Robert’s secret, that he told nobody, not even Michael: He was still afraid of the Marks.
Every time he drew a rune on himself, he had to hold his breath, force his fingers not to tremble. He always hesitated. In class, it was barely noticeable. In battle, it could be the split-second difference between life and death, and Robert knew it. Which made him hesitate even more, at everything. He was strong, smart, talented; he was a Lightwood. He should have been among the best. But he couldn’t let himself go and act on instinct. He couldn’t stop his mind from racing toward potential consequences. He couldn’t stop being afraid—and he knew, eventually, it would be the end of him.
“I can help you,” Valentine said then. “I can teach you what to do with the fear.” As if it were as simple as that—and under Valentine’s careful instruction, it was.
Valentine had taught him to retreat to a place in his mind that the fear couldn’t touch. To separate himself from the Robert Lightwood who knew how to be afraid—and then to tame that weaker, loathed version of himself. “Your weakness makes you furious, as it should,” Valentine had told him. “Use the fury to master it—and then everything else.”
In a way Valentine had saved Robert’s life. Or at least, the only part of his life that mattered.
He owed Valentine everything.
He at least owed Valentine the truth.
“You don’t agree with what I did,” Valentine said quietly as the sun crept above the horizon. Michael and Stephen were still asleep. Robert had passed the hours of darkness staring at the sky, sifting through what had happened, and what he should do next.
“You think I was out of control,” Valentine added.
“That wasn’t self-defense,” Robert said. “That was torture. Murder.”
Robert was seated on one of the logs around the remains of their campfire. Valentine lowered himself beside him.
“You heard the things it said. You understand why it had to be silenced,” Valentine said. “It had to be taught its lesson, and the Clave couldn’t have mustered the will. I know the others wouldn’t understand. Not even Lucian. But you . . . we understand each other, you and I. You’re the only one I can really trust. I need you to keep this to yourself.”
“If you’re so sure you did the right thing, then why keep it a secret?”
Valentine laughed gently. “Always so skeptical, Robert. It’s what we all love most about you.” His smile faded. “Some of the others are starting to have doubts. About the cause, about me—” He waved away Robert’s denials before they could be voiced. “Don’t think I can’t tell. Everyone wants to be loyal when it’s easy. But when things get difficult . . .” He shook his head. “I can’t count on everyone I would like to count on. But I believe I can count on you.”
“Of course you can.”
“Then you’ll keep what passed this night a secret from the others,” Valentine said. “Even from Michael.”
Much later—too late—it would occur to Robert that Valentine probably had some version of this conversation with each member of the Circle. Secrets bound people together, and Valentine was smart enough to know it.
“He’s my parabatai,” Robert pointed out. “I don’t keep secrets from him.”
Valentine’s eyebrows shot sky-high. “And you think he keeps no secrets from you?”
Robert remembered the night before, whatever it was Michael had been trying so hard not to say. That was one secret—who knew how many more there were?
“You know Michael better than anyone,” Valentine said. “And yet, I imagine there are things I know about him that might surprise you. . . .”
A silence hung between them as Robert considered it.
Valentine didn’t lie, or issue empty boasts. If he said he knew something about Michael, something secret, then it was true.
And it was temptation, dangling here before Robert.
He needed only to ask.
He wanted to know; he didn’t want to know.
“We all have competing loyalties,” Valentine said, before Robert could give in to temptation. “The Clave would like to make these things simple, but it’s just another example of their obtuseness. I love Lucian, my parabatai. I love Jocelyn. If those two loves were ever to come into conflict . . .”
He didn’t have to complete the thought. Robert knew what Valentine knew, and understood that Valentine loved his parabatai enough to allow it. Just as Lucian loved Valentine enough never to act on it.
Maybe some secrets were a mercy.
He held out his hand to Valentine. “You have my word. My oath. Michael will never know about this.”
As soon as the words were out, he wondered if he’d made a mistake. But there was no going back.
“I know your secret too, Robert,” Valentine said.
At this, an echo of the first words Valentine had ever said to him, Robert felt the ghost of a smile.
“I think we covered that,” Robert reminded him.
“You’re a coward,” Valentine said.
Robert flinched. “How can you say that after everything we’ve been through? You know I would never shy away from a battle or—”
Valentine shook his head, silencing him. “Oh, I don’t mean physically. We’ve taken care of that, haven’t we? When it comes to taking on physical risk, you’re the bravest there is. Overcompensating, perhaps?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Robert said stiffly—afraid he knew all too well.
“You’re not afraid of death or injury, Robert. You’re afraid of yourself and your own weakness. You lack faith—you lack loyalty—because you lack the strength of your own convictions. And it’s my own fault for expecting more. After all, how can you be expected to believe in anything or anyone if you don’t believe in yourself?”
Robert felt suddenly transparent, and didn’t much like it.
“I once tried to teach you to master your fear and your weakness,” Valentine said. “I see now that was a mistake.”
Robert hung his head, waiting for Valentine to cast him out of the Circle. Exile him from his friends and his duty. Ruin his life.
Ironic that it was his own cowardice that had made his worst fears come true.
But Valentine surprised him. “I’ve given the matter some thought, and I have a proposition for you,” Valentine said.
“What is it?” He was afraid to hope.
“Give up,” Valentine said. “Stop trying to pretend away your cowardice, your doubt. Stop trying to ignite some unshakable passion in yourself. If you can’t find the courage of your convictions, why not simply accept the courage of mine?”
“I don’t understand.”
“My proposition is this,” Valentine said. “Stop worrying so much about whether or not you’re sure. Let me be sure for you. Rely on my certainty, on my passion. Let yourself be weak, and lean on me, because we both know I can be strong. Accept that you’re doing the right thing because I know it to be the right thing.”
“If only it were that easy,” Robert said, and couldn’t deny a stab of longing.
Valentine looked mildly amused, as if Robert had betrayed a childlike misunderstanding of the nature of things. “It’s only as hard as you make it,” he said gently. “It’s as easy as you let it be.”