Clockwork Princess: Volume 3 Hardcover - 2013

Summary

Excerpt

1

A DREADFUL ROW

Marry on Monday for health,

Tuesday for wealth,

Wednesday the best day of all,

Thursday for crosses,

Friday for losses, and

Saturday for no luck at all.

âÈ'Folk rhyme

âÈêDecember is a fortuitous time for a marriage,âÈë said the seamstress, speaking around her mouthful of pins with the ease of years of practice. âÈêAs they say, âÈæWhen December snows fall fast, marry, and true love will last.âÈç âÈë She placed a final pin in the gown and took a step back. âÈêThere. What do you think? It is modeled after one of WorthâÈçs own designs.âÈë

Tessa looked at her reflection in the pier glass in her bedroom. The dress was a deep gold silk, as was the custom for Shadowhunters, who believed white to be the color of mourning, and would not marry in it, despite Queen Victoria herself having set the fashion for doing just that. Duchesse lace edged the tightly fitted bodice and dripped from the sleeves.

âÈêItâÈçs lovely!âÈë Charlotte clapped her hands together and leaned forward. Her brown eyes shone with delight. âÈêTessa, the color looks so fine on you.âÈë

Tessa turned and twisted in front of the mirror. The gold put some much-needed color into her cheeks. The hourglass corset shaped and curved her everywhere it was supposed to, and the clockwork angel around her throat comforted her with its ticking. Below it dangled the jade pendant that Jem had given her. She had lengthened the chain so she could wear them both at once, not being willing to part with either. âÈêYou donâÈçt think, perhaps, that the lace is a trifle too much adornment?âÈë

âÈêNot at all!âÈë Charlotte sat back, one hand resting protectively, unconsciously, over her belly. She had always been too slimâÈ'skinny, in truthâÈ'to really need a corset, and now that she was going to have a child, she had taken to wearing tea gowns, in which she looked like a little bird. âÈêIt is your wedding day, Tessa. If there is ever an excuse for excessive adornment, it is that. Just imagine it.âÈë

Tessa had spent many nights doing just that. She was not yet sure where she and Jem would be married, for the Council was still deliberating their situation. But when she imagined the wedding, it was always in a church, with her being marched down the aisle, perhaps on HenryâÈçs arm, looking neither to the left or right but straight ahead at her betrothed, as a proper bride should. Jem would be wearing gearâÈ'not the sort one fought in, but specially designed, in the manner of a military uniform, for the occasion: black with bands of gold at the wrists, and gold runes picked out along the collar and placket.

He would look so young. They were both so young. Tessa knew it was unusual to marry at seventeen and eighteen, but they were racing a clock.

The clock of JemâÈçs life, before it wound down.

She put her hand to her throat, and felt the familiar vibration of her clockwork angel, its wings scratching her palm. The seamstress looked up at her anxiously. She was mundane, not Nephilim, but had the Sight, as all who served the Shadowhunters did. âÈêWould you like the lace removed, miss?âÈë

Before Tessa could answer, there was a knock at the door, and a familiar voice. âÈêItâÈçs Jem. Tessa, are you there?âÈë

Charlotte sat bolt upright. âÈêOh! He mustnâÈçt see you in your dress!âÈë

Tessa stood dumbfounded. âÈêWhyever not?âÈë

âÈêItâÈçs a Shadowhunter customâÈ'bad luck!âÈë Charlotte rose to her feet. âÈêQuickly! Hide behind the wardrobe!âÈë

âÈêThe wardrobe? ButâÈ'âÈë Tessa broke off with a yelp as Charlotte seized her about the waist and frog-marched her behind the wardrobe like a policeman with a particularly resistant criminal. Released, Tessa dusted off her dress and made a face at Charlotte, and they both peeked around the side of the furniture as the seamstress, after a bewildered look, opened the door.

JemâÈçs silvery head appeared in the gap. He looked a bit disheveled, his jacket askew. He glanced around in puzzlement before his gaze lighted on Charlotte and Tessa, half-concealed behind the wardrobe. âÈêThank goodness,âÈë he said. âÈêIâÈçd no idea where any of you had gone. Gabriel LightwoodâÈçs downstairs, and heâÈçs making the most dreadful row.âÈë



âÈêWrite to them, Will,âÈë said Cecily Herondale. âÈêPlease. Just one letter.âÈë

Will tossed his sweat-soaked dark hair back and glared at her. âÈêGet your feet into position,âÈë was all he said. He pointed, with the tip of his dagger. âÈêThere, and there.âÈë

Cecily sighed, and moved her feet. She had known she was out of position; sheâÈçd been doing in intentionally, to needle Will. It was easy to needle her brother. That much she remembered about him from when he was twelve years old. Even then daring him to do something, like climb the steeply pitched roof of their manor house, had resulted in the same thing: an angry blue flame in his eyes, a set jaw, and sometimes Will with a broken leg or arm at the end of it.

Of course this brother, the nearly adult Will, was not the brother she remembered from her childhood. He had grown both more explosive and more withdrawn. He had all their motherâÈçs beauty, and all their fatherâÈçs stubbornnessâÈ'and, she feared, their fatherâÈçs propensity for vices, though she had guessed that only from whispers among the occupants of the Institute.

âÈêRaise your blade,âÈë Will said. His voice was as cool and professional as her governessâÈçs.

Cecily raised it. It had taken her some time to get used to the feel of gear against her skin: the loose tunic and trousers, the belt around her waist. Now she moved in it as comfortably as she had ever moved in the loosest nightgown. âÈêI donâÈçt understand why you wonâÈçt consider writing a letter. A single letter.âÈë

âÈêI donâÈçt understand why you wonâÈçt consider going home,âÈë Will said. âÈêIf you would just agree to return to Yorkshire yourself, you could stop worrying about our parents and I could arrangeâÈ'âÈë

Cecily interrupted him, having heard this speech a thousand times. âÈêWould you consider a wager, Will?âÈë

Cecily was both pleased and a little disappointed to see WillâÈçs eyes spark, just the way her fatherâÈçs always did when a gentlemanâÈçs bet was suggested. Men were so easy to predict.

âÈêWhat sort of a wager?âÈë Will took a step forward. He was wearing gear; Cecily could see the Marks that twined his wrists, the mnemosyne rune on his throat. It had taken her some time to see the Marks as something other than disfiguring, but she was used to them nowâÈ'as she had grown used to the gear, to the great echoing halls of the Institute, and to its peculiar denizens.

She pointed at the wall in front of them. An ancient target had been painted on the wall in black: a bullâÈçs-eye inside a larger circle. âÈêIf I hit the center of that three times, you have to write a letter to Dad and Mam and tell them how you are. You must tell them of the curse and why you left.âÈë

WillâÈçs face closed like a door, the way it always did when she made this request. But, âÈêYouâÈçll never hit it three times without missing, Cecy.âÈë

âÈêWell, then it should be no great concern to you to make the bet, William.âÈë She used his full name purposefully. She knew it bothered him, coming from her, though when his best friendâÈ'no, his parabatai; she had learned since coming to the Institute that these were quite different thingsâÈ'Jem did it, Will seemed to take it as a term of affection. Possibly it was because he still had memories of her toddling after him on chubby legs, calling Will, Will, after him in breathless Welsh. She had never called him âÈêWilliam,âÈë only ever âÈêWillâÈë or his Welsh name, Gwilym.

His eyes narrowed, those dark blue eyes the same color as her own. When their mother had said affectionately that Will would be a breaker of hearts when he was grown, Cecily had always looked at her dubiously. Will had been all arms and legs then, skinny and disheveled and always dirty. She could see it now, though, had seen it when she had first walked into the dining room of the Institute and he had stood up in astonishment, and she had thought: That canâÈçt be Will.

He had turned those eyes on her, her motherâÈçs eyes, and she had seen the anger in them. He had not been pleased to see her, not at all. And where in her memories there had been a skinny boy with a wild tangle of black hair like a GypsyâÈçs and leaves in his clothes, there was now this tall, frightening man instead. The words she had wanted to say had dissolved on her tongue, and she had matched him, glare for glare. And so it had been since, Will barely enduring her presence as if she were a stone in his shoe, a constant but minor annoyance.

Cecily took a deep breath, raised her chin, and prepared to throw the first knife. Will did not know, would never know, of the hours she had spent in this room, alone, practicing, learning to balance the weight of the knife in her hand, discovering that a good knife throw began from behind the body. She held both arms straight down and drew her right arm back, behind her head, before bringing it, and the weight of her body, forward. The tip of the knife was in line with the target. She released it and snapped her hand back, sucking in a gasp.

The knife stuck, point-down in the wall, exactly in the center of the target.

âÈêOne,âÈë Cecily said, giving Will a superior smile.

He looked at her stonily, yanked the knife from the wall, and handed it to her again.

Cecily threw it. The second throw, like the first, flew directly to its target and stuck there, vibrating like a mocking finger.

âÈêTwo,âÈë Cecily said in a sepulchral tone.

WillâÈçs jaw set as he took the knife again and presented it to her. She took it with a smile. Confidence was flowing through her veins like new blood. She knew she could do this. She had always been able to climb as high as Will, run as fast, hold her breath as long. . . .

She threw the knife. It struck its target, and she leaped into the air, clapping her hands, forgetting herself for a moment in the thrill of victory. Her hair came down from its pins and spilled into her face; she pushed it back and grinned at Will. âÈêYou shall write that letter. You agreed to the bet!âÈë

To her surprise he smiled at her. âÈêOh, I will write it,âÈë he said. âÈêI will write it, and then I will throw it into the fire.âÈë He held up a hand against her outburst of indignation. âÈêI said I would write it. I never said I would send it.âÈë

CecilyâÈçs breath went out of her in a gasp. âÈêHow dare you trick me like that!âÈë

âÈêI told you that you were not made of Shadowhunter stuff, or you would not be so easily fooled. I am not going to write a letter, Cecy. ItâÈçs against the Law, and thatâÈçs the end of it.âÈë

âÈêAs if you care about the Law!âÈë Cecily stamped her foot, and was immediately more annoyed than ever; she detested girls who stamped their feet.

WillâÈçs eyes narrowed. âÈêAnd you donâÈçt care about being a Shadowhunter. How is this? I shall write a letter and give it to you if you promise to deliver it home yourselfâÈ'and not to return.âÈë

Cecily recoiled. She had many memories of shouting matches with Will, of the china dolls she had owned that he had broken by dropping them out an attic window, but there was also kindness in her memoriesâÈ'the brother who had bandaged up a cut knee, or retied her hair ribbons when they had come loose. That kindness was absent from the Will who stood before her now. Mam used to cry for the first year or two after Will went; she had said, holding Cecily to her, that the Shadowhunters would âÈêtake all the love out of him.âÈë A cold people, she had told Cecily, a people who had forbidden her marriage to her husband. What could he want with them, her Will, her little one?

âÈêI will not go,âÈë Cecily said, staring her brother down. âÈêAnd if you insist that I must, I willâÈ'I willâÈ'âÈë

The door of the attic slid open, and Jem stood silhouetted in the doorway. âÈêAh,âÈë he said, âÈêthreatening each other, I see. Has this been going on all afternoon, or did it just begin?âÈë

âÈêHe began it,âÈë Cecily said, jerking her chin at Will, though she knew it was pointless. Jem, WillâÈçs parabatai, treated her with the distant sweet kindness reserved for the little sisters of oneâÈçs friends, but he would always side with Will. Kindly, but firmly, he put Will above everything else in the world.

Well, nearly everything. She had been most struck by Jem when she first came to the InstituteâÈ'he had an unearthly, unusual beauty, with his silvery hair and eyes and delicate features. He looked like a prince in a fairy-tale book, and she might have considered developing an attachment to him, were it not so absolutely clear that he was entirely in love with Tessa Gray. His eyes followed her where she went, and his voice changed when he spoke to her. Cecily had once heard her mother say in amusement that one of their neighborsâÈç boys looked at a girl as if she were âÈêthe only star in the skyâÈë and that was the way Jem looked at Tessa.

Cecily didnâÈçt resent it: Tessa was pleasant and kind to her, if a little shy, and with her face always stuck in a book, like Will. If that was the sort of girl Jem wanted, she and he never would have suitedâÈ'and the longer she remained at the Institute, the more she realized how awkward it would have made things with Will. He was ferociously protective of Jem, and he would have watched her constantly in case she ever distressed or hurt him in any way. NoâÈ'she was far better out of the whole thing.

âÈêI was just thinking of bundling up Cecily and feeding her to the ducks in Hyde Park,âÈë said Will, pushing his wet hair back and favoring Jem with a rare smile. âÈêI could use your assistance.âÈë

âÈêUnfortunately, you may have to delay your plans for sororicide a bit longer. Gabriel Lightwood is downstairs, and I have two words for you. Two of your favorite words, at least when you put them together.âÈë

âÈê âÈæUtter simpletonâÈç?âÈë inquired Will. âÈê âÈæWorthless upstartâÈç?âÈë

Jem grinned. âÈê âÈæDemon pox,âÈç âÈë he said.



Sophie balanced the salver on one hand with the ease of long practice while she rapped on Gideon LightwoodâÈçs door with the other.

She heard the sound of a hurried shuffle, and the door swung open. Gideon stood before her in trousers, braces, and a white shirt rolled up to the elbows. His hands were wet, as if he had just run quick fingers through his hair, which was also damp. Her heart took a little leap inside her chest before settling. She forced herself to frown at him.

âÈêMr. Lightwood,âÈë she said. âÈêIâÈçve brought the scones you rang for, and BridgetâÈçs made you up a plate of sandwiches as well.âÈë

Gideon took a step back to allow her into the room. It was like all the other rooms in the Institute: heavy dark furniture, a great four-poster bed, a wide fireplace, and high windows, which in this case looked down upon the courtyard below. Sophie could feel his gaze on her as she moved across the room to place the salver on the table before the fire. She straightened up and turned to him, her hands folded in front of her apron.

âÈêSophieâÈ',âÈë he began.

âÈêMr. Lightwood,âÈë she interrupted. âÈêIs there anything else you require?âÈë

He looked at her half-mutinously, half-sadly. âÈêI wish you would call me Gideon.âÈë

âÈêI have told you, I cannot call you by your Christian name.âÈë

âÈêI am a Shadowhunter; I do not have a Christian name. Sophie, please.âÈë He took a step toward her. âÈêBefore I took up residence in the Institute, I had thought we were well on our way to a friendship. Yet since the day I arrived, you have been cold to me.âÈë

SophieâÈçs hand went involuntarily to her face. She remembered Master Teddy, the son of her old employer, and the horrible way he would catch her in dark corners and press her up against the wall, hands creeping under her bodice, murmuring in her ear that she had better be friendlier to him, if she knew what was good for her. The thought filled her with sickness, even now.

âÈêSophie.âÈë GideonâÈçs eyes crinkled worriedly at the corners. âÈêWhat is it? If there is some wrong I have done you, some slight, please tell me what it is that I may remedy itâÈ'âÈë

âÈêThere is no wrong, no slight. You are a gentleman and I am a servant; anything more would be a familiarity. Please do not make me uncomfortable, Mr. Lightwood.âÈë

Gideon, who had half-raised his hand, let it drop to his side. He looked so woebegone that SophieâÈçs heart softened. I have everything to lose, and he has nothing to lose, she reminded herself. It was what she told herself late at night, lying in her narrow bed, with the memory of a pair of storm-colored eyes hovering in her mind. âÈêI had thought we were friends,âÈë he said.

âÈêI cannot be your friend.âÈë

He took a step forward. âÈêWhat if I were to ask youâÈ'âÈë

âÈêGideon!âÈë It was Henry, at the open door, breathless, wearing one of his terrible green-and-orange-striped waistcoats. âÈêYour brotherâÈçs here. DownstairsâÈ'âÈë

GideonâÈçs eyes widened. âÈêGabrielâÈçs here?âÈë

âÈêYes. Shouting something about your father, but he wonâÈçt tell us anything more unless youâÈçre there. He swears it. Come along.âÈë

Gideon hesitated, his eyes moving from Henry to Sophie, who tried to look invisible. âÈêI . . .âÈë

âÈêCome now, Gideon.âÈë Henry rarely spoke sharply, and when he did, the effect was startling. âÈêHeâÈçs covered in blood.âÈë

Gideon paled, and he reached for the sword that hung on a set of double pegs by his door. âÈêIâÈçm on my way.âÈë



Gabriel Lightwood leaned against the wall inside the Institute doors, his jacket gone, his shirt and trousers drenched in scarlet. Outside, through the open doors, Tessa could see the Lightwood carriage, with its flame blazon on the side, drawn up at the foot of the steps. Gabriel must have driven it here himself.

âÈêGabriel,âÈë Charlotte said soothingly, as if she were trying to gentle a wild horse. âÈêGabriel, tell us what happened, please.âÈë

GabrielâÈ'tall and slender, brown hair sticky with bloodâÈ'scrubbed at his face, wild-eyed. His hands were bloody too. âÈêWhereâÈçs my brother? I have to talk to my brother.âÈë

âÈêHeâÈçs coming down. I sent Henry to fetch him, and Cyril to ready the InstituteâÈçs carriage. Gabriel, are you injured? Do you need an iratze?âÈë Charlotte sounded as motherly as if this boy had never faced her down from behind Benedict LightwoodâÈçs chair, had never conspired with his father to take the Institute away from her.

âÈêThat is a great deal of blood,âÈë said Tessa, pushing forward. âÈêGabriel, it is not all yours, is it?âÈë

Gabriel looked at her. It was the first time, Tessa thought, that she had seen him behave with no posturing at all. There was only stunned fear in his eyes, fear andâÈ'confusion. âÈêNo. . . . ItâÈçs theirsâÈ'âÈë

âÈêTheirs? Who are they?âÈë It was Gideon, hurrying down the stairs, a sword in his right hand. Along with him came Henry, and Jem, and behind him, Will and Cecily. Jem paused on the steps in startlement, and Tessa realized that he had caught sight of her in her wedding dress. His eyes widened, but the others were already pushing by, and he was carried down the steps like a leaf in a current.

âÈêIs Father hurt?âÈë Gideon went on, coming to a stop before his brother. âÈêAre you?âÈë He put his hand up and took his brotherâÈçs face, his hand cupping GabrielâÈçs chin and turning it toward him. Though Gabriel was taller, the look of a younger sibling was clear in his faceâÈ'relief that his brother was there, and a flicker of resentment at his peremptory tone.

âÈêFather. . .,âÈë Gabriel began. âÈêFather is a worm.âÈë

Will gave a short laugh. He was in gear as if he had just come from the practice room, and his hair curled damply against his temples. He was not looking at Tessa, but she had grown used to that. Will hardly ever looked at her unless he had to. âÈêItâÈçs good to see youâÈçve come round to our view of things, Gabriel, but this is an unusual way of announcing it.âÈë

Gideon shot Will a reproachful look before turning back to his brother. âÈêWhat do you mean, Gabriel? What did Father do?âÈë

Gabriel shook his head. âÈêHeâÈçs a worm,âÈë he said again, tonelessly.

âÈêI know. He has brought shame on the name of Lightwood, and lied to both of us. He shamed and destroyed our mother. But we need not be like him.âÈë

Gabriel pulled away from his brotherâÈçs grip, his teeth suddenly flashing in an angry scowl. âÈêYouâÈçre not listening to me,âÈë he said. âÈêHeâÈçs a worm. A worm. A bloody great serpentlike thing. Since Mortmain stopped sending the medicine, heâÈçs been getting worse. Changing. Those sores upon his arms, they started to cover him. His hands, his neck, h-his face . . .âÈë GabrielâÈçs green eyes sought Will. âÈêIt was the pox, wasnâÈçt it? You know all about it, donâÈçt you? ArenâÈçt you some sort of expert?âÈë

âÈêWell, you neednâÈçt act as if I invented it,âÈë said Will. âÈêJust because I believed it existed. There are accounts of itâÈ'old stories in the libraryâÈ'âÈë

âÈêDemon pox?âÈë said Cecily, her face screwed up in confusion. âÈêWill, what is he talking about?âÈë

Will opened his mouth, and flushed faintly across his cheekbones. Tessa hid a smile. It had been weeks since Cecily had come to the Institute, and still her presence bothered and upset Will. He did not seem to know how to behave around this younger sister, who was not the child he remembered, and whose presence he insisted was unwelcome. And yet Tessa had seen him follow Cecily around a room with his eyes, with the same protective love in his gaze that he sometimes bent on Jem. Certainly the existence of demon pox, and how one acquired it, was the last thing he would want to explain to Cecily. âÈêNothing you need know about,âÈë he muttered.

GabrielâÈçs eyes went to Cecily, and his lips parted in surprise. Tessa could see him taking Cecily in. WillâÈçs parents must both have been very beautiful, Tessa thought, for Cecily was as pretty as Will was handsome, and with the same gleaming black hair and startling dark blue eyes. Cecily gazed boldly back at him, her expression curious; she must have been wondering who this boy was, who seemed to so dislike her brother.

âÈêIs Father dead?âÈë Gideon demanded, his voice rising. âÈêHas the demon pox killed him?âÈë

âÈêNot killed,âÈë said Gabriel. âÈêChanged. It has changed him. Some weeks ago he moved our household to Chiswick. He would not say why. Then a few days ago he locked himself in his study. He wouldnâÈçt come out, not even to eat. This morning I went to the study to try to rouse him. The door had been torn off its hinges. There was a . . . a trail of some slimy stuff leading down the hall. I followed it downstairs and into the gardens.âÈë He looked around the now silent entryway. âÈêHe has become a worm. That is what I am telling you.âÈë

âÈêI donâÈçt suppose it would be possible,âÈë said Henry into the silence, âÈêto, er, step on him?âÈë

Gabriel looked at him in disgust. âÈêI searched around the gardens. I found some of the servants. And when I say âÈæI foundâÈç some of them, I mean exactly what I say. They had been torn intoâÈ'into pieces.âÈë He swallowed and looked down at his bloody clothes. âÈêI heard a soundâÈ'a high-pitched howling noise. I turned and saw it coming toward me. A great blind worm like a dragon out of a legend. Its mouth was open wide, lined with dagger teeth. I turned and ran for the stables. It slithered after me, but I leaped upon the carriage and drove it out through the gates. The creatureâÈ'FatherâÈ'did not follow. I think it fears to be seen by the general populace.âÈë

âÈêAh,âÈë said Henry. âÈêToo big to be stepped on, then.âÈë

âÈêI shouldnâÈçt have run,âÈë said Gabriel, looking at his brother. âÈêI should have stood and fought the creature. Maybe it could be reasoned with. Maybe Father is in there somewhere.âÈë

âÈêAnd maybe it would have bitten you in half,âÈë said Will. âÈêWhat you are describing, the transformation into a demon, is the last stage of the pox.âÈë

âÈêWill!âÈë Charlotte threw up her hands. âÈêWhy didnâÈçt you say so?âÈë

âÈêYou know, the books on demon pox are in the library,âÈë Will said with an injured tone. âÈêI wasnâÈçt preventing anyone from reading them.âÈë

âÈêYes, but if Benedict was going to turn into an enormous serpent, youâÈçd think you could at least have mentioned it,âÈë said Charlotte. âÈêAs a matter of general interest.âÈë

âÈêFirst,âÈë said Will, âÈêI didnâÈçt know he was going to turn into a gigantic worm. The end stage of demon pox is turning into a demon. It could have been any sort. Second, it takes weeks for the transformation process to occur. I would have thought even a certified idiot like Gabriel here would have taken account of it and notified someone.âÈë

âÈêNotified who?âÈë asked Jem, not unreasonably. He had moved closer to Tessa as the conversation had continued. As they stood side by side, the backs of their hands brushed.

âÈêThe Clave. The postman. Us. Anyone,âÈë said Will, shooting an irritated look at Gabriel, who was starting to get some color back and looked furious.

âÈêI am not a certified idiotâÈ'âÈë

âÈêLack of certification hardly proves intelligence,âÈë Will muttered.

âÈêAnd as I told you, Father locked himself in his study for the past weekâÈ'âÈë

âÈêAnd you didnâÈçt think to take any special notice of that?âÈë said Will.

âÈêYou donâÈçt know our father,âÈë said Gideon in the flat tone of voice he used sometimes when conversation about his family was inescapable. He turned back to his brother and put his hands on GabrielâÈçs shoulders, speaking quietly, in measured tones none of them could hear.

Jem, beside Tessa, hooked his smallest finger through hers. It was a habitual affectionate gesture, one that Tessa had grown used to over the past months, enough that she sometimes put out her hand without thinking when he was standing by her. âÈêIs that your wedding dress?âÈë he asked under his breath.

Tessa was saved answering by the appearance of Bridget, carrying gear, and Gideon suddenly turning to the rest of them and saying, âÈêChiswick. We must go. Gabriel and I, if no one else.âÈë

âÈêGo alone?âÈë Tessa said, startled enough to speak out of turn. âÈêBut why would you not call upon others to come with youâÈ'âÈë

âÈêThe Clave,âÈë said Will, his blue eyes keen. âÈêHe doesnâÈçt want the Clave to know about his father.âÈë

âÈêWould you?âÈë said Gabriel hotly. âÈêIf it were your family?âÈë His lip curled. âÈêNever mind. ItâÈçs not as if you know the meaning of loyaltyâÈ'âÈë

âÈêGabriel.âÈë GideonâÈçs voice was a reprimand. âÈêDo not speak to Will in that manner.âÈë

Gabriel looked surprised, and Tessa could hardly blame him. Gideon knew of WillâÈçs curse, of the belief that had caused his hostility and his abrupt manners, as all in the Institute did, but the story was private to them, and none outside had been told of it.

âÈêWe will come with you. Of course we will come with you,âÈë said Jem, releasing TessaâÈçs hand and stepping forward. âÈêGideon did us a service. We have not forgotten, have we, Charlotte?âÈë

âÈêOf course not,âÈë said Charlotte, turning. âÈêBridget, the gearâÈ'âÈë

âÈêI am conveniently already in gear,âÈë said Will as Henry shucked off his coat and traded it for a gear jacket and a weapons belt; Jem did the same, and suddenly the entryway was full of motionâÈ'Charlotte speaking quietly to Henry, her hand hovering just above her stomach. Tessa looked away from the private moment and saw a dark head bent with a fair one. Jem was at WillâÈçs side with his stele drawn, tracing a rune on the side of WillâÈçs throat. Cecily looked at her brother and scowled.

âÈêI, too, am conveniently already in gear,âÈë she announced.

Will jerked his head up, causing Jem to make a sound of annoyed protest. âÈêCecily, absolutely not.âÈë

âÈêYou have no right to tell me yes or no.âÈë Her eyes flashed. âÈêI am going.âÈë

Will jerked his head toward Henry, who shrugged apologetically. âÈêShe does have the right. She has trained for nearly two monthsâÈ'âÈë

âÈêSheâÈçs a little girl!âÈë

âÈêYou were doing the same at fifteen,âÈë said Jem quietly, and Will spun back toward him. For a moment everyone seemed to hold their breath, even Gabriel. JemâÈçs gaze held WillâÈçs, steadily, and not for the first time Tessa had the sense of unspoken words passing between them.

Will sighed and half-closed his eyes. âÈêTessa will be wanting to come next.âÈë

âÈêOf course I am coming,âÈë Tessa said. âÈêI may not be a Shadowhunter, but I too have trained. Jem is not going without me.âÈë

âÈêYou are in your wedding dress,âÈë Will protested.

âÈêWell, now that youâÈçve all seen it, I canâÈçt possibly wear it to be married in,âÈë said Tessa. âÈêBad luck, you know.âÈë

Will groaned something in WelshâÈ'unintelligible, but clearly the tone of a man defeated. Across the room Jem cast Tessa a slight, worried smile. The Institute door swung open then, letting a blaze of autumn sunlight into the entryway. Cyril stood on the threshold, breathless.

âÈêThe second carriage is now ready,âÈë he said. âÈêWhoâÈçll be coming, then?âÈë

To: Consul Josiah Wayland

From: The Council

Dear Sir,

As you are doubtless aware, your term of service as Consul, after ten years, is coming to an end. The time has come to appoint a successor.

As for ourselves, we are giving serious consideration to the appointment of Charlotte Branwell, nÃûe Fairchild. She has done good work as the head of the London Institute, and we believe her to have your stamp of approval, as she was appointed by you after the death of her father.

As your opinion and esteem are to us of the highest value, we would appreciate any thoughts that you might have on the matter.

Yours with the highest regards,

Victor Whitelaw, Inquisitor, on behalf of the Council

Media reviews

Citations

• Entertainment Weekly, 03/22/2013, Page 70
• Hornbook Guide to Children, 07/01/2013, Page 105
• Kirkus Reviews, 01/01/0001, Page 0
• School Library Journal, 05/01/2013, Page 98