Clockwork Princess

wrthych i fynd adref?”
    She laughed. “No, it would not do you any good to tell me to go home.
Rwyt ti fy mrawd ac rwy eisiau mynd efo chi
.”
    Will blinked at her words.
You are my brother and I want to go with you
. It was the sort of thing he was used to hearing Jem say, and though Cecily was unlike Jem in every other conceivable way, she did share one quality with him: an absolute stubbornness. When Cecily said she wanted something, it did not express an idle desire but an iron determination.
    “Don’t you even care where I’m going?” he said. “What if I were going to Hell?”
    “I’ve always wanted to see Hell,” Cecily said calmly. “Doesn’t everyone?”
    “Most of us spend our time struggling to stay out of it,” said Will. “I am going to an ifrit den, if you must know, to purchase drugs from violent, dissolute reprobates. They may clap eyes on you and decide to sell you.”
    “Wouldn’t you stop them?”
    “I suppose it would depend on how much they would give me.”
    She shook her head. “Jem is your
parabatai
,” she said. “He is your brother, given to you by the Clave. But I am your sister by blood. Why will you do anything in the world for him but you only want me to go home?”
    “How do you know the drugs are for Jem?”
    “I am not a fool, Will.”
    “No, more’s the pity,” Will muttered. “Jem—Jem is all the better part of myself. I would not expect you to understand. I owe him this.”
    “Then what am I?” Cecily asked.
    Will exhaled, too exasperated to check himself. “You are my weakness.”
    “And Tessa is your heart,” she said, not angrily but thoughtfully. “Not a fool, as I told you,” she added at his startled expression. “I know that you love her.”
    Will put his hand to his head, as if her words had caused a splitting pain there. “Have you told anyone? You mustn’t, Cecily. No one knows, and it must remain that way.”
    “I would hardly tell anyone.”
    “No, I suppose you wouldn’t, would you?” His voice had gone hard. “You must be ashamed of your brother—harboring illicit feelings for his
parabatai
’s fiancée—”
    “I am not ashamed of you, Will. Whatever you feel, you have not acted on it, and I suppose we all want things we cannot have.”
    “Oh?” Will said. “And what do you want that you cannot have?”
    “For you to come home.” A strand of black hair was stuck to her cheek by the dampness, making her look as if she had been crying, though Will knew she had not.
    “The Institute is my home.” Will sighed and leaned his head back against the stone archway. “I cannot stand out here arguing with you all evening, Cecy. If you are determined to follow me into Hell, I cannot stop you.”
    “Finally, you have seen sense. I knew you would; you are related to me, after all.”
    Will fought the urge to shake her, again. “Are you ready?”
    She nodded, and Will raised his hand to knock on the door.
    The door flew open, and Gideon stood on the threshold of his bedroom, blinking as if he had been in a dark place and had just come out into the light. His trousers and shirt were wrinkled, and one of his braces had slid halfway down his arm.
    “Mr. Lightwood?” Sophie said, hesitating on the threshold. She was carrying a tray in her hands, loaded with scones and tea, just heavy enough to be uncomfortable. “Bridget told me you had rung for a tray—”
    “Yes. Of course, yes. Do come in.” As if snapped into full wakefulness, Gideon straightened and ushered her over the threshold. His boots were off, kicked into a corner. The whole room lacked its usual neatness. Gear was strewn over a high-backed chair—Sophie winced inside to think what that would do to the upholstery—a half-eaten apple was on the nightstand, and sprawled in the middle of the bed was Gabriel Lightwood, fast asleep.
    He was clearly wearing his brother’s clothes, for they were far too short at his wrists and ankles. Asleep he looked younger, the usual tension smoothed from his face. One of his hands clutched a pillow as if for reassurance.
    “I couldn’t wake him,” Gideon said, unconsciously hugging his elbows. “I ought to have brought him back to his own room, but …” He sighed. “I couldn’t bring myself.”
    “Is he staying?” Sophie asked, setting the tray down on the nightstand. “At the Institute, I mean.”
    “I—I don’t know. I think so. Charlotte told him he was welcome. I think she terrified him.” Gideon’s mouth