Clockwork Princess (The Infernal Devices Book 3)

by Cassandra Clare

“I think you are very selfless.” At his noise of disagreement she said: “Surely you must know that what you do is exemplary. There is a coldness to the Clave, it is true. We are dust and shadows. But you are like the heroes of ancient times, like Achilles and Jason.” “Achilles was murdered with a poisoned arrow, and Jason died alone, killed by his own rotting ship. Such is the fate of heroes; the Angel knows why anyone would want to be one.”

She had missed his jokes, the books he had lent her, the flashes of laughter in his gaze. Caught in the memory of the easier Will of an earlier time, she spoke without thinking: “I cannot stop recollecting something you told me once,” she said. He looked at her in surprise. “Yes? And what is that?” “That sometimes when you cannot decide what to do, you pretend you are a character in a book, because it is easier to decide what they would do.” “I am,” Will said, “perhaps, not someone to take advice from if you are seeking happiness.” “Not happiness. Not exactly. I want to help—to do good—” She broke off and sighed. “And I have turned to many books, but if there is guidance in them, I have not found it.

Will made a sound, and sank down onto a chair on the opposite side of the table from her. His lashes were lowered, veiling his eyes.

“Sometimes one must choose whether to be kind or honorable,” he said. “Sometimes one cannot be both.”

“You know that feeling,” she said, “when you are reading a book, and you know that it is going to be a tragedy; you can feel the cold and darkness coming, see the net drawing close around the characters who live and breathe on the pages. But you are tied to the story as if being dragged behind a carriage, and you cannot let go or turn the course aside.” His blue eyes were dark with understanding—of course Will would understand—and she hurried on. “I feel now as if the same is happening, only not to characters on a page but to my own beloved friends and companions. I do not want to sit by while tragedy comes for us. I would turn it aside, only I struggle to discover how that might be done.” “You fear for Jem,” Will said. “Yes,” she said. “And I fear for you, too.” “No,” Will said hoarsely. “Don’t waste that on me, Tess.”

“He has asked for you, Will.” Will looked startled. He darted a glance at Tessa. “I—” Tessa could not deny the little burst of surprise and almost-jealousy she had felt behind her rib cage at Charlotte’s words, but she pushed it down ruthlessly. She loved Jem enough to want whatever he wanted for himself, and he always had his reasons. “You go,” she said gently. “Of course he would want to see you.”

Halfway there he turned back and crossed the room to Tessa. “Tessa,” he said, “while I am with Jem, would you do something for me?” Tessa looked up and swallowed. He was too close, too close: All the lines, shapes, angles of Will filled her field of vision as the sound of his voice filled her ears. “Yes, certainly,” she said. “What is it?”

She felt as if she bled her regret and her loneliness from her very pores, and yet she could not shape those feelings into any sentiment she could imagine her parents could bear reading.

Tessa had a certain wariness around her that Cecily suspected the source of without ever being able to prove it; on top of that there was something fey and strange about her. Cecily knew she could shape-shift, could transform herself into the likeness of any person, and Cecily could not rid herself of the sense that it was unnatural. How could you know someone’s true face if they could change it as easily as someone else might change a gown?

Pip was morbid, and Estella so awful that Cecily wanted to shake her. “ ‘Estella,’ ” Tessa said softly. “ ‘To the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil.’ ” “So you memorize passages of books, just like Will? Or is this a favorite?” “I don’t have Will’s memory,” said Tessa, coming forward slightly. “Or his mnemosyne rune. But I do love that book.”

“Cecy . . .,” Tessa began. “Will’s curse—” “It wasn’t a real curse!” “You know,” Tessa said thoughtfully, “in its way, it was. He believed no one could love him, and that if he allowed them to, it would result in their death. That is why he left you all. He left you to keep you safe, and here you are now—the very definition, to him, of not safe. He cannot bear to come and look at your injuries, because to him it is as if he had put them there himself.” “I chose this. Shadowhunting. And not only because I wanted to be with Will.” “I know that,” Tessa said. “But I also sat with Will while he was delirious from exposure to vampire blood, choking on holy water, and I know the name he called out. It was yours.” Cecily looked up in surprise. “Will called out for me?” “Oh, yes.” A small smile touched the edge of Tessa’s mouth. “He wouldn’t tell me who you were, of course, when I asked him, and it drove me half-mad—” She broke off, and looked away.

“It’s my besetting sin. In any event, he loves you. I know that with Will everything is backward and upside down, but the fact that he isn’t here is only further proof to me of how precious you are to him. He is used to pushing away everyone he loves, and the more he loves you, the more he will violently try not to show it.”

“The habits of years are not unlearned so quickly,” Tessa said, and her eyes were sad. “Do not make the mistake of believing that he does not love you because he plays at not caring, Cecily. Confront him if you must and demand the truth, but do not make the mistake of turning away because you believe that he is a lost cause. Do not cast him from your heart. For if you do, you will regret it.”

For to be wise and love Exceeds man’s might. —Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida

“Don’t fuss, Will,” Jem said. “Everyone’s been fussing over me and I can’t abide it; I wanted you because—because you wouldn’t. You make me laugh.” Will threw his arms up. “Oh, all right,” he said. “How’s this? “Forsooth, I no longer toil in vain, To prove that demon pox warps the brain. So though ’tis pity, it’s not in vain That the pox-ridden worm was slain: For to believe in me, you all must deign.” Jem burst out laughing. “Well, that was awful.” “It was impromptu!”

“Look at the way you live, Will. You burn as bright as a star. I had been taking only enough of the drug to keep me alive but not enough to keep me well.

“But you have changed your dosage now? Has this been since the engagement?” Will demanded. “Is this because of Tessa?” “You cannot blame her for this. This was my decision. She has no knowledge of it.” “She would want you to live, James—” “I am not going to live!” And Jem was on his feet, his cheeks flushed; it was the angriest,

“I am not going to live, and I can choose to be as much for her as I can be, to burn as brightly for her as I wish, and for a shorter time, than to burden her with someone only half-alive for a longer time. It is my choice, William, and you cannot make it for me.”

He pulled the Carstairs family ring from his finger and held it out to Will. “Take it.” Will let his eyes drift down toward it, and then up to Jem’s face. A dozen awful things he could say, or do, went through his mind. One did not slough off a persona so quickly, he had found. He had pretended to be cruel for so many years that the pretense was still what he reached for first, as a man might absently turn his carriage toward the home he had lived in for all his life, despite the fact that he had recently moved. “You wish to marry me now?” he said, at last. “Sell the ring,” Jem said. “For the money. I told you, you should not have to pay for my drugs; I paid for yours, once, you know, and I recall the feeling. It was unpleasant.”

“When did you become reckless and I cautious? Since when have I had to guard you from yourself? It is always you who has guarded

“In the beginning, when I first realized I loved Tessa, I did think that perhaps love was making me well. I had not had an attack in so long. And when I asked her to marry me, I told her that. That love was healing me. So the first time I was—the first time it happened again, after that, I could not bear to tell her, lest she think it meant a lessening of my love for her.

Against his own will, almost, Will felt himself understanding; he would have done anything, he thought, told any lie, taken any risk, to make Tessa love him. He would have done— Almost anything. He would not betray Jem for it. That was the one thing he would not do. And here Jem stood, his hand in Will’s, his eyes asking for Will’s sympathy, his understanding.

He recalled himself in Magnus’s drawing room, begging to be sent to the demon realms rather than live another hour, another moment, of a life he could no longer bear.

Jem shook his head. “I cannot ask you to do something that goes against your conscience.” “My conscience,” Will whispered. “You are my conscience. You have ever been, James Carstairs. I will do this for you, but I will extract one promise first.”

Yes, I will free you. Search. Do what you must. I cannot fetter your best intentions; it would only be cruel, and I would do the same for you, were I in your place. You know that, don’t you?” “I know it.” Will took a step forward.

“This is not some empty promise, James. Believe me, there is no one who knows more than I do the pain of false hope. I will look. If there is anything to be found, I will find it. But until then—your life is yours to live as you choose.”

“I am nothing if not gracious,” Will said. His eyes searched Jem’s face, that face as familiar to him as his own. “And determined. You will not leave me. Not while I live.”

“Uffern nef!” she muttered in Welsh. Her mother would have been horrified, but then, her mother was not there.

“Five,” said a drawling voice from the corridor outside. Cecily started and turned. There was a shadow in the doorway, a shadow that as it moved forward became Gabriel Lightwood, all tousled brown hair and green eyes as sharp as glass. He was as tall as Will, perhaps taller, and more lanky than his brother. “I don’t take your meaning, Mr. Lightwood.” “Your throw,” he said with an elegantly outflung arm. “I rate it at five points. Your skill and technique may, perhaps, require work, but the native talent is certainly there. What you require is practice.” “Will has been training me,” she said as he drew closer. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly. “As I said.” “I suppose you could do better.”

“I heard. Until you grew bored. Not the commitment one might perhaps look for in a tutor.”

Cecily kept her voice cool; she remembered Gabriel’s touch as he had lifted her to her feet at Lightwood House, but she knew Will disliked him, and the smug distance in his voice grated.

“Will,” he said. “You do look very much like him. It is . . . unnerving.” He shook his head then, as if clearing it of cobwebs. “I just saw your brother,” he said. “Pounding down the front steps of the Institute as if the Four Horsemen were chasing him. I don’t suppose you’d know what that’s about?” Purpose. Cecily’s heart leaped. She seized the knife out of Gabriel’s hand, ignoring his startled exclamation. “Not at all,” she said, “but I intend to find out.”

It was the sort of thing he was used to hearing Jem say, and though Cecily was unlike Jem in every other conceivable way, she did share one quality with him: an absolute stubbornness. When Cecily said she wanted something, it did not express an idle desire but an iron determination.

“Don’t you even care where I’m going?” he said. “What if I were going to Hell?” “I’ve always wanted to see Hell,” Cecily said calmly. “Doesn’t everyone?” “Most of us spend our time struggling to stay out of it,” said Will. “I am going to an ifrit den, if you must know, to purchase drugs from violent, dissolute reprobates. They may clap eyes on you and decide to sell you.” “Wouldn’t you stop them?” “I suppose it would depend on how much they would give me.”

“Jem—Jem is all the better part of myself. I would not expect you to understand. I owe him this.” “Then what am I?” Cecily asked. Will exhaled, too exasperated to check himself. “You are my weakness.” “And Tessa is your heart,” she said, not angrily but thoughtfully. “Not a fool, as I told you,” she added at his startled expression. “I know that you love her.”

“I am not ashamed of you, Will. Whatever you feel, you have not acted on it, and I suppose we all want things we cannot have.” “Oh?” Will said. “And what do you want that you cannot have?” “For you to come home.” A strand of black hair was stuck to her cheek by the dampness, making her look as if she had been crying, though Will knew she had not.

“I cannot stand out here arguing with you all evening, Cecy. If you are determined to follow me into Hell, I cannot stop you.” “Finally, you have seen sense. I knew you would; you are related to me, after all.”

Will raised his hand to knock on the door. The door flew open, and Gideon stood on the threshold

That transition was so good ngl 🤭

“But she is the gentlest of people!” “Yes—that is why I think she terrified him. She embraced him and told him that if he remained here, the incident with my father would be put into the past. I am not sure which incident with my father she was referring to,” Gideon added dryly. “Most likely the one where Gabriel supported his bid to take over the Institute.”

She is not a stupid girl—in fact, she considers her intelligence to be quite superior—but she is a self-important and vain one, and there is no love lost between her and my brother. And he had been awake for days, mind you.

Gideon scrambled to his feet, his clothes even more wrinkled now. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not think.” “No,” Sophie said, furiously tucking her hair up under her cap. “You lot never do, do you?” And with that, she stalked from the room, leaving Gideon staring hopelessly after her. “Nicely done, brother,” said Gabriel from the bed, blinking sleepy green eyes at Gideon. Gideon threw a scone at him.

Come. It is for Buford.” Charlotte allowed her husband to take her wrist and draw her across the room. “I have told you a hundred times, Henry, no son of mine will ever be named Buford—By

By the Angel, is that a cradle?” Henry beamed. “It is better than a cradle!” he announced, flinging his arm out to indicate the sturdy-looking wooden baby’s bed, hung between two poles that it might rock from side to side. Charlotte had to admit to herself it was quite a nice-looking piece of furniture. “It is a self-rocking cradle!” “A what?” Charlotte asked faintly. “Watch.” Proudly Henry stepped forward and pressed some sort of invisible button. The cradle began to rock gently from side to side. Charlotte expelled a breath. “That’s lovely, darling.” “Don’t you like it?” Henry beamed. “There, it’s rocking a bit faster now.” It was, with a slight jerkiness to the motion that gave Charlotte the feeling that she had been cast adrift on a choppy sea. “Hm,” she said. “Henry, I do have something I wish to speak to you about. Something important.” “More important than our child being rocked gently to sleep each night?” “The Clave has decided to release Jessamine,” Charlotte said. “She is returning to the Institute. In two days.” Henry turned to her with an incredulous look. Behind him the cradle was rocking even faster, like a carriage hurtling ahead at full tilt. “She is coming back here?” “Henry, she has nowhere else to go.” Henry opened his mouth to reply, but before a word could emerge, there was a terrible ripping sound, and the cradle tore free of its mooring and flew across the room to crash against the farthest wall, where it exploded into splinters. Charlotte gave a li...

He should make it cuz Charles deserves to be chucked out the window

“Today,” he said in a low voice, and coughed. “Collapsing and coughing up blood all over Lightwood House—” “It only improved the look of the place,” said Tessa. “Now you sound like Will.” Jem gave a sleepy smile. “And you’re changing the subject, just like he would.” “Of course I am. As if I would ever think any less of you for being ill; you know that I don’t. And you were quite heroic today. Though Will was saying earlier,” she added, “that heroes all come to bad ends, and he could not imagine why anyone would want to be one anyway.” “Ah.” Jem’s hand squeezed hers briefly, and then let it go. “Well, Will is looking at it from the hero’s viewpoint, isn’t he? But as for the rest of us, it’s an easy answer.” “Is it?” “Of course. Heroes endure because we need them. Not for their own sakes.” “You speak of them as though you were not one.” She reached to brush the hair from his forehead. He leaned into her touch, his eyes closing.

I would no longer be Will’s parabatai, no longer be welcome in the Institute. No, Tessa. I would rather die and be reborn and see the sun again, than live to the end of the world without daylight.”

“You know I would rather have you alive and not married to me than—” Her throat closed on the word.

Little do they know that that is exactly what’s gonna happen 🤭

“And it is not much of a life they have, Silent Brothers, shadows and darkness, silence and—no music.” He swallowed. “And besides, I do not wish to live forever.” “I may live forever,” Tessa said. The enormity of it was something she could still not quite comprehend. It was as hard to comprehend that your life would never end as it was to comprehend that it would. “I know,” Jem said. “And I am sorry for it, for I think it is a burden no one should have to bear. You know I believe we live again, Tessa. I will return, if not in this body. Souls that love each other are drawn to each other in their next lives. I will see Will, my parents, my uncles, Charlotte and Henry . . .”

If I am immortal, then I have only this, this one life. I will not turn and change as you do, James. I will not see you in Heaven, or on the banks of the great river, or in whatever life lies beyond this one. “I see you now.” He reached out and put his hand on her cheek, his clear silver-gray eyes searching hers. “And I see you,” she whispered, and he smiled tiredly, closing his eyes.

Tessa turned round in her chair and saw Will standing on the threshold, still in his coat and gloves. One look at his stark, distraught face had her rising to her feet and following Will out into the corridor.

He moved away from her, toward a nearby shelf, his gloved hands running feverishly over the tomes that rested there. “It was years ago, before Jem forbade any more research. I have forgotten—” Tessa moved to join him, her skirts swishing about her ankles. “Will, stop.”