“If he loves you, he won’t mind all that.”
“People always mind all that. They are not so noble as you think.”
Tessa thought of Will with his face in his hands, saying, If you love him, please, Tessa, don’t tell him what I just told you. “One finds nobility in the oddest places, Soph. Besides, would you really want to be a Shadowhunter? Wouldn’t you rather—”
“Oh, but I do want it,” said Sophie. “More than anything in the world. I always have.”
“I never knew,” Tessa said, marveling.
“I used to think if I married Master Jem—” Sophie picked at the blanket, then looked up and smiled bleakly. “You haven’t broken his heart yet, have you?”
“No,” Tessa said. Just torn my own in two. “I haven’t broken his heart at all.”
21
COALS OF FIRE
O brother, the gods were good to you.
Sleep, and be glad while the world endures.
Be well content as the years wear through;
Give thanks for life, and the loves and lures;
Give thanks for life, O brother, and death,
For the sweet last sound of her feet, her breath,
For gifts she gave you, gracious and few,
Tears and kisses, that lady of yours.
—Algernon Charles Swinburne,
“The Triumph of Time”
Music poured out from under Jem’s door, which was partly cracked open. Will stood with his hand on the knob, his shoulder against the wall. He felt profoundly exhausted, more tired than he ever had in his life. A terrible burning energy had kept him alert since he had left Cheyne Walk, but it was gone now, drained away, and there was only an exhausted darkness.
He had waited for Tessa to call after him once he had slammed the drawing room door, but she had not. He could still see her, looking at him, with her eyes like great gray storm clouds. Jem has proposed to me, and I have said yes.
Do you love him?
I love him.
And yet here he was, standing in front of Jem’s door. He did not know if he had come here to try to talk Jem out of Tessa—if such a thing could be accomplished—or, more likely, if this was where he had learned to go for comfort and he could not unlearn the habit of years. He pushed the door open; witchlight poured out into the hallway, and he stepped into Jem’s room.
Jem was sitting on the trunk at the foot of his bed, his violin balanced on his shoulder. His eyes were closed as the bow sawed over the string, but the corners of his lips quirked up as his parabatai came into the room, and he said: “Will? Is that you, Will?”
“Yes,” Will said. He was standing just inside the room, feeling as if he could go no farther.
Jem stopped playing and opened his eyes. “Telemann,” he said. “Fantasia in E-flat major.” He set the violin and bow down. “Well, come in, then. You’re making me nervous, standing there.”
Will took a few more steps inside. He had spent so much time in this room, he knew it as well as his own. Jem’s collection of music books; the case in which his violin lived when he was not playing it; the windows that let in square patches of sunlight. The trunk that had come all the way from Shanghai. The cane with its jade top, leaning against the wall. The box with Kwan Yin on it, that held Jem’s drugs. The armchair in which Will had spent countless nights, watching Jem sleep, counting his breaths and praying.
Jem looked up at him. His eyes were luminous; no suspicion colored them, only a simple happiness at seeing his friend. “I am glad you’re here.”
“So am I,” said Will gruffly. He felt awkward, and wondered if Jem could sense it. He had never felt awkward around his parabatai before. It was the words, he thought, there on the tip of his tongue, pleading to be said.
You see it, don’t you, James? Without Tessa there is nothing for me—no joy, no light, no life. If you loved me, you would let me have her. You can’t love her as I do. No one could. If you are truly my brother, you would do this for me.
But the words remained unspoken, and Jem leaned forward, his voice low and confiding. “Will. There was something I wanted to say to you, and not when everyone else was around.”
Will braced himself. This was it. Jem was going to tell him about the engagement, and he was going to have to pretend to be happy, and not be sick out the window, which he desperately wanted to be. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “And what’s that?”
The sun glittered off Jem’s hair as he ducked his head. “I should have talked to you before. But we never have discussed the subject of love, have we, and with you being such a cynic . . .” He grinned. “I thought you’d mock me for it. And besides, I never thought there was a chance she’d return my feelings.”
“Tessa,” said Will. Her name was like knives in his mouth.
Jem’s smile was luminous, lighting his whole face, and any hope that Will had harbored in some secret chamber of his heart that perhaps Jem did not really love her, was gone, blown away like mist before a hard wind. “You have never shirked your duties,” Jem said. “And I know that you would have done what you could to save Tessa in the tea warehouse, whoever she was. But I could not help thinking that perhaps the reason you were so determined to save her was because you knew what she meant to me.” He tipped his head back, his smile incandescent. “Did I guess correctly, or am I a thickheaded idiot?”
“You’re an idiot,” said Will, and swallowed hard, past his dry throat. “But—you are correct. I know what she means to you.”
Jem grinned. His happiness was printed all over his face, his eyes, Will thought; he had never seen him look like this. He had always thought of Jem as a calm and peaceful presence, always thought that joy, like anger, was too extreme and human an emotion for him. He realized now that he had been quite wrong; Jem had simply not been happy like this before. Not since his parents had died, Will imagined. But Will had never considered it. He had dwelled on whether Jem was safe, whether he was surviving, but not if he was happy.
Jem is my great sin.
Tessa had been right, he thought. He had wanted her to break things off with Jem, whatever the cost; now he realized he did not, could not. You might at least believe I know honor—honor, and debt, he had said to Jem, and he had meant it. He owed Jem his life. He could not take from him the one thing Jem wanted more than anything else. Even if it meant Will’s own happiness, for Jem was not only someone to whom he owed a debt that could never be repaid, but, as the covenant said, someone he loved as he loved his own soul.
Jem looked not just happier, but stronger, Will thought, with healthy color in his cheeks, his back straight. “I ought to apologize,” Jem said. “I was too severe regarding the ifrits’ den. I know you were merely seeking solace.”
“No, you were right to have—”
“I wasn’t.” Jem stood up. “If I was harsh with you, it was because I cannot bear to see you treat yourself as if you are worth nothing. Whatever part you might act to the contrary, I see you as you really are, my blood brother. Not just better than you pretend to be, but better than most people could hope to be.” He placed a hand on Will’s shoulder, gently. “You are worth everything, Will.”
Will closed his eyes. He saw the black basalt Council room, the two circles burning on the ground. Jem stepping from his circle to Will’s, so they inhabited the same space, circumscribed by fire. His eyes had still been black then, wide in his pale face. Will remembered the words of the parabatai oath. Whither thou goest, I will go; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the Angel do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me. That same voice spoke again to him now. “Thank you for what you did for Tessa,” said Jem.