Clockwork Princess (The Infernal Devices, #3)(112)

And if he thought of how warm she was in his arms or the feel of her breath on his skin, it was only for a moment, and he could pretend that it wasn’t at all.

Tessa’s grief, like a storm, spent itself slowly over the course of hours. She wept, and Will held her and did not let go, except for once when he rose and built up the fire. He returned swiftly and sat down beside her again, their backs against the invisible wall. She touched the place on his shoulder where her tears had soaked through the fabric.

“I’m sorry,” she said. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d told him she was sorry over the past hours, as they’d shared the tales of what had happened to them since their separation at the Institute. He’d spoken to her of his farewell to Jem and Cecily, his ride across the countryside, the moment he had realized Jem was gone. She’d told him of what Mortmain had demanded of her, that she Change into his father, and give him the last bit of the puzzle that would turn his automaton army into an unstoppable force.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Tess,” Will said now. He was looking toward the fire, the only light in the room. It painted him in shades of gold and black. The shadows under his eyes were violet, the angle of his cheekbones and collarbones sharply outlined. “You have suffered, just as I have. Seeing that village destroyed—”

“We were both there at the same time,” she said, wonderingly. “If I had known you were near—”

“If I had known you were near, I would have charged Balios directly up the hill to you.”

“And been murdered by Mortmain’s creatures in the process. It is better that you did not know.” She followed his gaze to the fire. “You found me in the end; that is what matters.”

“Of course I found you. I promised Jem I would find you,” he said. “Some promises cannot be broken.”

He took a shallow breath. She felt it against her side: she was curled half against him, and his hands were shaking, almost imperceptibly, as he held her. Distantly she knew that she should not let herself be held like this by any boy who was not her brother or fiancé—but her brother and her fiancé were both dead, and tomorrow Mortmain would find them and punish them both. She could not bring herself, in the face of all that, to care much about propriety.

“What was the point of all that pain?” she asked. “I loved him so much, and I wasn’t even there when he died.”

Will’s hand smoothed down her back—light and quick, as if he were afraid she would draw away. “Neither was I,” he said. “I was in the courtyard of an inn, halfway to Wales, when I knew. I felt it. The bond between us being severed. It was as if a great pair of scissors had cut my heart in half.”

“Will …,” Tessa said. His grief was so palpable, it mixed with her own to create a sharp sadness, lighter for being shared, though it was hard to say who was comforting who now. “You were always half his heart as well.”

“I am the one who asked him to be my parabatai,” Will said. “He was reluctant. He wanted me to understand that I was tying myself in what was meant to be a life bond to someone who would not live much of a life. But I wanted it, blindly wanted it, some proof that I wasn’t alone, some way to show him what I owed him. And he gave way gracefully to what I wanted in the end. He always did.”

“Don’t,” said Tessa. “Jem wasn’t a martyr. It was no punishment for him, being your parabatai. You were like a brother to him—better than a brother, for you had chosen him. When he spoke of you, it was with loyalty and love, unclouded by any doubt.”

“I confronted him,” Will went on. “When I found he had been taking more of the yin fen than he should. I was so angry. I accused him of throwing his life away. He said, ‘I can choose to be as much for her as I can be, to burn as brightly for her as I wish.’”

Tessa made a small sound in her throat.

“It was his choice, Tessa. Not something you forced upon him. He was never as happy as when he was with you.” Will was not looking at her, but at the fire. “Whatever else I have ever said to you, no matter what, I am glad he had that time with you. You should be as well.”

“You do not sound glad.”

Will was still looking into the fire. His black hair had been damp when he had come into the room, and it had dried in loose curls against his temples and forehead. “I disappointed him,” he said. “He entrusted this to me, this one task, to follow you and to find you, to bring you home safely. And now I fail at the final hurdle.” He finally turned to look at her, his blue eyes unseeing. “I would not have left him. I would have stayed with him if he had asked, until he died. I would have stood by my oath. But he asked me to go after you …”

“Then you only did what he asked. You did not disappoint him.”

“But it was also what was in my heart,” Will said. “I cannot separate selfishness from selflessness now. When I dreamed of saving you, the way you would look at me—” His voice dropped off abruptly. “I am well punished for that hubris, at any rate.”

“But I am rewarded.” Tessa slipped her hand into his. His calluses were rough against her palm. She saw his chest hitch with surprised breath. “For I am not alone; I have you with me. And we should not give up all hope. There might still be a chance for us. To overpower Mortmain, or slip past him. If anyone can conjure a way to do it, you can.”