Clockwork Prince (The Infernal Devices, #2)

by Cassandra Clare

“Then, yes,” she said. “Yes, I will marry you, James Carstairs. Yes.”

Was this what it meant to love someone? That any burden was a burden shared, that they could give you comfort with a word or a touch?

“Won’t you miss it here? This place has been your home.” His fingers stroked her wrist lightly, making her shiver. “You are home for me now.”

“Oh, Sophie. She’s disappointed in Will all the time!” “Well, who isn’t.” “That’s not what I meant. I meant she loves you, like you were Will or Jem or—well, you know. Even if she’s disappointed, you must stop fearing she’ll sack you. She won’t. She thinks you’re wonderful, and so do I.” Sophie’s eyes widened. “Miss Tessa!” “Well, I do,” said Tessa mutinously. “You are brave and selfless and lovely. Like Charlotte.”

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

Will I'm going to sob

“I imagined you wanted an apology! You saved my life at the tea warehouse, and I am grateful, Will. I thought you wanted me to tell you that—” Will looked as if she had slapped him. “I didn’t save your life so you’d be grateful!” “Then, what?” Her voice rose. “You did it because it’s your mandate? Because the Law says—” “I did it because I love you!” he half-shouted, and then, as if registering the shocked look on her face, he said in a more subdued voice, “I love you, Tessa, and I have loved you, almost since the moment I met you.”

“I pulled them out of the fire myself. I read them all. Every word you wrote. You and I, Tess, we’re alike. We live and breathe words. It was books that kept me from taking my own life after I thought I could never love anyone, never be loved by anyone again. It was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them. Reading your words, what you wrote, how you were lonely sometimes and afraid, but always brave; the way you saw the world, its colors and textures and sounds, I felt—I felt the way you thought, hoped, felt, dreamed. I felt I was dreaming and thinking and feeling with you. I dreamed what you dreamed, wanted what you wanted—and then I realized that truly I just wanted you. The girl behind the scrawled letters. I loved you from the moment I read them. I love you still.”

I cannot sever them, one from the other, she thought. I cannot be responsible for such a thing.

“What you have endured,” she said, “since you were twelve years old—it would have killed most people. You have always believed that no one loved you, that no one could love you, as their continued survival was proof to you that they did not. But Charlotte loves you. And Henry. And Jem. And your family. They all have always loved you, Will Herondale, for you cannot hide what is good about yourself, however hard you try.”

Whatever part you might act to the contrary, I see you as you really are, my blood brother. Not just better than you pretend to be, but better than most people could hope to be.” He placed a hand on Will’s shoulder, gently. “You are worth everything, Will.”

“You’re only seventeen. Plenty of time to find a cure,” she whispered. “And we will. Find one. I will be with you. Forever.” “Now, that I believe,” he said. “When two souls are as one, they stay together on the Wheel. I was born into this world to love you, and I will love you in the next life, and the one after that.” She thought of Magnus. We are chained to this life by a chain of gold, and we dare not sever it for fear of what lies beyond the drop.

He raised his glass of wine. “I do not know two finer people,” he said, “and could not imagine better news. May your lives together be happy and long.” His eyes sought Tessa’s, then slid away from her, fastening on Jem. “Congratulations, brother.”

“No, not that, Henry. You—” Charlotte made a hiccuping sound, half laughter, half tears. “Henry and I are going to have a child. A boy. Brother Enoch told me. I didn’t want to say anything before, but—”