Fragile Hearts (TID - Will Herondale fanfic)

Chapter 29: At Yorkshire

ELEANORA'S POV
The carriage ride is mostly quiet. Jem talks to Tessa, pointing out areas of interest. Will, on the other hand, drums his fingers on his black-trousered knees, eyes distant. I sit next to him, Tessa and Jem across us.

I watch Jem. He's different around Tessa. His eyes lightening up, looking at her as if there's no one else in the room.

I finally grab Will's wrist, scowling at him.

"You are making me more nervous. Stop," I say.

Will rolls his eyes but rests his hand on his knee. I can tell he's filled with energy, though.

"Shall we go in, my betrothed?" Jem says to Tessa once we've reached.

"Let us beard the lion in his den together," Tessa jokes.

She puts her hand through his arm. They make their way up the steps of the church; Tessa looks back at the top, and sees Will gazing up after them, apparently unheeding as Gottshal taps him on the shoulder, saying something into his ear.

I nudge Will gently. "Are you alright?"

Will nods, flashing me a grin. "Let's go."

He offers me his arm and I loop mine through it.

The inside of the church is wall and dark compared to the London Institute's. Pews dark with age runs the length of the walls, and above them witchlight tapers burn in holders made of blackened iron. At the front of the church, in front of a veritable cascade of burning candles, stands an old man dressed all in Shadowhunter black. His hair and beard is thick and gray, standing out wildly around his head, his gray-black eyes half-hidden beneath massive eyebrows, his skin scored with the marks of age.

"Young Herondale, are you?" he barks as Will steps forward to introduce himself, detaching himself from me. "Half-mundane, half-Welsh, and the worst traits of both, I've heard."

Will smiles politely. "Diolch."

Starkweather bristles. "Mongrel tongue," he mutters, and turns his gaze to Jem. "James Carstairs," he says. "Another Institute brat. And you. Nightstorm. Shameful. Your family is quite messed up now, I heard, with your Father and all—"

I cut in, unable to help myself. "Don't talk of my Father."

Starkweather eyes me. "An interesting man, if I do say so myself."

I clamp my mouth shut.

"I've half a mind to tell the lot of you to go to blazes. That upstart bit of a girl, that Charlotte Fairchild, foisting you all on me with nary a by-your-leave." He has a little of the Yorkshire accent that his servant has, though much fainter; still, the way he pronounces "I" does sound a bit like "Ah." "None of that family ever had a bit o' manners. I could do without her father, and I can do without—"

His seems to finally notice Tessa then, and he stops abruptly, his mouth open, as if he had been slapped in the face midsentence. I glance around, and both Tessa and Jem seem shocked at Starkweather's sudden silence. But there, in the breach, is Will.

"This is Tessa Gray, sir," he says. "She is a mundane girl, but she is the betrothed of Carstairs here, and an Ascendant."

"A mundane, you say?" demands Starkweather, his eyes wide.

"An Ascendant," says Will in his most soothing, silken voice. "She has been a faithful friend to the Institute in London, and we hope to welcome her into our ranks soon."

"A mundane," the old man repeats, and breaks into a fit of coughing. "Well, times have—Yes, I suppose then—" His eyes skips across Tessa's face again, and he turns to Gottshall, who is looking martyred among the luggage. "Get Cedric and Andrew to help you bring our guests' belongings up to their rooms," he says. "And do tell Ellen to instruct Cook to set four extra places for dinner tonight. I may have forgotten to remind her that we would have guests."