Baelerithon watched impassively as Rayce lifted away from the Hunters after his shaky attempt to assert his command. It was easy to mark the signs of exhaustion in his brother's features and to look past his veneer of control; the Shadowhunter would break under the strain soon, and then it would be time to strike.

The other Faeries around him moved slowly, none of them in any great hurry to obey Rayce's orders. He had failed to specify a timeline for his wishes despite his increasing care with his words. Bael pursed his lips and shook his head disdainfully to himself. I never had much hope for one so tainted by Mortal blood, but I did try, Mother.

Vindictus was still laughing quietly with another of the Hunters as Fiorinor casually inspected the chipped length of the sword he carried. All three of the Fey looked up as Bael approached, wary of their newest brother. They were among those the former prince had marked out as having weaker familial bonds to the others, and were therefore less likely to retaliate against him for the losses the Hunt had suffered during the retaking of the Seelie Court. He felt Kieran's watchful presence at his back, a silent ally lending credibility to Bael's words without over-committing himself. Smarter than I gave him credit for, Bael noted with surprise.

"Vindictus, Fiorinor, Arctos," he greeted them cautiously, not yet daring to call them brothers, but still confident enough to use the names he had been so carefully collecting.

"Prince Baelerithon," Vindictus replied graciously with a slight nod. Unexpected, but not unwelcome. The Faerie was familiar to him, having been a member of the Unseelie Court up until barely two Mortal years earlier when he had been revealed to have been attempting to reach for the King's crown. Vindictus was hardly a novice when it came to spinning subterfuge, and Bael was pleased to find that the other man seemed to hold some degree of respect for his own bid for the throne.

The sallow, satyr-hooved Faerie at his side spat into the red and purple grasses at their feet, but declined to offer either an open insult or a greeting. Fair enough.

Arctos rolled his eyes and left the other two without a word.

Bael caught the quick flick of Vindictus' eyes as he took Kieran's measure over the former Crown Prince's wingless shoulder. He tried to read the armoured Faerie's reaction to judge if it was favourable, but the Unseelie was skilled at hiding his emotions.

Vindictus lifted a finger to forestall Baelerithon. "Allow me to guess. You are seeking allies to help you bring down your brother and strip that cloak from his shoulders. You know that you cannot best him in fair combat, and so now you require smoke and mirrors to distract him while you weave in closer for the kill."

Bael spread his hands in acceptance. "Smoke and mirrors would not avail me long against you, my Lord, though they seem simple enough to fool my brother." Pride had been Vindictus' weakness at Court, as evidenced by his continued use of a silver-filigree coronet that marked a lesser Lord of the Unseelie. The King would likely have stripped it from him before consigning him to the Hunt, save that it would serve as a cruel reminder of what had been lost. Bael had read it all in the other Faerie while matching up pieces of what he knew of him, and it all paid off as Vindictus' lips twitched up in pleasure at hearing his old title once more.

"Many simple things would likely fool your brother, Prince Baelerithon. Your mother should not have bred so far beneath herself with the Morgenstern boy." The Hunter's pale blue and black eyes narrowed as he refocused on Bael. "I, however, am capable of small leaps in reasoning. The cloak can only be worn by one man, and I am uninterested in helping a Seelie claim it."

Adopting a smile touched with faint, and false, amusement, Bael masked his disappointment and touched his brow lightly before murmuring, "A pity, my Lord." He turned away and plainly saw displeasure in Kieran's eyes as their first attempt to reel in more co-conspirators failed. Seeing the foolish Unseelie child daring to pass judgement on him brought his temper up for a moment before he crushed it ruthlessly. Time is on my side.

"Prince Baelerithon," Vindictus called quietly, laying a finger to his lips when Bael looked back. "It may amuse us to play at being smoke and mirrors if the opportunity should arise." He grinned wickedly and the broken prince returned the smile gratefully with a nod of thanks. Too quickly, Vindictus, Bael mused happily. If you think it will be easier to win the cloak from me once my brother is dead, you are gravely mistaken.

Kieran opened his mouth, no doubt to ask about the sudden reversal of their fortune, but a hard stare from Bael silenced him. The Seelie summoned his grey mount from the ether and swung himself up into the saddle to follow the sledge behind his unlikely ally's steed deeper into the Eternal Forest where the trees awaited their macabre meal.

At least two others had noticed the quiet exchange, and Bael met their contrasting looks boldly. A spill of midnight-blue hair concealed the shining eye of the Hunter who called himself Azad so that only one black orb watched curiously from further back in the trees. His dusky face was brushed with mischievous delight as he continued to mentally advance the pieces on the chessboard of the Hunt after assessing the interaction. Bael had marked him out as a loner, but the fact remained that he had marked him out. His play-style was more similar to Bael's own than any other Hunter, and as such, the prince had resolved to keep a wary eye on him.

The other Hunter who had paid attention frowned quietly at Baelerithon. Caelus had seemed to have developed a strange attachment to Rayce in his short tenure as Lord of the Hunt, and Bael was still uncertain if the Unseelie was manipulating his way closer to their cagey leader, or if there truly was a budding friendship growing between the two.

Heeling his mount forward, the broken prince looked away from Caelus nonchalantly. The Unseelie King had thrown too many of his sons to the Hunt over the centuries, but there had been a great number of voices raised again Caelus' banishment when Bael had been barely more than a teenager. He didn't know many of the details, but the soft-spoken Unseelie had been sentenced following a farce of a trial on a thin accusation.

I'll learn your play soon enough, Bael promised.

Kieran looked around carefully before casting a sideways glance at the former Crown Prince. "How much longer until we attack?" He unconsciously stroked the hilt of the enchanted dagger at his side and Bael saw the red line of the new scar running across the back of Kieran's right hand. It would be the last thing to heal. Except, perhaps, for his pride. He was still far too eager to take revenge for his humiliation at Rayce's hands.

"Patience, Prince Kieran," Bael said soothingly. "It won't be long now."

Rayce's black horse snorted flames as he raced through the unreal sky of deep Faerie, scanning the Forest below for the familiar blue hue of his sly brother. He saw other Hunters look up as he blew past overhead, but they did not call out or halt in their grisly task of feeding the carnivorous trees. Whether they could sense his mood or simply didn't care, none dared to challenge the Lord of the Hunt now.

Idiot! Rayce howled at himself. How could he have been so blind even after Bael had been revealed as a traitor? He felt his heart give an extra thump in his chest as he thought about Sera, and he silently thanked her again for helping him to see the truth before it was too late. At least, I hope it isn't too late.

He slowed his mount as caution replaced anger. Baelerithon was a clever opponent. It was quite possible that he had already set contingencies in place in case his duplicity was discovered before he could strike. Why can't he just leave me alone? Why do they all want this terrible burden?

History repeats itself, Gwyn whispered in response from the back of Rayce's mind. Memories flickered to life, ancient recollections from when the Hunt had been only a handful of Faeries serving their eternal sentences. A flash of silver hair, heavy chains, and a shrinking circle of light around a lonely cairn deep in the Forest teased at the edge of Rayce's mind.

Fascinated, he didn't shove them away as he usually would. Gwyn's sadness became his own as Rayce watched the shadow of the big Faerie in his mind pass his own justice on a rebellious brother long ago. His anger cooled and was replaced by rock-steady resolve.

History repeats itself, he agreed with the dead man.

Seconds ticked by as he searched for his brother and Rayce fought down his uneasiness about not knowing how much time was passing in the Mortal world. How long had it been since he had woken from Sera's dream? Could he afford to linger? Perhaps only seconds have passed, he hoped desperately.

Bael's unfamiliar profile came into view below, missing the great raven-feather wings that Rayce was so accustomed to seeing. He surveyed the area around his brother and caught sight of Kieran hauling the burned body of a Mundane off a sledge. Coincidence? I think not, brother.

Rayce dove from the sky and landed his mount heavily behind Bael, trampling red and purple stalks under smoking hooves. Both Faeries turned in surprise at his arrival, but Rayce didn't give them any chance to recover themselves. His right hand crushed around his brother's throat and then he shifted them both away from the Unseelie.

Again and again, Rayce shifted through the Forest, each new jump bringing them closer to his goal without leaving a trace for the others to follow if they were so inclined. Bael didn't even have the luxury of struggling in his grasp; the suffocating pressure of each shift was completely disorienting to someone unused to the sensation and not born to it as Rayce was. When the Shadowhunter finally stopped shifting, he threw his brother down contemptuously at the base of a carefully-stacked cairn of stones.

Bael coughed and rubbed at his throat in amazement, shocked by his brother's unexpected attack. His black and amber eyes blinked in confusion as he took in their surroundings. A natural clearing, a little over a hundred feet across, was surrounded by the horrific trees of the Eternal Forest and bordered on one edge by a small stream that likely flowed from the great river that cut through this part of deep Faerie. The stones behind him were weathered with age and scarred deeply in places. Two long, heavy, black chains trailed from anchor points within the rock, and Bael felt a thrill of fear in his stomach. This place felt... evil. Perhaps he had waited too long. But if I can just reach him...

"Don't move, brother," Rayce warned in a low, deadly voice, wary of his brother's tricks. "You will not touch me."

Bael felt his muscles lock as his brother crouched down in front of him and patted down his clothing. The thrill of fear became a twinge of dread. He knows. His desire to squirm away was squashed by his brother's command. Rayce drew a long, thin object from within Bael's tunic and looked down at the stele with resigned disappointment in his eyes.

"Where is the note?"

Bael's eyes widened. But how does he know? Rayce's right hand shot out and slapped him across the face.

"Where is the note?" He repeated. "Answer me."

"Burned," Bael sputtered, reeling.

"What did it say? The exact words, nothing omitted or added." Rayce was very still, a dangerous calm that did little to conceal the storm inside of him.

The broken prince narrowed his eyes, but was compelled to answer. "R, don't go to the Unseelie Court if you can avoid it. If you have to go, don't be an idiot! Keep your mouth shut! Smile and nod if you have to! I dreamed that the King had you whipped. This was my mother's stele - I saw that you might need it. Don't give up, I'm working on it. All my love, always, S."

Rayce closed his eyes as his brother confirmed his suspicions and damned himself with every word. He rose and rubbed his temples.

"Why did you keep the stele?"

Bael watched him carefully, frozen in place. "It may have become a useful bargaining chip later." He would have shrugged if he could have moved. "Do I correctly assume that 'S' is the girl who wrote the first letter to Zeke? He said her name was Sera."

Visibly shaking, Rayce's fingers tightened around the stele in his hand. "When?"

Bael smiled inwardly. Whatever his brother had in mind, this could be the last chance to sow seeds of doubt. "When we were held prisoner by Malchezed. We spoke of many fascinating things, brother. Of crowns and thrones, blood and succession."

"You need not concern yourself with crowns and thrones now, Bael," Rayce said sadly, Gwyn's sorrow bleeding through his voice to weigh down each word. "And you should never have reached for what you did not understand." He touched the clasp of the cloak.

"You were never born to lead," Bael sneered arrogantly. "You were born to perform tricks and amuse audiences, nothing more than a trained pet. I was born to rule."

Shaking his head as he looked away, Rayce could hear Gwyn's voice during their duel in his mind, and he didn't even realize that he was whispering the same words now, "You don't know what it means to wear this cloak, princeling." His voice deepened slightly and changed, taking on an older accent and cadence that Bael didn't recognize. "It has been my burden to bear for centuries."

Confused, Bael's eyes searched his brother's face and he gasped when Rayce looked back at him and they locked eyes. Something was there, deep inside, stirring.

"What you do not understand is that the Hunt is nothing more than a living prison," Rayce continued in a haunting double-voice that was both his own and something more. "And no matter what I may wish to the contrary, I am the warden of that prison." He advanced on Bael slowly, and it seemed as if the twisted trees around the clearing leaned forward to listen more closely.

"If a prisoner can no longer be trusted with the general population," he reached down to brush the heavy chains in the grass and they sprang to life at his touch, open manacles snapping shut seamlessly around Bael's wrists in less than a second. "Then the prisoner must be kept isolated so that they may do no further harm."

Tiny pinpricks of pain jabbed at the inside of Bael's wrists and he felt a slow-burning sting creep up through his arms like poison in his veins as it spread through him. He felt the paralysis enforced by his brother's command fade as the chains secured a far more unbreakable hold on him. Panic sent his heart racing and it must have shown on his face because Rayce raised his hand for silence.

"I'm not going to kill you, brother. You don't deserve it." He pointed back at the cairn that anchored the chains. "This will be all that is left to you."

Bael twisted around to get a better look at the stones and then noticed that the scratches he had mistaken before as weathering and scarring were far too evenly-spaced to have occurred naturally. They had been made by fingernails. Unable to contain his rising horror, Bael screamed and pushed himself away from the marker, backing into Rayce's shins in his haste. He looked up and wished he hadn't.

Shadows fell across the half-Faerie's face even in the absence of anything to cast them, and in the flickering patches of darkness, Bael saw the ghostly features of Gwyn ap Nudd, and knew at once that the chilling voice rolling out of Rayce was influenced by the dead man.

"The stories have forgotten my brother Matias, and few are left to wonder why he does not ride among us now. His fate shall now be yours."

Panting in fear, Bael scrabbled backwards away from his brother and the shadow of the former Lord of the Hunt until the ancient chains brought him to a halt on the far side of the cairn. He felt safer with something, anything, between himself and the monster before him. What's happening to him?

Rayce vanished, shifting forward to stand over his brother's prostrate form, and he lifted a finger in judgement.

"Let madness be your mother, emptiness your only friend, and loneliness your wedded partner. No more shall you answer the call of the Horn, nor shall you ride the endless winds of the world. Here you shall remain, chained as a traitor by the power of the Hunt, and forgotten by your brothers as Matias was before you. The years are long in deep Faerie, and you will have centuries to mourn all that you have lost."

He lifted his eyes to the silent sentinels standing at attention all around the clearing, twisted faces in the bark of their trunks yawning in endless screams, and then fixed his bifurcated gaze back on Bael one last time. "The Eternal Forest is a capricious companion; perhaps she will teach you to survive on the ley magic of the earth, or perhaps she will find that you are a helpless morsel when her hunger grows too fierce. Either way, I care not. You are dead to me, brother. May Heaven have mercy on your soul."

In a swirl of flames, Rayce summoned and mounted his dread steed with a thought and galloped away from Matias' grave and Bael's new prison. The rush of the wind buried whatever his brother screamed after him, but he didn't spare any more energy for the doomed prince. All of his thoughts turned to Sera as he sped through the darkening sky back toward the Mortal realm.

I'm coming, Sera.

Violet lightning streaked sideways across the boiling clouds in the burned-out night sky over the demon city of Pandemonium. Thunder followed almost immediately as the clouds churned in a tempest high above the snarling pit of monsters below. A tower built of rough-cut black basalt rose from the city, and a silvery light glowed from a balcony near the very top.

Inside the circular chamber, Asmodeus dismissed the images from the great scrying portal that shone between two ancient stone colonnades. The surface of the stones was carved in miniscule detail to capture the complicated demonic glyphs necessary to power the Oculus of Pandemonium, through which Greater Demons could turn their gaze on nearly any world, through any dimension they could reach.

He bent over an aged tome on a marble plinth and ran one pale finger down a line of incomprehensible text, the dull light of the scrying portal reflecting off the white enamel of his immaculate armour. Silver flies decorated the vambrances strapped around his wrists as a reminder to any who would not recognize one of the Nine Princes of Hell in his full regalia.

In stark contrast, Lilith stormed up the curving staircase that led to the Oculus clad in a long, clinging black dress of sheer lace that left little to the imagination. The dangerously-high slit of the dress swished angrily as she stamped up the stone steps barefoot, her soles dirtied by the filth below.

"Another failure, Asmodeus," she snapped. "I'm beginning to regret coming to you to share my prize. Your attacks are doing nothing!"

Annoyance flickered across his bone-white face and coloured his voice. "Nothing that you can see," he corrected her. He sighed faintly and continued under his breath, "This is why women are not made for war."

Lilith's eyes flashed with fury, and she gestured sharply at the Oculus portal. "You are clearly not made for war either! Look at what is defeating all of your precious plans!" The faces of two Nephilim men came into focus, one fair-haired and speaking animatedly while the dark-haired one listened with a serious expression. "It's them, again! Older, no longer the children they were when they murdered my son, but it's them!" Her voice rose to a screech, "I want them dead!"

"Your creature was a flawed failure - I simply cannot understand why you were so attached to him." Asmodeus waved dismissively at the images of the two Nephilim. "The Mortals are of little concern to me."

Nostrils flaring, Lilith shifted the angle of the image so that another face appeared, dark eyes worried behind glasses as he scrubbed a hand back through his messy hair.

"Does this not concern you? I do believe that you intended for him to remain separated from his Shadowhunter friends to prolong their heartache, but they found a way around it. Now he's one of them, and fighting to defend against your attacks."

Asmodeus frowned as he looked at the former Daylighter. His memories had been a rich bounty, and his immortality, freely given, had been ecstasy to feed upon. But Lilith was correct; there had been no happy reunion with his friends in the bargain.

She saw that she had touched a nerve, and held her frustration carefully in check. Dealing with Asmodeus had to be handled delicately; charging in head-on would have the opposite effect she was seeking. Her voice dropped to a purr as she slipped closer to the other demon and trailed a finger down his pristine white breastplate.

"You're absolutely right, Asmodeus." Her black eyes, snake-free today, looked up at him apologetically. "I'm not fit to properly wage war on Earth. I may still be unable to walk their world for decades more, but I can fly and I can see." Her power in their world had been broken once before, but she had continued to observe the Nephilim in her owl form.

The view in the Oculus slipped sideways a little bit further and a cat-eyed warlock came into view. Asmodeus leaned forward eagerly and a smile curled up one side of his mouth.

Got you, Lilith smirked to herself as her ally took in the familiar face of one of his many children, who had already twice escaped him. She fully intended that there not be a third escape for the troublesome warlock. She had watched as he had provided powerful cover from the dragon fire that should have put an end to their little coterie of rebels.

"Your son and his precious Nephilim are the ones leading the main defense against your strikes. Cut off the head..." she trailed off meaningfully as the silent image of the warlock drew closer until only he was visible. "And perhaps you will capture a prize to sweeten the deal."

Asmodeus nodded thoughtfully, considering the options. It was almost too good to resist. In one strike, he could remove the commanders of the Nephilim, get revenge for the circumvention of his punishment for the Daylighter, and find a rich boost of vitality by finally draining his son. It was tempting...

...too tempting. He lowered his green-gold eyes from the Oculus to where Lilith was looking up at him expectantly.

"Acting in emotion-driven haste is your province, Lady Lilith, not mine." Asmodeus banished the images of the Nephilim from the scrying portal and turned back to the long column he had been examining when she had interrupted him. "I'm too close to completing my preparations."

Gaping, Lilith spun on him, her temporary control evaporating. "And what exactly," she seethed, "will you be doing that requires so much of your attention? You've done nothing!"

Asmodeus clucked his tongue at her and smirked. "Temper, temper," he warned, waving a finger at her. "As I said before, nothing that you can see, and I very much doubt that the Mortals have noticed either. Besides, thousands of humans have already been slain just through my manoeuvring - I haven't even begun to strike yet. Collateral damage," he scoffed.

"Billions more remain," she reminded him darkly. "The wards will not remain weakened forever. Even now, they are regenerating. They will not wait for you to finish manoeuvring."

Sighing in resignation, Asmodeus brought his hands together as if cupping an invisible ball, and a glowing blue globe appeared between them. "Since you are making it increasingly clear that you will not cease pestering me, allow me to show you what you have not seen."

The ball expanded as he drew his hands outward to enlarge the globe, and the continents of Earth appeared swiftly. The globe spun lazily between his palms as he concentrated.

"I pushed hundreds of thousands of demons through the wards around Earth, feeding them into a metaphorical, seraphic meat-grinder. Only a fraction of them survived, as we had anticipated, but they had their orders, plain and clear." Red dots appeared all over the globe like a pox of demons upon the world.

"My initial strikes against Mortal cities drew the Shadowhunters quickly, and even showed that they could, to some extent, possibly sense where my legions were breaking through. I had to be more careful." His eyes glowed, reflecting the blue and red light of the globe in his hands. "The next wave was scattered all over their world, far from their strongholds, and the demons that survived the culling of the wards had commands to immediately vacate the areas where they broke through."

He looked over at where Lilith was waiting with baited breath. "I imagine," he said dryly, "that if you were watching, you may have seen the Nephilim stretching their forces thinly while finding no trace of my demons." She nodded, having watched many of the so-called Centurions coming up empty-handed and frustrated.

Asmodeus glanced down at the red spots once more. "The forerunners will make ready the path for those who wait," he whispered reverently. "These are the weakest points in their world's wards right now, and many are presently covered by one or two of the survivors. At my command, they will spill their blood in a globally-united ritual of sacrifice." He clapped his palms together and the world vanished. "It will be enough to tear the barriers between the realms in those areas so that the third wave..." A smile laced with deadly promise spread across his lips as he arched an eyebrow suggestively and he left the rest unsaid.

"Asmodeus..." Lilith breathed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Forgive me."

He bowed his head graciously to accept the apology. "It won't matter if they have a way of knowing where the breaches occur," he said as he clenched his right hand into a fist. "There will be too many to count."

"And what of the Nephilim leaders? And your whelp?" She prompted him carefully, bringing the Oculus back to life so that her son's murderers were visible once more.

Asmodeus drew himself up to his full height and lovingly stroked the hilt of the Hell-forged sword belted at his side.

"If they become a problem," he promised, "I will deal with them personally."

Rayce rode into a light drizzle as he crossed the border into Idris with the sun setting at his back, and the clouds coming in from the east looked like they would be bringing a lot more rain soon. With a pang of regret, he remembered the last storm he had been caught in and the taste of rain on Sera's neck.

The glow of the demon towers appeared ahead of him as he raced toward the otherwise-darkened skyline of Alicante. Once he was closer, he urged his mount lower and gasped when he saw the extent of the devastation.

Charred ruins criss-crossed the city like scars, blackened stones jutting out of heaps of rubble where the intense heat of magically-enhanced fire had burned away everything else. Shattered glass twinkled on the slick cobblestone streets in the light of the towers where windows had been blown out by the first explosions that had rocked the city. The canals were choked with debris pressing up against iron grates in the currents and there was the faint stink of foul water that was no longer circulating properly. Rayce felt sick as he took in the ruination wrought by the Fey, and he tried to fix his first memories of beautiful Alicante in his mind instead of the wasted wreck below.

Gwyn's memories showed him a younger Alicante, when it had been little more than the original building that had stood where the current Gard now rose over the city, but Rayce pushed the Faerie away. He still didn't understand what had happened in the clearing with his brother, and he wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to.

Bael saw it too, Rayce tried to reassure himself. I'm not completely crazy yet. His thoughts drifted toward his father and he shook his head violently. No. Both of you can just stay out of my head right now. Below the Gard, Sera was waiting for him.

And the Hunt is waiting for you in the Eternal Forest, Gwyn warned him despite his wishes. Rayce winced. He had ordered them to remain there until he returned, and stipulated that no one could leave until he gave the order. The horn nestled against his side under the cloak could summon them to his command, but then what? Every day would be a struggle until one of them succeeded in killing him. Better to leave them right where they were until he had devised a better strategy. Or until the Forest demands another feeding, he thought darkly.

The streets of Alicante were deserted as he circled the Gard once and took note of a few figures moving around inside. He wondered if any of them was the new Consul that Sera had mentioned. His hands tightened on the reins at the thought and he forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly. He needed to be focused and clear. Sera first.

When it became clear that there was no one on duty outside, he landed lightly on the springy patch of lawn bordering the front steps and dismissed his steed with a thought. He pulled out the stele Sera had left for him and took a deep breath before pressing it against his forearm to begin Marking himself.

Every line burned as he drew each rune, and he gritted his teeth, regretting his Faerie blood as he did every time he set a stele to his flesh. Sera's touch had never hurt him, but he welcomed the pain as he hissed through his teeth. He had no idea what she had been doing since he had left her on Seraphine's balcony, but he was beginning to suspect that she had suffered far worse. Any amount of pain was worth the cost if it meant freeing her.

Once his arms were covered in the curving lines of the Marks, he added a few more for good measure down the sides of his abdomen and noted absently that he seemed thinner than he had been. He couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. The Hunt was consuming him.

He slipped the stele down into his boot for safe-keeping, determined not to lose this one. A spill of light rippled down the steps of the Gard as the doors opened and a Shadowhunter hurried down the stairs, lighting a cigarette as he went. He didn't see Rayce crouched in the shadows next to the stairs, and Rayce let him pass.

A minute later, his fresh Soundless rune let him run up the stairs silently, and he listened at the great doors of the Gard for a moment before pushing one open and slipping inside.

Deep below the Gard, Sera opened her eyes and gasped. She had been dreaming of a demon in brilliant white armour caressing a world laced with poison in his hands, but the dream had gone black and then flashed to an image of Rayce stalking through the empty prison block where he had managed to shift them out of the Gard entirely the last time they had been here.

"Steven," she called anxiously. "Steven, wake up."

The mostly-Mundane groaned and lifted his chained hands to his face to gingerly feel the extent of the swelling again.

"Uggghhh," he muttered. "I was better off asleep where I couldn't feel this."

"He's coming," she hissed, trying to wiggle up to a sitting position. Her entire body ached from spending the day laying still brutally bound, and her stomach growled threateningly with hunger.

"Everett?" Steven tensed up.

"No, Rayce!" She managed to roll over onto one hip and swivel up to her knees. Her head swam with dizziness and she concentrated on her breathing.

"Damn, that worked?"

"Apparently."

Steven shifted against the wall and grimaced. "Speaking of not feeling this, on a scale of one to bad, how bad is it that my legs are kind of numb right now?"

Sera's heart broke as she looked at his battered face smiling as he attempted to crack jokes for her benefit, but she forced herself to sound positive. "Probably only like, a three, you big wuss. Maybe you just slept weird."

"Yeah, maybe," he agreed quickly, trying to rub some feeling back into his legs.

The sound of the locking bolt drawing back on the door of the cell made Sera's heart leap into her throat, as the the last time she had heard it, it had been Everett coming to gloat. But the nearly burnt-out stubs of the torches threw just enough light to see Rayce's shock of white hair as he pushed it open, and her face broken into a smile so wide it almost hurt.

Her grateful cry of, "Rayce!" was absolutely obliterated by the high-pitched scream of an alarm rune being tripped. Deafening blasts echoed off the stone of the cell, and Steven's hands shot up to cover his ears. Sera didn't have that luxury.

Rayce froze when he saw her kneeling in the centre of the room, her clothes dirty from lying in the filth on the floor, and her face smudged with muck. Gold and platinum waves of hair were stuck to her forehead and neck, and her lips were cracked with dryness. A bruise had bloomed high on her cheek where Everett had backhanded her earlier.

He absorbed all of it in an instant, and in the next, he reached over his shoulder for his double-bladed staff, the shriek of the alarm in his ears muted by the rush of blood as his anger surged back to life. Two quick cuts freed her wrists and elbows and her gasp of relief was lost in the shrill pulses of the alarm rune that must have been placed outside to detect if the door was opened without the rune being deactivated first.

Rayce gestured for her to stretch out the short length of chain keeping her tethered to the floor and then he brought the dual electrum and adamas blade down with a powerful blow that shattered the links.

Steven had curled up with his hands over his ears, but Sera grabbed the chain that ran from the collar around his neck to the wall and Rayce smashed it open as well. She tried to pull her friend to his feet, but his legs shook and he collapsed in a heap.

"We have to get out of here!" Sera shouted at Rayce over the din. "I'll help him, you get us clear!" Unable to help herself she grabbed two handfuls of the cloak that she hated so much and pulled him toward her to press a fierce kiss to his lips for a moment before breaking away again. "Same rules! No killing!"

She lifted Steven's arms over her head, inwardly relieved that his wrists were still chained together so that he wouldn't have to hang on. Rayce looked dazed by the unexpected kiss, but he shook it off and pulled out the witchlight stone from inside his cloak. Stroking the back of his fingers down Sera's face gently, he pressed the light into her hand and it blazed to life. Smiling faintly, Rayce adjusted his grip on his staff before splitting it into its two halves.

He led them back out through the cell door with Steven shuffling as best he could while leaning heavily on Sera. She wrapped one arm around his waist despite her own discomfort, witchlight shining brightly. Once clear of the cell, she used her free hand to press an iratze into the side of her neck and she felt relief begin to spread down through her body.

Rayce pulled ahead as Steven slowed her down, and so he was alone when he reached the regular prison block once more and found three Shadowhunters pounding down the corridor of bars from the other end, seraph blades in hand.

No killing, Sera's voice repeated in his mind. The bruise on her face had stoked his wrath to a blaze in his chest, but he couldn't disobey her. He dropped the halves of his staff, and even before they clattered to the stone, he had vanished, shifting behind the farthest of the three. His hands clamped down on the man's shoulders and then he shifted again, this time into one of the empty cells. He released his hold on the Shadowhunter and then disappeared again, taking the seraph blade with him to drop outside the cell.

The other two Nephilim could barely follow his movements in the semi-darkness of the prison block that was lit only by their blades and the poor light coming in through the small windows. He was simply there one moment and gone the next, and it was the retching of their companion in a cell behind them that made them spin to confront Rayce.

Too slow for his rune-enhanced speed, Rayce caught the female Shadowhunter around the waist and shifted away again, cutting short her gasp of surprise as he left her behind bars, heaving and weaponless as well.

Sera and Steven limped around the bend to see the third Shadowhunter backing away from Rayce toward them and flailing wildly with his seraph blade in an attempt to blindly ward off a third strike.

"Demon spawn!" The Nephilim warrior spat at Rayce.

Shifting forward inside the other man's reach, the Lord of the Hunt clamped down on the wrist of the hand wielding the seraph blade and bared his teeth. "Kind of." He twisted the Shadowhunter's wrist sharply and the seraph blade winked out as it hit the floor with the other two just as Rayce deposited him in his own cell.

All three of the Clave Shadowhunters were on their hands and knees vomiting as Rayce scooped up the two halves of his staff.

"Ooh, I know that voice," Steven said gleefully, straining to sound strong. "Not so tough now, are you, Evil Henchman Number One?"

Sera lifted her eyebrow at Steven. "Care to share?"

"He was with Everett when they grabbed me in Vegas. Two Shadowhunters to take down a blind guy. Must be embarrassing." He stuck his tongue out in Jay Ravenkey's general direction as the man heaved again. "Consul's lapdog sounds like he needs a barf bag - what the hell happened?"

"Consul's lapdog," Rayce murmured thoughtfully. "Then that means the bastard is probably still here." He took off running before Sera could catch the edge of his cloak, and he shifted ahead in his haste to catch Everett while he was cornered.

Everett lowered his fist and exhaled slowly in delight as he opened his eyes. He looked down in satisfaction at the Tracking rune emblazoned across the back of his left hand and then uncurled his fingers slowly to reveal that warlock bitch's hair in the light of the lone desk lamp.

What could you possibly be up to on Wrangel Island? The messages he had received from the Blackthorn girl and the much more strongly-worded warnings from her Penhallow consort suddenly made much more sense. Working together to try to screw me over, girls?

"Cartwright!" He barked at the closed door of his office, summoning the man outside.

"Yes, Consul?" Jon answered coolly.

"I want you to pull together a team, at least a dozen, to go to Wrangel Island." Everett braced his hands on the desk, casually letting the warlock's hair fall before Cartwright could notice and ask unnecessary questions.

"Now, sir?"

"Yes, Cartwright, now!" Everett snapped irritably. "I want you to arrest the Blackthorn and Penhallow girls immediately, and anyone else they may be harbouring on that frozen rock. At the very least, they have a warlock, so exercise extreme caution. I want any Shadowhunters alive, but don't hesitate to use deadly force with the warlock if she gives you any trouble."

"But Consul, the Accords..." he said slowly.

"Exist to protect law-abiding Downworlders," Everett finished for him. "Use the Portal as soon as your team is ready - I want you gone within the hour."

"Sir, there are so few Shadowhunters left in the city now-"

"I don't care where you find them, just find them!" The Consul slapped his palm down against the blotter on the desk. "Go!"

Jon touched his forehead in a brief salute and left the Consul's office with his heart pounding in his chest. What's going on? He knew that Ravenkey and a few others were still lurking around, but he had a sneaking suspicion that they were firmly in Everett's pocket. He'd need to find his own allies for this.

He hurried down the steps of the Gard into the light rain that was falling outside. Night was coming on fast, and he would need to get back before full dark if he was going to get to the Portal within the hour. Whatever had Whitelock riled up was bad news, he was certain of it. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

This doesn't feel right.

Everett was just signing the warrant for the arrests of Helen Blackthorn and Aline Penhallow with the pleasant sound of heavier rain drumming against the window behind him when the shrill screech of an alarm rune echoed through the hall outside his office. His pen skidded across the page, ruining it as he jumped at the sudden break in the silence of the Gard.

His eyes widened. How? He briefly wondered if he had been betrayed from within, but only a handful of people knew she was down there, and he trusted all of them. This isn't possible! He pushed back from the desk and ran to the door, wrenching it open with unnecessary force.

Jay Ravenkey blew past him with two more Shadowhunters hard on his heels and Everett allowed himself to relax a bit. They're already taking care of it. Once she was safely in hand again, he would be very curious to find out how that cell door had been opened from the outside. He closed the office door again and sat back down at his desk to reach underneath and reassure himself of the presence of the Mortal Sword. He would get the answers he needed.

He started to rewrite the warrant calmly as the alarm continued to sound. It would only last a few minutes, and then he would be able to continue enjoying the quiet until Jay came to give the all-clear. Sure enough, the alarm cut short just as he was about to sign the new order.

The office door burst inward and Everett only had time to look up and see strange, swirling black wisps in the doorway before he heard his desk lamp shatter, plunging the room into darkness. The door slammed shut and he heard the bolt shoot home.

"Good evening, Consul," a low voice greeted him from the deeper shadows near the door. Everett pushed his chair back and reached down in one swift motion for the closest weapon, Maellartach, but strong hands wrenched him backwards. Two intruders!

With a powerful kick, Rayce sent the Consul and his chair crashing into the wood panelling that had concealed Cinder Whitescar on Rayce's last visit to this office. The heavy chair came down on top of Everett and he had to shrug it off to get back up to his hands and knees. He whipped his head back to search for his attacker, desperately willing his eyes to adjust and wishing for a nyx rune.

The first flash of lightning from the storm that was breaking over the city briefly illuminated the room and Everett saw a tall, dark shape advancing on him before everything went dark again. He gasped as he was lifted up by the front of his suit jacket and rammed against the wall, hitting the back of his skull hard enough to see stars.

A second, longer lightning strike revealed the face of the Morgenstern boy who had been Lightwood's downfall and Everett felt truly afraid for the first time since the alarm rune had gone off. He kicked out at Rayce, but the half-Faerie twisted and threw Everett across the office, sending him skidding across the hardwood floor. A moment later, Rayce took hold of the arm of the fallen chair and hurled it after the Consul. It struck him hard in the lower back and Rayce heard a devastating crack as the chair broke apart.

Everett screamed in pain and his legs went limp. Rayce watched without pity as the terrified man struggled to pull himself up to his elbows, dragging his now-useless legs behind him. He shot a glassy-eyed look of shock back at the darkness that concealed Rayce, but he was already gone, shifting so that he was standing over the Consul once more.

Whimpering and crying in fear, Everett mindlessly turned himself away from the black boots and started to pull himself toward the office door. Rayce was filled with a savage pleasure at the sight of helpless Consul. Seeing Alec Lightwood and his tiny band of rebels trying to fight off dragon demons in the hills of California against all the odds had made Rayce feel proud to call himself a Shadowhunter, and he knew in his heart that the Clave needed their former Consul. The coward at his feet was nothing but poison.

"Then kill him," Sebastian said casually from where he was leaning against the rain-streaked window behind the Consul's desk. "The Angel knows he deserves it."

No killing, Sera's voice echoed again.

"She would want me to," Rayce answered, trying to convince himself while watching Everett's slow, quiet progress toward the door.

"Then just do it. You're a killer, just like me, Rayce." Lightning flashed again, showing Sebastian in traditional black Shadowhunter gear that was identical to what Rayce might have been wearing if not for the cloak around his shoulders. "Try to deny it all you want, but the heart that beats in your chest is Morgenstern through and through. Do the hard things that need to be done; that's what we do."

Rayce shook his head doubtfully, and looked away from the weeping Consul to cast an accusatory stare at his father. "Why do you keep showing up? You're dead!"

Sebastian sighed melodramatically and pushed away from the window to flop down on the Consul's desk. "You are so boring! It's always, 'You're not real,' or 'You're dead,' with you. You should really just take my advice. It's about what you want, son."

"I don't want to be like you," Rayce answered immediately. "None of this would have happened if it wasn't for you."

"Ooh, ouch," Sebastian laughed, clutching at his chest. "Are you trying to blame me for all of this? Do you realize what else wouldn't have happened without me? You."

"Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing," Rayce answered softly.

"Oh, Raziel save me from late-breaking teenage angst." Sebastian rolled his eyes and folded his hands behind his head. "Need I remind you that this guy hit your beautiful Sera? Probably tortured her, too, but I'm just guessing..."

Rayce heard the scrabbling of Everett's nails on the door as he tried to pull himself up. In the blink of an eye, Rayce was there to pull him back by the collar of his dress shirt. The older Shadowhunter screamed and sobbed almost unintelligibly for mercy, and Rayce felt a flare of anger as he envisioned Sera crying in the cell where he had found her.

With a snarl, Rayce hurled the Consul over the desk where Sebastian was reclining. Glass shattered as Everett smashed through the window panes and rolled out onto the Consul's private balcony. The volume of the rain rose as the office was opened to the storm, and a gust of wind rushed through to scatter papers across the floor. Witchlight from the demon towers provided a dim glow to illuminate the crying Consul. His face and arms were bleeding from numerous cuts, and the sharp edges of the broken glass around him made it almost impossible for him to continue to drag himself away from Rayce unless he was willing to crawl through the shards.

"Nice throw," Sebastian congratulated him. "A solid 9, maybe 9.2 if I give you style points for not hitting me." He sat up eagerly, swinging his legs over the desk to hop down and duck through the broken panes. He whistled appreciatively. "Very nice. Come see!"

Drawn forward inexorably by his father, Rayce stepped out into the rain and saw the pink streaks on the stone around Everett as lightning crackled across the sky again.

"Now all you have to do is finish him," his father called over the wind and rain. "He deserves it, Sera deserves it, and most of all, you deserve it."

No killing. The whisper was fainter now that Everett was helpless and bloodied. It wasn't that much more of a leap to kill him now.

"Practically a mercy killing at this point," Sebastian agreed with his unspoken thought. Rayce looked up at him in confusion.

"How do you always know what I'm thinking?"

Sebastian's smile faltered and he wagged his finger at Rayce. "Careful now, I don't think you'd like the answer to that question. Stop wasting time and kill him."

Rayce's heart sank. The rain stung his eyes and he blinked furiously to clear them. He could almost swear that his father flickered in and out of view as he did so. "Not until you answer me."

"Rayce!" Sera's muffled voice called from the other side of the locked office door, almost lost in the storm.

"Sera," he whispered.

"Look at him!" Sebastian yelled, jabbing a finger down to point at where the Consul had given up and was laying nearly insensate on his back, his white dress shirted spotted with pink and streaked with red where he had been slashed by the glass. "She doesn't have to see this! Just kill him! Get revenge for what he did to her!"

"I WANT TO!" Rayce screamed back at him, covering his ears as he sank down to his knees, heedless of the glass. "But I don't want to be like you!"

Sebastian roared in frustration. "Can't you see? You are me, and I am you."

Rayce held his head in his hands as the rain soaked through his cloak and chilled his bare skin underneath as he rocked back and forth, paralyzed by indecision. Alec's words came back to him from the night he had fallen victim to the cloak. Your father would never have sacrificed himself to save his family, Rayce. Don't let his shadow fall across your life. You're your own man. It's not your name that defines you; it's your deeds.

"Your name does define you," his father hissed. "The mere mention of a Morgenstern is still enough to make some Shadowhunters tremble. They're always going to fear you - give them a reason to! Own it!"

Rayce knotted his fingers in his hair and screamed wordlessly as he warred with himself. Just kill him and it'll be over!

His sister's voice drowned out Sebastian's in his memory. Take my advice brother: Do what you must to survive until it's your turn to be saved. But make certain that there's still a part of you that's worth saving. Remember that she's out there counting on you to still be you if she breaks the cloak's hold.

His black and green eyes snapped open and his breathing slowed.

"I'm still me," he told his father in a shaking voice. "And you're still you."

Sebastian looked down at him with glittering black and green eyes and Rayce's mouth sagged open as he finally understood. With that understanding, Sebastian faded away into the night one last time.

It was me the whole time. All of the darkness, all of the evil thoughts; they were mine. I just couldn't admit it. So I put my father's face on them and pretended that I would never think like that. But I do. His fingers relaxed and he ran his hands back through his wet hair. The difference is that I don't want to be like him. I can be more. I can do more.

The office door crashed open again as Sera's furious Opening rune disintegrated the lock and she staggered through with Steven's arms still draped around her neck. She lifted his wrists gently and let him slide down appreciatively to the floor just inside the wrecked office. Pieces of the desk chair and papers were strewn across the floor, and the curtains to the sides of the wide window behind the desk blew crazily in the wind. Outside, she could see Everett's bloodied, still form and Rayce kneeling over him with his eyes closed, his face peaceful.

"Oh, no, Rayce," she breathed, rushing out through the window to the balcony where she fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around him. "It's okay," she whispered in his ear, holding him tighter.

"It really is," he said in a daze. He reached up to fold his arms around her and he buried his face in her neck as the rain poured down. "It really, really is."

Everett coughed weakly and Sera almost jumped out of her skin. "Jesus Christ, he's alive?"

Rayce pulled away and looked up at her pleadingly. "I couldn't do it, Sera. The Angel knows I wanted to, but I..."

She pressed a finger to his mouth to stop him and then promptly replaced it with her lips, kissing him softly at first and then more urgently as his lips parted. When she was too breathless to wait any longer she turned her head down and pulled him close again, hugging him tightly.

"Still my Rayce," she said gratefully. "My Rayce." She had no idea how she was ever going to let him out of her arms, but her dream had shown her that this was far from over.

Together, they managed to lift Everett and bring him back inside out of the rain. He had lost consciousness, possibly due to blood loss, and Sera grudgingly pressed an iratze and an amissio into his wrist. It would probably still count as killing him if they let him bleed out under their watch.

Steven couldn't be healed as easily, and Sera was genuinely worried about him. Getting him up the stairs to the Consul's office had been a real struggle, and he still couldn't stand unassisted. He rested quietly against the wall as she fixed up Everett, but he turned towards her when he heard her approach.

"Hey, Sera?" He asked faintly.

"What's up, Steven?"

"Is Rayce taller than me?"

Sera couldn't help the confused smile that slipped across her face. "Yeah."

Steven nodded knowingly. "Pretty dangerous?"

She arched her eyebrow at Rayce. "Very."

"I see," the mostly-Mundane said quietly, laughing under his breath at his own pun. He fell silent.

Sera exchanged a bewildered glance with her prince and he shrugged back at her, just as confused as she was.

Steven lifted his still-chained hands and held them up apologetically. "I've given it some thought, Sera, and I'm really sorry, but I think I'm going to have to cancel our date. I just don't think it'll work out between us."

Sera burst out laughing and threw her arms around him. "Oh my God, Steven, you're too much."

Rayce hid his smile and then felt it fade entirely as he realized that his little breath of freedom from the Hunt would have to come to an end soon. Staying would only make it harder on both of them.

"I can't stay, Sera," he whispered, extending a hand to help her up. "This can't last forever."

She grabbed onto his cloak and tightened her fists, pulling him toward her with a very serious face. "It doesn't have to last forever," she said fiercely. "It just has to last a little longer."

He smiled gently and tried to pull away, misunderstanding, but she refused to let go and tilted her head up to kiss him again.

"I think I know how to free you."

**I completely failed last time when I posted Chapter 17 and missed putting in the link to the edit. It's there now if you missed it the first time around - go drink in the glory of Serayce!

**Author's note: Just giving you guys a heads up that the next post might take a bit longer (WHAT? SEB! NO! YOU ALREADY TAKE FOREVER!). I know, I know. But to properly curate the full emotional experience that I'm going to craft for the final two chapters, I need them to land together. Rest assured that the next time you see my update, you'll be getting the epic conclusion of EotC (WITHOUT THE TERRIBLE CLIFFHANGERS FOR WHICH I SHOULD BE SHOT).

Truly, I view this last step as calling upon the entire orchestra to give life to the final movement of my symphony. Each chapter has given you only sections at a time with featured soloists, but now it's time for me raise them all and give you the fireworks that go along with the music.

I will also be including a Thanks and Acknowledgements section to recognize you, the readers, for your time and dedication to the adventure. I'm a long-winded bastard, and these are full-length books, so I know that it's no small sacrifice of time that has brought you this far. Please feel free to comment or PM your username so that I can give you a nod, and hopefully connect you with other wonderful, active readers who have laughed and cried with you not only through my books, but through Cassie's as well. We have a wonderful fandom, and I'm proud to be a part of it.