The Morning Star.

The price of sin.

Amatis's voice was low near her ear, "She's just a child.." She had been whispering to Jocelyn for a few moments now, but it wasn't as if Jocelyn had heard a word. Her mind replayed Clary's anger and Clary storming off and a feverish need to go back in time and set what she had done wrong, came to her. As a Shadowhunter she had been raised for a hard life, blood and weapons had been her oldest companions. She had been taught the dangers of living the life she had been born in, of the constant risk of death wherever she went.

She had not been raised for this. Her breaths were shallow, the regret flourishing in her heart with an alarming speed. Clary had been right, she had always known that. But how do you tell your only child that their father had ruined more lives then she'd ever set her eyes on, or that her brother was more a demon than he could ever be her brother? How do you tell your child that they're special and then tell them that the very special trait would haunt them for eternity?

She turned to Amatis, her gaze misty, "What has been going on with..?"
Him, she had wanted to say. But Amatis understood her anyway.

"They found a way to break the demon wards. Alicanté was swarmed.. so many died; they're holding a meeting in the Gard now to come up with a solution," her voice lowered, "even if there isn't one."

Jocelyn nodded, her thoughts churning. Maryse's daughter had remained awfully quiet through it all, but she spoke now, "He killed my brother."

Her throat constricted, "Valentine?"

The girl shook her head, "Sebastian Verlac."

Confused, she asked, "Who?"

"Some imposter Valentine planted, a spy or something.." the girl's eyes were glassy.
Sebastian Verlac. The Verlacs would never have sided with Valentine through this; she had known them well. But then, why..

Unless the boy hadn't been who he said he was.

Jocelyn said, "What's your name?"

"Isabelle Lightwood," she replied, regaining composure, and Jocelyn felt yet another burden slide down her chest. Robert's son was dead.

"What did he look like?"

Isabelle tilted her head, "He was six."

"What?"

"Max? Oh," she realized, taking in Jocelyn's confused expression, "You mean Sebastian. He was.. well, tall, black hair, creepy white skin- like too fair, you know? Strong cheekbones and all. Had an evil streak about him from the start.. My age- maybe a little older," she added, as an afterthought. "Why? Do you know him?"

Jocelyn shook her head, "No, just wanted to know." And a mad impulse overtook her. She had to get to the Gard meeting, not sit here pitying herself. She had to help, even if she didn't know how.

She looked up at the two faces staring at her, "I have to go."

***

The walk to the Gard was not unlike what Jocelyn had imagined it to be. It felt the same as it did this morning, when she'd come to Amatis'. Familiar, but strange. She walked quietly, her footsteps barely making a sound, as if she were afraid any noise would make this all the more real.

When the Gard finally came into view, and Jocelyn saw the huge crowd collected in it through the windows, her heart faltered. But hearts don't matter when you're a warrior; the old principle was still rooted in her brain and without really thinking about it, she moved towards the stony steps.

The building was like she remembered, perhaps a little remodeled here and there, but the old sweeping roof, the stone structure, the wooden linings filled her with a strong feeling of nostalgia. How long had it been since she had been in a Council meeting? She couldn't remember.

The Gard was so full that no one noticed her enter. Everyone was speaking all at once, the Consul talking to the new Inquisitor in the far corner of the room. She could spot Robert Lightwood there, and Jia Penhallow- there was Diana Wrayburn, and after looking at a few more familiar faces, she recognized the one of Luke. A warm feeling flooded her at seeing him, at least he was okay.

She contemplated going up to the dice and talking- but what would she say? What could she say? Would they even believe her, given how she'd fled? She caught Luke's eye and she slightly relaxed; Luke could help her.

He smiled, and started to make his way towards her. She waited, as he approached and gave her a quick hug, "Jocelyn.."

"Luke. Hi, I'm glad you're okay."

"I can't..," he hiccuped a laugh, "I can't believe you're finally awake."

"Magnus, he uh, found the cure in this spellbook. I wanted to apologize, for doing this to you. And Clary."

He nodded, looking away for a moment, "I understand."

She looked away too, looking instead at the heads of people crowded in front of her, "Any progress?"

He snorted, "No. It's a mess. Half are arguing that we could take him on, other half are thinking about fortifying Alicanté. None of it will work. He always finds a way."

"So, what? You're giving up?"

"I'm not, I just- what do I do? I was his parabatai, I fought him five weeks ago- I know him, and I know he will never give up. To raise a battle against him now would be like to ask of suicide. Pointless."

"And his son.. his Jace?"

Luke's face snapped towards her, his eyes surprised, "Jace? He's a wonder, Jocelyn. I don't know why you thought he'd be a monster, he's nothing but the opposite. Maybe time changed him, but he's definitely not what you thought him to be. He's your son, you should be proud."

Her throat constricted, but she forced a smile, "Where is he?"

Luke slackened, "He went to find Valentine. Alone. He thinks he's the only one who can do this, get to Valentine, and destroy him. I don't know why I believe him."

"Maybe it's for th-," she stopped mid sentence; the room had hushed suddenly to a pin drop silence. The voices, all the noise just, stopped.

Luke moved forward, "What happ-" but she had already moved past him into the group of people directly in front of her, gathered as if watching a spectacle.

She wondered what they were looking at.

The answer to that came quick as she looked at the clearing in the center of the room, surrounded by the stunned Shadowhunters.

Her husband.

Valentine Morgenstern.