The Rise Of The Morningstar (Eng. Version)

Chapter 61 - When Dreams Mix With Reality

In my brain, Cynthia Ashdown's distorted, desperate scream was mixed with my own after my mother's death. I had caused her similar suffering that Jonathan had caused me. And I didn't regret it any more than he regretted our mother's death.

But you regret her pain, a voice whispered in my head. Does he regret yours?

I jumped off the bed, shaking my head. Trying to shake off the cold, I stretched out my shaking arms and hopped in place, running in circles. Anything that would distract me. Anything that would get the stiffness out of my veins. And as I went through exercise after exercise that I had been doing since I was a child to warm up before training, the low temperatures actually faded into the background. The breath that escaped my mouth now formed thicker clouds against the air of the room, but at least I was warm. The only thing that sport didn't give me was distraction from my thoughts.

I was still reeling from the events of the last twenty-four hours when suddenly a murmur came from the thick adamas door. A metallic clacking sound reached me, like someone opening the lock with a key. It was nonsense, of course, because they used steles to unlock the doors. My feet stopped and I took a few steps away from the entrance to my cell when the door began to shudder and finally opened inwards with a resounding groan.

Was the time already up? Had the Inquisitor already made a decision?

A Gard guard came into view. Shrouded in darkness beneath a furry hood, I couldn't make out her eyes, but given her passive posture, she wasn't here to take me anywhere. A second later she stepped aside and someone else stepped into the cone of sparse witch-light.

Jace. His blond hair fell in short curls just above his ears and cast long shadows across his face. Our eyes met across the short distance and he blinked several times. As if he was unsure whether I was actually standing there in front of him. Then he turned his head to the guard, nodded to her and walked into my cell. Not a moment later, the door behind him closed with a thud. Jace's lips lifted slightly.

"What are you doing here?" was the first thing that came out of my mouth. There were at least a dozen more important questions I should have asked.

"I thought that you might need some things to survive the night in this shithole," Jace explained full of energy and only then did my gaze drop to the actually unmissable pile of clothes in his hands. "It's really freezing in here."

I watched Jace in silence as he walked over to my bed, put the pile down, and fished out a witch-light from his pants. When he turned to me, there wasn't much of the cheerful expression left on his face. So just put-on. The glow of witch-light gave his features a piercing exhaustion, and I could see the strain again, the concern that I had noticed just before we jumped through the portal.

"Why is your hair wet?" Jace asked, taking one of my water-sticky, cold strands of hair between his fingers. His warm breath stood out in the chilly air, as did mine; collided against my skin and made me lean more into him.

"I was trying to wash myself," I explained, pointing to the small sink on the wall behind me. I had been covered in blood and dirt when I had been dumped here. While I had cleaned my face and hair with shaking hands, I hadn't been able to bring myself to wet the only clothes I owned in here as well. Getting my hair wet had been lesson enough. Hours later, they felt just as wet as they did after drying off.Haa

Jace snorted in disbelief. "By the Angel, Clary, sometimes I think you really have a death wish." Despite the accusation, his words didn't sound accusatory. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me over to the bed. "I brought you something that will help." He rummaged through the pile and then held out a bundle of dark clothes to me. "The winter gear from your closet. It should warm you more than what Blake gave you. And I have your coat with me too."