Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

His body was sprawled across the flagstones, and Lucie thought he could not possibly be comfortable. He was twisted at an odd angle, his shoulder hunched in. His spectacles lay on the ground beside him, the glass cracked. Blood stained the shoulder of his coat, but not much; his eyes were closed. Anna’s hand stroked his hair, over and over, as if her body was making the gesture without her mind even being aware of it.

“Kit,” Lucie said, and all of them looked over at her, their faces strangely expressionless, like masks. “Is he all right?” she said, her voice sounding too loud in the awful silence. “He was all right, wasn’t he? It was just a little wound—”

“Lucie,” Anna said, her voice cold and final. “He’s dead.”



* * *



Tatiana hissed. “Lilith. The bitch of Edom.”

The serpents in Lilith’s eyes hissed and snapped. “Paladin,” said Lilith. “Slay her.”

“Wait,” Cordelia gasped, feeling the clench of Lilith’s will, closing around her like a vise. She pushed back, barely aware of a spark of hot pain at her wrist as she did so. Her voice shook as she said, “Tatiana stands at Belial’s right hand. No one is closer to him or knows his plans better. Let me question her, at least.”

Lilith smiled. The green scales of her dress flashed under the red light of the sky, a strange chromatic mixture of poison and blood. “You may try.”

Cordelia turned to Tatiana. The bone-white strands of her hair snapped in the wind. She looked ancient, Cordelia thought, a sort of crone torn by time, like the witches in Macbeth. “Before you stands the Mother of Demons,” Cordelia said, “and I am her paladin. Tell me how I can find Belial. Tell me, or Lilith will destroy you. There will be nothing left of you to rule your New London.”

Tatiana sneered. “So you are not so righteous after all, Cordelia Carstairs,” she said. “It seems we both have our demon masters.” She threw her head back. “I will tell you nothing. I will never betray my lord Belial.”

“The Blackthorn woman is a thrall,” Lilith said dismissively. “She is not negotiating with a will separate from Belial’s. She will do what he says and die for him. She is useless to you—and to me. Kill her.”

It was as if a steel arm had seized Cordelia’s wrist, forcing her own hand, with the blade held in it, up and out, curving her grip around the knife’s hilt. Cordelia took a step forward toward the cowering Tatiana—

Heat flared at her wrist. The amulet Christopher had given her, she realized, the one that was meant to protect her from Lilith. She came to a stop as her will slipped free of Lilith’s, evading it; she whirled and flung the knife as hard as she could, toward the mouth of the cul-de-sac. It skidded into the darkness.

Pain shot through Cordelia. She gasped, almost doubling over. Lilith’s displeasure: twisting her, crushing her. There was a crack at her wrist that she first feared was broken bone, but no: it was her amulet, falling shattered to the ground.

Lilith snorted. “Truly, you thought to hold me back with trinkets? You are a foolish, stubborn girl.”

Tatiana cackled wildly. “The reluctant paladin,” she said. “What a choice you have made, Mother of Demons. The avatar of your will on the Earth is too weak even to follow your orders.” Tatiana turned her gaze on Cordelia with a sneer. “Weak, like your father,” she said.

“It is not weakness,” whispered Cordelia, rising to her feet. “It is mercy.”

“But mercy must be tempered with justice,” said Lilith. “I cannot understand you, Cordelia. Even now you stand in a city that rests in the palm of Belial’s hand, yet you resist me—the only one who could help you fight back against him.”

“I won’t be a murderer,” Cordelia gasped. “I won’t—”

“Please. You know better than anyone how much pain Tatiana Blackthorn has caused, how many lives she has ruined.” Lilith’s hands moved together in a strange dance, as if she were shaping something between them. Her fingers were long and white as icicles. “She has spent years tormenting the Herondale boy, the one you love.” The air between her hands had begun to shimmer and solidify. “Is it not your duty to avenge him?”

Cordelia thought of James. Of his steady gaze, always encouraging, always believing the best of her, always believing in her. And the thought of him stiffened her spine, her will. She raised her chin defiantly. “You think James is like Belial, because he is his grandson,” she said. “But he is nothing like him. He wants peace, not revenge.” She turned to Lilith. “I will not kill Tatiana, not when she is helpless—I have cast away my weapon—”

The shimmer between Lilith’s hands solidified. It was a sword, made entirely of ice. The red light of the sky sparked off it, and Cordelia could not help but be struck by its loveliness. Its blade was like quartz, like moonlight hardened into stone. Its hilt resembled rock crystal. It was a thing born out of the chill of winter stars, beautiful and cold.

“Take it,” Lilith said, and Cordelia could not stop herself; her hand flew out and seized the ice sword, sweeping it in front of her. It burned coldly against her hand, a glimmering, deadly icicle. “And kill the thrall. She murdered your father.”

“Not I, but I was glad to see him die,” Tatiana hissed. “How Elias screamed—how he begged for mercy—”

“Stop!” Cordelia screamed; she was not certain at which of them she was shouting. Only that tremors were shuddering through her body as she held herself still; it hurt, and she knew the pain would stop if only she ceased fighting Lilith’s will.

“Tsk,” said Lilith. “I did not want to have to do this, but look—see what this creature, this thrall, has just done—”

And Cordelia saw a vision of the Institute courtyard. She saw Anna, struggling to hold Christopher. Christopher, who was jerking and twisting in her arms, as if trying to get away from something that had its teeth sunk into him. Anna had her stele in her hand; she was desperately trying to scribble iratzes onto her brother’s skin, each one vanishing, like a teaspoon of ink spilled into an ocean of water.

Beside Anna lay the pearl-handled knife that Tatiana had thrown. Its blade foamed with blood that was already turning black with venom even as Cordelia watched. A silent scream built in her throat, a desperate need to call out to Anna, even though she knew Anna could not hear her. Knew, even as Christopher’s spasming motions ceased, even as he exhaled and went still, his eyes fixed blankly on the sky above him, that there was nothing she could do to save him. Knew, as Anna folded up over his body, her shoulders shaking, that he was gone.

All the breath went out of Cordelia in a rush, as though she had been stabbed in the stomach. And with it went her will to resist. She thought of Christopher, his kindness, his mercy, the way he had smiled at her as he led her through the Silent City to Grace, and she turned toward Tatiana, the ice sword flashing in her grip. In that moment, it did not matter that it was not Cortana. It was a blade in her hand, as with one swift, sure motion she slit Tatiana’s throat open from ear to ear.

There was a roaring in Cordelia’s mind. She could not think, could not speak, could only watch as Tatiana’s blood poured from her throat. She made a noise, a sort of gurgle, as she sank to her knees, clawing at her neck.

Lilith was laughing. “It is too bad for her that you refuse to use Cortana,” she said, prodding at Tatiana’s spasming body with her toe. “You could have saved her life. A paladin’s bonded weapon has the power to heal what it has harmed.”

“What?” Cordelia whispered.

“You heard me,” said Lilith. “And you have doubtless read it in the legends. A paladin’s blade has the power of salvation as well as destruction. But you wouldn’t have healed her anyway, would you? You do not have that much mercy in your heart.”

Cordelia tried to picture herself stepping forward, somehow healing Tatiana, who had sowed so much ruination, so much pain. Even now, she might not be able to save Tatiana’s life, but she could kneel beside her, speak a comforting word. She began to step forward—just as Tatiana toppled over, falling facedown into the snow. Her body burst into flames. Cordelia stood motionless as she watched the fire swiftly consume her: her clothes, her skin, her body. Acrid smoke rose from the conflagration, sour with the stench of burning bone.

“Oh, my,” clucked Lilith. “Swift action is a paladin’s friend.” She laughed. “You should really pluck up your courage, my dear. Without Cortana, you are only half the warrior you could be. Do not fear your own destiny. Grasp it.”

And with that, she disappeared in a flash of extending wings, an owl darting into the sky, leaving Cordelia to stare in horror at what she had done. The ashes that had been Tatiana Blackthorn rose with the wind and blew in eddies around the courtyard, drifting into the sky until they vanished. The sword in Cordelia’s hand slid from her grip, falling away to melt among the ice along the street. Her heart was a bell, tolling for death.



* * *