Clockwork Prince by Cassandra Clare

“Truth and observation,” said Charlotte. “Wil and Tessa were at your last gathering, in Chiswick. They observed a great deal.”

 

 

“That demon woman you were lounging with on the divan,” said Wil . “Would you cal her a friend, or more of a business associate?”

 

Benedict’s dark eyes hardened. “Insolent puppy—”

 

“Oh, I’d say she was a friend,” said Tessa. “One doesn’t usual y let one’s business associates lick one’s face. Although I could be wrong. What do I know about these things? I’m only a sil y woman.”

 

Wil ’s mouth quirked up at the corner. Gabriel was stil staring; Gideon had his eyes on the floor. Charlotte sat perfectly composed, hands in her lap.

 

“Al three of you are quite foolish,” said Benedict, gesturing contemptuously toward them. Tessa caught a glimpse of something on his wrist, a shadow, like the coils of a woman’s bracelet, before his sleeve fel back to cover it. “That is, if you think the Council wil believe any of your lies.

 

You”—he cast a dismissive look at Tessa—“are a Downworlder; your word is worthless. And you”—he flung an arm at Wil —“are a certifiable lunatic who fraternizes with warlocks. Not just this chit here but Magnus Bane as wel . And when they test me under the Mortal Sword and I refute your claims, who do you think wil be believed, you or me?”

 

Wil exchanged a quick look with Charlotte and Tessa. He had been right, Tessa thought, that Benedict did not fear the Sword. “There is other evidence, Benedict,” he said.

 

“Oh?” Lightwood’s lip curled upward in a sneer. “And what is that?”

 

“The evidence of your own poisoned blood,” said Charlotte. “Just now, when you gestured at us, I saw your wrist. How far has the corruption spread? It begins on the torso, does it not, and spreads down the arms and legs—”

 

“What is he talking about?” Gabriel’s voice was a mixture of fury and terror. “Father?”

 

“Demon pox,” said Wil with the satisfaction of the truly vindicated.

 

“What a disgusting accusation—,” began Benedict.

 

“Refute it, then,” said Charlotte. “Pul up your sleeve. Show us your arm.”

 

The muscle by the side of Benedict’s mouth twitched again. Tessa watched him in fascination. He did not terrify her, as Mortmain had, but rather disgusted her, the way the sight of a fat worm wriggling across a garden might. She watched as he whirled on his eldest son.

 

“You,” he snarled. “You told them. You betrayed me.”

 

“I did,” said Gideon, raising his head and uncurling his arms at last. “And I would again.”

 

“Gideon?” It was Gabriel, sounding bewildered. “Father? What are you talking about?”

 

“Your brother has betrayed us, Gabriel. He has told our secrets to the Branwel s.” Benedict spat his words out like poison. “Gideon Arthur Lightwood,” Benedict went on. His face looked older, the lines at the sides of his mouth more severe, but his tone was unchanged. “I suggest you think very careful y about what you have done, and what you wil do next.”

 

“I have been thinking,” said Gideon in his soft, low voice. “Ever since you cal ed me back from Spain, I have been thinking. As a child I assumed al Shadowhunters lived as we did. Condemning demons by the light of day, yet fraternizing with them under cover of darkness. I now realize that is not true. It is not our way, Father; it is your way. You have brought shame and filth upon the name of Lightwood.”

 

“There is no need to be melodramatic—”

 

“Melodramatic?” There was terrible contempt in Gideon’s normal y flat tone. “Father, I fear for the future of the Enclave if you get your hands on the Institute. I am tel ing you now, I wil witness against you at the Council. I wil hold the Mortal Sword in my hands and I wil tel Consul Wayland why I think Charlotte is a thousand times more fit than you are to run the Institute. I wil reveal what goes on here at night to every member of the Council. I wil tel them that you are working for Mortmain. I wil tel them why.”

 

“Gideon!” It was Gabriel, his voice sharp, cutting across his brother’s. “You know our custodianship of the Institute was mother’s dying wish. And it is the fault of the Fairchilds that she died—”

 

“That is a lie,” said Charlotte. “She took her own life, but not because of anything my father did.” She looked directly at Benedict. “It was, rather, because of something your father did.”

 

Gabriel’s voice rose. “What do you mean? Why would you say such a thing? Father—”

 

“Be quiet, Gabriel.” Benedict’s voice had gone hard and commanding, but for the first time there was fear in his voice, his eyes. “Charlotte, what are you saying?”

 

“You know very wel what I am saying, Benedict,” said Charlotte. “The question is whether you wish me to share my knowledge with the Clave.

 

And with your children. You know what it wil mean for them.”

 

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