“Probably a bit of a one, not like I’ve got,” said Sophie frankly, securing the bandage around Tessa’s hand. “Burns hurt worse than they are, if you catch my meaning, and I got to you quickly with the salve. You’l be al right.”
“No, I won’t be,” said Tessa, looking at her hand, and then over at Sophie. Sophie, lovely as always, calm and patient in her black dress and white cap, her curls clustering around her face. “I’m sorry again, Sophie,” she said. “You were right about Gideon, and I was wrong. I should have listened to you. You’re the last person on earth inclined to be foolish over men. The next time you say someone is worth trusting, I wil believe you.”
Sophie’s smile flashed out, the smile that made even strangers forget her scar. “I understand why you said it.”
“I should have trusted you—”
“I shouldn’t have got so angry,” Sophie said. “The truth is, I wasn’t sure myself what he was going to do. I wasn’t sure til he came back in the carriage with you al that he would side with us in the end.”
“It must be nice, though,” Tessa said, playing with the bedclothes, “that he’s going to live here. He’l be so close to you—”
“It wil be the worst thing in the world,” Sophie said, and suddenly her eyes were ful of tears. Tessa froze in horror, wondering what she could have said so wrong. The tears stood in Sophie’s eyes, without fal ing, making their green shimmer. “If he lives here, he’l see me as I real y am. A servant.” Her voice cracked. “I knew I should never have gone to see him when he asked me. Mrs. Branwel ’s not the type to punish her servants for having fol owers and the like, but I knew it was wrong anyway, because he’s himself and I’m me, and we don’t belong together.” She reached up a hand and wiped at her eyes, and then the tears did fal , spil ing down both her cheeks, the whole and the scarred one. “I could lose everything if I let myself—and what’s he stand to lose? Nothing.”
“Gideon’s not like that.”
“He’s his father’s son,” Sophie said. “Who says that doesn’t matter? It’s not as if he was going to marry a mundane as it was, but to see me building up his fire, doing the washing-up—”
“If he loves you, he won’t mind al that.”
“People always mind al that. They are not so noble as you think.”
Tessa thought of Wil with his face in his hands, saying, If you love him, please, Tessa, don’t tell him what I just told you. “One finds nobility in the oddest places, Soph. Besides, would you real y want to be a Shadowhunter? Wouldn’t you rather—”
“Oh, but I do want it,” said Sophie. “More than anything in the world. I always have.”
“I never knew,” Tessa said, marveling.
“I used to think if I married Master Jem—” Sophie picked at the blanket, then looked up and smiled bleakly. “You haven’t broken his heart yet, have you?”
“No,” Tessa said. Just torn my own in two. “I haven’t broken his heart at al .”
21
COALS OF FIRE
O brother, the gods were good to you.
Sleep, and be glad while the world endures.
Be well content as the years wear through;
Give thanks for life, and the loves and lures;
Give thanks for life, O brother, and death,
For the sweet last sound of her feet, her breath,
For gifts she gave you, gracious and few,
Tears and kisses, that lady of yours.
—Algernon Charles Swinburne,
“The Triumph of Time”
Music poured out from under Jem’s door, which was partly cracked open. Wil stood with his hand on the knob, his shoulder against the wal . He felt profoundly exhausted, more tired than he ever had in his life. A terrible burning energy had kept him alert since he had left Cheyne Walk, but it was gone now, drained away, and there was only an exhausted darkness.
He had waited for Tessa to cal after him once he had slammed the drawing room door, but she had not. He could stil see her, looking at him, with her eyes like great gray storm clouds. Jem has proposed to me, and I have said yes.
Do you love him?
I love him.
And yet here he was, standing in front of Jem’s door. He did not know if he had come here to try to talk Jem out of Tessa—if such a thing could be accomplished—or, more likely, if this was where he had learned to go for comfort and he could not unlearn the habit of years. He pushed the door open; witchlight poured out into the hal way, and he stepped into Jem’s room.
Jem was sitting on the trunk at the foot of his bed, his violin balanced on his shoulder. His eyes were closed as the bow sawed over the string, but the corners of his lips quirked up as his parabatai came into the room, and he said: “Wil ? Is that you, Wil ?”
“Yes,” Wil said. He was standing just inside the room, feeling as if he could go no farther.
Jem stopped playing and opened his eyes. “Telemann,” he said. “Fantasia in E-flat major.” He set the violin and bow down. “Wel , come in, then.