Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

As they crawled gratefully out of the cab, Cordelia could not help but think about the picnic in Regent’s Park that had been her early introduction to the Merry Thieves. She thought of Christopher eating lemon tarts, of Thomas’s easy smile and Anna’s laughter, of Lucie’s inquisitiveness, of James—


But she would not think of James. She could not help a wistful glance at the picnicking students, though they seemed to her so very young—younger than herself and her friends, though they were likely in university. They did not know of the Shadow World, did not see it, did not imagine what lurked beyond the thin scrim of illusion separating them from a darker universe.

She envied them.

Eventually, she and Matthew found an unoccupied park bench and settled on it. Matthew tipped his face up to the pale winter light; in its glare, Cordelia could see how tired he looked. Matthew had the delicacy of extremely pale skin, to go with his fair hair; it showed every bruise and shadow, and right now the crescents below his eyes were dark, as if they had been painted on. Of course, he had been up half the night, Cordelia reminded herself with a pang of guilt, holding her hand as she drifted in and out of restless sleep.

“Matthew,” she said.

“Hmmm?” he asked, not opening his eyes.

“I thought perhaps we should discuss,” she said, “my brother and your brother.”

Matthew did not open his eyes, but he went still. “Alastair and Charles? What about them?”

“Well,” said Cordelia, “it cannot have escaped your notice—”

“It hasn’t.” She didn’t think she’d heard Matthew’s voice so cool before, certainly not when directed at her. She remembered the first time she’d really met him, how she’d wondered if he disliked her, how he’d charmed her anyway. Fair hair, sideways looks, a blur of a smile. “I am not an idiot. I have seen the way Charles looks at your brother, and the way your brother does not look at him. Love, unrequited.” Now he did open his eyes. They were a very light green in the sunlight. “And to be fair, I doubt my brother did anything to deserve the kind of love he clearly felt himself.”

“Really? You think Charles felt so much as all that for Alastair? He was the one who wanted it kept secret.”

“Ah, because of his career, I’m sure.” Matthew bit off the words. “I suppose it depends on your definition of love. Love that will give up nothing, love that one is willing to sacrifice for a more comfortable life, is not love, in my opinion. Love should come above all other things.”

The intensity of his words startled Cordelia. She felt them as a sort of accusation: Should she have been willing to give up more, sacrifice more for James? For Lucie? For her family?

“Never mind,” Matthew said, in a gentler tone. “I believe Alastair’s affections no longer rest with Charles, so the whole business will fade away in time. I find I have a bit of a headache. We should talk about something else.”

“I’ll tell you a story, then,” Cordelia said. “Maybe something from the Shahnameh? Would you like to hear about the defeat of Zahhāk, the evil Serpent King?”

Matthew’s eyes lit up. “Absolutely,” he said, settling back against the bench. “Spin me a tale, my dear.”



* * *



James rose feeling still tired, as if he’d barely slept at all. He went to the washstand and splashed ice-cold water on his face, which woke him up promptly. He took a moment to look at himself in the mirror—tired eyes, drooping at the corners; wet black curls; a sharp downturn to the corner of his mouth he didn’t recall having before.

No wonder Cordelia doesn’t want you.

He told himself, savagely, to stop it, and went to get dressed. As he was buttoning his cuffs, he heard a rustle in the hall outside his room, as if a curious mouse was in the corridor. He reached the door in two strides and threw it open. With no surprise whatsoever, he found Lucie—in a lace-trimmed blue dress, looking unseasonably summery—standing right behind it, glaring at him.

“If it isn’t Secret Princess Lucie,” he said mildly. “Come to visit her terrible family.”

Lucie put her hand on his chest and walked him back into the bedroom. She kicked the door shut behind her. “We need to talk, before we go downstairs.”

“Be careful,” said James. “You sound just like Mother used to before she gave us a scolding about something or other.”

Lucie dropped her hand with a little shriek. “I do not,” she said. “Though, speaking of parents, do you remember when we bought that enormous guinea pig? And then when Mama and Papa found out, we told them it was a special gift from the Lima Institute?”

“Ah yes, Spots,” said James. “I remember him well. He bit me.”

“He bit everyone,” said Lucie dismissively. “I’m sure he intended it as a compliment. My point is, that story worked because you and I had the same story and were working from the same information.”

“So true,” said James. He was pleased to realize that as low as he felt, he could still wind his sister up. “Halcyon memories of a golden past.”

“And,” went on Lucie impatiently, “I have no idea how much you’ve said to Father—about anything—even though you know everything I’ve told, and anyway, it isn’t fair. Or a good idea.”

“Well, I told them—Magnus, too—most everything, I think.” James sat down on the bed. “Everything I knew, anyway. Whatever gaps I might have left in their knowledge, I expect they’ve been filled in by the events of last night.”

“Everything?” Lucie demanded.

“Nothing about Cordelia,” James allowed. “Nothing about Lilith, or paladins, or—any of that.”

“Good.” Lucie relaxed a fraction. “I don’t think we can tell them, can we? It’s Cordelia’s secret. It wouldn’t be fair to her.”

“Agreed,” said James. “Look, Luce—why did you never tell me about Jesse? I don’t mean about trying to raise him,” he said quickly, as Lucie began to protest. “I understand not telling me about that. You knew I wouldn’t like it, and you knew I wouldn’t like that you were working with Grace.”

“You wouldn’t,” Lucie said.

“I still don’t,” James admitted, “but I understand why you felt like you had to do it. But why did you never tell me you could see Jesse, or that he existed at all?”

Lucie, with an uncharacteristic shyness, kicked at a dust ball with the toe of her shoe. “I suppose… I knew there was something strange about being able to see him. Something dark and uncanny. Something people wouldn’t like.”

“Luce, I know better than anyone else what it means to have a power other people find unsettling. Even grotesque.”

She looked up quickly. “You’re not grotesque, Jamie, or horrible, or anything like that—”

“Our powers come from the same place,” James said. “Belial. Who would understand better than I would, how one struggles with that? I have to believe I can do good even with a power that comes from darkness. I believe that for myself, and I believe it for you, too.”

Lucie blinked quickly, then sat down beside James on the bed. They remained there for a moment in comfortable silence, their shoulders touching. “James,” she said at last. “Jesse is going to need you. There are things you can help him with that—that I can’t. Being possessed by Belial, having the Marks of dead Shadowhunters on his skin. It’s hurting him. I can see it in his eyes.”

So can I, James thought. “I can talk to him. When we get back to London.”

Lucie smiled. It was a quiet sort of grown-up smile, a bit sad, a smile James did not associate with his little sister. But she had changed, he supposed. They all had. “Papa told me,” she said. “About Cordelia. And Matthew. That they went to Paris together. He seemed to think you didn’t mind, but I—” She turned to look at him. “Do you mind?”

“Desperately,” James said. “More than I ever thought I would mind about anything.”

“So you don’t love Grace?”

“No. No,” James said. “I don’t think I ever did. I—” For a moment, he stood on the precipice, wanting to tell his sister the truth. It was a spell, I never cared for her, those feelings were forced upon me. But it would not do to tell Lucie before he had told Cordelia. Cordelia had to know first. “Do you think Cordelia loves him? Matthew, I mean. If she does…”

“I know,” Lucie said. “If she does, you’ll go away quietly and leave them to their happiness. Believe me, I am well acquainted with the self-sacrificing nature of Herondale men. But—if she feels anything for Matthew, she’s never given a sign of it to me, or said anything about it. Still…”

James tried to look politely inquiring.

“Still,” Lucie said. “Paris is a romantic place. I’d get myself over there and tell Cordelia what you really feel, posthaste.” To make her point, she punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t dawdle.”

“You hit me,” James said. “Must you hit me for emphasis?”

There was a knock, and Magnus leaned in through the open doorway. “I hate to interrupt this moment of beautiful sibling amity,” he said, “but Malcolm would like to speak with all of us downstairs.”



* * *