Clockwork Princess

place you belong. You
are
a Shadowhunter.”
    Cecily said nothing.
    Will felt his mouth twist into a sideways smile. “I am glad,” he said. “Glad there will be a Herondale in the Institute, even if I—”
    “Even if you do not come back? Will, let me come with you, let me help you—”
    “No, Cecily. Is it not enough that I accept that you will choose this life, a life of fighting and danger, though I have always wanted greater safety for you? No, I cannot let you come with me, even if you hate me for it.”
    Cecily sighed. “Don’t be so dramatic, Will. Must you always insist that people hate you when they obviously don’t?”
    “I
am
dramatic,” said Will. “If I had not been a Shadowhunter, I would have had a future on the stage. I have no doubt I would have been greeted with acclaim.”
    Cecily did not appear to find this amusing. Will supposed he could not blame her. “I am not interested in your rendition of
Hamlet
,” she said. “If you will not let me go with you, then promise me that if you go now—promise that you will come back?”
    “I cannot promise that,” Will said. “But if I can come back to you, I will. And if I do come back, I will write to Mother and Father. I can promise that much.”
    “No,” said Cecily. “No letters. Promise me that if you do come back, you will return to Mother and Father with me, and tell them why you left, and that you do not blame them, and that you love them still. I do not ask that you go home to stay. Neither you nor I can ever go home to stay, but to comfort them is little enough to ask. Do not tell me that it is against the rules, Will, because I know all too well that you enjoy breaking those.”
    “See?” Will asked. “You do know your brother a little after all. I give you my word, that if all those conditions are met, I will do as you ask.”
    Her shoulders and face relaxed. She looked small and defenseless with her anger gone, though he knew she was not. “And Cecy,” he said softly, “before I go, I wish to give you one more thing.”
    He reached into his shirt and lifted over his head the necklace Magnus had given him. It swung, gleaming rich ruby red, in the dim lights of the stables.
    “Your lady’s necklace?” Cecily said. “Well, I confess it does not suit you.”
    He stepped toward Cecily and drew the glittering chain over her dark head. The ruby fell against her throat as if it were made for her. She looked at him over it, her eyes serious. “Wear it always. It will warn you when demons are coming,” Will said. “It will help keep you safe, which is how I want you, and help you be a warrior, which is what you want.”
    She put her hand against his cheek.
“Da bo ti, Gwilym. Byddaf yn dy golli di.”
    “And I you,” he said. Without looking at her again, he turned to Balios and swung himself up into the saddle. She stepped back as he urged the horse toward the stable doors and, bending his head against the wind, galloped out into the night.
    Out of dreams of blood and metal monsters, Tessa woke with a start and a gasp.
    She lay crouched like a child on the bench seat of a large carriage, whose windows were entirely covered with thick velvet curtains. The seat was hard and uncomfortable, with springs reaching to poke her sides through the material of her dress, which itself was torn and stained. Her hair had come down and hung in lank handfuls around her face. Across from her, huddled in the opposite corner of the carriage, sat a still figure, entirely covered in a thick black fur traveling cloak, its hood pulled down low. There was no one else in the carriage.
    Tessa struggled upright, fighting a bout of dizziness and nausea. She put her hands on her stomach and tried to breathe deeply, though the fetid air inside the carriage did little to calm her stomach. She put her hands against her chest, feeling the sweat trickle down the bodice of her dress.
    “Not going to be sick, are you?” said a rusty voice. “Chloroform does have that side effect, sometimes.”
    The hooded face creaked toward her, and Tessa saw the face of Mrs. Black. She had been too shocked on the steps of the Institute to make a real study of the visage of her erstwhile captor, but now that she could see it up close, she shuddered. The skin had a greenish tint, the eyes were veined in black, and the lips sagged, showing a view of gray tongue.
    “Where are you taking me?” Tessa demanded. It was always the first thing heroines in Gothic novels