Cassandra Clare - Clockwork Prince

With Sophie’s help Tessa had finally and gratefully fought her way free of Jessamine’s dress; she had bathed, and put on her yellow dress, the one Jessamine had bought her. She thought the color might brighten her mood, but she still felt wan and tired.

She found the same look reflected on Jem’s face when she came into the drawing room. His eyes were shadowed, and he looked quickly away from her. It hurt. It also made her think of the night before, with Will, on the balcony. But that had been different, she told herself. That had been a result of warlock powders, a temporary madness. Nothing like what had happened between her and Jem.

“I don’t think she hates us,” Jem said again now, correcting his use of the past tense. “She has always been someone so full of wanting. She has always been so desperate.”

“It is my fault,” Charlotte said softly. “I should not have tried to force being a Shadowhunter upon her when it was something she so clearly despised.”

“No. No!” Henry hurried to reassure his wife. “You were never anything but kind to her. You did everything you could. There are some mechanisms that are so—so broken that they cannot be repaired.”

“Jessamine is not a watch, Henry,” Charlotte said, her tone remote. Tessa wondered if she were still angry with Henry for not seeing Woolsey Scott with her, or if she were simply angry at the world. “Perhaps I should just parcel up the Institute with a bow and give it to Benedict Lightwood. This is the second time that we have had a spy under our roof and not known about it until significant damage was done. Clearly I am incompetent.”

“In a way it was really just the one spy,” Henry began, but fell silent as Charlotte gave him a look that could have melted glass.

“If Benedict Lightwood is working for Mortmain, he cannot be allowed to have custody of the Institute,” said Tessa. “In fact, that ball he threw last night ought to be enough to disqualify him.”

“The problem will be proving it,” said Jem. “Benedict will deny everything, and it will be his word against yours—and you are a Downworlder—”

“There’s Will,” said Charlotte, and frowned. “Speaking of, where is Will?”

“Having a lie-in, no doubt,” said Jem, “and as for him being a witness, well, everyone thinks Will is a lunatic as it is—”

“Ah,” said a voice from the doorway, “having your annual everyone-thinks-Will-is-a-lunatic meeting, are you?”

“It’s biannual,” said Jem. “And no, this is not that meeting.”

Will’s eyes sought Tessa across the room. “They know about Jessamine?” he said. He looked tired, but not as tired as Tessa would have thought; he was pale, but there was a suppressed excitement about him that was almost like—happiness. She felt her stomach drop as memories of the previous night—the stars, the balcony, the kissing— swept over her.

When had he gotten home last night? she thought. How had he? And why did he look so—excited? Was he horrified by what had happened on the balcony between them last night, or did he find it amusing? And dear God, had he told Jem ? Warlock powders, she told herself desperately. She had not been herself, acting of her own will. Surely Jem would understand that. It would break her heart to hurt him. If he even cared . . .

“Yes, they know all about Jessamine,” she said hastily. “She was questioned with the Mortal Sword and taken to the Silent City, and right now we’re having a meeting about what to do next, and it’s dreadfully important. Charlotte’s very upset.”

Charlotte looked at her in puzzlement.

“Well, you are ,” Tessa said, nearly out of breath from speaking so quickly. “And you were asking for Will—”

“And here I am,” said Will, throwing himself down into a chair near Jem. One of his arms had been bandaged, his sleeve pulled down partway over it. The nails of his hand were crusted with dried blood. “Glad to hear Jessamine’s in the Silent City. Best place for her. What’s the next step?”

“ That’s the meeting we were trying to have,” said Jem.

“Well, who knows she’s there?” Will asked practically.

“Just us,” said Charlotte, “and Brother Enoch, but he’s agreed not to inform the Clave for another day or so. Until we decide what to do. Which reminds me, I shall have some choice words for you, Will, haring off to Benedict Lightwood’s without informing me, and dragging Tessa with you.”

“There was no time to lose,” said Will. “By the time we’d have roused you and made you agree to the plan, Nathaniel could have been and gone. And you can’t say it was a dreadful idea. We’ve learned a great deal about Nathaniel and Benedict Lightwood—”

“Nathaniel Gray and Benedict Lightwood aren’t Mortmain.”

Will traced a pattern on the air with his long, elegant fingers. “Mortmain is the spider at the heart of the web,” he said. “The more we learn, the more we know how far his reach extends. Before last night we had no clue he had any connection to Lightwood; now we know the man is his puppet. I say we go to the Clave and report Benedict and Jessamine. Let Wayland take care of them. See what Benedict spills under the Mortal Sword.”

Charlotte shook her head. “No, I—I don’t think we can do that.”

Will tilted his head back. “Why not?”

“Jessamine said it was exactly what Mortmain wanted us to do. And she said it under the influence of the Mortal Sword. She wasn’t lying.”

“But she could have been wrong ,” said Will. “Mortmain could have foreseen just this circumstance and have had Nate plant the thought in her head for us to discover.”

“D’you think he would have thought ahead like that?” said Henry.

“Assuredly,” said Will. “The man’s a strategist.” He tapped his temple. “Like me.”

“So you think we should go to the Clave?” asked Jem.

“Bloody hell, no,” said Will. “What if it is the truth? Then we’ll feel like right fools.”

Charlotte threw her hands up. “But you said—”

“I know what I said ,” said Will. “But you have to look at consequences. If we go to the Clave and we’re wrong, then we’ve played into Mortmain’s hands. We still have a few days before the deadline is up. Going to the Clave early gains us nothing. If we investigate, and can proceed on a surer footing . . .”

“And how do you propose to investigate?” Tessa inquired.

Will swiveled his head to look at her. There was nothing in his cool blue eyes to recall the Will of the night before, who had touched her with such tenderness, who had whispered her name like a secret. “The problem with questioning Jessamine is that even when forced to tell the truth, there is a limit to her knowledge. We do, however, have one more connection to the Magister. Someone who is likely to know a great deal more. That is your brother, Nate, through Jessamine. He still trusts her. If she summons him to a meeting, then we will be able to capture him there.”

“Jessamine would never agree to do it,” said Charlotte. “Not now—”

Will gave her a dark look. “You are all in a lather, aren’t you?” he said. “Of course she wouldn’t. We will be asking Tessa to reprise her starring role as Jessamine, A Traitorous Young Lady of Fashion.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Jem said in a subdued voice. “For Tessa.”

Tessa looked at him quickly, and caught a flash of his silvery eyes. It was the first time he had looked at her since she had left his room that night. Was she imagining the concern in his voice when he spoke of danger to her, or was it simply the concern Jem had for everyone ? Not wishing for her horrible demise was mere kindness, not—not what it was she hoped he felt.