Gideon had gone very pale, and his knuckles, where he gripped Gabriel’s arm, were white. “That is not fair,” he said. “We did not know. My brother trusted my father. He cannot be held responsible—”
“Trusted him? He delivered the deathblow, didn’t he?” said the Consul. “Oh, you all contributed, but his was the coup de grâce that slew your father—which rather indicates that he knew exactly what your father was.”
Gabriel was aware of Gideon looking at him with concern. The air in the Argent Rooms was hot and close, stealing his breath. The woman onstage was now singing a song called “All Through Obliging a Lady” and striding up and down, hitting the stage over and over with the end of a walking stick, which made the floor shudder.
“The sins of the fathers, children. You can and will be punished for his crimes if I desire it. What will you do, Gideon, while your brother and Tatiana have their runes burned off? Will you stand and watch?”
Gabriel’s right hand twitched; he felt sure he would have reached out and seized the Consul by the throat if Gideon hadn’t caught hold of him first and held his wrist. “What do you want from us?” Gideon asked, his voice controlled. “You didn’t bring us here just to threaten us, not unless you want something in return. And if it was something you could ask easily or legally, you would have done it in the Silent City.”
“Clever boy,” the Consul said. “I want you to do something for me. Do it, and I will see to it that, though Lightwood House may be confiscated, you retain your honor and your name, your lands in Idris, and your place as Shadowhunters.”
“What do you want us to do?”
“I wish you to observe Charlotte. Most specifically her correspondence. Tell me what letters she receives and sends, especially to and from Idris.”
“You want us to spy on her.” Gideon’s voice was flat.
“I don’t want any more surprises like the one about your father,” said Consul. “She should never have kept his disease a secret from me.”
“She had to,” Gideon said. “It was a condition of the agreement they made—”
The Consul’s lips tightened. “Charlotte Branwell has no right to make agreements of such scope without consulting me. I am her superior. She should not and cannot go over my head in that manner. She and that group in the Institute behave as if they are their own country that exists under its own laws. Look what happened with Jessamine Lovelace. She betrayed us all, nearly to our destruction. James Carstairs is a dying drug addict. That Gray girl is a changeling or a warlock and has no place in an Institute, ridiculous engagement be damned. And Will Herondale—Will Herondale is a liar and a spoiled brat who will grow up to be a criminal, if he grows up at all.” The Consul paused, breathing hard. “Charlotte may run that place like a fiefdom, but it is not. It is an Institute and reports to the Consul. And so will you.”
“Charlotte has done nothing to deserve such a betrayal from me,” Gideon said.
The Consul jabbed a finger toward him. “That is exactly what I speak of. Your loyalty is not to her; it cannot be to her. It is to me. It must be to me. Do you understand that?”
“And if I say no?”
“Then you lose everything. House, lands, name, lineage, purpose.”
“We’ll do it,” said Gabriel, before Gideon could speak again. “We will watch her for you.”
“Gabriel—,” Gideon began.
Gabriel turned on his brother. “No,” he said. “It’s too much. You don’t want to be a liar, I understand that. But our first loyalty is to family. The Blackthorns would throw Tati out on the streets, and she wouldn’t last a moment there, her and the child—”
Gideon whitened. “Tatiana is going to have a child?”
Despite the horror of the situation, Gabriel felt a flash of satisfaction at knowing something his brother hadn’t known. “Yes,” he said. “You would have known it, if you were still part of our family.”
Gideon glanced around the room as if searching for a familiar face, then looked helplessly back at his brother and the Consul. “I . . .”
Consul Wayland smiled coldly at Gabriel, and then his brother. “Have we an agreement, gentlemen?”
After a long moment Gideon nodded. “We will do it.”
Gabriel would not soon forget the look that spread over the Consul’s face at that. There was satisfaction in it, but there was little surprise. It was clear he had expected nothing else, and nothing better, from the Lightwood boys.
“Scones?” Tessa said incredulously.
Sophie’s mouth twitched into a smile. She was down on her knees before the grate with a rag and a bucket of soapy water. “You could have knocked me into a cocked hat, I was that startled,” she confirmed. “Dozens of scones. Under his bed, all gone hard as rocks.”
“My goodness,” Tessa said, sliding to the edge of the bed and leaning back on her hands. Whenever Sophie was in her room cleaning, Tessa always had to hold herself back from rushing over to help the other girl with the tinderbox or the dusting. She had tried it on a few occasions, but after Sophie had set Tessa down gently but firmly for the fourth time, she had given it up.
“And you were angry?” Tessa said.
“Of course I was! Making all that extra work for me, carrying the scones up and down stairs, and then hiding them like that—I shouldn’t be surprised if we end the autumn with mice.”
Tessa nodded, gravely acknowledging the potential rodent issue. “But isn’t it a bit flattering that he went to such lengths just to see you?”
Sophie sat up straight. “It’s not flattering. He is not thinking. He is a Shadowhunter, and I am a mundane. I can expect nothing from him. In the best of all possible worlds, he might offer to take me as a mistress while he marries a Shadowhunter girl.”
Tessa’s throat tightened, remembering Will on the roof, offering her just that, offering her shame and disgrace, and how small she had felt, how worthless. It had been a lie, but the memory still held pain.
“No,” Sophie said, looking back down at her red, work-roughened hands. “It is better that I never entertain the idea. That way there will be no disappointment.”
“I think the Lightwoods are better men than that,” Tessa offered.
Sophie brushed her hair back from her face, her fingers lightly touching the scar that bisected her cheek. “Sometimes I think there are no better men than that.”
Neither Gideon nor Gabriel spoke as their carriage rattled back through the streets of the West End to the Institute. The rain was pouring down now, rattling the carriage so noisily that Gabriel doubted anyone would have heard him if he had spoken.
Gideon was studying his shoes, and did not look up as they rolled back to the Institute. As it loomed up out of the rain, the Consul reached across Gabriel and opened the door for them to exit.
“I trust you boys,” he said. “Now go make Charlotte trust you too. And tell no one of our discussion. As far as this afternoon is concerned, you spent it with the Brothers.”
Gideon climbed down out of the carriage without another word, and Gabriel followed him. The landau swung around and rattled off into the gray London afternoon. The sky was black and yellow, the drizzle as heavy as lead pellets, the fog so thick that Gabriel could barely see the Institute gates as they swung shut behind the carriage. He certainly didn’t see his brother’s hands as they darted forward, seized him by the collar of his jacket, and dragged him halfway around the side of the Institute.