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Jia Penhallow glowered down at her reports. No matter how hard she stared, the numbers stubbornly refused to rearrange themselves to her liking. It was indisputable. The rate at which shadowhunters were leaving the field was greater than the rate at which trainees were graduating from the Academy.
And that imbalance would only get worse if things continued as they were. Without the influx of newblood shadowhunters ascending from the Mundane they couldn’t replenish their troop numbers. They would be doomed to a slow hemorrhage of fighters until they inevitably fell to the onslaught of demons and were overwhelmed.
Perhaps if there was a baby boom, or a large cohort of initiates in training, things would be different, but it wasn’t to be.
She had checked.
Discreet inquiries amongst the Institutes and lower schools in Idris – under the guise of preparing better training schedules and better balancing groups among all the Institutes – had shown that the next ten years wouldn’t graduate enough shadowhunters to fill the void.
Not that throwing large groups of raw recruits on the streets would help much. They needed experienced fighters. But even recruiting from the retirees – or rather shifting them back from Idris to interior positions in the Institutes in administrative roles to free up younger Nephilim – wouldn’t be enough.
Valentine’s insurrection had left too large a scar on their numbers.
Between the number of good shadowhunters they had killed or seriously injured and the Circle members killed or imprisoned for their role in the insurrection, they were already low on people who could be trusted on the streets – and that was before taking into account the loss of the Mortal Cup.
They couldn’t recruit any more Mundanes.
The traditional method of recruiting those who showed aptitude or had been exposed to the Shadow World in some way was gone, and they could not rely on a miraculous recovery of the Cup after it had been missing for nearly two decades.
Encouraging a baby boom among existing shadowhunters wouldn’t work either, or at least wouldn’t work quickly enough. As distasteful as the idea of encouraging what would in effect be “breeding” shadowhunters, Jia had forced herself to consider it. But it was impractical. More children should certainly be encouraged to help ameliorate the issue in the future, but it would take more than fifteen years before they had any sizable number of recruits to replenish the ranks of the Clave that way.
No. They needed a plan and they needed it now.
The world had to be protected from demons.
The Nephilim were no longer enough to do it alone.
The Mundanes were powerless to help.
There was only one option available.
They had to turn to the Downworld for help.
And she had to be the one to tell the Council.
Damn it.
*
With a bone-deep sigh, Alec dropped his pen and tiredly dragged a hand down his face. It had taken quite a bit of juggling but, provided there were no more major injuries for the next month, all patrols should have an adequate number of shadowhunters, and all shadowhunters should have enough time to both rest and complete their patrol and non-patrol duties.
Though “adequate” was all it would be. But upping the number of shadowhunters per patrol would stretch them too thin, not allowing his people enough time off in between shifts to recover. And burnout would just lead to fewer shadowhunters, more shifts, and a cycle that would continue to spiral.
The new patrol schedules meant he wouldn’t be patrolling with Izzy and Jace very often, but as some of the Institute’s best fighters they could do more good leading separate groups rather than sticking together. Admittedly they were more efficient working as a team, but the city would be best served with three separate “good” patrols rather than a single, highly efficient patrol that could only cover so much area at any one time.
But he would sacrifice time with his family if it meant that the city was protected from demons and the soldiers under him were healthier and safer. He was the Head of the Institute — it was his duty to do everything he could to protect them all.
Hopefully the rumors circulating about the Council negotiating new Accords with the Downworld were actually based on something substantial. They could use the reinforcements, and he had spent some of his limited time not directly occupied with work coming up with plans on how to best integrate different types of Downworlders into the patrols, speculating on which types of demons they would likely work best against. It might ultimately be a useless endeavor, but it gave him hope so he refused to regret it.
A sharp knock on the office door pulled his attention sharply back from his thoughts.
“Come,” he said, already apprehensive. He knew it was probably his assistant announcing that Jia Penhallow had arrived for the last-minute meeting she had scheduled. He didn’t know why the Councilor had wanted to meet with him, especially on such short notice, and that uncertainty worried him. Usually, meetings with someone that high up in the Clave hierarchy were scheduled days if not weeks in advance. This request had come through just a few hours ago.
“Jia Penhallow and Maryse Lightwood are here for your 3 o’clock.”
“Show them in,” Alec said, neither his face nor his voice betraying the shock he felt at his mother’s inclusion. He hadn’t been expecting her, hadn’t even known she was in New York. The last he had heard, she and his father were politicking in Alicante and trying to cultivate Max’s marriage prospects.
He rose from behind his large oak desk and gestured towards the chairs in front of it. “Councilor, Mother,” he greeted as they entered his office. His mother looked pleased about something, not an expression he was used to seeing, and he felt a sense of foreboding at the sight.
“Councilor Penhallow,” he said, choosing to address the less intimidating of the pair, “a pleasure as always to see you. What can the New York Institute do for you?” Hopefully whatever she was here for was something easily dealt with, although Maryse’s inclusion made that unlikely.
“Good afternoon, Alec. It’s good to see you looking well; I worried you might never fully recover after last year. As for my visit, I’m not here on behalf of the Beijing Institute or for the New York Institute, but rather to see you personally.”
“She has a great opportunity for the family, Alec,” Maryse interjected before he could think of a reply.
“Oh?”
“As you may have heard, the Council has been meeting with Downworlders in an effort to improve relations and get their aid in dealing with the increased demon presence,” Jia stated, raising an eyebrow at him in question.
“Of course. I’ve already started developing new training strategies in anticipation of incorporating them into shadowhunter patrols.” The confirmation of the rumor lifted a weight off his shoulders. With any luck his fighters would have an opportunity to relax soon.
“Well, the Downworld representatives are demanding an indication of our sincerity and intention for a long-term relationship. And we’ve finally come to an agreement on an acceptable gesture. A marriage.”
Alec felt his blood freeze as his mother jumped into the silence Jia’s pronouncement had left.
“It’s an honor that Jia has come to us, Alec. For a Lightwood to be instrumental in the creation of a new Accords, one which could save thousands of shadowhunters.”
Alec felt the tight control he kept on his temper snap at his mother’s incessant refrain about the Lightwood family name. Of course the first time in months that she talked to him would be when she needed someone to offer up in the name of greater family prestige.
“You mean you need a sacrifice, and decided the broken shadowhunter was a good scapegoat.”
“We need to show the Downworld that we will view them as equals rather than enemies,” Jia corrected. “But they have demanded a show of good faith as a concession. Something that, given our recent fractious history, I cannot honestly begrudge them. The others on the Council and I agree that the idea proposed of a marriage is a good one. It is a traditional and symbolic union of two peoples. But there are a limited number of unattached shadowhunters of sufficient standing that we can put forward, and yes, given your unique circumstances, I thought you would be an appropriate candidate to approach.”
“You assumed I was still available and unwanted after you broke Aline’s and my betrothal last year.” Alec knew Jia was used to his straightforwardness, so he didn’t bother to blunt his words with petty courtesies.
“Alec!” His mother sounded appalled. “Jia is doing us a favor by proposing this. Your marriage prospects are nearly non-existent at this point. By doing this you can help our family despite your disadvantage. Marriage to a Downworlder is unfortunate, and I had hoped for better for you, but life is not about what you want to do. It is about what must be done. And an agreement with the Downworld must be reached to save shadowhunter lives, no matter how unpalatable the solution is.”
“It’s fine, Maryse,” Jia said, placing her hand on his mother’s arm. “I’ve always appreciated Alec’s directness.” She turned and stared solemnly at him. “I will be direct in turn. Yes, your sterility was a factor I considered before approaching you. This circumstance has come about because there are simply not enough Nephilim to serve as shadowhunters anymore. We need all the reinforcements we can get, and part of that involves encouraging shadowhunters to have more children. Were you to marry Aline as planned, it would be a childless match. One our forces simply cannot afford.
“We are the elite among the Nephilim, our lines some of the first to drink from the Mortal Cup. The world simply can’t afford for you to shackle another elite shadowhunter in a childless match. And the agreed upon Nephilim/Downworlder marriage is likely to be childless as well. At the very least it will be unable to produce more pureblooded Nephilim.” Her lips pursed in an unconscious moue of distaste before her face smoothed back into blank politeness. “It only makes sense that we arrange one childless union rather than two.”
Alec felt all his hopes and dreams for the future crumble at her words. It seemed he would not escape marrying for duty after all. He should have known better than to think he could get away and have what he wanted. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, mourning the future he had only recently allowed himself to envision, trying to come up with some tangible silver lining to being consigned to a political match again.
Even if his future was hopeless, filled with duty and politics, perhaps he could save others from his fate.
“I want one concession before I agree to this,” he glared at Maryse until she nodded. “If I go through with this, you don’t arrange Izzy’s or Max’s marriages. They can marry who and how they want. No more behind-the-scenes politicking, or pressuring them to go along with your plans. I’m the Head of the New York Institute. Max will be my heir, and after him one of his or Izzy’s children. You get the glittering, prestigious wedding you’ve always wanted with my marriage, but it comes at the expense of their freedom.”
“Alec, that is absurd! I have always tried to do right by my children and you –”
“Stop. I know you’ve been negotiating with other families about Max’s marriage prospects in particular practically since you heard I was wounded. I was barely out of the hospital before my engagement was broken and you started shifting all the pressure from me to Max. That stops now. He’s ten. At least you waited until I was seventeen and had already proved myself before you started all the marriage machinations. He deserves more than to be under all that pressure. If he or Izzy want to marry a no-name first generation shadowhunter, they can. No deciding Max’s future before he even knows what he wants like you did with me.”
“You can’t be serious. One match, no matter how prestigious, can’t justify letting my other children make terrible choices! You know how Izzy is, and we need Max to carry on the family legacy now, so he must marry a girl from an acceptable family. I –”
“Be reasonable, Maryse,” Jia interjected. “It is a fair proposition, although,” she turned her cool gaze back to Alec, “she is correct that one marriage doesn’t let you negotiate two others.” Jia continued staring calmly at Alec, her placid face masking her thoughts. “I will support you having complete control over one of your siblings’ futures, but not both.”
Alec paused at that. He honestly hadn’t expected his demand to go anywhere. But to choose? Between his little sister and baby brother? The sibling who knew him practically better than he knew himself, and the one he had practically raised? Well, when he put it like that, there was only one choice to make.
“Fine. Give me full guardianship rights to Max, including being able to decide who he can marry, and I’ll be your willing candidate for this Accords Marriage.” Izzy was an adult. She could take care of herself, and her actions would impact any arranged marriage their parents tried to orchestrate. Max was still a child – he deserved the chance to be a kid that Alec had never had. Izzy would understand.
“Done.”
“Jia!” his mother gasped.
“I don’t see any problem with the arrangement, Maryse,” Jia stated. “Alec’s marriage was always going to be the dynastic one, and so long as Max carries on the Lightwood bloodline and family name where Alec can’t, it doesn’t matter who the other partner is. This marriage will be more than prestigious enough to make up for any poor choices a younger son makes a decade from now. And you and Robert have been away in Idris lately while Max is in training, so transferring guardianship to his brother is hardly cause for talk.”
Maryse wore a pinched expression on her face, as if she had bitten into a particularly sour lemon, but finally gave a terse nod of agreement.
“Then it’s settled. I agree to marry a Downworlder to cement the new Accords.” Alec shoved all his emotions back into the box he had kept them in for so long in order to play the part of the perfect shadowhunter son, refusing to let any of his thoughts show. “So, who am I marrying?”
*
Magnus glared at the intruder in his kitchen. His wards were set to only allow certain people in, and that distinctive profile narrowed the possibilities down to one.
“You better have a good reason for being here, Ragnor,” Magnus growled, his voice broken with sleep. “I was up late crafting a potion for a sick werewolf, and only managed to fall into bed three hours ago.”
“I didn’t know I needed a reason to visit you, my dear,” Ragnor said, pouring himself and Magnus a cup of coffee. “Is this any way to treat your oldest and dearest friend?”
Magnus gratefully took the proffered mug, taking time to commune with the caffeine. It was a truly exquisite blend, one Ragnor must have summoned from a Parisian patisserie. Given his friend’s longstanding disdain for anything French, it seemed he was trying to butter him up for something.
“Yes, yes, you know you never need a reason, Ragnor. My home is always open to you. And Catarina and Raphael for that matter. You just haven’t taken me up on that offer in decades, and certainly never this early in the morning.”
“Ah, I do apologize, Magnus. I forgot how large the time difference was between here and Idris.” Ragnor actually looked a bit abashed at the rebuke that 7am wasn’t appropriate visiting hours, especially for someone who often worked into the wee hours of the morning.
“Idris?!” Magnus asked aghast. “Why in Lilith’s name were you there? And why come to me right away? Are you hurt? In trouble? In danger from the Clave?” Magnus’ voice grew sharper and more worried as he spat out questions.
“Peace, peace, my dear. Nothing is wrong – neither you nor I nor any of our friends are in any danger from overactive Nephilim.” His calm tone and offering of more coffee, this time with the addition of a croissant, helped soothed Magnus’ nerves. “You are aware, I should think, of the negotiations the Clave has been holding with several representatives of the Downworld? I came to you from and about that.”
“Oh, that ridiculous claim from the Clave that they want an ‘improved, more harmonious’ relationship with members of the Downworld?” Magnus scoffed and walked over to the bar cart. “I’m going to need something stronger than coffee if you expect me to swallow any of that drivel. You always were too soft on the shadowhunters, Ragnor. Come, if we’re going to be discussing such a noxious topic, we may as well do it in more comfortable surroundings.”
With that statement, he swept away from the kitchen, taking his quite delicious coffee — now spiked with just the slightest amount of his favorite chocolate liquor — with him as he flounced into his living room and collapsed into his favorite armchair. A wave of his hand brought a tray with an assortment of breakfast foods for him and lunch sandwiches for Ragnor, as well as carafes of coffee, water, and proper British tea to his coffee table. Ragnor followed him easily, settling himself into a plush green sofa and carefully doctoring his tea before he spoke again.
“They’re sincere in their desire this time. Or rather, they need us now, and so are willing to make serious concessions to get our aid.”
“So, as ever, self-interest wins the day,” Magnus remarked sardonically. “That shouldn’t make me feel better. And yet it does. Selfishness is more reliable and predictable than magnanimity any day of the week. But their goodwill will only last as long as their need does, and then we’ll be right back to being bugs to be squashed under their heel. No thank you.”
“And that is what we have finally gotten through to them. That we need concessions and assurances that any new Accords will last before we work to have Downworlders fight alongside Nephilim.”
Magnus choked on his coffee. “What?! They want us, who have so often been the victims of shadowhunters, to do their job for them now? They want werewolves and warlocks and vampires to patrol with them and fight demons? Are they running out of shadowhunters to die for them, and are turning to us for cannon fodder now?”
“Essentially, yes,” Ragnor said drily. “Without the Mortal Cup, they are dying too quickly and need our help to keep the world from succumbing to demonic threats. The negotiations have been working to find a guarantee that, like you so eloquently mentioned, they don’t throw us away like yesterday’s rubbish as soon as their self-interest doesn’t need us anymore.”
“They really must be desperate.”
“Incredibly. So much so that they agreed to a gesture of good faith Hypatia and I had put forward and expected to be shot down immediately without discussion.”
“Oh? And what did the two of you propose?” Magnus asked as Ragnor paused to refill his tea.
“The same gesture that has united warring peoples for centuries. A diplomatic marriage.”
Magnus sputtered, barely keeping his coffee from making a reappearance and instead scorching his throat as he swallowed.
“Marriage. Between a Downworlder and a Nephilim. And they agreed.” Magnus leaned back against his chair, utterly astonished. “I can see why you expected it to be shot down.”
“Yes. And not just anyone. A marriage between those who could serve as examples of the Downworld and the Nephilim working together as equals, a sign of enduring equality and harmony between us for as long as the marriage lasts.”
Magnus couldn’t help but roll his eyes at that, practically hearing the air quotes around the talking point.
Ragnor gave him a wry grin before continuing with a more serious tone. “They must have considered this themselves because we were able to hash out criteria for each candidate without too much dissent. The key components are that each must be of a high enough status to have influence over future policy decisions. After all, it wouldn’t do for a no-name shadowhunter and werewolf to marry – they would have no pull, barely any symbolic value, and could be easily dismissed.”
“A high-ranking shadowhunter willing to slum it with a marriage to a Downworlder. No way they find any takers for that assignment,” Magnus scoffed.
“One would think. And yet they put forward a name fairly quickly. We proposed the idea yesterday morning, hashed out the criteria yesterday afternoon, and they had a name for us when we reconvened earlier today. It happened so quickly that they must have already thought of the idea and investigated candidates before the meeting.”
“Typical of them. They wait for you to come up with the idea so any blowback falls on the Downworld for demanding it, even if they thought of it first.”
He paused to take another much-needed sip of coffee, halfway regretting not having spiked it more when he had the chance.
“And who is this sacrifice the Council is offering up? One of themselves? An old, retired shadowhunter on their deathbed so they can get out of it quickly? Or an opportunistic fae-fucker who wants Clave approval for their dirty little fetish?” Magnus mocked.
“Alexander Lightwood.”
The name left silence in its wake. Magnus knew Lightwood. They had worked together more than a few times since he had taken over the Institute from his parents. He wasn’t bad for a Nephilim. Serious, always focusing solely on the work that brought them together, but he had never looked down on Magnus nor made any snide comments like he always expected to hear in the Institute. He greatly preferred dealing with him rather than having to interact with either of his odious parents in the past few years. The Institute had even reached out just over a year ago for his advice on the most talented healer he knew of when Lightwood had been seriously injured. That never would have happened under the elder Lightwoods, who despised admitting the Downworld could do anything better than shadowhunters.
“Why are you here, Ragnor?” Magnus finally asked. “It can’t just be to update me on the latest gossip. You would have waited to tell me that, not come directly from the meeting. Just who is the proposed Downworlder spouse?
“No one yet,” Ragnor sighed. “We truly weren’t expecting the Council to go along with our proposal, much less have a candidate’s agreement by the next day. But given the criteria we had already agreed upon …,” he trailed off. “Well, I thought it best to warn you so you could be prepared.”
“Warn me.”
“It was decided that for the marriage to truly work as a symbolic gesture of good faith, both participants would need to have political weight behind them. Lightwood is the Head of one of the largest Institutes, so he has influence with the Clave. The Downworlder will need equal weight with the Downworld councils. That automatically removes the werewolves from consideration–”
“Understandably, they just don’t live long enough to amass any political capital, plus they have no true central power.”
“Exactly. That lack of a central power also works against proposing a vampire. The greater weakness eliminating vampires though was that it was agreed that the couple would be responsible for traveling as needed around the world whenever and wherever there are major Downworlder/Nephilim tensions. And vampires’ severe and unfortunate sun allergy precludes that freedom of movement. Which leaves the warlocks and–”
“Yes, warlocks and the fae. And as much as the Seelie Queen will likely push for one of her people, after what happened with the Blackthorns the Council is going to be reluctant to trust any Seelie/Nephilim relationship, much less trust one to have power over so many shadowhunters.” Magnus could see where this was leading and did not like it whatsoever. “So, you want me to agree to this insane scheme?” he asked.
“I would never presume to ask that of you, dear friend. But it is inarguable that a warlock will be the most likely choice. So, Lightwood will either be moving to a new Institute –”
“Unlikely.”
Ragnor nodded in acknowledgment of the point. “Yes, I agree. As desperate for help as the Clave are, that’s one compromise too far for them, I think. I can’t see them uprooting a Nephilim for the convenience of a Downworlder. But if he stays in New York, his spouse will become the highest-ranked Downworlder in the city. So if you stay out of this, you’re likely to lose your status as High Warlock of Brooklyn.”
“And likely be undercut on every action I take by this newcomer just to assert their power, I’m sure.” Magnus shuddered at the thought of such a future. “I could move, I suppose. Travel back to Paris or Bologna, make a fresh start of it.”
“You still would lose High Warlock status if you moved,” Ragnor pointed out.
“True, but I would be left alone and not undermined by whoever took over New York.”
“That is your decision to make. I just wanted to give you as much advance notice as I could.” Ragnor rose from his chair and took his leave.
Magnus barely noticed him leaving, only paying enough attention to remove the tea from the breakfast tray with a quick flick of his fingers.
He didn’t want to leave Brooklyn. He liked his life here – his loft, his clients, being so close to Raphael and Catarina. He most definitely did not appreciate the feeling of getting chased from his home by the Clave.
But neither did he appreciate the thought of another warlock usurping his position. No matter what he personally thought of this plan’s likelihood of success, he knew of enough opportunistic Downworlders who would leap at the chance to amass more power, no matter the strings attached.
He shuddered at the thought of someone like Lorenzo Rey coming in and usurping his position after everything he had done for his city.
But was he willing to shackle himself in a marriage just to keep the status quo? Lightwood wasn’t bad, he knew that much from their past interactions – though it had been quite a while since they had interacted in person. How long had it been anyway? They worked together not infrequently via phone or fire message, or the very occasional in person meeting as needed when people came to him with problems or the Institute needed magical help. And of course he usually saw him every year when he went in to maintain the Institute’s wards. But Lightwood had still been recovering the last time the wards were renewed. Had it really been almost two years since he had last seen him in person? Time slipped away from him occasionally when it was so meaningless.
Nevertheless, he was a Lightwood. A full-fledged member of the Clave, undoubtedly prone to arrogant self-superiority when pushed. And just because he was friendly when working with a Downworlder didn’t mean he would be the same when married to one. Especially a male warlock at that.
Well. There was only one path forward at this point. He had to meet with Lightwood, see him in person again, and feel him out. He would likely balk at the thought of a marriage to him, the possibility of marrying a man never even entering his mind given Clave prejudices. But maybe they could talk and come to some sort of mutually beneficial agreement.
A platonic union based on friendship and mutual respect. Successful political marriages had been made on less.
Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained after all.
Path decided, he sent a quick text to Lightwood to arrange a meeting between them for later that day. Several messages later it was set, and Magnus dragged himself back to bed, hoping to catch up on his interrupted sleep and wake to find it had all just been a weird dream stemming from some bad drugstore sushi and working himself to exhaustion.
*
A few hours later, Magnus smirked as he heard the knock on the door. Lightwood was incredibly punctual it seemed. He had felt him cross his wards a few minutes ago, but he had determinedly waited until just before the time they had set to knock.
With a flourish, he rose from his chair and opened the door, “On time as always, Alexander. Please, join me inside.” Magnus turned and strolled over to his bar cart. “Care for a drink?” he asked, fully expecting a refusal. “I find these sorts of conversations always go better with a little something to lubricate one’s inhibitions.”
“A drink, yeah, that’d, that’d be great. Something strong but sweet would be good,” came the halting reply from behind him.
Surprised at the agreement — he had expected typical shadowhunter disdain for anything enjoyable — he flicked a glance at Lightwood via the mirror by the bar. Well, Magnus knew he made a stunning image in these pants, but he hadn’t expected Lightwood to take quite as much notice as he was. But his attention was clearly captivated by his ass. After a moment he seemed to remember himself and tore his eyes away with a quick head shake and a blush.
“A margarita for us both it is then. Please, take a seat.”
Magnus watched the Nephilim out of the corner of his eye as he made his way over the settee. He looked somewhat nervous, very much unlike their previous interactions at the Institute. Then again, this was a very different set of circumstances than their normal. And, to be fair, Lightwood didn’t know what Magnus had called him here for, even if he must have some idea given the timing.
He took a moment to appreciate the pure aesthetics of the other man. He had never allowed himself to look at Lightwood before. First, he had been too young, and then by the time he wasn’t, he had been placed firmly in the category of “Professional Shadowhunter: Do Not Flirt,” so he had subconsciously shunted all thoughts and impressions aside.
But Lightwood truly was a gorgeous man. He had grown into himself since the last time they had met, all lean lines and coiled strength. Gone was the previously gangly teen still waiting to grow into himself. Here was a man who knew himself and his place in the world. Despite his underlying nerves, he still held himself with a sense of confidence in his own competence and authority. He was a true vision in monochrome: black leather accentuated his muscles while dark runes highlighted his features. Magnus had never thought necks to be a particularly attractive feature in the past, but obviously he had just never seen the right one before.
Damn if he wasn’t hitting Magnus’ buttons.
Well, time to see if any partnership could actually work between them.
“So, I hear congratulations are in order. A political match between you and an unknown someone. You must be ecstatic. I’m sure the two of you will be very happy together,” Magnus declared with just a hint of friendly mockery in his voice as he handed over the newly made margarita and settled into his favorite armchair.
Lightwood scoffed, then seemed to remember himself. “Ah, thanks. Anything to help ease tensions, I guess. And we do need the help, so if this is what it takes to get it, I’ll marry. I wasn’t aware that it was public knowledge yet though. I haven’t even told my siblings.”
Magnus raised his eyebrows the more he heard. It appeared his supposition was right, and the Clave was throwing Lightwood at the problem with only a cursory amount of consent from him.
“Not public knowledge yet, no. But one of my closest friends is part of the negotiations, and Ragnor told me about it himself since it is likely to affect my work and position here in New York.” Magnus put down his drink and rested his elbows on his knees. Lightwood seemed more rattled than he had ever seen him, more emotions showing on his face that Magnus had ever seen him show, and he decided to change tack.
It was clear Lightwood desperately needed a friendly ear.
“I know our relationship has been professional and mainly cursory, Alexander, but we have always worked well together and I would like to believe we are at least friendly acquaintances if not friends.” He paused and watched Lightwood give a curt nod and take a gulp of his drink. “Do you want to do this?”
A strange look crossed Lightwood’s face. “Life’s not about what we want to do, it’s about what must be done.” He took another sip of margarita and nearly covered his grimace this time. Magnus shouldn’t have found it as adorable as he did. “That’s what my mother told me when I found out about this yesterday.” He sighed. “And I’ve always known I couldn’t have what I wanted. A political marriage was always in the cards for me. I thought I had escaped that last year after I was injured, but I should have known that was too good to be true.
“But we need this. There have been too many casualties recently from demon attacks. If I can do something, anything, to make the world safer, to keep my family and my people from being nearly killed because they didn’t have enough backup, shouldn’t I do it?” He looked up from his glass at Magnus, the determined look in his eyes hardening into resolve.
“Your duty to your family is admirable,” Magnus said. And it was. He had never felt close enough to anyone to make those sorts of sacrifices. Well, maybe for Ragnor. Or Catarina. Or Raphael. And he certainly had been willing to do anything for Camille at one time. Maybe he was just lucky and had never been in a situation that called for him to have to think about it.
But Lightwood’s willingness to do this to help his people rather than for power or political influence was a good sign.
His mind caught on something Lightwood had said. “Why did you think you had escaped a political match last year? And why were you the one offered up like a lamb to the slaughter for this anyway?”
Alexander let out a dry laugh. “I called myself the scapegoat for Clave prejudices, but I guess a lamb to the slaughter is just as accurate.”
“Comparisons could be drawn.” Magnus toasted him. Lightwood smiled, then stopped to collect himself.
“I was wounded on patrol by a pack of raveners a bit over a year ago,” Alec finally said. “It was a stupid mistake. I should have been able to handle it, but there were twice as many as I had expected. I did manage to dispatch them all, but one got in a lucky hit from a weird angle. Took me down,” he paused to drink and shove away the remembered pain and shock he had felt bleeding out in that alleyway. “It was bad. Really bad. I nearly died. Would have if my parabatai hadn’t felt the attack and managed to find me so quickly.”
“You were alone? I thought shadowhunters always patrolled in groups to prevent being ambushed and caught off guard.” Magnus interrupted, his smooth voice breaking into Alec’s thoughts and drawing him back to the present.
“Yeah, we do normally. But we’ve been so low on manpower that more experienced shadowhunters have been having to go out alone just so we can provide enough coverage. It’s why I’m so hopeful that an agreement with the Downworld can bring us more fighters that we desperately need.”
“I hadn’t realized things were that bad with demons.”
“Yeah, it’s like Valentine just ripped a hole in the world and let all this evil slowly seep out. Even with him gone, it’s just been building on itself until it’s reached the point where we’re nearly overrun at times.”
“There’s always been evil that the Clave was willing to overlook. Valentine just took it further than most.” Alec could hear the tightly contained rage behind Magnus’ words and looked down at his drink, secondhand shame burning in his chest for the actions his people had done – and not done. “I fail to see how that led to you escaping a political match though.”
Alec let out a dry bark of laughter. He had to laugh at the memories of the attack or else it was just too much. “It wasn’t so much I escaped as it was that my worth in a political match bled out in that alleyway.” He focused just over Magnus’ right shoulder to keep himself from seeing any pity.
“Jace calls it my ‘demonectomy’. Between the initial stab wound, blood loss, and poison, the ravener basically gave me an irreversible vasectomy. And a sterile match is a worthless one now. The Penhallows barely waited for me to get out of the hospital before they broke my engagement with Aline.”
He couldn’t stop himself from finally looking back at Magnus. The look on Magnus’ face showed clearly that he regretted asking. At least it wasn’t pity — Alec hated the pitying looks he had received in the months it took him to fully recover and get back to full fighting strength.
“I’m sorry. Did you love Aline? Hate her?” Magnus asked softly.
“No, neither. We were – are – still good friends. We both knew what we were getting into. We trained together at the Academy, and our mothers were pressuring both of us with their expectations of making a good political match. We decided we’d rather make the choice ourselves and marry a friend, knowing what to expect from each other upfront, rather than wait and end up with someone we hated or who wanted more from us. A marriage of contentment and friendship was all that was ever going to be between us.”
Alec rose suddenly and walked to the window. He needed to move, get out some energy. It was a hard topic, but somehow talking to Magnus – who had no expectations or previous knowledge – felt freeing in a way talking to his siblings hadn’t been.
“The whole time I was recovering, I held onto the thought that it meant I was free. I wouldn’t be forced to marry someone. Raziel, I felt worse for Aline being back on the market than I did for myself! And then this happened. And I’m back in an arranged marriage, and this time I don’t even know who the bride will be or what they’ll expect,” he sighed and stared out at the night sky.
“So why did you agree? They need a willing participant or else it will never work. A visibly miserable couple will never be the shining symbol of equality and harmony that they want. You had your freedom. Why not take it? Start living for yourself?”
“My brother.” The answer was quick and heartfelt. “He only just turned ten a few months ago. But as soon as I was injured, all the pressure and expectations fell on him.” Alec let his voice take on a mocking edge. “‘Who will Max marry? We need to betroth Max to a girl from a proper family. Max, you need to be perfect and carry on the family honor.’ My parents weren’t quite that explicit, but that was the gist of it,” he huffed in remembered disgust.
He turned from the window and faced Magnus directly. “He deserves better. He’s so much younger than me, and our parents were always so busy with the Institute, it feels like I raised him more than them. If I could guarantee his freedom and safety, why wouldn’t I?”
Alec fully believed that anything that saved his brother from going through what he had was worth it. It had to be.
“And because I do see the need for the agreement. I don’t want to see him injured like I was once he starts patrolling in a few years, or for Izzy or Jace to be killed now. As soon as I heard the rumor that there was a possibility of Downworlders being willing to patrol with us, I started developing and instituting new training regimes and patrol protocols. Anything that keeps me from having to write more condolence letters or sit by a hospital bed is a win for me.”
Alec sighed. Talking it out, explaining why he had been selected and why he had agreed made it all the more clear to him. He would do it. He would marry someone for duty and for his family. He could be content with that.
“I’m sorry for unloading all this on you, Magnus,” he spoke softly in the quiet that had sprung up between them. “I think I needed to really talk it through to accept it. I’ll go forward and do the best I can for the whole Shadow World, and marry whatever woman gets proposed.”
“About that,” Magnus said. “I wanted to talk to you about a potential Downworlder candidate. Unofficially of course, but I’ve found some things go better without hearing them for the first time in front of a crowd whose respect you need to keep.”
“Oh? Who?”
“Me.”
Alec nearly choked on his drink. “What? But – how – I mean … you’re a man? How could – ? Us?” Surely that wasn’t possible. No way could he be that lucky.
“There’s nothing in the criteria as written that would prevent the two of us from being the candidates to seal the Accords. Same-sex matches aren’t uncommon in the Downworld. And Alexander, we could make this work,” he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, earnestly looking him right in the eyes.
“You said yourself that you and Aline decided to marry since you knew what you were getting into. You’ve consigned yourself to this match, and that means your spouse will be the leader of the New York Downworld. And not to be egotistical,” Magnus said, leaning back against his armchair, picking up and swirling his drink nonchalantly before taking a sip, “but I like my current position, and don’t want to lose it to someone who is just out for power.
“For the Accords to have any chance of success, the marriage needs to work. I think we could be good together. We already work well together and respect each other. Successful matches have been made on less.”
Magnus paused again, and Alec took the time to digest everything he had just heard. He could barely believe it. He might not have to marry a woman, one he could never be truly honest with for fear of destroying everything? That was too good to be true.
“A marriage built on a foundation of friendship and respect can work,” Magnus continued at last. “And as long as we’re both discreet, we could have our own sexual liaisons with whomever we want. I would ignore any women you had affairs with if you ignored my own affairs with men and women. Because while I am willing to marry you for the good of the Downworld, I refuse to be celibate for the entirety of our married life,” Magnus smirked at this last bit, and Alec felt himself reflexively smile back.
“Men?” Alec’s voice caught on the word, head still spinning.
“Yes, I’m bisexual. I find it onerous to deny myself half of the beauty I see in the world just because of a puritanical society.” He artfully raised one eyebrow. “Would that be a problem for you?”
“No!” he hurriedly denied. “Would, uh, it be a problem,” he paused for a deep breath, “if I didn’t have affairs with women?”
“No, of course not, I have no wish to deny you celibacy if that’s what you want, I just don’t want my own desires to be denied.”
“So, if I wanted to have an affair with a man, you, uh, you’d be okay with that?” Alec felt his heart beat faster. He was barely aware of the twinge of curiosity and concern coming from his parabatai bond. Who knew what Jace must be thinking if Alec had been unconsciously letting his emotions through? He quickly pushed a feeling of ‘I’m fine’ through the bond before blocking it and focused back on the conversation at hand.
“I wouldn’t deny you that either if we agreed to an open marriage. Are you interested in men?”
Magnus’ question hung in the air. He had only ever said it aloud once. And that was when he and Aline were talking about their potential marriage, and how neither was interested in anything besides friendship from the other, thank you very much.
It felt strangely appropriate for the second time he ever said it to be when discussing marriage with his second potential fiancé.
“Yeah,” he said finally. “Yes, I’m attracted to men. Not women, not at all. It’s why I was so relieved to escape a political marriage, I didn’t want to be stuck with a woman I could never love and never tell the truth to.
“And while we’re being honest, and if you’re still serious about the marriage, you should know that I have had the biggest, most inappropriate crush on you for the last seven years.” He ducked his head in embarrassment, unable to stop talking but equally unable to look at Magnus as he said it. “I’ve had one ever since I saw you for the first time when I took over Head duties when I was 15. You made me finally admit to myself that I was even attracted to guys in the first place.”
He felt incredibly vulnerable and open telling Magnus this, but it didn’t feel fair for them to get engaged without him laying all his cards out on the table. “So, if you’re still willing to do this with me,” Alec looked back up and met Magnus’ eyes, “then yes, I would be happy to marry you and cement the Accords.”
“Alexander,” Magnus said, his voice soft and a look on his face Alec couldn’t quite decipher, “I believe that this could be the start of a wonderful relationship.” He raised his glass in a toast. “To us.”
And for the first time in longer than he cared to admit, Alec felt the future seemed hopeful.