Cassandra Clare - City of Ashes

"And your sister?" Valentine said. "What about Clarissa?"

Why do you have to ruin everything ? "She's not too pleased with me either." He hesitated. "I remembered what you said at the Bone City. That you never got a chance to tell me the truth. I don't trust you," he added. "I want you to know that. But I thought I'd give you the chance to tell me why ."

"You have to ask me more than why, Jonathan." There was a note in his father's voice that startled Jace—a fierce humility that seemed to temper Valentine's pride, as steel might be tempered by fire. "There are so many whys ."

"Why did you kill the Silent Brothers? Why did you take the Mortal Sword? What are you planning? Why wasn't the Mortal Cup enough for you?" Jace caught himself before he could ask any more questions. Why did you leave me a second time ? Why did you tell me I wasn't your son anymore, then come back for me anyway ?

"You know what I want. The Clave is hopelessly corrupt and must be destroyed and built again. Idris must be freed from the influence of the degenerate races, and Earth made proof against the demonic threat."

"Yeah, about that demonic threat." Jace glanced around, as if he half-expected to see the black shadow of Agramon hulking toward him. "I thought you hated demons. Now you use them like servants. The Ravener, the Drevak demons, Agramon—they're your employees . Guards, butler—personal chef, for all I know."

Valentine tapped his fingers on the railing. "I'm no friend to demons," he said. "I am Nephilim, no matter how much I might think the Covenant is useless and the Law fraudulent. A man doesn't have to agree with his government to be a patriot, does he? It takes a true patriot to dissent, to say he loves his country more than he cares for his own place in the social order. I've been vilified for my choice, forced into hiding, banished from Idris. But I am—I will always be—Nephilim. I can't change the blood in my veins if I wished to—and I don't."

I do . Jace thought of Clary. He glanced down at the dark water again, knowing it wasn't true. To give up the hunt, the kill, the knowledge of one's own soaring speed and sure abilities: It was impossible. He was a warrior. He could be nothing else.

"Do you?" Valentine asked. Jace looked away quickly, wondering if his father could read his face. It had been just the two of them alone for so many years. He'd known his father's face better than his own, once. Valentine was the one person from whom he felt he could never hide what he was feeling. Or the first person, at least. Sometimes he felt as if Clary could look right through him as if he were glass.

"No," he said. "I don't."

"You're a Shadowhunter forever?"

"I am," Jace said, "in the end, what you made me."

"Good," said Valentine. "That's what I wanted to hear." He leaned back against the railing, looking up at the night sky. There was gray in his silvery white hair; Jace had never noticed it before. "This is a war," Valentine said. "The only question is, what side will you fight on?"

"I thought we were all on the same side. I thought it was us against the demon worlds."

"If only it could be. Don't you understand that if I felt that the Clave had the best interests of this world at heart, if I thought they were doing the best job they possibly could—by the Angel, why would I fight them? What reason would I have?"

Power , Jace thought, but he said nothing. He was no longer sure what to say, much less what to believe.

"If the Clave goes on as they are," Valentine said, "the demons will see their weakness and attack, and the Clave, distracted by their endless courting of the degenerate races, will be in no condition to fight them off. The demons will attack and they will destroy and there will be nothing left."

The degenerate races . The words carried an uncomfortable familiarity; they recalled Jace's childhood to him, in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. When he thought of his father and of Idris, it was always the same blurred memory of hot sunshine burning down on the green lawns in front of their country house, and of a big, dark, broad-shouldered figure leaning down to lift him off the grass and carry him inside. He must have been very young then, and he had never forgotten it, not the way the grass had smelled—green and bright and newly cut—or the way the sun had turned his father's hair to a white halo, nor the feeling of being carried. Of being safe.

"Luke," Jace said, with some difficulty. "Luke isn't a degenerate—"

"Lucian is different. He was a Shadowhunter once." Valentine's tone was flat and final. "This isn't about specific Downworlders, Jonathan. This is about the survival of every living creature in this world. The Angel chose the Nephilim for a reason. We are the best of this world, and we are meant to save it. We are the closest thing that exists in this world to gods—and we must use that power to save this world from destruction, whatever the cost to us."

Jace leaned his elbows on the railing. It was cold here: The icy wind cut through his clothes, and the tips of his fingers were numb. But in his mind, he saw green hills and blue water and the honey-colored stones of the Wayland manor house.

"In the old tale," he said, "Satan said to Adam and Eve 'You shall be as gods' when he tempted them into sin. And they were cast out of the garden because of it."

There was a pause before Valentine laughed. He said, "See, that's what I need you for, Jonathan. You keep me from the sin of pride."

"There are all sorts of sins." Jace straightened up and turned to face his father. "You didn't answer my question about the demons, Father. How can you justify summoning them, associating with them? Do you plan to send them against the Clave?"

"Of course I do," said Valentine, without hesitation, without a moment's pause to consider whether it might be wise to reveal his plans to someone who might share them with his enemies. Nothing could have shaken Jace more than to realize how sure his father was of success. "The Clave won't yield to reason, only to force. I tried to build an army of Forsaken; with the Cup, I could create an army of new Shadowhunters, but that will take years. I don't have years. We, the human race, don't have years. With the Sword I can call to me an obedient army of demons. They will serve me as tools, do whatever I demand. They will have no choice. And when I am done with them, I will command them to destroy themselves, and they will do it." His voice was emotionless.

Jace was gripping the railing so hard that his fingers had begun to ache. "You can't slaughter every Shadowhunter who opposes you. That's murder."

"I won't have to. When the Clave sees the power arrayed against them, they'll surrender. They're not suicidal. And there are those among them who support me." There was no arrogance in Valentine's voice, only a calm certainty. "They will step forward when the time comes."

"I think you're underestimating the Clave." Jace tried to make his voice steady. "I don't think you understand how much they hate you."

"Hate is nothing when weighed against survival." Valentine's hand went to his belt, where the hilt of the Sword gleamed dully. "But don't take my word for it. I told you there was something I wanted to show you. Here it is."

He drew the Sword from its sheath and held it out to Jace. Jace had seen Maellartach before in the Bone City, hanging on the wall in the pavilion of the Speaking Stars. And he had seen the hilt of it protruding from Valentine's shoulder sheath, but he'd never really examined it up close. The Angel's Sword . It was a dark, heavy silver, glimmering with a dull sheen. Light seemed to move over and through it, as if it were made of water. In its hilt bloomed a fiery rose of light.