Clockwork Princess (The Infernal Devices, #3)(24)

“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.

“The Institute is my home.” Will sighed and leaned his head back against the stone archway. “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 fought the urge to shake her, again. “Are you ready?”

She nodded, and Will raised his hand to knock on the door.

The door flew open, and Gideon stood on the threshold of his bedroom, blinking as if he had been in a dark place and had just come out into the light. His trousers and shirt were wrinkled, and one of his braces had slid halfway down his arm.

“Mr. Lightwood?” Sophie said, hesitating on the threshold. She was carrying a tray in her hands, loaded with scones and tea, just heavy enough to be uncomfortable. “Bridget told me you had rung for a tray—”

“Yes. Of course, yes. Do come in.” As if snapped into full wakefulness, Gideon straightened and ushered her over the threshold. His boots were off, kicked into a corner. The whole room lacked its usual neatness. Gear was strewn over a high-backed chair—Sophie winced inside to think what that would do to the upholstery—a half-eaten apple was on the nightstand, and sprawled in the middle of the bed was Gabriel Lightwood, fast asleep.

He was clearly wearing his brother’s clothes, for they were far too short at his wrists and ankles. Asleep he looked younger, the usual tension smoothed from his face. One of his hands clutched a pillow as if for reassurance.

“I couldn’t wake him,” Gideon said, unconsciously hugging his elbows. “I ought to have brought him back to his own room, but …” He sighed. “I couldn’t bring myself.”

“Is he staying?” Sophie asked, setting the tray down on the nightstand. “At the Institute, I mean.”

“I—I don’t know. I think so. Charlotte told him he was welcome. I think she terrified him.” Gideon’s mouth quirked slightly.

“Mrs. Branwell?” Sophie bristled, as she always did when she thought her mistress was being criticized. “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.”

“You don’t think she meant the most recent?” Sophie pushed a lock of hair that had come free back under her cap. “With the …”

“Enormous worm? No, oddly, I don’t. It is not in my brother’s nature, though, to expect to be forgiven. For anything. He understands only the strictest discipline. He may think Charlotte is trying to play a trick on him, or that she is mad. She showed him to a room he could have, but I think the entire business frightened him. He came to speak to me about it, and fell asleep.” Gideon sighed, looking at his brother with a mixture of fondness, exasperation, and sorrow that made Sophie’s heart beat in sympathy.

“Your sister …,” she began.

“Oh, Tatiana wouldn’t even consider staying here for a moment,” Gideon said. “She has fled to the Blackthorns’, her in-laws, and good riddance. 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. Waiting in that great blasted house, locked out of the library, pounding on the door when no answer came from my father …”

“You feel protective of him,” Sophie observed.

“Of course I do; he is my little brother.” He moved toward the bed and brushed a hand over Gabriel’s tousled brown hair; the other boy moved and made a restless sound but did not wake.

“I thought he would not forgive you for going against your father,” Sophie said. “You had said—that you were frightened of it. That he would consider your actions a betrayal of the Lightwood name.”

“I think he has begun to question the Lightwood name. Just as I did, in Madrid.” Gideon stepped away from the bed.

Sophie ducked her head. “I am sorry,” she said. “Sorry about your father. Whatever anyone said about him, or whatever he might have done, he was your father.”

He turned toward her. “But, Sophie—”

She did not correct him for the use of her Christian name. “I know that he did deplorable things,” she said. “But you should be allowed to mourn him nonetheless. No one can take your grief from you; it belongs to you, and you alone.”

He touched her cheek lightly with the tips of his fingers. “Did you know your name means ‘wisdom’? It was very well-given.”

Sophie swallowed. “Mr. Lightwood—”

But his fingers had spread out to cup her cheek, and he was bending to kiss her. “Sophie,” he breathed, and then their lips found each other, a light touch giving way to a greater pressure as he leaned in. Lightly and delicately she curved her hands—so rough, worn down with washing and carrying, with scraping the grates and dusting and polishing, she fretted, but he didn’t seem to be bothered or notice—around his shoulders.