonathan could not keep the confusion completely off his face – Jonathan, who usually managed everything with ease. It was the Heavenly Fire in his veins, I knew that. The heat, the pain, the burning, which already cost him a lot of strength – now it might cost him more than that.

"I was at your house. Your mother cooked for us. Don't you remember?"

Damn, damn, damn. They knew each other. When my pulse quickened this time, it wasn't excitement but fear. Jace saw himself and his unit in a predicament. He was looking for a way to free them. If Jace had known Milo Coldridge, then he was definitely the weakest and possibly only link in the chain of command that he thought he had a chance of getting through.

"I ..." Jonathan, whose empathy was clearly at its limits after his transformation, failed to invent a personal excuse that was at the same time impersonal enough to keep our cover.

I had no choice but to intervene. Jonathan's emotions, clouded by demon blood, were unreliable – he had forgotten how a human acted. Valentine had taught us, had taught us every detail. But Jonathan, torn between anger and hate and love and fear, had been in the extremes for too long to conjure up the sensitivity that our father surely would have been able to.

"What does your family think of this path you're taking?" Jace blurted out. Fortunately, he completely misinterpreted Milo Coldridge's crumbling facade. "What–"

"Enough!" I yelled at Jace and sent him reeling with a precise kick. He didn't even flinch, as if Vanessa's reaction was long overdue. It hurt me, but it forced me back into her role as Blake's cousin. Jonathan was right: there was no room here for my feelings, which, in contrast to his, were so close to the surface. So I grabbed my axe and held the blade to Jace's jugular again. Not hard enough to do him any real damage. Hard enough to warn him not to step out of line. With a shove, I pushed him forward and addressed the faerie who was holding a squirming Isabelle. "From now on, you'll slap his sister for every word Jace says. Let's see how talkative he's then."

Any hope that Jace's resistance would be nipped in the bud died seconds later. The heat was the only warning I got – but it was too late. Jace lunged forward, so hard and powerful that my feet could only follow him blindly. It happened too fast for me to react or even blink. I was flying forward when I felt the air-suffocating force of a kick to my ribs. The axe was ripped from my hand and I was lucky that Jace didn't hack me to pieces where I was.

I staggered back to my footing on the icy ground, pain racking my upper body. At least one cracked rib, that much was certain. A cough later, I found myself face to face with Jace, his golden irises blazing like the Heavenly Fire that was coursing through Jonathan's veins at that moment. I felt my facial muscles slipping, the ice of my control melting away under Jace's angry heat. The remaining faeries and Shadowhunters, not holding on to any of the others, surrounded us. A losing battle, but none of it was reflected in Jace's features.

"Just come closer," he murmured, as if he were reciting a poem or a prayer.

With the silvery sparkling tip of the axe aimed directly at my heart, as if it didn't contain my irrevocable love for him, he challenged Vanessa Ashdown to a fight. Because one thing was obvious: he wanted to fight her, wanted to kill her with his own hands. The bloodlust in his eyes shook me – because I saw myself reflected in them. A person thirsting for revenge who would destroy everything to get it. Was that what I had looked like before I had killed Blake Ashdown?

But when I had been seeking revenge, he had been there. He had stopped me from losing myself in it. He had inhibited and held back that need like a buffer between me and hell.

Now, as I stared into Jace's eyes, searching for rationality or restraint or a spark of his gentle nature, revenge was all I found. My loss had turned him into what I had already been. My loss had dissolved the buffer, had opened the door to hell.

Jace turned around once, and when his eyes found mine a second time, a mist settled over them. I immediately thought of the demon that had determined Jonathan's actions. As if Jace wasn't himself – as if there was nothing human left of him – he stared at me.

The angel, a fear-filled voice breathed in my head. The angelic power burns everything earthly out of him.

I had faced an angry angel — had seen Ithuriel's superhuman rage. This — Jace — was a perfect reflection of that indescribable emotion.

"Shall we go and see how Blake is doing in hell?"

"You can't defeat us all, Jace," I tried to say shallow-breathed, forcing the agony in my ribs beneath the surface. Once he sensed weakness, he would be unstoppable. But I had a sinking feeling that we were already past the point of no return. Like a drizzle meant to quench the glowing magma of a volcano. I willed my feet not to retreat. Somewhere behind Jace, I could make out Milo Coldridge's troubled frame. It offered me no comfort. These were things Jonathan didn't understand – or understood too well.

"No." Jace's voice had taken on a soulless tone that gave me goosebumps. When he tilted his head and looked at me as if he was ready to drag himself to his death, I was close to giving up the masquerade. "But that's not the goal anyway."

"This is suicide," I replied in a blink of an eye, gritting my teeth to keep my composure. The rage hit me suddenly and unexpectedly. I wanted to scream at him, to slap him, to make him come to his senses. To make him not give up his life because of me, as if it were worth nothing. Oh, if we survive this, you will get a piece of my mind, you can count on that.

"So be it then," Jace whispered, and my anger evaporated as quickly as it had risen within me. He would not dare do that. He would not dishonor my supposed death like that. "United in death."

The three words were barely audible over the rush of my blood – they weren't meant for Vanessa Ashdown. They weren't meant for anyone but himself and ... me. Except that he thought I was dead. The horror of Jace's emotional state made me back away before he could plunge the axe into my chest.

The forest around us came to life. Jumbled screams and shouts, swirling snow and leaves, weapons being drawn.

The axe hissed down my body, missing me by a few centimeters. Before Jace could swing again, faerie knights approached from behind. Jonathan stood in the second row, watching the commotion in silence and with growing irritation. The axe buzzed through the frosty winter air and covered us all with the hot blood of four fairies who had tried to take him on. The sight of Jace sent me back to Blake Ashdown's basement for a moment. His golden curls were now sticky with blood, rolling down his cheeks as if he were crying dark red tears.

That seemed to be enough for Jonathan, who was now in the front row after Jace's maneuver. He drew his sword and stepped over an exsanguinating faerie knight. "You're an idiot, Herondale," I heard him say as soon as he had positioned himself between me and Jace.

No matter how short Jace's reaction time was, Jonathan's was shorter. And so the flat side of the sword hit him in the temple before he could turn the axe against him. His eyes blinked frantically. Somehow, he looked surprised, as if he had not even noticed Jonathan approaching.

"A dramatic, arrogant idiot," Jonathan added after Jace fell to his knees before him.

I rolled my eyes and waited until Jace's dilated pupils fluttered one last time and he finally lost consciousness. Only then did I allow Vanessa Ashdown to briefly feel his pulse. My lips trembled almost imperceptibly as I touched him. It was the first contact since we had said goodbye after the last meeting in Imogen's office. My fingers lingered on his skin longer than necessary, which was sticky with blood and sweat.

Milo Coldridge called for Vanessa, so I had no choice but to flag down a faerie knight to carry Jace to the base. Then I hurried past Isabelle, Lyall, and Adam, all of whom were being held down by faeries and being forced forward, to Jonathan's side. Since Coldridge was in command of this patrol unit, he walked in the front lines and didn't bother to monitor any of the prisoners.

It wasn't long before we emerged from the last rows of trees in the east. A vast area opened up before us, bordered on the right by the tall, impenetrable firs of the Brocelind forest and on the left by a water front stretching far to the south. Water that now glittered in the colors of fire. The sunset had come and set the world ablaze.

We had no time to admire it in all its facets, because to the west, Valentine's camp opened up before our eyes. It took up a large part of the area from the forest right down to the beach. Dozens of black and green war tents had been pitched into the uneven ground where the plain was not yet made of sand and gravel. Marked by blazing torches, the line between wilderness and civilization was clearly visible here in the heart of Idris.

Our plan paid off. The border patrols spotted us as soon as we set foot outside Brocelind. Given the density of Shadowhunters, a forced entry without camouflage would have been extremely difficult, if not impossible. If Valentine didn't already know of our supposed deaths, he would count on us making it to his camp by other means. But did he expect this?

Jonathan raised his hand and waved to the border guards. A clear, unique hand signal. The Shadowhunters immediately lowered their weapons. A quick round of greetings and backslapping later, in which we played the roles of Milo and Vanessa with particular caution, we passed the guards. Even without their directions, we would have found Valentine without much effort.

His face bathed in the setting sun, he stood ankle-deep in the lake water, Mellartach strapped to his back, which he had turned toward the camp. My pulse raced in my ears. For a few eternal seconds, the beach swayed before my eyes. An invisible rope wrapped itself around my throat, winding slowly and tighter around my windpipe. There he stood, our father, his back to us as if we were no more than ordinary minions, looking out over the lake as if his children weren't staring holes in his back at that very moment, his posture calm and confident, as if everything had turned out exactly as he had always imagined.

I could not believe that we were really here. That we were standing just a few meters behind him without him even knowing we were there. It felt wrong and dangerous to play this game – to play his game; to stoop to this level. Because usually Valentine Morgenstern had seen through his enemy before they had even figured out their own plan.

Because no game is perfect, I had told Jace last night when he had asked what the point of this mission was. We must change a rule he didn't even know existed.

Valentine had created me. Not because of his blood in my veins, but because of Ithuriel's. He had imagined an angelic warrior, not a rune inventor. Maybe he had heard the rumors, but he had no idea what I was really capable of. Very few knew; not even Jonathan. I had created Heavenly Fire. Today we would abolish his planned reign once and for all. By tomorrow morning we would bring lasting peace to the Shadow World.

I stayed a few steps back while Jonathan marched towards our father, his muscles tense like wires, and murmured something to him with his head bowed submissively; too quietly for the words to reach my ears. Valentine's lips moved almost imperceptibly in response.

Coldridge's black and brown hair bobbed in a brief nod. He turned on his heel and quickly walked back to me. A deliberately brief exchange of glances later, I knew that our plan had worked. Valentine suspected nothing. For the moment. Jonathan grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him, putting more distance between Valentine and us.

When I turned around, the captives were already lined up in a kneeling row. To my negative surprise, to the left of Lyall, Adam, Isabelle and Jace, there were more familiar faces kneeling: Aaron Wrayburn and Lea Townsend, who had dyed her hair red like mine. A diversion we had devised to confuse the renegade Shadowhunters. The looks they all gave Milo and Vanessa ranged from regret to nausea to outright hatred. All except Jace, whose features were unreadable. His eyes, on the other hand–

I nearly stumbled when I noticed the moisture at the corners of his eyes. My heart clenched, threatening to split in half, as a lump settled in my throat. His blurry, golden irises looked up into the sky. Into the sunset.

I quickly tore myself away from the sight of him and followed Jonathan until we came to a stop to the right of Jace. Several faerie knights had lined up behind the captives. Behind Aaron and Lea stood two renegade Shadowhunters unknown to me. We all waited for Valentine to turn to us and address the captives. Or would he ignore them completely and summon Raziel without further ado?

"Lord Valentine," said Milo Coldridge, as if to remind him that we were there. "The time?"

Because Valentine didn't let anyone boss him around, he deliberately let time drag on until finally breaking free from his paralysis and turning his back on the inferno of day and night. While his face was set as if it were made of stone, unnaturally still, his eyes scanned each of us, analyzing us. Milo and Vanessa, however, were only glanced at in passing – as if they were insignificant next to the obvious spoils of war.

"How delightful that you have joined us," he finally raised his voice, addressing the captives. The joy was there. Masterfully hidden under the cloak of polite indifference with which he played the chosen prophet who would lead the Nephilim into a new, better age. He believed in it. That he was chosen by the angels to help the Nephilim reach new heights. How naive had we been? All I saw now was a self-righteous fanatic. He had committed too many crimes to come to his senses – to face the truth would mean admitting that every one of his actions and sacrifices had been in vain. He would never do that – he could not.

When he held out his arms, I had to suppress the roll of my eyes with all my might. I had almost forgotten that Jace had cut off his right hand exactly five days ago. He had made no effort to conceal the gaping sleeve. To my chagrin, Valentine chose Jace as his first victim. Calculating and far-sighted like an eagle, he eyed Jace, his mouth lifting in a polished smile.

"Jace Herondale." I hated the way his name rolled off Valentine's tongue. I almost felt malicious glee as confusion spread across his carefully inviting features. Until he continued. "You look like you have been crying."

He said it as a statement. Not like Jonathan and I, who had been punished for every tear we shed. Jace's half-dried tears didn't inspire contempt in him, quite the opposite. Perhaps precisely because his children's last tears had been more than a decade ago, he had forgotten their meaning. Because as he studied Jace, he seemed unable to figure out what could have caused these tears – could not connect them with any emotion. As if he fundamentally didn't understand why people cried.

"Not interested in a conversation?" Valentine asked when Jace didn't respond. Contrary to what I expected, he turned away from Jace and walked over to Lea and Aaron with his head held high.

My eyes didn't follow him immediately, but seemed to be stuck on Jace. His gaze, which didn't honor Valentine with attention either, met mine so suddenly that I could not look away immediately. The hatred for Vanessa was missing from his reddened pupils. Probably because he had forgotten her for the moment. Now that she was looking at his tearful face, he put his facade back in place. I wanted to reach out and wipe that hateful expression from his cheeks; wanted to run my fingers through his hair; wanted to finally feel his strong arms around my body again. Instead, I followed Milo into the row behind the captives, stood behind Jace and clenched my hands into fists before I could think of doing something careless.

The next few minutes passed as if in a trance. I listened to my father's words, but seconds later I could not remember what he said or who he was addressing. Being so close to Jace was driving me crazy. The fact that he didn't know who was standing inches behind him was driving me even madder.

I saw Isabelle go off on a rant and Milo punish her with a punch. Any other renegade would have done the same or worse to her, so Jonathan's reaction was justified, if only an act.

The forced inactivity did nothing to ease my tension. Or that we were standing in the middle of our enemy's base. Or that we could be discovered at any second. At this moment, it was beyond our power to do anything. We had come here to either support my unit or to complete their work. Since they had split up as planned and we could not just disappear from Valentine's eyes, we had to stay here and wait for now. For Alec's team to lift the spell around the forest or for an opportunity to arise to do it ourselves.

It was a dilemma because we could not cover Jace's team and destroy the barrier at the same time. And even though Valentine had Mellartach in his hand, even though the sword was within reach, the spell had to fall. Otherwise we were trapped. So we waited. And had no choice but to watch as the first member of the unit lost her head.

Valentine was talking about me, I had heard that much. However, my name in his mouth had been enough to make my ears switch to selective hearing. I had no interest in his praise and smear campaigns, I didn't want to hear anything from his self-righteous mouth. When he cut off Lea Townsend's head, neither Jonathan nor I flinched as the tumult grew from the captives. Big drops of blood rained down on all of us in the gathering darkness but missed Valentine.

I wasn't surprised that he had eliminated my impersonation first. He had never liked cheap tricks, and dyeing one's hair red to imitate someone wasn't enough to make a good double. It was like bringing a dull knife to a fight. The red hair had been a distraction – at the time of the plan, I had not known about the rune Jonathan and I now bore, had not even thought about it. Lea Townsend had known what to expect if she was caught; I had personally informed her of the risks. I had informed them all, they all knew what the consequences were. Their reactions revealed that they had not fully accepted my words as reality. They revealed that they were being jolted awake into a reality that they had apparently imagined quite differently.

Foolish. Foolish not to expect death in a war. I could not blame them.

I watched Lea's head roll away across the fine sand and felt nothing. No regret, no fear, no anger. Milo Coldridge and Vanessa Ashdown stood with impassive faces, as if they had seen this kind of execution dozens of times before. Not because they actually had, but because this man with the sword had drilled into them their entire lives not to show weakness in the face of death. Whoever pulled a face first lost. And so it became an eternal draw. No loser, no punishment.

Valentine had turned away from the captives, exchanging words with someone outside my field of vision. I had neither the strength nor the inclination to turn my head, so I continued to stare straight ahead. My eyes might as well have been closed. Only Jace's tension pulled me from my trance, as if his subconscious had called out to mine.

I blinked into the unusually long silence, searching my brain for snippets of the past few seconds. My eyes darted to my father just in time to see his posture come to a halt. It was a rare sight, brought on by ... surprise.

Nothing surprises him because he doesn't miscalculate.

"We are talking about my son here," said Valentine, instantly sending my pulse skyrocketing. "He hardly stopped by to check in with you personally. Find him. I will not tolerate delays. That he even dares to be late."

I didn't dare peek over at Jonathan.

"He hasn't entered the camp," one of the patrol's Shadowhunters then explained. The movement of my head towards him allowed me quick contact with Jonathan. His expression revealed nothing but confused curiosity. I had not thought he could play his role as a loyal renegade so well. But he had probably been able to gather a lot of practice material. "My men have been keeping watch since his departure."

"Then they did not keep watch well enough." Oh, Valentine was irritated. Far too quickly he retreated behind the wall that he always erected when he started to think. Half a minute later he seemed to have made the first connection. "Are there any updates from my allies within the city?"

Horace Dearborn, whom I knew only vaguely from Clave meetings, turned out to be the man my father had addressed. Knowing full well that he had no news from Alicante, I wasn't surprised at his hesitation. Watching him writhe like a worm under Valentine's piercing gaze gave me unparalleled satisfaction. With Valentine's attention on Dearborn, I peered down at Jace, whose eyes glowed with mischief.

Valentine's eyes widened as he made the second connection. Suddenly he looked like any other man standing on the edge of a bad premonition. Ordinary. I knew Jonathan was enjoying the sight as much as I was. "Are the protection wards deactivated?"

"I ... We–" Horace stammered. I suppressed a grin. Vanessa Ashdown tilted her head.

"A simple question, Dearborn." Cornered by ignorance, cracks slowly but surely appeared in Valentine's well-oiled mask. Rage slumbered beneath the surface. I didn't want to be around when it erupted. He didn't tend to outbursts of anger, usually always had his cool logic at hand. But here, where all his threads were finally coming together, there should be no delays or question marks. "Are. The. Protection. Wards. Deactivated."

"I ... I don't know."

"Does anybody here know whether the Demon Towers of Alicante are active or not?" Valentine's anger was terrible. Well guarded and well controlled, but once the dragon was awake, there was no forgiveness and no negotiation. My feet shifted of their own accord. Nervousness crept up my legs.

"Where is my son?" I barely felt his gaze fly to Vanessa, bore into her, and then move on to Milo and then to the rest of his followers.

"Perhaps he took longer to complete his mission and is still on his way back."

I had never had the chance to ask Jonathan what had happened after Valentine had lost his hand. It was a question that was rightly to be afraid of. I had an image in my head, could roughly picture what had happened. It was what had always happened when one of us had stepped out of line so much that disciplinary measures were required. Much worse than being punished for an offense yourself was having someone you loved punished.

"Do not compare my Jonathan to your ordinary daughter. He is my son. He was trained for this kind of task. He–"

The broken sentence catapulted me suddenly into reality. That voice. Like a grenade seconds away from going off, yet everyone mistook it for a dud. The instinct for the truth as sharp as dynamite and the patience as short as a burnt-out fuse.

"This game of hide and seek is not Clarissa's style." Did no one notice how calculating and final his tone was? Jonathan, to my right, had stopped breathing. "She is not like me, who takes advantage of any ruse as long as it serves the right purpose. No, my Clarissa is direct and runs straight into conflict, just like Jocelyn. She would not hide behind her friends if she were here. So where are she and Jonathan? Because Jonathan is the only person she would turn down a meeting with me for."

Your Clarissa has learned that cunning and deception are the only means of eliminating the Morgensterns because they have not a shred of honor. If the fate of our world wasn't hanging on that one thin thread, I would have hurled those very words in his face. I would have thrown myself at him, regardless of the consequences.

I literally did exactly what he claimed I would not: I hid behind my friends. I wanted to laugh out loud, I wanted to slap my legs with laughter, I wanted to point my index finger at him and laugh at him in front of the whole world. How wrong you could be about your children when you projected your own worldview onto everything and everyone.

Jace was the only one who returned Valentine's x-ray gaze. They all had closed faces, showing no emotion, but Jace was the only one with his head held high. Challenging.

I wanted to kiss him with pride. I wanted to slap him for his defiance.

After Valentine asked them again where Jonathan and I were, his anger went up a gear. My limbs froze into icicles when he turned directly to Milo. For a fatal second, I thought I had been caught. But Valentine just nodded and pointed with his chin down at Isabelle.

I swallowed the bile that was forming in my mouth. Jonathan's fingers slid unhesitatingly to her jaw. This was the plan. The knife nestled snugly against Isabelle's carotid artery. This was the plan, and we had both known that it could come to this. Everyone knew the price, everyone knew the sacrifice, everyone knew his perfidious tactics.

If someone puts a dagger to my throat to force you to do something, you're letting me fucking die, is that clear?

The nausea didn't disappear from my tongue, if anything it just got more intense. Yesterday I had reacted to those words with relief, had been grateful to her. Now I wished she had never made it so easy for me.

If you don't comply with my wishes, I will never speak to you in your next life.

"Does anyone wish to talk now?" I heard my father ask. In my mind's eye I pictured his bleeding body. My Parabatai rune twitched oppressively.

Isabelle looked like she was ready to die. Isabelle looked like those words had always been reality for her. Isabelle looked like she had never closed herself off to brutality. I wanted to hate her and admire her for it in equal measure.

Valentine, whose rage was about to jump to the next level, gave them one last chance. His problem was that he could not kill them all. He could only hope that Isabelle's sacrifice would draw the truth out of the others. It was a risk.

Just as his eyes slid back to Milo to give the order, the weakest link in the chain gave way. Not as Valentine had hoped – because he didn't care if Isabelle lived or died – but easier for handling the captives. No death, no grudges.

"They're dead," Lyall blurted out, who strangely didn't seem nervous or stressed. A plan within a plan? If this was agreed upon, they should have chosen a different messenger for this bomb.

In front of me, Jace recoiled from the three words as if someone had stabbed him in the stomach. I wanted to put my hand on his shoulder; wanted to assure him that it wasn't true, but now more than ever I could not afford to make a mistake.

Valentine was so thrown off by Lyall that his normally alert senses missed Jace's reaction. That he would not believe a werewolf, I had expected. That he would burst into laughter, I had definitely not expected. Exuberant and genuine, as if Lyall had told him a sensational joke. It took him around a minute to be able to speak again.

"Of all the excuses you could feed me, you immediately choose the most unrealistic of all." Lyall returned Valentine's eye contact with enough confidence that I would have seen the revelation of our deaths as a strategy if it had not been Lyall. They had to know that as a Shadowworlder he would not be credible. And even if the revelation was intended as a distraction, Lyall's fate definitely wasn't. "You wolf-people are clever creatures. I speak from experience, because my former Parabatai mutated into one as well. That is why I am practiced in not trusting anything your kind says."

"They're dead," Lyall repeated, looking quite pleased with himself. Whatever premonition I had had up until then was set in stone after this provocation. "That's the truth. Your son won't come because he failed. My kind is safe behind the city wards."

"Whatever you hope to achieve through this lie ends here. I have neither the time nor the desire to conduct this interrogation. Because make no mistake, this is an interrogation. And anyone who does not deliver is useless to me." Valentine managed to hide his irritation from the others, but not from Jonathan and me. Even if he did. This was the plan. We would not change anything about what was about to happen. This was the plan, and they all knew that its completion was more important than the lives of individuals.

"It's the–"

"I do not care, wolf. I would never believe a word from your demonblood-tainted mouth." Valentine turned away from the kneeling Lyall, whose features showed the onset of unease. "Milo. Come here and dispose of this hostage for me. I only carry the Angel Blade and only Nephilim deserve to be struck down by it."

I swallowed the knowledge of what was to come in the next few seconds. The sacrifice that Jonathan would have to make.

"As You wish, my Lord." Milo Coldridge moved away from Vanessa's right side, showing no emotion as he took up the position behind Lyall where a faerie knight had just stood.

I didn't allow myself a break on the faeries, knowing that despite Valentine's snide remarks about the Shadowworlders, they would not break their Queen's alliance. In fact, from here on out, I didn't allow myself to look at anyone, instead staring straight ahead at the darkly glittering lake. As the rest of the captives swelled into a chorus of voices before me, my fingers flew far too quickly to Jace's shoulders. Before he could step out of line and attract my father's unwanted attention. Of course he would rebel against this, and I had to stop him. One of the faeries got hold of Isabelle before she could make herself an even bigger target.

A thoughtless act of stupidity, on their part. I wasn't angry with them, even if they revealed their weaknesses and thus robbed the unit of its strength.

Jonathan didn't allow Lyall to die quickly. A cruel thing to do without looking. I ignored Lyall's bubbling gurgles as best I could – I didn't think about the young man who had told me about his nose ring, as if he could turn any weakness into a strength. Instead, I concentrated on Isabelle's insults, on Adam's sobs, on Jace's heavy breathing. They all hated Milo Coldridge for his cruelty, perhaps even thought it was sycophancy towards Valentine. None of them understood that he took no pleasure in this. None of us had ever enjoyed killing. The demon had, but Jonathan never did. This, Lyall's death, was necessary. Father's bloodlust had to be quenched to avoid further bloodshed. If his death came too quickly, he would feel that the group had gotten off too lightly. Even if he planned to kill them all later.

The nerve-wracking tension of mine eased considerably when Valentine finally approached Adam. Not because it was a joy to see Adam confront Valentine, but because I was finally going to learn the truth about the man who had called himself my friend for nearly three months. It was twisted in its own way that I suddenly felt joy at my disguise.

"You are Adam, the son of Bethany and Lucas." Valentine sounded transformed. When he used his charm, it usually meant a worse end than death – at least in the long run. Why did so many people declare their loyalty to a man who had not even been able to remain loyal to his own family? "Your parents wanted to follow me, you stopped them. They and your siblings did not show up at my camp within the deadline. For them, that means death. And I promise you, Adam, I will find a way into the city, Demon Towers or not."

The moment of reckoning. Would the Fairchilds' willingness to forgive, which my mother had passed on to me, pay off? Or would it turn out that the Morgensterns' mercilessness was ultimately justified?

"Tell me the truth, Adam. Tell me where Clarissa and Jonathan are right now, and I promise that I will spare you and your family from the fate that will befall the rest of the Nephilim."

Not so long ago, if I had been given that choice – family or death – I might even have willingly impaled myself on the nearest blade. Because choosing family meant betraying the world. Because choosing death meant betraying family. That was what I had believed to be the truth for a long time.

If I were given the choice today, I would choose death every time. Because if choosing family meant sending others to their deaths, family was just a cloak for death.

My family, my friends. I didn't expect ... that I'd be the only one left.

Jace and Isabelle held their breath together, listening to Adam's decision. His eyes darted to the bleeding Lyall. And as I thought about last night, how Lyall's drinks had conjured that melancholy on Adam's face, every dark emotion washed away from him as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice cold water over his head.

"Will You swear that my family remains unharmed?"

Oh, Adam, my dear Adam. My stomach did a somersault, plummeting into the depths as if I were in a nosedive like a shooting star.

If everyone is swimming to the right, how can you even think about going left?

"I swear it by the Angel." Our father had rarely sworn – in the past. Today he seemed to trade oaths like currency, as if they weren't the most sacred of vows. A defilement of our ancestors. A defilement of our creators.

"I want more than that." I listened to Adam's well-formulated words and automatically thought of his reserved parents at the ball. Just as Valentine used oaths, his parents had taught Adam that the right words were worth their weight in gold. He would not really betray me like that, would he? Had his confessions yesterday, under the influence of alcohol, also all been perfidious, carefully considered words? "You surely saw what the Clave did to me after the truth about my whereabouts at the New York Institute came out. You know that I was Clary's best friend before I was exposed. I have been working in Your mission."

At the same time, I wondered if he would betray my father like that. Like he had betrayed all of us. In light of his words, an idea formed in my head. The thing about Adam was that you never really knew who he was truly fooling. And I braced myself for the worst. Because without expectations, you could not be caught off guard.

I always knew what I was doin' was wrong. I just didn't dare to change anythin'.

The next exchanges between Adam and Valentine were drowned out by the noise in my head, as well as by the protest that awakened in Isabelle and was swiftly silenced by Jonathan. I could hardly imagine the rage that must have been unleashed in Jace and Isabelle at Adam's first sign of betrayal – especially on my behalf.

"You think I will kill you if I do not like your truth?" Valentine, who had understood what Adam was asking, was at his wit's end. Rightly so, even if it was his own fault. He delayed summoning Raziel for too long. But for us, for his own flesh and blood, he accepted this. In the past, I would have been grateful – I would have convinced myself that this was a sign of his love for us.

"The truth isn't necessarily pretty," Adam said. More words escaped his mouth, but I didn't register a single one of them.

It was at that moment that I realized that Adam's attempt to gain my father's trust was an act. How difficult it was not to raise the corners of my mouth in a knowing smile.

The truth isn't necessarily pretty. Adam was quoting me, and even though I knew he cared about me, it baffled me. Had Valentine realized he could make such an impression on other people and decided to use it to his advantage? Was I like him – did I leave an impression on others, whether for better or worse?

Valentine, who saw through most people, didn't see through Adam. Perhaps it was Adam's destiny to betray all of the Morgensterns. This wasn't the plan. Valentine placed Mellartach flat on Adam's palms and asked him the question that made everything fall. This wasn't the plan, but this was time bought. If Alec's group was still out there. If not, then we would soon have to act ourselves anyway. Coming into the camp with these captives had dangerously delayed our schedule. Without them, we could have taken care of the protection spell long ago.

The deaths of Clarissa and Jonathan Morgenstern hit Valentine hard. It was strange, almost uncomfortable, to watch his mind chew through the meaning of the words. By now I knew grief when I saw it. But grief and regret weren't the same thing. Pain. Loss.

I recognized his regret in the same breath in which he said the words, "They fell honorably, both of them. Just as I always planned for them." At the same time, however, I also recognized his inability to feel anything more. He simply could not.

As if by magic, I thought of my mother's story at the very beginning of our journey, when she had revealed to me the truth of all truths.

One day, Valentine's parents were killed in a demon attack. It changed him. The development of his plan, the obliteration of all demonic creatures, was his top priority ever since.

Maybe he had learned to shut down his feelings completely. Maybe that first key event was the reason he didn't want to feel anymore. Why he taught us the same thing. Maybe the death of his own parents had changed Valentine so much that every subsequent loss since then could not make up for the first. How strange, considering that every loss had caused another crack in my wall of emotionlessness.

More words followed, but I heard none. Apparently, the fact that our father probably saw us as tools rather than people was getting to me more than expected. He was my father. A term I had respected so much for so long. Almost all my memories were connected to this man. Much more than to my mother. And yet I had not known him at all. And yet my mother had stayed with him, eighteen years long.

The deafening explosion came so unexpectedly that my flinch wasn't even feigned. With the axe at the ready, I spun halfway to the right. The ground shook as if it wanted to throw us all off. The shock wave pushed me to the left and my feet stumbled as they searched for support. Dark blue smoke spread like a blanket of fog through the camp, from which Alec and Maia emerged a few seconds later.

While the camp broke out into general battle preparations, Adam smuggled the Angel Blade into Isabelle's hands. She clutched the huge hilt, stood in Valentine's way, grinning, and swung it threateningly. The anger, alive like a poisonous snake, he was able to dodge just enough so that the tip of the heavenly sword only scratched him. It changed nothing. Blood flowed and it was Valentine Morgenstern's.

I would have loved to reveal my identity at that very moment. I would have loved to run to Isabelle's side. But we had a plan that we had to stick to. So that we didn't play all our cards at once. Because Valentine could still turn the tables if we made rash, spontaneous decisions. And so Jonathan and I continued to play the show.

The captives saw the arrival of their remaining unit as a sign to fight for their freedom. Jonathan had disappeared from my side because Isabelle had disappeared and he no longer had any excuse to stay. He had probably already mingled with the tangle of renegades. But I could not just leave.

Jace was halfway to his feet, but my fingers continued to dig into his shoulders. Had they been there the whole time? My grip was lacking in firmness. No holding back, just a touch. Because it calmed me down to feel him. How foolish of me. How obvious if Valentine had had eyes for Vanessa Ashdown. Fortunately, he had been busy elsewhere.

Jace, who saw me as nothing more than Blake's cousin, easily escaped my fingertips. Much too slowly, my eyes fixed on Isabelle and my father, he focused in the center of my field of vision. Stupid, because while I perceived his closeness as reassuring, the feeling was of course not reciprocated. The kick in my stomach, the second today, gave me a new pair of bruised ribs. Nothing that an Iratze like earlier in the forest could not fix. Again, pain reminded me of Blake Ashdown's torture chamber and it seemed only fair that I had to endure such pain while Jace had to look into Vanessa Ashdown's face.

"Now you're not so brave anymore, are you?" laughed Jace. A malicious storm was brewing in his eyes.

Running away from him made no sense. How foolish of me to think that I could just disappear as silently as Jonathan. Jace would never let Vanessa go. I raised my arms in a gesture of peace. "Jace ..." I would have to tell him. Would, because we had no time. Because otherwise he would stand in my way until he killed me. And I was sure that he was the only one on this battlefield who could actually kill me today. Apart from Valentine, Vanessa Ashdown was the epitome of his rage.

"The Ashdowns all seem to have some sort of luck with their endings," Jace continued with brutal calm. I was so focused on his superhuman rage – the unruly golden curls, the hard edges of his jaw, the golden glow of his eyes – that my father could have died under Isabelle's blade without me noticing. "Compared to their sins, they meet a most painless death."

Plan or no plan. I had no choice. I had to tell Jace the truth. Jonathan would understand. Did it even matter now? "Jace, listen to me–"

The second explosion was no less sudden than the first. Again the beach collectively staggered, but this time the sky staggered along with it. As if this dimension was collapsing. Valentine roared at the sky in defiance. The stars flickered like a flame hungry for oxygen. Then the protective wall that had been created around the Brocelind forest fell.

And while someone in the distance shouted their joy into the cool night, while Jace had his back half turned to me, distracted, the portal finally flickered to life. So close to Valentine that I almost fell to my knees in relief. My legs swayed threateningly and I wanted to whisper to them that the hardest part was over.

Our doppelgangers crossed the water-like surface, stepped onto the beach and immediately fixed their gaze on Valentine, on whose face, for the very first time, something like fear was reflected.

-

This chapter is particularly long. Nothing new happens plot-wise — we're simply retelling the events from Clary's perspective. I debated for a long time whether to include it at all since, technically, nothing really happens. In the end, I decided to keep it. Feel free to let me know if you found it interesting or rather unnecessary! Other than that... the next chapter is going to be very intense!

See you
Skyllen