Clockwork Prince(50)
Author: Cassandra Clare

Those boys. The way she said it made it sound like Sophie had sympathy for Gabriel as well as Gideon. Just what did Gideon think of his younger brother, Tessa wondered, and the sister, too? But she asked nothing as Sophie brushed and curled her hair, and daubed her temples with lavender water.

"Now, don’t you look lovely, miss," she said proudly when she was done at last, and Tessa had to admit that Charlotte had done a fine job in selecting just the right cut to flatter her, and gray suited her well. Her eyes looked bigger and blue, her waist and arms more slender, her bosom full er. "There’s just one other thing . . ."

"What is it, Sophie?"

"Master Jem," said Sophie, startling Tessa. "Please, whatever else you do, miss . . ." The other girl glanced at the chain of the jade pendant tucked down the front of Tessa’s dress and bit her lip. "Don’t break his heart."

Chapter 20: The Bitter Root

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart,

Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart;

And deep in one is the bitter root,

And sweet for one is the lifelong flower.

-Algernon Charles Swinburne,

"The Triumph of Time"

Tessa was just drawing on her velvet gloves as she ducked through the front doors of the Institute. A sharp wind had come up off the river and was blowing armfuls of leaves through the courtyard. The sky had gone thunderous and gray. Will stood at the foot of the stairs, hands in his pockets, looking up at the church steeple.

He was hatless, and the wind lifted his black hair and blew it back from his face. He did not seem to see Tessa, and for a moment she stood and looked at him. She knew it was not right to do; Jem was hers, she was his now, and other men might as well not exist. But she could not stop herself from comparing the two-Jem with his odd combination of delicacy and strength, and Will like a storm at sea, slate blue and black with bril iant flashes of temper like heat lightning. She wondered if there would ever be a time when the sight of him didn’t move her, make her heart flutter, and if that feeling would subside as she grew used to the idea of being engaged to Jem. It was new enough still that it did not seem real.

There was one thing that was different, though. When she looked at Will now, she no longer felt any pain.

Will saw her then, and smiled through the hair that blew across his face.

He reached up to push it back. "That’s a new dress, isn’t it?" he said as she came down the stairs. "Not one of Jessamine’s."

She nodded, and waited resignedly for him to say something sarcastic, about her, Jessamine, the dress, or all three.

"It suits you. Odd that gray would make your eyes look blue, but it does."

She looked at him in astonishment, but before she could do more than open her mouth to ask him if he was feeling all right, the carriage came rattling around the corner of the Institute with Cyril at the reins. He pulled up in front of the steps, and the door of the carriage opened; Charlotte was inside, wearing a wine-colored velvet dress and a hat with a sprig of dried flowers in it. She looked as nervous as Tessa had ever seen her. "Get in quickly," she call ed, holding her hat on as she leaned out the door. "I think it’s going to rain."

To Tessa’s surprise, Cyril drove her, Charlotte, and Will not to the manor house in Chiswick but to an elegant house in Pimlico, which was apparently the Lightwoods’ weekday residence. It had begun to rain, and their wet things-gloves, hats, and coats-were taken from them by a sour-faced footman before they were ushered down many polished corridors and into a large library, where a roaring fire burned in a deep grate.

Behind a massive oak desk sat Benedict Lightwood, his sharp profile made even sharper by the play of light and shadow inside the room. The drapes were pulled across the windows, and the wal s were lined with heavy tomes bound in dark leather, gold printing across the spines. On either side of him stood his sons-Gideon at his right, his blond hair fal ing forward to hide his expression, his arms crossed over his broad chest. On the other side was Gabriel, his green eyes alight with a superior amusement, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. He looked as if he were about to start whistling.

"Charlotte," said Benedict. "Will. Miss Gray. Always a pleasure." He gestured for them to seat themselves in the chairs set before the desk.

Gabriel grinned nastily at Will as he sat. Will looked at him, his face a careful blank, and then looked away. Without a sarcastic remark, Tessa thought, baffled. Without even a cold glare. What was going on?

"Thank you, Benedict." Charlotte, tiny, her spine straight, spoke with perfect poise. "For seeing us on such short notice."

"Of course." He smiled. "You do know that there’s nothing you can do that’s going to change the outcome of this. It isn’t up to me what the Council rules. It is their decision entirely."

Charlotte tilted her head to the side. "Indeed, Benedict. But it is you who are making this happen. If you had not forced Consul Wayland into making a show of disciplining me, there would be no ruling."

Benedict shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Ah, Charlotte. I remember you when you were Charlotte Fairchild. You were such a delightful little girl, and believe it or not as you will, I am fond of you even now. What I am doing is in the best interests of the Institute and the Clave. A woman cannot run the Institute. It is not in her nature. You’l be thanking me when you’re home with Henry raising the next generation of Shadowhunters, as you should be. It might sting your pride, but in your heart you know I’m correct."

Charlotte’s chest rose and fell rapidly. "If you abdicated your claim on the Institute before the ruling, do you truly think it would be such a disaster? Me, running the Institute?"

"Well, we’l never find out, Will we?"

"Oh, I don’t know," Charlotte said. "I think most Council members would choose a woman over a dissolute reprobate who fraternizes not just with Downworlders but with demons."

There was a short silence. Benedict didn’t move a muscle. Neither did Gideon.

Final y Benedict spoke, though now there were teeth in the smooth velvet of his voice. "Rumors and innuendo."

"Truth and observation," said Charlotte. "Wil and Tessa were at your last gathering, in Chiswick. They observed a great deal."

"That demon woman you were lounging with on the divan," said Will.

"Would you call her a friend, or more of a business associate?"

Benedict’s dark eyes hardened. "Insolent puppy-"

"Oh, I’d say she was a friend," said Tessa. "One doesn’t usual y let one’s business associates lick one’s face. Although I could be wrong. What do I know about these things? I’m only a sil y woman."

Will ‘s mouth quirked up at the corner. Gabriel was still staring; Gideon had his eyes on the floor. Charlotte sat perfectly composed, hands in her lap.

"All three of you are quite foolish," said Benedict, gesturing contemptuously toward them. Tessa caught a glimpse of something on his wrist, a shadow, like the coils of a woman’s bracelet, before his sleeve fel back to cover it. "That is, if you think the Council Will believe any of your lies.

You"-he cast a dismissive look at Tessa-"are a Downworlder; your word is worthless. And you"-he flung an arm at Will -"are a certifiable lunatic who fraternizes with warlocks. Not just this chit here but Magnus Bane as well.

And when they test me under the Mortal Sword and I refute your claims, who do you think Will be believed, you or me?"

Will exchanged a quick look with Charlotte and Tessa. He had been right, Tessa thought, that Benedict did not fear the Sword. "There is other evidence, Benedict," he said.

"Oh?" Lightwood’s lip curled upward in a sneer. "And what is that?"

"The evidence of your own poisoned blood," said Charlotte. "Just now, when you gestured at us, I saw your wrist. How far has the corruption spread? It begins on the torso, does it not, and spreads down the arms and legs-"

"What is he talking about?" Gabriel’s voice was a mixture of fury and terror.

"Father?"

"Demon pox," said Will with the satisfaction of the truly vindicated.

"What a disgusting accusation-," began Benedict.

"Refute it, then," said Charlotte. "Pul up your sleeve. Show us your arm."

The muscle by the side of Benedict’s mouth twitched again. Tessa watched him in fascination. He did not terrify her, as Mortmain had, but rather disgusted her, the way the sight of a fat worm wriggling across a garden might. She watched as he whirled on his eldest son.

"You," he snarled. "You told them. You betrayed me."

"I did," said Gideon, raising his head and uncurling his arms at last. "And I would again."

"Gideon?" It was Gabriel, sounding bewildered. "Father? What are you talking about?"

"Your brother has betrayed us, Gabriel. He has told our secrets to the Branwel s." Benedict spat his words out like poison. "Gideon Arthur Lightwood," Benedict went on. His face looked older, the lines at the sides of his mouth more severe, but his tone was unchanged. "I suggest you think very careful y about what you have done, and what you Will do next."

"I have been thinking," said Gideon in his soft, low voice. "Ever since you call ed me back from Spain, I have been thinking. As a child I assumed all Shadowhunters lived as we did. Condemning demons by the light of day, yet fraternizing with them under cover of darkness. I now realize that is not true. It is not our way, Father; it is your way. You have brought shame and filth upon the name of Lightwood."

"There is no need to be melodramatic-"

"Melodramatic?" There was terrible contempt in Gideon’s normal y flat tone. "Father, I fear for the future of the Enclave if you get your hands on the Institute. I am tell ing you now, I Will witness against you at the Council. I Will hold the Mortal Sword in my hands and I Will tell Consul Wayland why I think Charlotte is a thousand times more fit than you are to run the Institute. I Will reveal what goes on here at night to every member of the Council. I Will tel them that you are working for Mortmain. I Will tell them why."

"Gideon!" It was Gabriel, his voice sharp, cutting across his brother’s. "You know our custodianship of the Institute was mother’s dying wish. And it is the fault of the Fairchilds that she died-"

"That is a lie," said Charlotte. "She took her own life, but not because of anything my father did." She looked directly at Benedict. "It was, rather, because of something your father did."

Gabriel’s voice rose. "What do you mean? Why would you say such a thing? Father-"

"Be quiet, Gabriel." Benedict’s voice had gone hard and commanding, but for the first time there was fear in his voice, his eyes. "Charlotte, what are you saying?"

"You know very well what I am saying, Benedict," said Charlotte. "The question is whether you wish me to share my knowledge with the Clave. And with your children. You know what it Will mean for them."

Benedict sat back. "I know blackmail when I hear it, Charlotte. What do you want from me?"

It was Will who responded, too eager to hold himself back any longer.

"Withdraw your claim on the Institute. Speak out for Charlotte in front of the Council. tell them why you think the Institute should be left in her keeping.

You are a well -spoken man. You’l think of something, I’m sure."

Benedict looked from Will to Charlotte. His lip curled. "Those are your terms?"

Before Will could speak, Charlotte said, "Not all our terms. We need to know how you have been communicating with Mortmain, and where he is."

Benedict chuckled. "I communicated with him through Nathaniel Gray. But, since you’ve kil ed him, I doubt he Will be a forthcoming source of information."

Charlotte looked appal ed. "You mean no one else knew where he was?"

"I certainly don’t," said Benedict. "Mortmain is not that stupid, unfortunately for you. He wished me to be able to take the Institute that he might strike at it from its heart. But it was only one of his many plans, a strand of his web. He has been waiting for this a long time. He Will have the Clave. And he Will have her." His eyes rested on Tessa.

"What does he intend to do with me?" Tessa demanded.

"I don’t know," Benedict said with a sly smile. "I do know he was consistently asking after your welfare. Such concern, so touching in a potential bridegroom."

"He says he created me," said Tessa. "What does he mean by that?"

"I haven’t the vaguest idea. You are mistaken if you think he made me his confidant."

"Yes," said Will, "you two don’t seem to have much in common, save a penchant for demon women and evil."

"Will!" snapped Tessa.

"I didn’t mean you," said Will, looking surprised. "I meant the Pandemonium Club-"

"If you are quite done with your byplay," said Benedict, "I wish to make one thing very clear to my son. Gideon, understand that if you support Charlotte Branwel in this, you Will no longer be welcome under my roof. It is not for nothing that they say a man should never hang all his bel s on one horse."

In answer Gideon raised his hands in front of him, almost as if he meant to pray. But Shadowhunters did not pray, and Tessa realized quickly what he was doing-slipping the silver ring from his finger. The ring that was like Jem’s Carstairs ring, only this one had a pattern of flames about the band.

The Lightwood family ring. He set it down on the edge of his father’s desk, and turned to his brother.

"Gabriel," he said. "Wil you come with me?"

Gabriel’s green eyes were bril iant with anger. "You know I cannot."

"Yes, you can." Gideon held his hand out to his brother. Benedict stared between the two of them. He had paled slightly, as if suddenly realizing that he might lose not just one son, but both. His hand gripped the edge of the desk, his knuckles whitening. Tessa could not help staring at the expanse of the wrist that was revealed as his sleeve rose. It was very pale, banded with black circular striations. Something about the sight nauseated her, and she rose from her seat. Will, beside her, was already standing. Only Charlotte was still sitting, as prim and expressionless as ever.