Fragile Hearts (TID - Will Herondale fanfic)

Chapter 57: That Is What It Means

ELEANORA'S POV
  "This is madness, Charlotte," Consul Wayland says. They had waited for Will and I before starting. "Utter madness, and based on the fancy of a child."

  "I am not a child," Cecily snaps. She is seated in a chair by the fireplace, and Will stands beside her, glowering. I stand next to him, half leaning against him. "And my parents knew Mortmain, as you well know. He befriended my family, my father. He gave us Ravenscar Manor when my father had—when we lost our house near Dolgellau."

  "It is true," Charlotte, who stands behind her desk, papers spread out before her on the surface, says. "I spoke to you of it this summer, of what Ragnor Fell had reported to me about the Herondales."

  Will pulls his fists from his trouser pockets and faces the Consul angrily. "It was a joke to Mortmain, giving my family that house! He toyed with us. Why would he not extend the joke in this manner?"

  "Here, Josiah," Charlotte says, indicating one of the papers on the desk in front of her. A map of Wales. "There is a Lake Lyn in Idris—and here, Tal-y-Llyn lake, at the foot of Cadair Idris—"

  "'Llyn' means 'lake,'" says Cecily in an exasperated tone. "And we call it Llyn Mwyngil, though some call it Tal-y-Llyn—"

  "And there are probably other locations in the world with the name of Idris," snaps the Consul, and then subsides. That doesn't stop the wave of hatred that washes over me, though.

  "But this one means something," Will says. "They say the lakes around the mountain are bottomless—that the mountain itself is hollow, and inside it sleep the Cwn Annwn, the Hounds of the Underworld."

  "The Wild Hunt," Charlotte says.

  "Yes." Will rakes his dark hair back. "We are Nephilim. We believe in legends, in myths. All the stories are true. Where better than a hollow mountain already associated with dark magic and portents of death to hide himself and his contraptions? No one would find it odd if strange noises came from the mountain, and no locals would investigate. Why else would he even be in the area? I always wondered why he took a particular interest in my family. Maybe it was simple proximity—the opportunity to devil a Nephilim family. He would have been unable to resist it."

  The Consul is leaning against the desk, his eyes on the map beneath Charlotte's hands. "It is not enough."

  "Not enough? Not enough for what?" Cecily cries.

  "To convince the Clave." The Consul stands. "Charlotte, you will understand. To launch a force against Mortmain on the assumption that he is in Wales, we will have to convene a Council meeting. We cannot take a small force and risk being outnumbered, especially by those creatures—how many of them were here this morning when you were attacked?"

"Six or seven, not counting the creature that seized Tessa," says Charlotte. "We believe they can fold in upon themselves and were therefore able to fit within the small confines of a brougham."

  "And I believe that Mortmain did not realize that Gabriel and Gideon Lightwood would be with you, and thus underestimated the numbers he would need. Otherwise I suspect you might all be dead."

"Hang the Lightwoods," Will mutters, and I don't even have the energy to be mad at him. "I believe he underestimated Bridget. She carved those creatures up like a Christmas turkey."

  The Consul throws his hands up. "We have read Benedict Lightwood's papers. In them he states that Mortmain's stronghold is just outside London, and that Mortmain intends to send a force against the London Enclave—"

  "Benedict Lightwood was going rapidly insane when he wrote that," Charlotte interrupts. "Does it seem likely Mortmain would have shared with him his true plans?"

  "What next and next?" The Consul's voice is snappish, but also deadly cold. "Benedict had no reason to lie in his own journals, Charlotte, which you should not have read. If you were not so convinced that you should know more than the Council, you would have given them over immediately. Such displays of disobedience do not incline me to trust you. If you must, you can bring this issue of Wales up with the Council when we meet in a fortnight—"

  "A fortnight?" Will's voice rises; he is pale, with splotches of red standing out on his cheekbones. "Tessa was taken today. She does not have a fortnight."

  "The Magister wanted her unharmed. You know that, Will," says Charlotte in a soft voice.

  "He also wants to marry her! Do you not think she would hate becoming his plaything more than she would hate death? She could be married by tomorrow—"

"And to the devil with it if she is!" says the Consul, and I finally snap into attention, outraged. "One girl, who is not Nephilim, is not, cannot, be our priority!"

  Will opens his mouth to say something, but I'm suddenly directly in front of the Consul.

  "What is your problem?" I snarl, my voice deadly. "You may be Consul. But you are a useless one. A fool, at that. James Carstairs is dying in a bed in his own room. We are all restless after the attack. Jem's fiancé is captured by Mortmain and you won't even let us go after her, which is by far the least we could do for Jem. And here you are, blabbering about how you don't trust the person you put in charge of the whole Enclave. What faith do you have in us?"

  The Consul looks truly stunned. I'm not done yet, though.

  "And you don't seem to see, Wayland, that if Mortmain succeeds in whatever he wants with Tessa, it will be the doom of Nephilim. Not Tessa's kind," I say.

  There is a silence. The Consul looks furious, and yet shocked. I don't turn my gaze away from him, but I can feel shock radiating from everyone in the room. Except Caspian. Finally: "You certainly are much like your Mother," The Consul says. "The only reason I am not sending you to the City of Bones to learn a lesson about respect is because your Mother was a respectable woman. Do be warned, Eleanora Nightstorm, that the next time I won't be so lenient."

  Will looks outraged. "I will never let you send Nora to the Silent Brothers. Over my dead body."

"Oh, yes." The Consul's voice drips sarcasm. "Such loyalty is commendable." He shakes his head. "Herondales. As stubborn as rocks. I remember when your father wanted to marry your mother. Nothing would dissuade him, though she was no candidate for Ascension. I had hoped for more amenability in his children."

  "You'll forgive my sister and myself if we do not agree," says Will, "considering that if my father had been more amenable, as you say, we would not exist."

  The Consul shakes his head. "This is a war," he said. "Not a rescue."

  "And she is not just a girl," says Charlotte. "She is a weapon in the hands of the enemy. I am telling you, Mortmain intends to use her against us, as Ella had pointed out."

  "Enough." The Consul lifts his overcoat from the back of a chair and shrugs himself into it. "This is a profitless conversation. Charlotte, see to your Shadowhunters." His gaze sweeps over Will and Cecily, and finally rests on me. He scowls. "They seem. . . overexcited."

  "I see that we cannot force your cooperation, Consul." Charlotte's face is like thunder. "But remember that I will put it on record that we warned you of this situation. If in the end we were correct and disaster comes from this delay, all that results will be on your head."

  "That is what it means to be Consul, Charlotte."

  He leaves and Will approaches me.

  "What you said to the Consul, Nora..."

  I clench my fists. "It was what we all were thinking. I should have slapped him right there."

  Cecily tries to hide a smile but fails. Caspian winks at me.

  "Thank you," Will says softly, placing a light kiss on my forehead.