“Only if you—”
“Perhaps we can table this fascinating cartographic discussion until later,” Catarina Loss said mildly. “I think we have more important business at hand.”
“Like teaching your idiot students a lesson,” Robert Lightwood growled, and stormed out of the office. Catarina and the dean strode after him.
Simon exchanged a nervous glance with Julie. “You, uh, think we’re supposed to follow them?”
“Probably,” she said, then sighed. “We might as well let them expel all of us in one shot.”
They traipsed after their teachers, letting themselves fall more and more behind.
As they neared Jon’s room, Robert’s shouts were audible from halfway down the corridor. They couldn’t quite make out his words through the thick door, but the volume and cadence made the situation quite clear.
Simon and Julie eased the door open and slipped inside.
George, Jon, and the others were lined up against the wall, faces pale, eyes wide, all of them looking steeled for a firing squad. While Isabelle was standing by her father’s side . . . beaming?
“Failures, all of you!” Robert Lightwood boomed. “You lot are supposed to be the best and brightest this school has to offer, and this is what you have to show for yourselves? I warned you about the dangers of charisma. I told you of the need to stand up for what’s right, even if it hurts the ones you love most. And all of you failed to listen.”
Isabelle coughed pointedly.
“All of you except two,” Robert allowed, jerking his head at Simon and Julie. “Well done. Isabelle was right about you.”
Simon was reeling.
“It was all a stupid test?” Jon yelped.
“A rather clever test, if you ask me?” Dean Penhallow said.
Catarina looked as if she had some things to say on the subject of foolish Shadowhunters playing cat-and-mouse games with their own, but as usual, she bit her tongue.
“What percentage of our grades will this be?” Sunil asked.
With that, there was a lot of yelling. Quite a bit of ranting about sacred responsibilities and carelessness and how unpleasant a night in the dungeons of the Silent City could be. Robert thundered like Zeus, Dean Penhallow did her best not to sound like a babysitter scolding her charges for stealing an extra cookie, while Catarina Loss put in the occasional sarcastic remark about what happened to Shadowhunters who thought it would be fun to slum it in warlock territory. At one point, she interrupted Robert Lightwood’s tirade to add a pointed comment about Darth Vader—and a sly look at Simon that made him wonder, not for the first time, just how closely she was watching him, and why.
Through it all, Isabelle watched Simon, something unexpected in her gaze. Something almost like . . . pride.
“In conclusion, next time, you’ll listen when your elders talk,” Robert Lightwood shouted.
“Why would anyone listen to anything you had to say about doing the right thing?” Isabelle snapped.
Robert’s face went red. He turned to her slowly, fixing her with the kind of icy Inquisitor glare that would have left anyone else whimpering in a fetal ball. Isabelle didn’t flinch.
“Now that this sordid business is concluded, I’d ask you all to give me and my dutiful daughter here some privacy. I believe we have some things to settle,” Robert said.
“But this is my room,” Jon whined.
Robert didn’t need to speak, just turned that Inquisitor glare on him; Jon flinched.
He fled, along with everyone else, and Simon was about to follow suit when Isabelle’s fingers snatched for his wrist.
“He stays,” she told her father.
“He most certainly does not.”
“Simon stays with me, or I leave with him,” Isabelle said. “Those are your choices.”
“Er, I’m happy to go—” Simon began, “happy” being his polite substitute for “desperate.”
“You stay,” Isabelle commanded.
Robert sighed. “Fine. You stay.”
That ended the discussion. Simon dropped down onto the edge of Jon’s bed, trying to wish himself invisible.
“It’s obvious to me that you don’t want to be here,” Robert told his daughter.
“What gave it away? The fact that I told you a million times that I didn’t want to come? That I didn’t want to play your stupid game? That I thought it was cruel and manipulative and a total waste of time?”
“Yes,” Robert said. “That.”
“And yet you made me come with you anyway.”
“Yes,” he said.
“Look, if you thought enforced bonding time was going to fix anything or make up for what you—”
Robert sighed heavily. “I’ve told you before, what happened between your mother and me has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with me!”
“Isabelle . . .” Robert glanced at Simon, then lowered his voice. “I would really prefer to do this without an audience.”
“Too bad.”
Simon tried even harder to fade into the background, hoping maybe if he tried hard enough, his skin would take on the same pattern as Jon Cartwright’s surprisingly flowered sheets.
“You and I, we’ve never talked about my time in the Circle, or why I followed Valentine,” Robert said. “I hoped you kids would never have to know that part of me.”
“I heard your lecture, just like everyone else,” she said sullenly.
“We both know that the story tailored for public consumption is never the whole truth.” Robert frowned. “What I didn’t tell those students—what I’ve never told anyone—is that unlike most of the Circle, I wasn’t what you’d call a true believer. The others, they thought they were Raziel’s sword in human form. You should have seen your mother, blazing with righteousness.”
“So now it’s all Mom’s fault? Nice, Dad. Really nice. Am I supposed to think you’re some awesome guy for seeing through Valentine but going along with him anyway? Because your girlfriend said so?”
He shook his head. “You’re missing my point. I was the most to blame. Your mother, the others, they thought they were doing what was right. They loved Valentine. They loved the cause. They believed. I could never muster that faith . . . but I went along anyway. Not because I thought it was right. Because it was easy. Because Valentine seemed so sure. Substituting his certainty for my own seemed like the path of least resistance.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Some of the venom had drained from her voice.
“I didn’t understand then, what it would mean to be truly certain of something,” Robert said. “I didn’t know how it felt to love something, or someone, beyond all reservation. Unconditionally. I thought maybe, with my parabatai, but then—” He swallowed whatever he’d been about to say. Simon wondered how it could be worse than what he’d already confessed to. “Eventually, I assumed I just didn’t have it in me. That I wasn’t built for that kind of love.”
“If you’re about to tell me that you found it with your mistress . . .” Isabelle shuddered.