“Yes, you did,” said Tessa with a little smile, “but it’s al right. I was beginning to worry Sophie and I were going to be left here to train each other.”
“Oh, the Lightwoods wil be here,” said Jem. “They’re simply being late to make a point. They don’t have to do what we say, or what their father says either.”
“I wish you were the one training us,” Tessa said impulsively.
Jem looked surprised. “I couldn’t—I haven’t completed my own training yet.” But their eyes met, and in another moment of wordless communication, Tessa heard what he was real y saying: I’m not well enough often enough to train you reliably. Her throat hurt suddenly, and she locked eyes with Jem, hoping he could read her silent sympathy in them. She did not want to look away, and found herself wondering if the way that she had scraped her hair back, careful y pinning it into a bun from which no stray strands escaped, looked horribly unflattering. Not that it mattered, of course. It was just Jem, after al .
“We won’t be going through a full course of training, wil we?” Sophie said, her worried voice breaking into Tessa’s thoughts. “The Council only said that we needed to know how to defend ourselves a bit. . . .”
Jem looked away from Tessa; the connection broke with a snap. “There’s nothing to be frightened of, Sophie,” he said in his gentle voice. “And you’l be glad of it; it’s always useful for a beautiful girl to be able to fend off the unwanted attentions of gentlemen.”
Sophie’s face tightened, the livid scar on her cheek standing out as red as if it had been painted there. “Don’t make fun,” she said. “It isn’t kind.”
Jem looked startled. “Sophie, I wasn’t—”
The door to the training room opened. Tessa turned as Gabriel Lightwood strode into the room, fol owed by a boy she didn’t know. Where Gabriel was slender and dark-haired, the other boy was muscular, with thick sandy-blond hair. They were both dressed in gear, with expensive-looking dark gloves studded with metal across the knuckles. Each wore silver bands around each wrist—knife sheaths, Tessa knew—and had the same elaborate white pattern of runes woven into their sleeves. It was clear not just from the similarity of their clothes but from the shape of their faces and the pale, luminous green of their eyes that they were related, so Tessa was not in the least surprised when Gabriel said, in his abrupt manner:
“Wel , we’re here as we said we would be. James, I assume you remember my brother, Gideon. Miss Gray, Miss Col ins—”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Gideon muttered, meeting neither of their eyes with his. Bad moods seemed to run in the family, Tessa thought, remembering that Wil had said that next to his brother, Gabriel seemed a sweetheart.
“Don’t worry. Wil ’s not here,” Jem said to Gabriel, who was glancing around the room. Gabriel frowned at him, but Jem had already turned to Gideon. “When did you get back from Madrid?” he asked politely.
“Father cal ed me back home a short while ago.” Gideon’s tone was neutral. “Family business.”
“I do hope everything’s al right—”
“Everything is quite al right, thank you, James,” said Gabriel, his tone clipped. “Now, before we move to the training portion of this visit, there are two people you should probably meet.” He turned his head and cal ed out, “Mr. Tanner, Miss Daly! Please come up.”
There were footfal s on the steps, and two strangers entered, neither in gear. Both wore servants’ clothes. One was a young woman who was the very definition of “rawboned”—her bones seemed too big for her skinny, awkward frame. Her hair was a bright scarlet, drawn back into a chignon under a modest hat. Her bare hands were red and scrubbed-looking. Tessa guessed she was about twenty. Beside her stood a young man with dark brown curling hair, tal and muscular— Sophie took a sharp indrawn breath. She had gone pale. “Thomas . . .”
The young man looked terribly awkward. “I’m Thomas’s brother, miss. Cyril. Cyril Tanner.”
“These are the replacements the Council promised you for your lost servants,” said Gabriel. “Cyril Tanner and Bridget Daly. The Consul asked us if we would bring them from Kings Cross here, and natural y we obliged. Cyril wil replace Thomas, and Bridget wil replace your lost cook, Agatha.
They were both trained in fine Shadowhunter households and come soundly recommended.”
Red spots had begun to burn on Sophie’s cheeks. Before she could say anything, Jem said quickly, “No one could replace Agatha or Thomas for us, Gabriel. They were friends as wel as servants.” He nodded toward Bridget and Cyril. “No offense intended.”
Bridget only blinked her brown eyes, but, “None taken,” said Cyril. Even his voice was like Thomas’s, almost eerily so. “Thomas was my brother.
No one can replace him for me, either.”