The Rise Of The Morningstar (Eng. Version)

Chapter 63 - Endgame

Chapter 63 – Endgame

By now I was used to people staring at me no matter where I went. This was no different when Jace and I entered the spacious Clave chamber and slowly moved past the many Nephilim down the steps to the podium behind which the Inquisitor had already taken her position. People continued to avoid me, stepping aside before I could squeeze between them, watching me, following my every move. Every time, I asked myself what they were looking for when they looked at me. Were they looking for Valentine? For Jocelyn? Were they afraid that I would freak out and attack them? What were they waiting for?

Cluelessness. Fear. Concern. Boredom. Envy. Respect. Disgust. The mood was more diverse than at my first trial.

When I reached the foot of the auditorium-like hall, I stopped to look at the benches that had been set up around the podium. A long bench on each side of the podium and a single chair directly in front of it. The two massive black ebony thrones that rested against the wall behind them didn't seem as imposing as they had the first time. They had lost their charm when I had realized how limited the power of both Inquisitor and Consul was. How carelessly Malachi had given up his own power to make room for my father. And had failed.

I felt Jace's hand on my back. No pushing to move me forward. A reminder that he was here – with me – should I need him. The gold of his eyes had turned into a liquid, luminous tone; gentle and calm. "What do you think?" he finally asked, quietly enough that no one could hear us. Even though I was aware that there were probably hundreds of pairs of eyes following us.

"I think ..." I began, unsure of how to continue. My gaze darted from the benches to the podium – to the Inquisitor – and our eyes met. There was no ice on her face, but the dissatisfaction with which she pressed her lips together, as if she were holding back from saying anything, was close enough to the bossy, calculating woman I had come to know. "I think your grandmother hates me, and you're not helping by making it look like I've got you wrapped around my finger."

Jace's mouth lifted into a smile. "I actually don't think she hates you," he replied, a strangely mischievous tone in his voice. He released his fingers from my back and took a step towards the podium. There was a malicious look behind his eyes that raised my eyebrows in confusion. "But I can just ask her. Should I?" As he said this, he continued to approach his grandmother.

"No!" it came from me in an almost panicked hiss. Jace grinned and Imogen's sullen expression seemed to deepen. She seemed to see it as her moment to approach us around the podium .

"Clarissa," she acknowledged me and then turned to her grandson. "Can you tell me why that childish grin is plastered to your face, Jace? In case you haven't noticed, we're here because yesterday Clarissa killed eight Shadowhunters, some of them minors. And as if that weren't tumultuous enough, the Cohort outside the Gard's gates is causing havoc that would require me to put half of them in chains. So please explain to me what reason there is to laugh."

Something changed in Jace's features. The amusement that he had apparently only feigned for me disappeared like a second skin from his face even as Imogen spoke. He stood up to his full height, towering several inches taller than his grandmother. "I'm laughing because your guard must have known about this protest, and yet you still couldn't adequately protect Clary from them. Your people not only failed, but without Luke Garroway and Magnus Bane, we would both either be dead or lying in the Basilias. Are the Shadowworlders already doing your job better than you? And on top of that, Cynthia Ashdown tried to kill Clary for the second time. In the middle of the anteroom, as if she felt powerful enough to dare to do that in front of so many other Nephilim. How much power do you even have over this community when–"