Lord of Shadows (The Dark Artifices #2)(2)

"I know what your father told you. But you're a Herondale. And that does mean something."

"What? What does it mean?" Kit demanded.

Jace leaned back against the wall of the weapons room, just under a display of heavy claymores. Kit hoped one would fall on his head. "I know you're aware of Shadowhunters," he said. "A lot of people are, especially Downworlders and mundanes with the Sight. Which is what you thought you were, correct?"

"I never thought I was a mundane," said Kit. Didn't Shadowhunters understand how it sounded when they used that word?

Jace ignored him, though. "Shadowhunter society and history-those aren't things most people who aren't Nephilim know about. The Shadowhunter world is made up of families, each of which has a name that they cherish. Each family has a history we pass on to each successive generation. We bear the glories and the burdens of our names, the good and the bad our ancestors have done, through all our lives. We try to live up to our names, so that those who come after us will bear lighter burdens." He crossed his arms over his chest. His wrists were covered in Marks; there was one that looked like an open eye on the back of his left hand. Kit had noticed all Shadowhunters seemed to have that one. "Among Shadowhunters, your last name is deeply meaningful. The Herondales have been a family who have shaped the destinies of Shadowhunters for generations. There aren't many of us left-in fact, everyone thought I was the last. Only Jem and Tessa had faith you existed. They looked for you for a long time."



       
         
       
        

Jem and Tessa. Along with Emma, they had helped Kit escape the demons who had murdered his father. And they had told him a story: the story of a Herondale who had betrayed his friends and fled, starting a new life away from other Nephilim. A new life and a new family line.

"I heard about Tobias Herondale," he said. "So I'm the descendant of a big coward."

"People are flawed," said Jace. "Not every member of your family is going to be awesome. But when you see Tessa again, and you will, she can tell you about Will Herondale. And James Herondale. And me, of course," he added, modestly. "As far as Shadowhunters go, I'm a pretty big deal. Not to intimidate you."

"I don't feel intimidated," said Kit, wondering if this guy was for real. There was a gleam in Jace's eye as he spoke that indicated that he might not take what he was saying all that seriously, but it was hard to be sure. "I feel like I want to be left alone."

"I know it's a lot to digest," Jace said. He reached out to clap Kit on the back. "But Clary and I will be here for as long as you need us to-"

The clap on the back dislodged one of the daggers in Kit's pocket. It clattered to the ground between them, winking up from the granite floor like an accusing eye.

"Right," Jace said into the ensuing silence. "So you're stealing weapons."

Kit, who knew the pointlessness of an obvious denial, said nothing.

"Okay, look, I know your dad was a crook, but you're a Shadowhunter now and-wait, what else is in that jacket?" Jace demanded. He did something complicated with his left boot that kicked the dagger up into the air. He caught it neatly, the rubies in the hilt scattering light. "Take it off."

Silently, Kit shucked off his jacket and threw it down on the table. Jace flipped it over and opened the inside pocket. They both gazed silently at the gleam of blades and precious stones.

"So," Jace said. "You were planning on running away, I take it?"

"Why should I stay?" Kit exploded. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it-it was too much: the loss of his father, his hatred of the Institute, the smugness of the Nephilim, their demands that he accept a last name he didn't care about and didn't want to care about. "I don't belong here. You can tell me all this stuff about my name, but it doesn't mean anything to me. I'm Johnny Rook's son. I've been training my whole life to be like my dad, not to be like you. I don't need you. I don't need any of you. All I need is some start-up money, and I can set up my own booth at the Shadow Market."

Jace's gold eyes narrowed, and for the first time Kit saw, under the arrogant, joking facade, the gleam of a sharp intelligence. "And sell what? Your dad sold information. It took him years, and a lot of bad magic, to build up those connections. You want to sell your soul like that, so you can scratch out a living on the edges of Downworld? And what about what killed your dad? You saw him die, didn't you?"