Chapter 68 – Honor

--- 4 days before the start of the war. ---

"Not quite how you imagined the party to be?" Jace teased, laughing smugly.

Isabelle's expression was murderous. As if one of her looks could be enough to knock someone off guard. "I want to kill her," she growled through gritted teeth. She quickened her pace, her boots echoing through the high corridors of the Gard.

Of course, she meant none other than the Inquisitor herself, who had found it necessary to summon us here before we could even make our way to the party. Jace would have seemed relieved if his grandmother hadn't specifically asked to come armed. So her message meant nothing other than that the matter concerned Mellartach.

"And I want to change," I mumbled tightly, but no one paid attention to me. I felt silly in the black and gold strapless dress that ended just above my knees. Isabelle had been doing my makeup when we received the Inquisitor's fire-message. Since she had requested our presence immediately, we had had just enough time to strap on our weapon belts and throw on winter coats.

A day after the game-changing Clave meeting, the Gard's corridors radiated a refreshing calm. But the state of alarm that the Nephilim community had been in since yesterday, since my father declared war on us, was evident in the ancient building. There was tension in the air no matter where you looked. The few Shadowhunters we encountered on our way stood a little tighter, their hands on their weapons as a precaution. Preparations for the coming battle were being made all over the city. Although we were now able to recapture the Soul Sword, the Clave braced itself for a violent confrontation. Because they were just as sure as I was that Valentine would do everything he could to get the sword back into his possession. And so security measures were increased throughout Alicante, borders were guarded day and night, and checkpoints were set up.

We were checked at the Gard's gates. But the Inquisitor had informed them of our arrival, so we got through quickly. However, thanks to our rather untraditional outfits, Isabelle and I didn't miss the awkward looks. When you were invited to the head of state, you usually didn't show up in skimpy clothes and glittering faces. And while I had tried to conceal my figure as best as possible under my coat, Isabelle had hit her stride and flirted with the relatively young guards for all she was worth. Now that we had left them behind us, her expression had darkened a bit again.

So we marched through the conservatively decorated hallways. Between majestically rising windows that offered a view of Alicante with its ocher-colored roofs and branching alleys. Behind the soaring, glittering Demon Towers that seemed to cut through the evening sun like glowing seraph blades, the blinding whiteness of the boundless expanse of Idris slowly began to melt. Spring was near. So close that I wondered if my father had chosen this change of season on purpose for his plans. Did he hope that with the emerging spring he would also usher in the new beginning of this civilization that he had envisioned?

The Inquisitor's office was in the northwest wing of the Gard, away from any possible hustle and bustle and somewhat more isolated than the Consul's office, which was now empty due to Malachi's betrayal and death. I had been forced to come here so many times since my arrival in Alicante that this route was one of the few in this vast institution that I knew by heart.

"I hope we can still make it to the party," Isabelle grumbled to herself. If one couldn't have read her mood in her glowing eyes, one look at her right fingers, which were clutching a silver kindjal, would have been enough. As if she were only hoping that we would encounter trouble in order to vent it.

Isabelle was clad in a skin-tight, midnight black dress, its thin fabric starting with a deep neckline, hugging her hips flatteringly with an inset ruby strap, and ending in a skirt that reached just above her knee-high combat boots. Combat boots that had to be custom-made since she was the only person in this city I trusted to be able to walk without disadvantage in such thick heels. The whip coiled around her arm and the seraph blades at her hip revealed that this woman relied on nothing but her weapons in a dangerous situation.

A stark contrast to Jace, who couldn't have looked more formal in his Shadowhunter uniform. Quite the warrior that he was. His golden eyes, which had just been fixed on the sunset beyond the glass as he passed, slid to his foster sister. Isabelle, as tall as Jace with heels, led the way while Jace and I followed close behind her.

"I hope she doesn't ask us to guard the sword," Jace replied, his mind already focused on his grandmother. His grimaced in anguish. "I don't feel like spending the night in this haunted house."

Haunted house actually captured it quite well. Not only was the Gard too large to have a good view of the premises. In addition, it was always a few degrees colder here than outside. And with all the blood that had already been shed in these halls, no one was too eager to stay here for long. The walls surrounding us shot up, the distant ceilings decorated in some places with slanted paintings; dozens of grimaces staring down at us and seemingly following us with their eyes. And then there were the echoing, hollow corridors that carried every sound into the distance and only added the finishing touches to the goosebump-inducing atmosphere. The paintings, ancient relics and tapestries did nothing to turn things around. It all resembled more of an ancient, oversized tomb that had been trespassed.

"How hypocritical considering you weren't even looking forward to the party," Isabelle countered firmly, and we turned a corner. One more turn and we would have reached the office. Aside from their dialogue, the only sound for miles was the clacking of Isabelle's boots on the ancient marble. Here, in the farthest part of the Gard, it was deserted.

"My horizon is just broader than yours." Jace sounded smug and pleased with himself. The way a brother sounded when he was teasing his sister. Then his head tilted slightly in my direction, and I caught his change of mood out of the corner of my eye before he continued. "Besides, I can think of much nicer things to do with that time." He said the words in a rougher, quieter voice, as if he wasn't sure whether Isabelle should actually hear them.

I turned my face away before the blush could spread to my cheeks. Many of Jace's facets were already familiar to me: the bottomless anger, the defiant duplicity, the brash arrogance, the fierce loyalty. But the fact that his attention was on me, he wanted me, he was flirting with me was new territory. And in my social ineptitude, I had no idea how to respond appropriately.

But Jace made the decision for me when he leaned over to me as I walked and, in a fleeting gesture, tucked a strand of wind-blown hair behind my ear. The glowing expression of his gold-rimmed pupils was too intense to ignore. I, usually as precise as a shot arrow, almost tripped over my own feet as Jace's lips stopped a few inches above my ear.

"It may not be your style, but it's still breathtaking," he whispered.

It took several tries for my foggy brain to realize he was talking about my dress. I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say, when Isabelle stopped moving so suddenly that I would have walked right into her if Jace hadn't put his arm out to grab me.

We simultaneously raised our heads to Isabelle to find out the reason for her immediate pause. We had reached the turn to Imogen's office, which was now further down the hall. A hallway lined with twisted and disfigured figures lying motionless and slumped on the blood-soaked floor. Leaning over them, weapons flashing bright red, four hooded figures lurked.

"By the Angel," Isabelle said, sounding almost – but only almost – happy about this turn of events.

As if the people had heard her, they turned in our direction, their weapons passively at their sides.

I felt a hot, tingling cold rush through my body. The focus of the battle, which pushed all irrelevant sensory impressions away from me with its walls. Without consciously realizing it, a split second later I was clutching Eosphoros tightly in my fingers. I was rested, uninjured and ready for whatever would follow.

Jace and Isabelle also braced themselves for a confrontation that seemed inevitable. It was literally noticeable how the shivering, goosebump-producing calm around us turned into a piercing, tingling silence. Jace and I emerged from Isabelle's shadow, positioning ourselves on either side of her as Isabelle pulled out her whip, which began to hiss in anticipation.

None of the figures made any move to attack us. On the contrary. All but one of them put away their weapons, which were still covered in blood. This one took a step towards us. Only one. For a moment I wondered if it was an Inquisitor's special unit that had just thwarted an enemy attack. But then the still-armed figure raised his ax, shining in the witch-light, in a forceful movement that made both Jace and Isabelle jump. He pointed the pointy end of the ax directly at me.

"You. Red-haired girl." The voice was deep and difficult to understand under the mask, but clearly male. I rolled my head on the back of my neck and waited, unresponsive, for him to continue. "Your brother is here. He was hoping you would accept his invitation."

A wave of dizziness hit me. Just like every time Jonathan outdid himself. Just like every time the impossible became possible in an almost magical way. Or maybe I just wanted to believe that it was bordering on impossible. "Invitation?" I should have sounded less surprised. More confident. More focused.

The rest of his companions positioned themselves in a line, but still without a spark of force in their muscles, as the man continued to approach us. Neither Jace nor Isabelle lowered their swords. Mine remained in a convulsive grip at waist level.

"Not a step further," growled Jace as our groups were only five meters apart.

The man's ax slid from me to the door behind which was the Inquisitor's office. "He's in there," he said, addressing me alone. He was now close enough that I could make out his brown irises. His hooded outfit revealed nothing more than his eyes. "He is waiting for you. We were waiting here to take you to him."

"We won't budge an inch until you're swimming mutilated in your own blood," Isabelle snapped, lunging forward. Her agile whip bit into the wrist with which the man held his axe. A blink of an eye later she had disarmed him and thrown the kindjal, which had just slipped playfully through her nimble fingers. Now it hissed through the air and hit the mysterious man head-on in the chest. He collapsed before his companions could act.

Isabelle's hand was already going back to her weapon belt to grab the next dagger, but something was strange about the whole situation. It almost seemed like a fever dream. None of the other figures reacted to their comrade's death. Without taking any counteraction, they acknowledged the event. From the line in which they had lined up, another figure stepped forward to take the dead man's place.

She didn't waste another look at the lifeless body that was right in front of her feet. Instead, she raised her arm and pointed her finger toward the office door. "We have orders not to harm you," she said. Mechanically and in a higher octave than the previous speaker. "Your friends can accompany you if they wish."

Isabelle didn't throw the second dagger. Her dark eyes flickered to me, questioning and searching. What was this? A trick? Who were these people? Was Jonathan really in this room, which actually belonged to the Inquisitor?

"Jonathan Morgenstern is behind this door?" Jace asked the woman. Hard as steel and demanding without a chance.

The woman didn't react, ignored him, continued to focus on me constantly, without radiating any emotion. Her finger was still pointing at the door. As if her body and voice were functional, but her mind was not.

"Answer his question," I urged her.

A curt nod. It was enough.

I lowered the sword completely and looked from Isabelle to Jace. Jace didn't like this situation at all. Distrust was evident in his expression, and judging by his posture, he was only seconds away from striking down this woman as well. Maybe it was wiser to do just that. We didn't know what awaited us behind that door. But aside from that, I found something else when I looked at Jace. Nervousness. Well hidden, but not only his quickened pulse gave him away, but also the arrhythmic tapping of his index finger on the hilt of his blade. It was immediately clear to me why. His grandmother had sent us a fire-message asking us to come here. The now dead man had just been talking about an invitation that had apparently been made by my brother. What were the chances that Imogen Herondale was far from her office and safe?

In a split second I made a decision. "We will accompany you to my brother. But we will not lay down our weapons and at the slightest sign of aggression on your part, we will kill you. Each of you."

The woman stepped aside to clear the way for us. "Your brother wants you to come armed," was all she said before the two people behind her began walking toward the office.

I started moving first and followed them with careful steps. Jace and Isabelle close behind me, both focused on one of the figures. Arriving at the large oak doors, one of them knocked twice and then pushed them inward with a burst.

Imogen's office was shrouded in darkness. At least at first glance. I didn't hesitate before entering. Candles flickered on the document-covered desk that took up much of the right wall. Through the window, which offered a view of Alicante below, the last rays of sunlight streamed into the room. At first I thought the office was empty and thought it was a farce. Then my scanning eyes landed on the left half of the room, which extended further into the depths than the right side.

The first to catch my attention was Imogen. She stood stock still in the middle of the long office, dressed in dark green, aristocratic combat gear and with a variety of weapons at her belt. Her wide eyes pounced on me as soon as I came into her field of vision. It should have been her frozen, wooden posture that aroused my suspicion. But it was the expression on her age-marked face that made all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Imogen Herondale was scared.

And only now, only after taking in her expression for what felt like an endless amount of time, did I notice the golden knife at her throat. It pressed as light as a feather against her pale skin, just below her left ear. On the carotid artery, which lay directly underneath.

I swallowed hard before forcing my eyes to follow the arm holding the knife.

Jonathan stood directly behind the Inquisitor. His white-blonde hair had grown since we last met. When he had tried to kidnap me in the training hall. When he had poisoned us all and I had failed in the fight against him.

Seeing him was always a new shock. As if I was hoping over and over again that his transformation was nothing but a nightmare that I just couldn't escape. I wasn't sure my brain would ever fully understand it. Jonathan – my Jonathan – had been gone for months, but despite everything he'd done so far, I couldn't stop myself from hating this creature in front of me. Because it wore his voice and his appearance. Because occasionally, for the fraction of a second, it seemed to show the ghost of a feeling that felt familiar to me from before. Because I was stupid enough to hope it could be undone. I, the idiot, let all this horror slide, because I pleaded that my Jonathan was still in there somewhere, pounding against this overpowering demon and wanting to be let out; he just didn't have the strength to do so. Seeing him brought tears to my eyes every time.

You are weak. Yes, I was – and probably always would be. Whenever it was about him. Because I couldn't erase eighteen years of bondage in a few months.

"Clarissa." He had waited and let me have the first word, but I was at a loss for words.

I didn't know what to say because I knew exactly why he was there. I blinked, still unable to say anything.

Jonathan opened his mouth and spoke words, but I didn't hear a single one. It was as if the sight of him had interrupted all nerve impulses to my brain. I walked around the room blindly and without knowing what I was actually doing. Straight towards him.

Suddenly my feet met resistance and the world shifted sideways. Just a blink of an eye. After that, my subconscious took over and adjusted my sense of balance. I lowered my head, breaking eye contact with Jonathan to see what stood between him and me.

Blind. I was truly blind. And reckless.

I had assumed he had put something in my way. Some kind of trick to keep me from approaching him. Nothing like that.

A pair of empty, dark eyes met mine. I had stumbled. Stumbled because I had thoughtlessly ignored my surroundings. Because the tiled floor and the thick carpet were dripping with blood and the Inquisitor's bodyguards lay impaled like oversized dolls that had fallen into the hands of a sadist. I had fallen over a corpse, had hit a body with my boot.

I flinched back and blindly jerked my head up, boring my gaze into his and finally opening my mouth. "You want the sword."

"Don't you even want to say hello to me anymore, little sister?" Jonathan sounded calm and a touch calculating. After yesterday, my father was not only missing a sword, but also a hand. When I searched his deep black, unscrupulous eyes, I saw a mixture of envy and admiration. "Aren't you going to explain to me how you manage to inflict such damage on father but lose in a duel against me?"

"The extent of father's embarrassment has surely already gotten to you," I replied emotionlessly. "And I don't boast about deeds that I could never have imagined in my worst dreams. So just tell me what you want. Because you wouldn't have left the Inquisitor alive for a reason." I didn't want to hear how he and his people had made it past all the security measures. I just wanted to get down to business and get this over with as quickly as possible. I was tired of fighting him on any level.

Jonathan seemed visibly displeased with my lack of interest. As if he wanted to stretch this out. As if he wanted to have this dialogue with me. "Father's spies have reported that Mellartach is guarded by the Inquisitor and her bodyguards. There was nothing more these useless dogs could learn."

I was relieved that my father didn't seem to have any spies in Imogen's inner circle. Even though when I stared around the room, it had probably been completely murdered today. I quickly gave the office another searching look of my eyes. "Mellartach isn't here," I stated shortly, meeting Jace's gaze. He was barely two steps behind me and was closely following my every move. He was restless. His fingers were on his weapons, but his eyes were glued to me. I had the feeling that he wanted to get closer to me, but something was holding him back.

"It's here," Jonathan cut through my thoughts, harsh and less composed than he had been a moment ago. His pupils were barely noticeably dilated as he tried to pierce me with them. "I know it's here and our good Inquisitor knows it too. She just doesn't want to tell me where."

"Let her go, Jonathan," Jace demanded, pushing past me. It was the first time he had addressed him so directly. Not that that changed anything.

"You have nothing to say. You are a nobody. You're only here because I wanted you to be. Because of her." Jonathan hissed out the words like evaporating water and nodded his chin at his grandmother. How could one sentence from Jace's mouth upset him so much when he had been able to maintain his false facade in front of me so easily?

"Oh, is that so?" Jace gave my brother a provocative grin. His teeth flashed in the candlelight. "For someone who has so little say, you seem to need me pretty urgently."

Jonathan clenched his jaw so loudly it gave me goosebumps. You could see how he was struggling with his overwhelming emotions. The blade on Imogen's neck trembled and she gave her grandson a warning, now more composed look. Jonathan shook himself as if he could just shake off his emotional rush. His black pupils fixed on me; with such intensity that my heart fell out of rhythm. But I didn't dare look away. I had to stand up to him.

"Be aware, Clarissa, that it's only because of you that things are proceeding so civilized," he said matter-of-factly. As if all the dead lying on the ground around me weren't a violation of any morals. Not for him. I knew he could be much worse if he wanted to. "Father swore off your blood after what you did yesterday. I understand him. What reason is there for me to still see you as one of our own? You don't even want to be a Morgenstern anymore."

I pressed my lips together because I had had this argument with them enough times. I had now realized that it would never find open ears. My father was too deeply entrenched in his ideology to understand. My brother had lost too much of his human morals and way of thinking to understand.

"You turned your back on me, little sister. But I will never turn my back on you. Even if we burn this world down, I will spare your life because you belong by my side." It almost felt like Jonathan was smiling. The hint of a smile at best. "You're the reason I didn't use completely different methods to get Mellartach back. But rest assured that I will get it one way or another."

Tears pressed against my eyelids, and it took so much strength to swallow the heartbreak in my chest – not to let the extent of my regrets come out. We both seemed to regret that it had to end this way, even if our motives were different.

I didn't break our eye contact as I gathered control of my voice. "Then don't make it any harder than it is and finish what you started."

To my surprise, Jonathan hesitated. He lowered his head briefly, seeming to think. "You're here because the Inquisitor sent you a fire-message," he finally said, and I had the feeling that he had actually wanted to convey that fact to us differently. The vigor was missing from his tone. He reminded me a little of his companions, all of whom lacked presence. "I know that my intrusion into the Gard last time was somewhat of a surprise, and even though I had the advantage of the poison, you beat me. You took the sword from father with honor. This time I plan to do the same. That's why the message said you should come armed."

I was amazed that Jonathan considered our last meeting a defeat – and even more so that he credited me with the victory. He had been furious when I had created the portal that had teleported him away. I had definitely felt like I had lost. After all, at the end of the fight I had been lying on the ground, unable to move because he had beaten me in the duel.

But today the situation was different. Runes decorated my body – the same conditions as in our training fights not too long ago.

"You want to fight for the sword?"

"After the dear Inquisitor has revealed the location, we will do just that." Now he sounded a little more like the Jonathan who had been haunting my dreams for the last few months. Activity returned to his arm, and he pressed the knife a little harder against Imogen's throat. "But for that I need the useless Herondale boy."

I suppressed the instinct to turn to Jace. Since he had rushed forward, he was standing directly to my left and somewhere behind us Isabelle was securing our rear. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jace draw himself up to his full height and lift his chin in challenge. Even though I didn't see his face, I knew that his golden irises flashed. "Perhaps you should talk less and get to the point quicker, Morningstar boy."

"Jace." It was Imogen herself who reprimanded him. A reminder not to play with her life. Her hands hung stiffly on her body.

"It's very simple." Now it was Jonathan who smiled darkly and superiorly at Jace. "You tell me where the Mortal Sword is hidden, and I won't rip your grandmother's throat."

My heart started pounding. Jace and I stared at each other. The fear on his face may have gone unnoticed by Jonathan, but not by me. He cleared his throat. "I don't know where she hid it. None of us know."

"That's really unfortunate," Jonathan remarked, the muscles in his arm twitching.

"Jonathan, wait!" I raised my hands placatingly and took a step over the body. "He really doesn't know. Why should she tell us? We left the Gard before she even took the sword away."

"They were all here in this room," Jonathan snorted in response. "She and her guards. It has to be here. Except we've already searched everything."

"Then I guess I've done my job," Imogen gasped tightly. A steely satisfaction was reflected on her face.

Jonathan didn't seem to like that. Something flickered behind his eyes, as if madness was creeping in to take possession of him because rationality had failed. He shook Imogen, who raised her hands for balance. "I know you won't tell me anything. Even if your oath didn't require it, there would still be the stubbornness of the Herondales. And if your grandson doesn't know, you don't have much use for me."

"Jonathan, don't do that–"

Before Jonathan could slit Imogen's throat, she had rammed her stele into my brother's stomach. My eyes widened in surprise as I realized that she must have used our conversation with him to steal it from her weapon belt unnoticed. And as soon as Jonathan writhed in pain and the Inquisitor pulled away from him and the dagger, chaos erupted.

Imogen ducked under his swishing blade, which a second later narrowly missed her head and instead embedded itself in her shoulder. We all rushed forward at the same time to stop Jonathan from taking her hostage again or doing something worse to her. Behind us, his statuesque followers broke from their rigidity to rush to his aid.

Within the blink of an eye, a fight had broken out in the small office.

A furious scream escaped Jonathan as he thrashed about wildly. Blood oozed from his stomach wound. While I threw myself at him, Jace moved his grandmother out of the line of fire. Behind my back I heard Isabelle's whip waving as she had to contend with two of the hooded fighters. The woman who had spoken to us had swung her ax at me as if I were nothing more than a tree she wanted to chop down. Now she was at Jonathan's side and Eosphoros parried another of her blows.

Sparks sprayed down our arms as we spun around each other. This woman was strong, but no stronger than Isabelle or me. But there was still my brother, who now drew the twin sword to mine and brought it down on me without hesitation.

Jonathan alone was already a force of nature. Jonathan with support bordered on impossible. So I had no choice but to be pushed into the defensive role. Blow after blow, I dodged their weapons, parrying central blows and trying to hold my ground.

"Jace!" My shout was almost lost in the din of grinding steel. I wouldn't win this fight alone. I needed his help.

Somewhere out of my sight, the rhythm of panting breaths, stomping feet, and worn weapons faltered. A parade later, someone groaned. The familiar sound of flesh being cut reached my ears. Tiny, warm splashes hit my exposed skin. A body landed on the carpet with a thud.

"Take this, scum," Isabelle shouted triumphantly, the rush of battle felt like a rush of wind against my body. Her whip was immediately at work again to keep her remaining opponent at bay.

At the same time, my own opponents were pushing me further and further back and I was already afraid that I would trip over a corpse if I continued to lose ground. A shadow rushed towards me from the corner of my eye, and I didn't have the privilege of turning around to check whether it was friend or foe. A seraph blade appeared at my side, sneaking past Jonathan's cover and he had to dodge to avoid it.

"I'm here," Jace assured me, grinned friendlessly and delivered another brutal thrust.

With him next to me, the balance of power changed significantly. Jonathan was stronger than me, but Jace and I were evenly matched. Together, he and the woman couldn't keep us in check or even defeat us. Ten seconds later, I had Jonathan under control enough for him to knock his companion down. Almost at the same time, away from my vision, Isabelle killed the last guard standing. And then suddenly it was the three of us against Jonathan. A quick glance at Imogen told me that she had stopped her bleeding and was now taking up her sword herself.

"Give up!" I thrust Eosphoros's tip horizontally towards Jonathan, aiming to pin him in place. "You've lost."

His white hair fell in tangled strands over his forehead, and he brushed it away in a frantic gesture as he stared at me with dark eyes. He gripped Phosphoros's grip so tightly that his knuckles showed beneath the thin skin. Every inch of his body was tense.

"I won't give up," he replied with a snort. His left eyelid twitched, as if the storm inside him was searching for an outlet to release pressure. "I will never give up."

"Then I have no choice but to–" I was cut off before I could finish the sentence.

Loud stomping echoed from the corridor into the office, and we spun around. Heavy, hurried footsteps approached, and judging by the noise level, it had to be at least a small group of people. Isabelle and Jace automatically lowered their weapons, while I kept my blade pointed at my brother. I moved to the right, away from Jace and Isabelle, and toward the windows to cut off Jonathan's only remaining escape route.

The doors to Imogen's office had already been flung open, so we saw the arrivals before they even entered the room. For a moment my feet turned to stone, seemingly frozen in place as a group of Shadowhunters stormed the room and surrounded us. Nephilim who wore Shadowhunter gears but were not part of the Gard's official guard. Warriors, but not in the service of the Clave.

"Put down your weapons," demanded a young man, a bow in his fingers. The bowstring taut, the arrow aimed directly at Isabelle's heart. A wave of dizziness hit my head as I recognized him as the guard at the Gard's gates that Isabelle had just been flirting with. "Now."

-

This chapter screams action, doesn't it? I hope you liked it! Were you surprised to see Jonathan back? Will Clary and her friends be overpowered? Will Jonathan manage to get Mellartach back?

Please let me know what you think by liking the chapter and/or commenting below! :)

Skyllen