Clockwork Princess

Page Three

William Herondale watched as the sun began to rise over London, casting a faint golden light over the steeple-tops, illuminating the awakening city below. Tower bells chimed out in the distance, but Will did not bother himself to count the chimes. Usually he loved it up here on the rooftop of the Institute - he had spent many a dawn here as a child, thinking about what the future might bring. But now he did not wish to think of his future. He had found out less than a week ago now that the curse that had been terrorising his life was nothing but a myth and that he was free to return the love to all those he had pushed away for so long. But now that information was redundant, for even without a curse, the woman he loved could never love him back.

And no one could know about the curse.

He would have to go on, living until the end of his days carrying on with this shallow and selfish facade that he had created. He had to continue building the wall between himself and those he loved, not for fear they would die, but for fear he himself would lose all hope. Not that much hope remained.

The atmosphere in the Institute had been heavy with emotion all week. Jem had been inconsolable, coming to Will, his parabatai, time after time for advice and consolence that broke Will's heart. Henry, though oblivious to everything that was happening, had a certain solemn expression clouding his features. Sophie's scar had seem more puckered and angry, her brows constantly knitted. Charlotte had been busying herself, and though she had been the only one to visit the cause of these emotions all week, she had been secretive about what had happened during her visits to the patients bedroom. No one knew exactly why Tessa, the cause, was ill in bed.

Except Will.

He relived the moments in the library over and over and over again in his head, losing sleep over the truth he had discovered and what it had meant for him. How could the truth turn from something so promising, so hopeful, to something so ugly and fatal in a matter of seconds?

"Do you love him?"

"I do." 

Will had walked away from the library that day with a heavy heart and shattered hopes. He had heard Tessa cry out in pain, and for the first time since she arrived, he did not want to help her, did not want to go back to her and comfort her. The wall around him that had been shattered had only been so momentarily, and it had rebuilt itself ten times stronger now. No one would get past it to his heart, not even Tessa. But then when she had missed breakfast the next day and news had come that she was ill in bed, Will's heart had sunk like a stone. How badly had she hurt herself? And was it all because of him? But why would she do that? She did not love Will. She loved Jem. And that was the problem in it's interity - the reason Will had no hope.

Suddenly, the door leading from the attic to the rooftop clicked open. Will's heart sunk at the arrival of this new presence - surely it was Jem, looking for more consolation. How many times did Will have to offer advice and sympathy to the man that was marrying Tessa? He was able to keep up the heartless facade for so long, but he was unsure as to how long he could continue this one.

"Will."

The whisper came laboured and harsh, rolling off her tongue like black smoke from a blazing fire. It sounded like a heavy sigh of relief, but it caused an emotion opposite of relief to go through Will. He spun quickly to face the intruder that was not, in fact, Jem.

"Tess," he said, surprised, gripping the railing too hard. He was taken aback by her appearance. Usually she was so well-kept, well-groomed, and luminously beautiful. But today she looked ill and weak, as if she were on her deathbed moments ago. But surely she could not have been as sick as she looked? Her nightgown hung off her body like clothes too big for a doll. She had lost weight from lack of appetite, that was clear, with her waist shrunken to an unhealthy size. Her hair was tangled around her face, limp and weak as she looked herself. Her face was pale, deathly pale, and her grey eyes sunken and shadowed underneath. They looked pained, and Will wondered frantically if they were that way due to emotion or due to physical pain. Her hand was wrapped heavily in gauze, as if treated for a burn. Will thought back to her cries in the library and immediately thought of the fireplace, of how Charlotte had non-chalantly hung the fire poker above the mantel out of reach. It suddenly became clear what Tessa had done.

"I'm sorry, Will," she whispered again, moving forward as if to take a step towards him. How she had managed to make it up to the rooftop was beyond Will, for it was clear she was too ill and weak now to even form a sentence, nevermind walk. He reached forward quickly and caught her just as she fainted, her head rolling back in a way that once again reminded him of a ragdoll. His heart rose to his throat as her eyes closed. Now he knew why she was ill. Now he knew the truth. She had come up here for him, because she cared for him. Maybe not loved him the way she loved Jem, but she cared for him enough to make her ill. It was the truth - but as he gently carried her back to her bedroom again, he reminded himself that the truth could turn ugly and fatal in a matter of moments.