Clockwork Princess

how you came to find me, how difficult it must have been. It is incredible. But—do you really think Mortmain would leave me unguarded in a room with an open door?” She turned away and moved a few feet forward, then stopped abruptly. “Here,” she said, and raised her hand, spreading her fingers wide. “The air is as solid as a wall here. This is a prison, Will, and now you are in it alongside me.”
    He moved to stand beside her, already knowing what he would find. He recalled the resistance he had felt as he crossed the room. The air rippled slightly when he touched it with his finger but was harder than a frozen lake. “I know this configuration,” he said. “The Clave uses a version of it sometimes.” His hand curled itself into a fist, and he slammed it against the solid air, hard enough to bruise the bones in his hand.
“Uffern gwaedlyd,”
he swore in Welsh. “All the bloody way across the country to get to you, and I can’t even do
this
right. The moment I saw you, all I could think of was running to you. By the Angel, Tessa—”
    “Will!” She caught at his arm. “Don’t you
dare
apologize. Do you understand what it means to me that you are here? It is like a miracle or the direct intervention of Heaven, for I had been praying to see the faces of those I cared for again before I died.” She spoke simply, straightforwardly—it was one of the things he had always loved about Tessa, that she did not hide or dissemble, but spoke her mind without embellishment. “When I was in the Dark House, there was no one who cared enough to search for me. When you found me, it was an accident. But now—”
    “Now I have condemned us both to the same fate,” he said in a low voice. He drew a dagger from his belt and drove it against the invisible wall before him. The runed silver blade of the dagger shattered, and Will cast the broken hilt aside and cursed again, under his breath.
    Tessa put a light hand on his shoulder. “We are not condemned,” she said. “Surely you have not come by yourself, Will. Henry, or Jem, will find us. From the other side of the wall, we can be freed. I have seen how Mortmain does it, and …”
    Will did not know what happened then. His expression must have changed at the mention of Jem’s name, for he saw some of the color leave her face. Her hand tightened on his arm.
    “Tessa,” he said. “I
am
alone.”
    The word “alone” came out broken, as if he could taste the bitterness of loss on his tongue and struggled to speak around it.
    “Jem?” she said. It was more than a question. Will said nothing; his voice seemed to have fled. He had thought to spirit her from this place before he told her about Jem, had imagined telling her somewhere safe, somewhere where there would be space and time to comfort her. He knew now he had been a fool to think it, to imagine that what he had lost would not be written all over his face. The remaining color drained from her skin; it was like watching a fire flicker and go out. “No,” she whispered.
    “Tessa …”
    She took a step back from him, shaking her head. “No, it’s not possible. I would have known—it can’t be possible.”
    He reached out a hand to her. “Tess—”
    She had begun to shake violently. “No,” she said again. “No,
don’t
say it. If you don’t say it, it won’t be true. It can’t be true. It isn’t fair.”
    “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
    Her face crumpled, shattered like a dam under too much pressure. She sank to her knees, folding in on herself. Her arms went around her body. She was holding herself tightly, as if she could keep from breaking apart. Will felt a fresh wave of the helpless agony he had experienced in the courtyard of the Green Man. What had he done? He had come here to save her, but instead of saving her he had only succeeded in inflicting agony. It was as if he were truly cursed—capable only of bringing suffering to those he loved.
    “I am sorry,” he said again, with all his heart in the words. “So sorry. I would have died for him if I could.”
    At that, she looked up. He braced himself for the accusation in her eyes, but it was not there. Instead she reached up her hand to him silently. In wonder and surprise he took it, and let her draw him down until he was kneeling opposite her.
    Her face was streaked with tears, surrounded by the tumble of her hair, outlined in gold by the firelight. “I would have too,” she said. “Oh, Will. This is all my fault. He