Cassandra Clare - Clockwork Prince

“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’ll 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 killed him, I doubt he will be a forthcoming source of information.”

Charlotte looked appalled. “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 Branwell 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 bells 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. “Will you come with me?”

Gabriel’s green eyes were brilliant 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.

“Gabriel, please,” Gideon said. “Come with me.”

“Who will take care of father? What will people say about our family if we both abandon him?” Gabriel said, bitterness and desperation coloring his tone. “Who will manage the estates, the Council seat—”

“I don’t know,” said Gideon. “But it does not need to be you. The Law—”

Gabriel’s voice shook. “Family before Law, Gideon.” His eyes locked with his brother’s for a moment; then he looked away, chewing his lip, and went to stand behind Benedict, his hand on the back of his father’s chair.

Benedict smiled; in this one thing, at least, he was triumphant. Charlotte rose to her feet, her chin held high. “I trust we will see you tomorrow, in the Council chamber, Benedict. I trust you will know what to do,” she said, and swept from the room, Gideon and Tessa on her heels. Only Will hesitated a moment, in the doorway, his eyes on Gabriel, but when the other boy did not look at him, he shrugged at last and went out after the others, shutting the door behind him.

They rode back to the Institute in silence, rain lashing against the windows of the carriage. Charlotte attempted several times to speak to Gideon, but he was silent, staring at the blurred view of streets as they rolled by. Tessa could not tell if he was angry, or regretted his actions, or might even be relieved. He was as impassive as always, even as Charlotte explained to him that there would always be a room for him at the Institute, and that they could hardly express their gratitude for what he had done. At last, as they rattled down the Strand, he said, “I had really thought Gabriel would come with me. Once he knew about Mortmain . . .”

“He does not understand yet,” said Charlotte. “Give him time.”

“How did you know?” Will looked at Gideon keenly. “We only just discovered what happened to your mother. And Sophie said you had no idea—”

“I had Cyril deliver two notes,” said Charlotte. “One for Benedict and one for Gideon.”

“He slipped it into my hand while my father was not looking,” Gideon said. “I had only just time to read it before you came in.”

“And you chose to believe it?” Tessa said. “So quickly?”

Gideon looked toward the rain-washed window. His jaw was set in a hard line. “Father’s story about Mother’s death never made sense to me. This made sense.”

Crowded into the damp carriage, with Gideon only a few feet from her, Tessa felt the oddest urge to reach out to him, to tell him that she too had had a brother whom she had loved and had lost to what was worse than death, that she understood. She could see now what Sophie liked in him—the vulnerability under the impassive countenance, the solid honesty beneath the handsome bones of his face.

She said nothing, however, sensing it would not be welcome. Will, meanwhile, sat beside her, a bundle of coiled energy. Every once in a while she would catch a flash of blue as he looked at her, or the edge of a smile—a surprisingly sweet smile, something like giddiness, which she had never associated with Will before. It was as if he were sharing a private joke with her, only she was not entirely sure she knew what that joke was . Still, she felt his tension so keenly that her own calm, or what there was of it, was entirely cut up by the time they finally reached the Institute and Cyril—soaked to the skin, but friendly as always—came around the carriage to open the doors.

He helped Charlotte out first, and then Tessa, and then Will was beside her, having jumped down from the carriage and narrowly skirted a puddle. It had stopped raining. Will glanced up at the sky and took hold of Tessa’s arm. “Come along,” he whispered, steering her toward the front door of the Institute.