Clockwork Princess (The Infernal Devices Book 3)

by Cassandra Clare

“Your lady’s necklace?” Cecily said. “Well, I confess it does not suit you.” He stepped toward Cecily and drew the glittering chain over her dark head. The ruby fell against her throat as if it were made for her. She looked at him over it, her eyes serious. “Wear it always. It will warn you when demons are coming,” Will said. “It will help keep you safe, which is how I want you, and help you be a warrior, which is what you want.”

“Da bo ti, Gwilym. Byddaf yn dy golli di.” “And I you,” he said. Without looking at her again, he turned to Balios and swung himself up into the saddle. She stepped back as he urged the horse toward the stable doors and, bending his head against the wind, galloped out into the night.

Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell, Is it, in Heav’n, a crime to love too well? To bear too tender, or too firm a heart, To act a lover’s or a Roman’s part? Is there no bright reversion in the sky, For those who greatly think, or bravely die? —Alexander Pope, “Elegy to the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady”

he could not help remembering when he had told Tessa that Boadicea proved that women could be warriors too. He had not told her then that he had read her letters, that he already loved the warrior soul in her, hidden behind those quiet gray eyes. He remembered a dream he had had, blue skies and Tessa sitting down beside him on a green hill. You will always come first in my heart. A fierce rage blossomed in his soul. How dare Mortmain touch her. She was one of them. She did not belong to Will—she was too much herself to belong to anyone, even Jem—but she belonged with them, and silently he cursed the Consul for not seeing it. He would find her. He would find her and bring her back home, and even if she never loved him, it would be all right, he would have done this for her, for himself. He spun back toward Balios, who looked at him balefully. Will swung himself up into the saddle. “Come on, old boy,” he said. “The sun’s going down, and we ought to make Hockliffe by nightfall, for it looks liable to rain.” He dug his heels into the horse’s sides, and Balios, as if he had understood his rider’s words, took off like a shot.

Her long brown hair blew in the wind. She had taken off her bonnet and held it in one hand, waving it at him and smiling as if she were glad to see him. More than glad. As if seeing him were all the joy of her heart.

Their hands closed on each other’s, and for a moment they stood smiling, and her fingers were warm in his. “I’ve been waiting for you,” Will said, and she looked up at him with a smile that vanished from her face as her feet slipped and she tilted toward the edge of the cliff. Her hands tore out of his, and suddenly he was reaching for air as she fell away from him, silently fell, a white blur against the blue horizon.

He found himself wanting to write poetry about how her blue eyes were like starlight and her hair like night, because “night” and “starlight” rhymed, but he had a feeling the poem wouldn’t turn out that well, and Tatiana had rather frightened him off poetry as it was. Besides, there were things you couldn’t put in poetry anyway, like the way that when a certain girl curved her mouth in a certain way, you wanted very much to lean forward and— “Mr. Lightwood,” Cecily said in an impatient tone that indicated that this was not the first time she had tried to get Gabriel’s attention. “I do believe we have passed the shop already.”

“Oh, dear,” said Cecily. “How decidedly unpleasant.” “Do you not wish to enter?” Gabriel turned to her. “I could go instead—” “And leave me standing about on the cold pavement? How ungentlemanly. Certainly not.” She reached for the knob and pushed the door open, setting a small bell somewhere in the shop tinkling. “After me, please, Mr. Lightwood.” Gabriel went blinking after her into the dim light of the shop.

He caught up to Cecily just as she brought her gloved hand down on the brass bell on the counter, setting it to an impatient ringing. “Hello?” she called. “Is anyone here?” “Directly in front of you, miss,” said an irritable voice, downward and to the left.

“Gracious,” said Cecily. “You must be Mr. Sallows.” “Nephilim,” observed the shop owner gloomily. “I detest Nephilim.” “Hmph,” said Cecily. “Charmed, I’m sure.” Gabriel felt it was about time to intervene. “How did you know we were Shadowhunters?” he snapped. Sallows raised his eyebrows. “Your Marks, sir, are clearly visible on your hands and throat,” he said, as if talking to a child, “and as for the girl, she looks just like her brother.” “How would you know my brother?” Cecily demanded, her voice rising. “We don’t get many of your kind in here,” said Sallows. “It’s notable when we do. Your brother Will was in and out quite a bit about two months ago, running errands for that warlock Magnus Bane. He was down the Cross Bones too, bothering Old Mol. Will Herondale’s well-known in Downworld, though he mostly keeps himself out of trouble.” “That is astonishing news,” said Gabriel. Cecily gave Gabriel a dark look.

Once it had been he and his family against the world, the Lightwoods above all else, but now—now there was shame in the name of Lightwood as much as there had ever been pride, and Gabriel did not know how to speak of it.

Though perhaps it is not something you would want?” Sophie set the book down on the table, and sat down opposite Gideon. She knew she should hesitate, seem to think the question over, but the answer was on her lips before she could stop it. “To be a Shadowhunter is all I ever wanted.”

“I see it,” Gideon said in a low voice. “I am not blind, and we are a people of many scars. I see it, but it is not ugly. It is just another beautiful part of the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”

Sophie hurried to the door, not looking at Gideon as she did so—although as the door closed behind her, she was fairly sure that she heard him swearing softly and with great frustration in Spanish.

“You know,” Cecily said, “you really didn’t have to throw that man through the window.” “He wasn’t a man,” Gabriel said, scowling down at the heap of objects in his arms.

after Gabriel had tossed the satyr through one of the grimed-up windows. It had been very satisfying, with shattered glass everywhere. The force of it had even dislodged the hanging skeleton, which had come apart in a clatter of messy bones. “He was an Unseelie Court faerie. One of the nasty ones.” “Is that why you chased him down the street?” “He had no business showing images like that to a lady,” Gabriel muttered, though it had to be admitted that the lady in question had hardly turned a hair, and seemed more annoyed with Gabriel for his reaction than impressed by his chivalry.

“And I do think it was excessive to hurl him into the canal.” “He’ll float.” The corners of Cecily’s mouth twitched. “It was very wrong.” “You’re laughing,” Gabriel said in surprise. “I am not.” Cecily raised her chin, turning her face away, but not before Gabriel saw the grin that spread over her face. Gabriel was baffled. After her displayed disdain for him, her cheek and back talk, he had been quite sure that this latest outburst of his would prompt her to tell tales to Charlotte as soon as they returned to the Institute, but instead she seemed amused.

He shook his head as they turned onto Garnet Street. He would never unde...

(Magnus presumed the two pairs of goggles was a fit of absentmindedness, but in case it was in pursuit of fashion, he decided not to ask.)

“Well, over here, this is a Sensor. It senses when demons are near.” He moved toward Magnus, and the Sensor made a loud wailing noise.

“And what is this?” “The Lethal Bonnet,” Henry declared. “Ah,” said Magnus. “In times of need a lady can produce weapons from it with which to slay her enemies.” “Well, no,” Henry admitted. “That does sound like a rather better idea. I do wish you had been on the spot when I had the notion. Unfortunately this bonnet wraps about the head of one’s enemy and suffocates them, provided that they are wearing it at the time.” “I imagine that it will not be easy to persuade Mortmain into a bonnet,” Magnus observed. “Though the color would be fetching on him.” Henry burst into laughter. “Very droll, Mr. Bane.” “Please, call me Magnus.”

Henry tossed the bonnet over his shoulder and picked up a round glass jar of a sparkling substance. “This is a powder that when applied to the air causes ghosts to become visible,” Henry said. Magnus tilted the jar of shining grains up to the lamp admiringly, and when Henry beamed in an encouraging fashion, Magnus removed the cork. “It seems very fine to me,” he said, and on a whim he poured it upon his hand. It coated his brown skin, gloving one hand in shimmering luminescence. “And in addition to its practical uses, it would seem to work for cosmetic purposes. This powder would make my very skin glimmer for eternity.”

“But I could make you up another batch whenever you please!” “I could shine at will!” Magnus grinned at Henry. “These are fascinating items, Mr. Branwell. You think differently about the wo...

Surely the Shadowhunter community must honor you and hold you in high esteem as a gentleman who has truly advanced their race.” “No,” Henry said sadly. “Mostly they wish that I would stop suggesting new inventions and cease setting fire to things.” “But all invention comes with risk!” cried Magnus. “I have seen the transformation wrought on the world by the invention of the steam engine, and the proliferation of printed materials, the factories and mills which have changed the face of England.

Would the Shadowhunters be the only ones to remain stagnant and changeless, and therefore doomed? How can they turn up their noses at the genius that you have displayed? It is like turning toward shadows and away from light.” Henry blushed a scarlet color. It was clear that no one had ever complimented his inventing before, except perhaps Charlotte. “You humble me, Mr. Bane.”

“Now may I see your work upon this portal you were describing? The invention that transports a living being from one spot to another?” “Of course.” Henry drew a heavy pile of notepaper from one corner of his cluttered table, and pushed it toward Magnus. The warlock took it and flicked through the pages with interest. Each page was covered with crabbed, spidery handwriting, and dozens and dozens of equations, blending mathematics and runes in a startling harmony. Magnus felt his heart beating faster as he flipped through the pages—this was genius, real genius. There was only one problem. “I see what you are trying to do,” he said. “And it is almost perfected, but—” “Yes, almost.” Henry ran his hands through his gingery hair, upsetting his goggles. “The portal can be opened, but there is no way to direct it. No way to know if you will step through it to your intended destination in this world or into another world altogether, or even into Hell. It is too risky, and therefore useless.” “You cannot do this with these runes,” said Magnus. “You need runes other than the ones you are using.” Henry shook his head. “We can use only the runes from the Gray Book. Anything else is magic. Magic is not the way of the Nephilim. It is something we may not do.” Magnus looked at Henry for a long thoughtful moment. “It is something that I can do,” he declared, and drew the stack of papers toward him.

O the mind, mind has mountains; cliffs of fall Frightful, sheer, no-man-fathomed. Hold them cheap May who ne’er hung there. Nor does long our small Durance deal with that steep or deep. Here! creep, Wretch, under a comfort serves in a whirlwind: all Life death does end and each day dies with sleep. —Gerard Manley Hopkins, “No Worse, There Is None”

Wo ai ni, Tessa. Bu lu run, he qing kuang fa sheng, wo men dou hui zai yi qi.

sheng si zhi jiao,

Will is easy to love, and he has given her his whole heart.

She did not know what anyone could say in the face of love like this—so much forbearance, so much endurance, so much hope. There had been many times in these past months when she’d regretted that she had ever had a bad thought about Will Herondale, when she saw how he had stood back and allowed Tessa and Jem to be happy together, and she knew the agony that had come to Tessa along with the happiness, in the knowledge that she was hurting Will. Sophie alone, she thought, knew that Tessa called out for Will sometimes when she slept; she alone knew that the scar on Tessa’s palm was not from an accidental encounter with a fireplace poker but a deliberate wound, inflicted on herself that she might, somehow, physically match the emotional pain she’d felt in denying Will. Sophie had held Tessa while she’d wept and torn the flowers out of her hair that were the color of Will’s eyes, and Sophie had covered up with powder the evidence of tears and sleepless nights.

Should she tell him? Sophie wondered. Would it really be a kindness to say, Yes, Tessa loves him too; she has tried not to, but she does? Could any man honestly want to hear that about the girl he was going to marry?

He picked it up carefully. It was a jade pendant, circular, with characters stamped upon the back. He knew well enough what they meant. When two people are as one in their inmost hearts, they shatter even the strength of iron or bronze. Jem’s bridal gift to Tessa. Will’s hand tightened about it as he stood. He remembered facing her in the stairwell—the chain of the jade pendant at her throat winking at him like a cruel reminder of Jem as she’d said, They say you cannot divide your heart, and yet— “Tessa!” he cried out suddenly, his voice echoing off the rocks. “Tessa!” He stood for a moment, shuddering, at the side of the road. He did not know what he had expected—an answer? It was hardly as if she could be here, hiding among the sparse rocks. There was only silence and the sound of the wind and rain. Still, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was Tessa’s necklace. Perhaps she had torn it from her throat and dropped it out the carriage window to mark the path for him, like Hansel and Gretel’s trail of bread crumbs. It was what a storybook heroine would do, and therefore what his Tessa would do. Maybe there would be other markers too, if he kept on his way. For the first time hope flowed back into his veins.

DUDE JUST USE A FUCKING TRACKING RUNE ESTÙPIDAMENTE.

“Oh, yes, please, Sophie. Bridget’s in one of her moods; she says she can’t find the Bang Mary, and I haven’t even the slightest what she’s talking about.” Sophie almost smiled—she would have, if her heart hadn’t been pounding with the knowledge that she might just have done something very dreadful. “The bain-marie,” she said. “I will locate it for her.” She moved toward the door, paused, and threw a peculiar look over her shoulder at Jem, who was resting back against his pillows, looking very pale but composed.

“This is pizzicato—the first thing my father taught me how to do when he showed me the violin. It reminds me of being a child.” You are still a child, Charlotte wanted to say, but she did not.

when she looked at him she still saw the dark-haired little boy who had arrived from Shanghai clutching his violin, his eyes huge in his pale face, that did not mean he had not grown up.

“But of course it is,” Charlotte said. “We are your family; we would do anything for you. Please do not lose hope, Jem. I need you to keep your strength.” “What strength I have is yours,” he said cryptically. He downed the yin fen solution, handing her back the empty glass.

“Have you won the fight about what to call the child yet?” Charlotte gave a startled laugh. It seemed odd to think about her child now, but then why not? In death, we are in life. It was something to think about that was not illness, or Tessa’s disappearance, or Will’s dangerous mission. “Not yet,” she said. “Henry is still insisting on Buford.” “You’ll win,” Jem said. “You always do. You would make an excellent Consul, Charlotte.”

“A woman Consul? After all the trouble I’ve had simply for running the Institute!” “There must always be a first,” said Jem. “It is not easy to be first, and it is not always rewarding, but it is important.” He du...

“I would have liked to see the baby.” It was a very simple, wistful thing to say, but it lodged itself in Charlotte’s heart like a sliver of glass. She began to cry, the tears slipping silently down her face. “Charlotte,” Jem said, as if comforting her. “You’ve always taken care o...

“You cannot give up, Jem,” she said in a choked voice. “When they brought you to me, at first they said you would live only a year or two. You’ve lived nearly six. Please jus...

Jem gave her a softly measured look. “I lived for you,” he said. “And I lived for Will, and then I lived for Tessa—and for myself, because I wanted to be with her. But I cannot live for other people forever. No one can say that death found in me a willing comrade, or that I went easily. If you say you need me, I will stay as long as I can for you. I will live for you and yours, an...

“I made a decision,” he said. “I made it when I told Will to go.” He ducked his head, and then looked up at Charlotte, his pale, blue-shadowed eyes fixed on her face as if willing her to understand. “I want it to stop,” he said. “Sophie says everyone is still searching for a cure for me. I know I gave Will my permission, but I want everyone to cease looking now, Charlotte. It is over.”

His decision is that he wants to become a silent brother.

To be out and about in the city with someone besides Charlotte or her brother had been a unique experience for Cecily, and she was astonished at what good company Gabriel Lightwood had been. He had made her laugh, though she had done her best to hide it, and he had quite obligingly carried all the parcels, though she would have expected him to protest at being treated like a harried footman. It was true that he probably should not have thrown that faerie through the shopwindow—or into the Limehouse canal afterward. But she could hardly blame him. She knew perfectly well that it was not the fact that the satyr had shown her improper images that had snapped his temper, but the reminder of his father.

She had liked Gideon perfectly well since she had arrived in London, but found him quiet and contained. He did not speak much, and though he sometimes helped Will with her training, he was distant and thoughtful with everyone but Sophie. With her it was possible to see flashes of humor in him. He could be quite dryly funny when he wished to be, and had a darkly observant nature alongside his calm soul. In bits and pieces gleaned from Tessa, Will, and Charlotte, Cecily had pieced together the story of the Lightwoods and had begun to understand why Gideon was so quiet. In a way like Will and herself, he had turned his back on his family deliberately, and he carried the scars of that loss.

“O see ye not yon narrow road, So thick beset with thorns and briers? That is the path of righteousness, Tho after it but few enquires. “And see not ye that broad, broad road That lies across the lily leven? That is the path of wickedness, Tho some call it the road to Heaven.”

Gideon was good-looking as well, but Gabriel was all sharp angles, chin, and cheekbones, which she thought altogether more elegant.

“It was dark, dark night, there was no starlight, And they waded through red blood to the knee; For all the blood that’s shed on earth Runs through the springs of that country.”

“It may or may not be my fault, but I chose to be blind to his crimes. I believed in him when it was wrong to do so, and he has disgraced the name of Lightwood.”

“I came here because I believed Shadowhunters were monsters who had taken my brother. I believed it because my parents believed it. But they were wrong. We are not our parents, Gabriel. We do not have to carry the burden of their choices or their sins.