Shadowveil

The Illusion

Jace blinked.

The light from the chandeliers dazzled his eyes. The windows of the Herondale mansion were flung wide, the heavy perfume of mid-summer roses drifting through them. Silhouetted against the early stars, people laughed in groups throughout the living room, dressed in silky formal attire. A couple wandered past him, holding glasses of bubbling champagne and plates of fancy, tortured shrimp--the kind that he always made fun of, because what was the point of spending so much money on something that was gone in a single bite?

For a moment he felt confused. When he blinked again, he thought he saw the imprint of a flaming skyline under his closed lids and smelled the stench of smoke and ancient stone. But that was ridiculous. He hadn't been to the Silent City in months, since his last mission; it had been as coldly stony and bony as usual, and quiet as the grave it literally was. And there had been no battles recently, except the one a few months ago over the design stamped on the wedding invitations--he'd wanted crossed swords or runes, something fierce, and Clary had campaigned for botanical prints.

He'd given in to her, of course. After all, the woman of his dreams had agreed to marry him; it would be the best day of his life regardless of whether there was a broadsword or a peony stamped on the envelopes. 

He made a dismissive gesture and paused. Emerald cufflinks gleamed against the white sliver of his dress shirt sleeves, twinkling against the blackness of his tuxedo. Frowning, he pinched off a cufflink and held it up to the light; he loved emeralds because the green reminded him of Clary's eyes--but he'd never seen this pair before. They weren't part of his collection. 

From the emerald, his gaze was drawn down to his left hand, seeing the mark of the Voyance rune stark against his skin, the feathery imprints of scars. On his third finger was a heavy golden band. He closed his fingers into a fist, feeling its imprint on his palm. It seemed wrong somehow. 

Briefly, he remembered a slimmer band, a matching half to one nestled in a velvet box and offered on one knee under a sunset sky. What had happened to that engagement ring? The last time he'd seen it, he'd been wearing it on the rooftop of. . .where had that been again? But if he'd been wearing it, he couldn't have been married--yet he remembered the feel of it against his hand as if it were yesterday.

Somewhere deep in his mind, alarm began to stir. But reason quickly took over; of course he was married. It had been a beautiful summer wedding two months before, on a night just like this one. They'd had pink roses and clusters of forget-me-nots for the flowers, and Isabelle and Magnus had fussed over every miniature detail, including the gilding on the edge of the plates and the leftwards tilt of the lace bow in the flower girl's hair. The memories were all there; dreamlike and beautiful, the edges shimmering in his mind. 

Shaking off his unease, Jace lifted his flute of champagne to his lips (how long had he been holding a drink? He couldn't remember) and moved to Clary's side. She was holding her mother's hands and beaming, an intricate crown of braids worked through her flaming hair. His chest hurt a little. She was so beautiful.

His wife broke away from Jocelyn and stood on her toes to put both arms around his neck. "Jace," she laughed into his shoulder. "Where've you been? I was cornered into a solid ten minutes of listening to Cassius Vinebrook tell his horrible stories. I swear, if I hear about the golden days of his youth one more time--"

He paused with his arms around her. Cassius? Jace thought. He didn't know a Cassius, and anyone Clary knew he knew. He'd heard of the Vinebrooks only through the pages of family genealogy--one of them had married a Herondale daughter at some point a couple centuries back. But his wife said it so confidently, as if it was someone they'd known for a long time. . . He felt dizzy for a moment, groping for memories that should have been there but weren't.