The Mortal Instruments | Shadowhunters

22. Valentine

"I see l've interrupted something," said Valentine, his voice as dry as a desert afternoon. "Son, would you care to introduce me to your...friends?"

"Yes, father." Jace sounded tired and unhappy, but his hand on her wrist didn't loosen. "This is Daphne. Daphne Penhallow. She is my... parabatai."

Valentine's black eyes took in Daphne. "Oh yes." his lips curled upwards. "Robert's daughter, no?"

Beside her, Jace tensed. His hands wrapped around her, protectively. "She's my parabatai." He repeated.

"I'm sure she is." Valentine said, eyeing the two of them. "I'm so glad to see the two of you getting along. We were close friends back in the day, did you know?" He told Daphne. "Your father and I. He was one of my closest companions. I cherished him dearly."

Daphne smiled slowly, sweet and poisonous. "I'm sure you did," she said snidely.

Valentine's expression morphed into irritation and disgust at the inference in her tone. "You have your mother's fire." he noted, ignoring her. "Robert's features, but Evelyn's eyes. And from what I've heard, you've retained their skills and intelligence too."

"Would you like to test them out?" Daphne volunteered. "I'd be happy to show you how much my accuracy has improved under their tutelage—just stand there, as you are, and I'll give you a little demonstration." Daphne pulled out her knife slowly, and Jace quickly brought her arm down. 

"Daph." He warned under his breath.

Valentine only looked amused. He turned to Clary. "And this one?"

"Clarissa Fray." Jace swallowed slowly. "Also a friend."

Valentine's dark eyes raked Clary slowly, from the top of her disheveled head to the toes of her scuffed sneakers. They fastened on the dagger gripped in her hand. An indefinable look passed over his face—part amusement, part irritation. "Where did you come by that blade, young lady?"

Clary answered coldly. "Jace gave it to me."

"Of course he did." said Valentine. His tone was mild. "May I see it?"

"No!" Clary took a step back, as if she thought he might lunge at her, but Jace moved quickly and swiftly plucked it out of her fingers. She stared at him with a disbelieving expression. "Jace." she hissed, betrayed.

Jace, holding the dagger, looked at her with an apologetic expression. All he said was, "You still don't understand." With a sort of deferential care that made Daphne's insides churn, he went to Valentine and handed him the dagger. "Here you go, Father."

Valentine took the dagger in his big, long-boned hand and examined it. "This is a kindjal, a Circassian dagger. This particular one used to be one of a matched pair. Here, see the star of the Morgensterns, carved into the blade." He turned it over, showing it to Jace. "I'm surprised the Lightwoods never noticed it."

"I never showed it to them," said Jace. "They let me have my own private things. They didn't pry."

"Of course they didn't." said Valentine. He handed the kindjal back to Jace. "They thought you were Michael Wayland's son."

Jace, sliding the red-hilted dagger into his belt, looked up. "So did I." he said softly, and in that moment it was clear that this was no joke, that Jace was not just playing along for his own purposes. He really thought Valentine was his father returned to him.

Jace. Daphne thought. Look at me, Jace. Look.

As though he heard her, Jace turned towards her. But in his eyes was a look she had never seen before. A cold despair spread through Daphne's veins. Jace angry, Jace hostile, furious, she could have dealt with. But Jace, fragile and shining in the light of his own personal miracle?