Division of Our Hearts

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Dear Alexander,

The arrows shot missed the target by miles, some sticking into the outer edges and others missing it completely and attaching themselves to the wall.

We were delighted to receive your application for Duty Leave.

An angry yell; grabbing at more arrows; struggling to load the bow again.

We are more than obliged to grant you permission, and we know that you will utilise the time granted to the best of your ability.

Another try. Another miss. More frustrated yelling.

As a Lightwood, we know that you will do the Shadowhunters proud, and provide us with more warriors who will grow up to defend Idris against the Downworlder Scum.

Fed up. Quiver ripped from back. Firing the bow at the target and leaving the room to try to find some calm.

You are an essential piece to this war, Alexander, and we know that you will live up to the legacy that your parents left behind.

"Alec, wait!" Isabelle's heels smacking the ground as she ran after her fed up brother.

May the Angel remain with you.

Doors slamming. Shouting echoing through the corridors of the Institute.

~The Clave

Magnus had never thought that watching a Shadowhunter train could be so miserable. The whole idea of training was to better one's self; to improve; to become better than you were yesterday. Except, Alec had been there with his archery. He'd done the training. He had it down to a refined art. He knew how to shoot a bullseye with his eyes closed. Now all of that had gone down the drain. It had all been thrown away, like rubbish in the breeze. The knowledge was still there, his body simply wouldn't conduct what his brain told him to do.

No wonder Alec was frustrated.

Hodge didn't know that Magnus was in the Institute. As a Shadowhunter loyalist, he would probably report it to the Clave. The New York Institute was a big place, however, and Magnus was easily able to stay in one part of the building, undetected, while Hodge continued business in another part. Alec stayed in the same side of the Institute as Magnus, in case his old mentor came wandering around and he had to distract him while the warlock slipped away.

Hodge didn't know about what happened to Alec. It was easy enough to hide from him. Hodge was getting old and was too weary to question why Alec always had his hands in his pockets and was always wearing baggy jumpers instead of his gear. Thankfully, it matched Alec's personality to do so anyway because before he was drafted, apparently that was how he used to dress. They also kept the Duty Leave lie under wraps and hoped that he didn't hear it from anyone else.

"He's been doing archery training since he was five years old," Isabelle said at dinner that night. Alec wasn't there, he was back in the training room. The four of them could hear the oldest Lightwood's enraged yelling from the kitchen. "I've never since his hands so fumbly, even when he was starting out."

"Give it time," Clary said, picking the lettuce out of her sandwich. "He'll get the hang of it."

"Let's just hope Max doesn't start asking questions," Isabelle muttered. "I don't know what I'd tell him."

Thankfully, so far Max hadn't questioned their actions. He liked the New York Institute, and was glad to return to see Hodge. He didn't seem to be aware of what was going on with Alec yet, nor had he been aware that they had travelled with a warlock. They hoped to keep it that way, as they didn't yet have a feasible lie to excuse Alec's sudden incompetence with a bow that didn't border on terminal illness or impending death.