Clockwork Princess
Page 38

"It's your brother," Cecily whispered, ear against the wood. She could hear murmurs inside but nothing definite. "I should think you'd want to know."
He ran both his hands through his hair and exhaled like someone who'd been running a long distance. Then he turned to her and took a stele from his waistcoat pocket. He carved a rune quickly into his wrist, then placed his hand flat against the door. "I do, at that."
Cecily's gaze darted from his hand to the thoughtful expression on his face. "Can you hear them?" she demanded. "Oh, that is not at all fair!"
"It's all very romantic," Gabriel said, and then frowned. "Or it would be, if my brother could get a word out without sounding like a choking frog. I fear he will not go down in history as one of the world's great wooers of women."
Cecily crossed her arms in vexation. "I do not see why you are being so difficult," she said. "Or are you bothered that your brother wishes to marry a servant girl?"
The expression Gabriel turned on her was fierce, and Cecily suddenly regretted tweaking him after what he had just been through. "Nothing I can think of him doing would be worse than what my father did. At least his taste runs to human women."
And yet it was so difficult not to tweak him. He was so aggravating. "That is hardly a great endorsement for a woman as fine as Sophie."
Gabriel looked as if he were about to deliver a sharp retort, but then he thought better of it. "I did not mean it like that. She is a fine girl and will be a fine Shadowhunter when she Ascends. She will bring honor to our family, and the Angel knows we need it."
"I believe you will bring honor to your family too," Cecily said quietly. "What you just did, what you confessed to Charlotte-that took courage."
Gabriel was still for a moment. Then he reached out his hand toward her. "Take my hand," he said. "You will be able to hear what is going on in the dining room, through me, if you desire."
After a moment's hesitation Cecily took Gabriel's hand. It was warm and rough in hers. She could feel the thrum of his blood through his skin, oddly comforting-and indeed, through him, as if she had her own ear pressed to the door, she could hear the low rumble of spoken words: Gideon's soft hesitant voice, and Sophie's delicate one. She closed her eyes and listened.
"Oh," said Sophie faintly, and sat down in one of the chairs. "Oh, my."
She could not help but sit; her legs felt wobbly and uneasy. Gideon, meanwhile, was standing by the sideboard, looking panicked. His blond-brown hair was tousled wildly as if he had been running his hands through it. "My dear Miss Collins-," he began.
"This is," Sophie began, and paused. "I don't- This is quite unexpected."
"Is it?" Gideon moved away from the sideboard and leaned on the table; his shirtsleeves were rolled up slightly, and Sophie found herself staring at his wrists, downed with faint blond hair and marked with the white memories of Marks. "Surely you must have been able to see the respect and esteem I had for you. The admiration."
"Well," Sophie said. "Admiration." She managed to make it sound like a very pale word indeed.
Gideon flushed. "My dear Miss Collins," he began again. "It is true that my feelings for you go far beyond admiration. I would describe them as the most ardent affection. Your kindness, your beauty, your generous heart-they have quite overset me, and it is to that alone that I can ascribe my behavior of this morning. I do not know what came over me, to speak the dearest wishes of my heart aloud. Please do not feel obligated to accept my proposal simply because it was public. Any embarrassment over the matter would and should be mine."
Sophie looked up at him. Color was coming and going in his cheeks, making his agitation clear. "But you haven't proposed,"
Gideon looked startled. "I- What?"
"You haven't proposed," Sophie said with equanimity. "You did announce to the whole breakfast table that you intended to marry me, but that is not a proposal. That is only a declaration. A proposal is when you ask me."
"Now that's putting my brother in his place," said Gabriel, looking delighted in that manner that younger siblings did when their brothers or sisters were entirely set down.
"Oh, shush!" whispered Cecily, squeezing his hand hard. "I want to hear what Mr. Lightwood says!"
"Very well, then," said Gideon, in the decided (yet slightly terrified) manner of Saint George setting off to fight the dragon. "A proposal it shall be."
Sophie's eyes tracked him as he crossed the room toward her and knelt down at her feet. Life was an uncertain thing, and there were some moments one wished to remember, to imprint upon one's mind that the memory might be taken out later, like a flower pressed between the pages of a book, and admired and recollected anew.
She knew she would not want to forgot the way Gideon reached for her hand with his own hand trembling, or the way he bit his lip before he spoke. "My dear Miss Collins," he said. "Please forgive me for my untoward outburst. It is simply that I have such-such strong esteem-no, not esteem, adoration-for you that I feel as if it must blaze from me every moment of the day. Ever since I came to this house, I have been struck more forcibly each day by your beauty, your courage, and your nobility. It is an honor I could never deserve but most earnestly aspire to if you could only be mine-that is, if you would consent to be my wife."
"Gracious," Sophie said, startled out of all countenance. "Have you been practicing that?"
Gideon blinked. "I assure you it was entirely extemporaneous."
"Well, it was lovely." Sophie squeezed his hands. "And yes. Yes, I love you, and yes, I will marry you, Gideon."
A brilliant smile broke out over his face, and he startled both of them by reaching for her and kissing her soundly on the mouth. She held his face between her hands as they kissed-he tasted slightly of tea leaves, and his lips were soft and the kiss entirely sweet. Sophie floated in it, in the prism of the moment, feeling safe from all the rest of the world.
Until Bridget's voice broke in on her happiness, drifting lugubriously from the kitchen.
"On a Tuesday they were wed
And by Friday they were dead
And they buried them in the churchyard side by side,
Oh, my love,
And they buried them in the churchyard side by side."
Breaking away from Gideon with some reluctance, Sophie rose to her feet and dusted off her dress. "Please forgive me, my dear Mr. Lightwood-I mean Gideon-but I must go and murder the cook. I shall be directly back."
"Ohhh," Cecily breathed. "That was so romantic!"
Gabriel took his hand away from the door and smiled down at her. His face quite changed when he smiled: all the sharp lines were softened, and his eyes went from the color of ice to the green of leaves in spring sunshine. "Are you crying, Miss Herondale?"
She blinked damp eyelashes, suddenly aware that her hand was still in his-she could still feel the soft pulse beat in his wrist against hers. He leaned toward her, and she caught the early-morning scent of him: tea and shaving soap-
She pulled away hastily, freeing her hand. "Thank you for allowing me to listen," she said. "I must-I need to go to the library. There is something I must do before tomorrow."
His face crinkled in confusion. "Cecily-"
But she was already hurrying away down the corridor, without looking back.
To: Edmund and Linette Herondale
Ravenscar Manor
West Riding, Yorkshire
Dear Mam and Dad,
I have started this letter to you so many times and never sent it. At first it was guilt. I knew I had been a willful, disobedient girl in leaving you, and I could not face the evidence of my wrongdoing in stark black letters on a page.
After that it was homesickness. I missed you both so much. I missed the rich green hills sweeping up from the manor, and the heather all purple in the summer, and Mam singing in the garden. It was cold here, all black and brown and gray, pea-soup fogs and choking air. I thought I might die of loneliness, but how could I tell you that? After all, it was what I had chosen.
And then it was sorrow. I had planned to come here and bring Will back with me, to make him see where his duty lay, and bring him home. But Will has his own ideas about duty, and honor, and the promises he has made. And I came to see that I could not bring someone home when they were already there. And I did not know how to tell you that.
And then it was happiness. That may seem so very strange to you, as it did to me, that I would not be able to return home because I had found contentment. As I trained to become a Shadowhunter, I felt the stirring in my blood, the same stirring Mam always spoke of feeling every time we came from Welshpool into sight of the Dyfi Valley. With a seraph blade in my hand, I am more than just Cecily Herondale, youngest of three, daughter of good parents, someday to make an advantageous marriage and give the world children. I am Cecily Herondale, Shadowhunter, and mine is a high and glorious position.
Glory. Such an odd word, something women are not supposed to want, but is not our queen triumphant? Was not Queen Bess called Gloriana?
But how could I tell you I had chosen glory over peace? The hard-bought peace you left the Clave to provide for me? How could I say I was happy as a Shadowhunter without it causing you the gravest unhappiness? This is the life you turned away from, the life from whose dangers you sought to shelter Will and me and Ella. What could I tell you that would not break your hearts?
Now-now it is understanding. I have come to realize what it means to love someone more than you love yourself. I realize now that all you ever wanted was, not for me to be like you but to be happy. And you gave me-you gave us-a choice. I see those who have grown up in the Clave, and who never had a choice about what they wished to be, and I am grateful for what you did. To have chosen this life is a very different thing from having been born into it. The life of Jessamine Lovelace has taught me that.
And as for Will, and bringing him home: I know, Mam, you feared that the Shadowhunters would take all the love out of your gentle boy. But he is loved and loving. He has not changed. And he loves you, as do I. Remember me, for I will always remember you.
Your loving daughter,
Cecily
To: Members of the Clave of the Nephilim
From: Charlotte Branwell
My Dear Brothers and Sisters in Arms,
It is my sad duty to relate to you all that despite the fact that I have presented Consul Wayland with incontrovertible proof provided by one of my Shadowhunters that Mortmain, the gravest threat the Nephilim has faced in our times, is resident at Cadair Idris in Wales-our esteemed Consul has mysteriously decided to ignore this information. I myself regard knowledge of the location of our enemy and the opportunity to defeat his plans for our destruction as of the deepest importance.
By means provided to me by my husband, the renowned inventor Henry Branwell, the Shadowhunters at my disposal in the London Institute will be proceeding with utmost dispatch to Cadair Idris, there to lay down our lives in an attempt to stop Mortmain. I am most grieved to leave the Institute undefended, but if Consul Wayland can be roused to any action at all, he is most welcome to send guards to defend a deserted building. There are but nine of our number, three of them not even Shadowhunters but brave mundanes trained by us at the Institute who have volunteered to fight beside us. I cannot say that our hopes at this time are high, but I believe the attempt must be made.
Obviously I cannot compel any of you. As Consul Wayland has reminded me, I am not in a position to command the forces of the Shadowhunters, but I would be most obliged if any of you who agree with me that Mortmain must be fought and fought now will come to the London Institute tomorrow at midday and render us your assistance.
Yours truly,
Charlotte Branwell, head of the London Institute
Chapter 18 For This Alone
For this alone on Death I wreak
The wrath that garners in my heart:
He put our lives so far apart
We cannot hear each other speak.
-Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "In Memoriam A.H.H."
Tessa stood at the edge of a precipice in a country she did not know. The hills about her were green, dropping off sharply into cliffs that sheered down toward a blue sea. Seabirds wheeled and cawed above her. A gray path wound like a snake along the edge of the cliff top. Just ahead of her, on the path, stood Will.
He wore black gear, and over it a long black riding coat, spattered with mud at the hem as if he had been walking a long way. He was without hat or gloves, and his dark hair was tousled by the wind off the sea. The wind lifted Tessa's hair as well, bringing the scent of salt and brine, of the wet things that grow at the edge of the sea, a smell that reminded her of her sea voyage on the Main.
"Will!" she called out. There was something so lonely about the figure he cut, like Tristan watching across the Irish Sea for the ship that would bear Isolde back to him. Will did not turn at the sound of her voice, only raised his arms, his coat lifting in the wind, sweeping out behind him like wings.
Fear rose up in her heart. Isolde had come for Tristan, but it had been too late. He had died of grief. "Will!" she called again.
He stepped forward, off the cliff. She raced to the edge and looked down, but there was nothing there, only plunging gray-blue water and white surf. The tide seemed to carry his voice to her with each surge of water. "Awake, Tessa. Awake."
"Awake, Miss Gray. Miss Gray!"
Tessa jerked upright. She had fallen asleep in the chair by the fireplace in her small prison; a coarse blue blanket was drawn over her, though she did not remember procuring it. The room burned with torchlight and the coals of the fire were low. It was impossible to tell if it was day or night.
Mortmain stood before her, and beside him was an automaton. It was one of the more humanoid that Tessa had seen. It was even clothed, as not many of them were, this one in a military tunic and trousers. The clothes made the head that rose above the stiff collar look even more uncanny, with its too-smooth features and bald metallic scalp. And its eyes-she knew they were glass and crystal, the irises red in the firelight, but the way they seemed to fix on her-
"You're cold," Mortmain said.
Tessa exhaled, and her breath came out in a white puff. "The warmth of your hospitality leaves something to be desired."
He smiled, thin-lipped. "Very amusing." He himself was wearing a heavy astrakhan coat over a gray suit, ever the businessman. "Miss Gray, I do not wake you lightly. I came because I wish you to see what your kind assistance with my father's memories has allowed me to accomplish." He gestured proudly at the automaton by his side.