CITY OF GLASS

“You weren’t supposed to be having fun. You were supposed to be finding out what it was she was looking for. And when she did find it—without you, I might add—you let her give it to a warlock. And then you failed to bring her with you when you left, despite the threat she poses to us. Not exactly a glorious success, Jonathan.”


“I tried to bring her. They wouldn’t let her out of their sight, and I couldn’t exactly kidnap her in the middle of the Accords Hall.” Sebastian sounded sulky. “Besides, I told you, she doesn’t have any idea how to use that rune power of hers. She’s too naive to pose any danger—”

“Whatever the Clave is planning now, she’s at the center of it,” Valentine said. “Hugin says as much. He saw her there on the dais in the Accords Hall. If she can show the Clave her power …”

Jace felt a flash of fear for Clary, mixed with an odd sort of pride—of course she was at the center of things. That was his Clary.

“Then they’ll fight,” said Sebastian. “Which is what we want, isn’t it? Clary doesn’t matter. It’s the battle that matters.”

“You underestimate her, I think,” Valentine said quietly.

“I was watching her,” said Sebastian. “If her power were as unlimited as you seem to think, she could have used it to get her little vampire friend out of his prison—or save that fool Hodge when he was dying—”

“Power doesn’t have to be unlimited to be deadly,” Valentine said. “And as for Hodge, perhaps you might show a bit more reserve regarding his death, since you’re the one who killed him.”

“He was about to tell them about the Angel. I had to.”

“You wanted to. You always do.” Valentine took a pair of heavy leather gloves from his pocket and drew them on slowly. “Perhaps he would have told them. Perhaps not. All those years he looked after Jace in the Institute and must have wondered what it was he was raising. Hodge was one of the few who knew there was more than one boy. I knew he wouldn’t betray me—he was too much of a coward for that.” He flexed his fingers inside the gloves, frowning.

More than one boy? What was Valentine talking about?

Sebastian dismissed Hodge with a wave of his hand. “Who cares what he thought? He’s dead, and good riddance.” His eyes gleamed blackly. “Are you going to the lake now?”

“Yes. You’re clear on what must be done?” Valentine jerked his chin toward the sword at Sebastian’s waist. “Use that. It’s not the Mortal Sword, but its alliance is sufficiently demonic for this purpose.”

“I can’t go to the lake with you?” Sebastian’s voice had taken on a distinct whining tone. “Can’t we just release the army now?”

“It’s not midnight yet. I said I would give them until midnight. They may yet change their minds.”

“They’re not going to—”

“I gave my word. I’ll stand by it.” Valentine’s tone was final. “If you hear nothing from Malachi by midnight, open the gate.” Seeing Sebastian’s hesitation, Valentine looked impatient. “I need you to do this, Jonathan. I can’t wait here for midnight; it’ll take me nearly an hour to get to the lake through the tunnels, and I have no intention of letting the battle drag on very long. Future generations must know how quickly the Clave lost, and how decisive our victory was.”

“It’s just that I’ll be sorry to miss the summoning. I’d like to be there when you do it.” Sebastian’s look was wistful, but there was something calculated beneath it, something sneering and grasping and planning and strangely, deliberately … cold. Not that Valentine seemed bothered.

To Jace’s bafflement, Valentine touched the side of Sebastian’s face, a quick, undisguisedly affectionate gesture, before turning away and moving toward the far end of the cavern, where thick clots of shadows gathered. He paused there, a pale figure against the darkness. “Jonathan,” he called back, and Jace glanced up, unable to help himself. “You will look upon the Angel’s face someday. After all, you will inherit the Mortal Instruments once I am gone. Perhaps one day you, too, will summon Raziel.”

“I’d like that,” Sebastian said, and stood very still as Valentine, with a final nod, disappeared into the darkness. Sebastian’s voice dropped to a half whisper. “I’d like it very much,” he snarled. “I’d like to spit in his bastard face.” He whirled, his face a white mask in the dim light. “You might as well come out, Jace,” he said. “I know you’re here.”

Jace froze—but only for a second. His body moved before his mind had time to catch up, catapulting him to his feet. He ran for the tunnel entrance, thinking only of making it outside, of getting a message, somehow, to Luke.

But the entrance was blocked. Sebastian stood there, his expression cool and gloating, his arms outstretched, his fingers almost touching the tunnel walls. “Really,” he said, “you didn’t actually think you were faster than me, did you?”

Jace skidded to a halt. His heart beat unevenly in his chest, like a broken metronome, but his voice was steady. “Since I’m better than you in every other conceivable way, it did stand to reason.”