Chapter 69 – Head Versus Heart

We lowered our swords. There were moments like this when resistance was futile. We were so outnumbered that not following their orders would have been our death.

"Did you really think I would infiltrate the heart of power without reinforcement, Clarissa?" Jonathan's pupils flashed gleefully as he registered my surprise. He wiped blood from his gear and stepped closer to me. I allowed him to almost pityingly pat my shoulder. A physical contact between us so random and yet so thoughtful that all my muscles recoiled from it. Not out of fear. It was nostalgia for the past.

"These are the remnants of Blake Ashdown's group," he continued, studying my face intently. I struggled to hide the feelings that ripped through me like bullets from a gun, leaving holes of memories in their wake. So much for the fair, honorable fight he had promised us. "Those who weren't there when you were kidnapped."

I felt anger gathering in my core. Blake Ashdown was dead and yet that damn idiot still haunted me. My eyes involuntarily glanced over the men and women who had gathered around us. It wasn't until none of them looked familiar that I realized I was looking for Adam. He had betrayed me for Blake, but now he was missing. Why? Had he known about this and simply refused to come here, or had they not recruited him?

Jonathan continued to speak as the anger inside me boiled higher and higher. "Now that the tide has turned again and you were unfortunately too useless to provide me with information, I will turn the tables." He walked between us, provocatively kicking our swords and daggers that lay on the blood-stained floor. Casually and yet obviously, he fished the knife from his weapon belt with which he had previously threatened the Inquisitor, who now stood on Jace's other side with a wild look and clenched fists.

"I want the sword. I want it now." Without warning, his free fist shot out, superhumanly fast and unstoppable, knocking Isabelle off her feet. One moment she was standing right in front of Blake's thugs, the next she was lying on the ground.

A high-pitched sound escaped my throat and my feet moved towards her without my conscious control. A Shadowhunter stood in my way. The tip of his short sword hovered inches from my chest, bringing me to a sudden stop. I tilted my upper body to the side to peer past him and spotted Isabelle, whose skin-tight leather dress had a dark film of liquid on it. She tried to get to her feet, but Jonathan waved one of his men forward, who put his boot on her back and forced her back to the ground.

The anger in my body raced through my veins like the searing tongues of fire. Before I knew it, I had ducked under the man and elbowed him in the stomach. He reached out to grab my head of hair, but I already had his blade in my hands. His blood joined that of the other dead. Immediately the rest of the rabble gathered around me like a pack of starving dogs and overwhelmed by the heat of anger, I believed that I could take them all on. I was so focused on the fire, already planning how to kill these people as quickly as possible, that I only noticed Jonathan's next move out of the corner of my eye.

A dull rumble, heavy breathing, and a sharp intake of air made me spin around like lightning, but it was already too late. Imogen pushed forward, trying to reach Jonathan with an expression that, for the first time since our first meeting, was one of outright terror. Two of Jonathan's Shadowhunters grabbed her arms before she could even utter a syllable. The usually relentless, ruthless leader of the Nephilim had completely left her.

Jace knelt on the floor, his eyes wide in surprise. Jonathan dug his fingernails around Jace's chin and forced it up, exposing his neck. I stood three meters away from them and could see his main artery, which was throbbing at a frantic pace. My brother didn't do things by halves, didn't care about collateral damage, didn't miss opportunities. He pressed his knife against Jace's throat and dug it into his skin until blood came from beneath the blade. Jace's muscles tensed, and his lips twisted in an agonized expression as he tried to ignore the pain.

A strange sound gurgled out of my mouth. Hollow and hoarse and hysterical. I hadn't taken a single step forward when fingers dug into my upper arms and pulled me backwards so violently that I tripped over my own feet and fell. Someone forced my fingers apart and took the short sword that I had stolen from one of their comrades. My bare legs brushed against the bloody floor as they dragged me away from the action, away from Jace and Jonathan.

I went crazy. In an instant, my mind forgot every training, every lesson that had been taught to me. I stared down at my tight, black and gold dress, at all the blood in which it was now soaked. Beneath me, my body struggled, opposed against their hands that held me back like iron chains holding a prisoner.

Jonathan still held Jace's face in an unyielding grip so that only his eyes could follow mine. My panic was reflected in his widened, golden irises. But Jace wasn't afraid of death or what my brother might do to him. The fear in his eyes was directed at me as they dragged me across the room, unable to get to my feet. My body felt like a heavy sack, immobile and stiff.

Blood trickled down Jace's neck from where Jonathan had slit his throat. Not deep, not deadly. Nevertheless, a signal to us to think carefully about our next steps.

"I'm giving you one last chance to tell me the location of the Mortal Sword, Imogen Herondale, or I'll make short work of your grandson." Not a threat. A promise.

"Don't do it," Jace said breathlessly. His chest rose and fell at the pace of a rapid song, too fast for ordinary dancers on the dance floor to keep up with. A reflection of his desire not to be taken advantage of crossed his paralyzed expression.

In response to his words, Jonathan gave him a kick, which immediately caused the sharp blade to penetrate deeper into Jace's skin.

"Jonathan, stop!" My voice had shot up dramatically and he didn't pay me any attention. I was no longer of any use to him here. Just like Isabelle, whose face was still covered in the blood of fallen Shadowhunters. She had turned her head to look at her foster brother. She trembled under the weight of the boot on her shoulders.

Things were even worse for Imogen, who now held the fate of the Nephilim community by a thread. She looked like she was going to collapse at any moment. Her cheeks looked sunken, as if she had aged years in the last few minutes. Her ice-blue eyes were so glassy, so fixated on Jace, that I feared she would have a heart attack and simply take Mellartach's secret whereabouts to her grave.

"Even if I told you, you wouldn't be able to do anything with the location," Imogen murmured. "It's unreachable for you, just as it's for me."

"I can still decide that for myself, old woman. Spit it out." Jace wanted to shake his head, but Jonathan just tightened his fingers around his chin and jerked it up as if he wanted to rip his head off.

The Inquisitor sighed and you could practically feel the conflict that was taking place within her – the trade-off she was making: the well-being of an entire civilization versus the life of her family. I knew exactly what I would decide. I wouldn't have hesitated. Yet she was a leader, holding the lives of so many in her hands. Like pieces moved across a board in a game — some sacrificed, some saved.

Finally, Imogen raised her chin in defeat. Her saddened gaze darted from Jace to me, then to something behind me. She nodded toward her desk. "It's in the wall," she admitted, and a dozen pairs of eyes shifted their focus. Only Jace didn't follow them. He looked at me. A depression had taken hold of him. "The wall is made entirely of pure adamas underneath the paint. The Iron Sisters helped us lock the sword in the wall."

Jonathan seemed speechless for a long moment. His brow furrowed as he realized what the Inquisitor might have meant by her warning. "How do I get it out of there?"

Imogen shrugged. "My goal was to protect Mellartach indefinitely, not to hoard it until the danger passed. It's surrounded by adamas, and only the Iron Sisters have the ability to form adamas." In other words, Jonathan would have no way of tearing down this wall, even if he razed the rest of the Gard to the ground. I almost laughed.

Jonathan narrowed his brows and lowered his eyes thoughtfully. The hand holding the knife vibrated with charged emotions. The anger of his failure must have torn him apart. But the look on his face was familiar. Pondering and absorbed in strategic alternatives, as Valentine had been so often over the years. And if there was anything he had internalized, it was the fact to find a solution to every problem. No matter how long it took.

The murderous noose of silence wrapped itself around my neck, making the lump in my throat rise higher. I was still hanging half on the ground and half in the air because Jonathan's people wouldn't let me go. Probably afraid that I would attack them if they did. Gradually, however, my own body weight dragged me downwards. My arms became heavy and the stiffness in my muscles took on a new dimension as they slowly but surely began to dislocate my arms.

Jonathan turned to me so suddenly that a bone in his neck cracked. His pitch-black eyes bore into mine and my hair stood on end as he confronted me with his merciless cruelty. A goosebump-inducing smile distorted his angular face as he suddenly pointed his finger at me.

"Bring her here," he ordered. His tone had changed. This was the demon. Unconscionable and barbaric. No sacrifice big enough to achieve the goal.

The guards dragged me back across the damp carpet and threw me at Jonathan's feet. My tense arms gave out and I landed cheek first. With a careless tug, Jonathan pushed Jace away, towards the two Shadowhunters who had just been holding me. Then he crouched down next to me, grabbed my shoulders, and hoisted me to my feet. I was already wondering what he was planning to do when he handed me a stele.

"Now either you think of a rune that will get this sword out of the wall, or I will kill your Herondale boy. Except I won't settle for a slit throat anymore. If you fail, I will torture him until he wishes he was dead."

Rosy prospects. My fingers began to tremble. I looked from him to Jace, who was now having a knife held to his jugular by another Shadowhunter. My stomach did an unpleasant lurch, like I was in free fall. Except here, I didn't feel like I could reach solid ground.

"That's not how this power works," I whispered to Jace, even though I was speaking to Jonathan. Suddenly the room was too warm. Sweat ran down my face; down the back; let the stele almost slip from my fingers.

"Then you better make it work that way, because my patience is running out," Jonathan growled, nodding to his ally, who immediately pressed the blade into Jace's already bleeding flesh.

My vision went black, and I felt the contents of my stomach pushing up. Seeing them torment Jace didn't send anger coursing through my veins, as I would have expected, but rather fear. And that was worse.

"Focus," Jace stuttered, searching my eyes. The trust in them tightened my grip on the cool stele. "We practiced this. Remember it."

I managed a half-hearted nod and moved towards the wall like a trance. Jonathan's entourage quietly cleared the way for me. I ignored their hostile, vindictive looks. At that moment I didn't feel any of it because my focus on this challenge was draining my energy reserves. One of the Shadowhunters tore away the tapestry hanging in the middle.

Jace believed in me – in my abilities. He believed I could do it. So, I closed my eyes as I came to a stop in front of the gray colored wall.

Focus. Get the sword. Save Jace. Just like we practiced.

How could I get to the sword if it was surrounded by adamas? How did the Iron Sisters do it? They were able to shape it, create objects from it. Just as a blacksmith shaped iron and created swords.

Forge.

But it was impossible to forge a wall. That didn't make any sense. But like any metal, adamas was capable of changing its physical state. The sisters melted it down to determine its shape.

Melt.

My arm rose of its own accord, pressing the tip of the stele against the wall as if I were under a curse.

Melt.

The rune was as clear in my mind's eye as if I had seen it a thousand times before. It flowed from my hand as easily as if I had drawn it a thousand times before. As if I knew every line, every swing inside and out. Like I had never drawn anything else.

My eyelids fluttered and when I opened my eyes, the rune gleamed magnificently and perfectly on the wall. But only for the blink of an eye. Then it tore the wall apart.

A high, boiling hiss came from the masonry and the Shadowhunters around me took several uncertain steps back. The wall, which had just been solid, began to bubble. The gray paint first peeled off and then was swallowed up by the liquefying adamas underneath. The entire width of the wall suddenly changed to a translucent, shiny silver-white. The adamas seemed to glow from within as it took the least path of resistance and slowly flowed towards the ground.

Murmurs spread around me as the liquid adamas flooded around our shoes and drifted further into the room. Some lifted their feet, but with the amount of adamas currently changing state, that wouldn't make a difference.

When about half of the wall had melted and the room beyond could be seen, I spotted the Mortal Sword, its sparkling hilt protruding from the top of the wall. Before Jonathan could entertain any foolish ideas, my hand shot forward and wrapped around the hilt. With a little pressure I managed to pull it out of the soft adamas.

With the giant sword in my grasp, I turned to the rest of the office. Its weight should pull my arm down with all its strength. The supernatural power that emanated from it was gnawing at my mind. The almost complete, Infernal Conversion made my nerves itch and gave me a sinking feeling in my stomach. I ignored all of it.

The thick metal still slid around my shoes, and I could feel its melting heat through the fireproof boots. It spilled across the carpet, hugging a howling Isabelle who was still lying on the floor, before one of the Shadowhunters removed his boot from her back and dragged her to her feet. It soothingly covered all the blood on tiles and carpet, making it disappear. I looked at each of them for exactly one breath. Imogen, Jace, Jonathan. They all wore a different mask of respect.

Jonathan came towards me, his hand outstretched, his expression strangely closed. "That was truly ... extraordinary." His dark pupils flickered to the adamas around his legs and then focused on Mellartach. "Father couldn't have blessed us more differently. He really outdid himself with you."

Only then did I recognize this strange change in his demeanor. He was jealous. Of what I had. Of my ability. For while he had been condemned to be a soulless monster, I possessed the gift of the angels. Even the demonic part of himself longed for the light, which would forever be denied to him. Because he was what he was. Because the light eradicated all darkness. I almost felt sorry for him.

"You want the sword?" I asked instead, ignoring his words. Jonathan nodded slowly and lowered his hand. There was enough distance between us. "I have some conditions."

This caused his light eyebrows to rise. Pretended surprise. "I have something you want," he explained matter-of-factly, pointing with his chin at Jace, who was no longer kneeling in blood but in boiling-hot adamas, but didn't move an expression.

"But that won't be enough," I replied just as matter-of-factly, hoping that he would swallow my bluff. Even though my heart was racing, my poker face didn't change.

Jonathan's mouth turned up in amusement. Eager. "Then enlighten me, sister. What else can I help you with?"

"Condition one: You let Jace and Isabelle go and only then will you get the sword. Since, unlike you, I don't just fake my honor, you can be sure that you'll actually get it."

He didn't seem to like that. Igniting his anger felt like provoking a wild animal that had been provoked once too often and was now coming out of its reserve. Jonathan's sharp features hardened, turning into a Michelangelo sculpture as he balled his fingers into fists until his knuckles stood out white beneath the stretched skin.

But all my brother said was, "Agreed." With a half-hearted wave of his hand, he ordered the two men to let go of Jace and step back. The hands disappeared from Isabelle's back, and she immediately jumped to the side, her body burned by adamas, and her face dominated by a devilish hatred.

Jace immediately collapsed, leaning forward and pressing his hands into the hardened ground to keep from tipping over. He was lucky that the adamas cooled as quickly as it melted. Following the obvious movements of his chest, he tried to catch his breath. Imogen wanted to run to him, but the Nephilim blocked her path. However, Isabelle was so close to him that no one could stop her.

I forced my eyes away from him; forced me to meet Jonathan's instead. His were already resting on me. We exchanged a long, testing look before I came around Imogen's desk and walked slowly past him and his people. Jonathan let me have my way.

When I came to a stop next to Jace and Isabelle, I turned back to Jonathan. I didn't let the rapid pounding in my chest frighten me. "Condition two: You leave Alicante alone and leave this scum to us."

To make my intentions clear, I swung the Soul Sword through the air once, without warning and at above-average speed. A collective roar went through the room as the traitor who had been closest to me lost his head. His blood sprayed to the ceiling and his body collapsed like a house of cards. And while Blake's men jumped back a few steps to avoid being next, Isabelle and Imogen drew their weapons. All of them seemed taken aback, except for Jonathan.

Jonathan smiled. A wide, radiant smile that revealed his teeth. The bloodshed gave him joy. "It's always a pleasure doing business with you, dearest sister."

Since that was confirmation enough, I nodded in defeat. Because despite everything I had gotten out of it, I had lost. The Mortal Sword and therefore the greatest advantage in the coming war.

Jonathan and I met halfway. I held out Mellartach to him and even though the hilt would have been long enough to avoid it, our fingers brushed as I handed it over. Our eyes met and again I searched desperately for a sign of my brother's life in those eyes of endless black. I couldn't find it.

"Don't torture yourself," Jonathan then said. We stood close enough that he didn't have to raise his voice. "For this new version of me knows no agony either. Everything that remained of me after Lilith's poison is enjoying every second of this. But the part that died would have hated it. Don't torture yourself with guilt or melancholy, dearest sister, for he is gone."

He was able to see my sadness. Because he was my brother. Because he knew me.

I wanted to say something back, wanted to explore this topic, wanted to know more about what was going on with him. But as soon as I let go of the sword, he spun on his heel and jumped through the open window into the depths. I didn't bother to look after him.

The part that died would have hated it. I couldn't swallow the lump in my throat. He is gone. But was he really? Would he be able to say it if it were really true? Would he even be able to empathize with his old self? Questions I would probably never get an answer to.

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From now on, I'm changing my upload-cycle to Thursday. What do you think about this chapter? Let me know! :)

Skyllen