Clockwork Princess

all have our secrets that we keep because we do not want to hurt the people who love us.” There was a sort of warning in his voice, or was she imagining it?
    “I do not want to keep secrets from you any longer,” Tessa said. “I thought you were dead. Will and I both did. In Cadair Idris—”
    “Did you love me?” he interrupted. It seemed an odd question, and yet he asked it without implication or hostility, and waited quietly for her answer.
    She looked at him, and Woolsey’s words came back to her, like the whisper of a prayer.
Most people never find one great love in their life. You are lucky enough to have found two
. For a moment she put aside her confession. “Yes. I loved you. I love you still. I love Will, too. I cannot explain it. I didn’t know it when I agreed to marry you. I loved you, I still love you, I never loved you less for all that I love him. It sounds mad, but if anyone might ever understand—”
    “I do,” Jem said. “There is no need to tell me more about yourself and Will. There’s nothing you could have done that would cause me to cease loving either of you. Will is myself, my own soul, and if I am not to have the keeping of your heart, then there is no other I would rather have that honor. And when I am gone, you must help Will. This will be—it will be hard for him.”
    Tessa searched his face with her gaze. The blood had left his cheeks; he was pale, but composed. His jaw was set. It said all she needed to understand:
Do not tell me more. I do not want to know
.
    Some secrets, she thought, were better told; some were better left the burden of the carrier, that they might not cause pain to others. It was why she had not told Will she loved him, when there was nothing either of them could do about it.
    She closed her mouth on what she had been intending to say, and said instead: “I do not know how I will manage without you.”
    “I ask myself the same thing. I do not want to leave you. I cannot leave you. But if I stay, I die here.”
    “No. You must not stay. You will not stay. Jem. Promise you will go. Go and be a Silent Brother, and live. I would tell you I hated you if I thought you would believe me, if it would make you go. I want you to live. Even if it means I shall never see you again.”
    “You will see me,” he said quietly, raising his head. “In fact, there is a chance—only a chance, but—”
    “But what?”
    He paused—hesitated, and seemed to make his mind up about something. “Nothing. Foolishness.”
    “Jem.”
    “You will see me again, but not often. I have only just begun my journey, and there are many Laws that govern the Brotherhood. I will be moving away from my previous life. I cannot say what abilities or what scars I will have. I cannot say how I will be different. I fear I will lose my self and my music. I fear I will become something other than wholly human. I
know
I will not be your Jem.”
    Tessa could only shake her head. “But the Silent Brothers—they visit—they mingle with other Shadowhunters…. Can you not …”
    “Not during their time of training. And even when they are done, rarely. You see us when someone is ill or dying, when a child is born, for the rituals of the first runes or of
parabatai
… but we do not grace the homes of Shadowhunters without a summoning.”
    “Then Charlotte will summon you.”
    “She called me here this once, but she cannot do it over and over again, Tessa. A Shadowhunter cannot summon a Silent Brother for no reason.”
    “But I am not a Shadowhunter,” Tessa said. “Not truly.”
    There was a long silence as they looked at each other. Both stubborn. Both unmoving. At last Jem spoke:
    “Do you remember when we stood together on Blackfriars Bridge?” he asked softly, and his eyes were like that night had been, all black and silver.
    “Of course I remember.”
    “It was the moment I first knew I loved you,” Jem said. “I will make you a promise. Every year, Tessa, on one day, I will meet you on that bridge. I will come from the Silent City and I will meet you, and we will be together, if only for an hour. But you must tell no one.”
    “An hour every year,” Tessa whispered. “It is not much.” She recollected herself then, and took a deep breath. “But you will live. You will live. That is what is important. I will not be visiting your grave.”
    “No. Not for a long, long time,” he said, and the distance was back in his voice.
    “Then that is a miracle,” Tessa said.