Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

That night, after dinner, she’d pinned it to the sleeve of her dark blue dress before clambering out her window—with a silent apology to Alastair, but there was no point telling him where she was going; he would only worry—and hurrying to hail a hansom cab on the street.

She had been too worried about Matthew to sleep. Anna’s words kept echoing in her head: He needs help now. The sort I am afraid I cannot give him, because he will refuse it. Did Anna know about Matthew’s drinking? And regardless of whether she did or not, Cordelia did know—and had not spoken to him about it since they’d returned to London. She’d been too angry, too caught up in protecting herself against the kind of pain her father had caused her.

But Matthew deserved—needed—friends. And instinct told her that if she were to find him, it would be here.

The place was bustling, as usual. Tonight the main salon was done in a kind of deep winter theme, with walls of deep blue, and papier-m?ché sculptures of snow-burdened trees dangling in midair. The floor was covered with a sort of brilliant false snow, made of what looked like tiny pearls. The tips of Cordelia’s black velvet boots scattered them as she walked; they turned colors as they rose into the air, reflecting miniature rainbows. Everywhere were stamped images of the moon, in various phases—full, half, crescent—in gold paint.

Cordelia was surprised; it did not seem long since she had last been here, and the theme had been a celebration of Lilith, which she had braced herself to endure. She was relieved to see the change and tried to look about unobtrusively, seeking a glimpse of a familiar head of blond curls.

As always, there were sofas and low divans scattered around the salon, and Downworlders crowded onto them, most deep in conversation. There were vampires with powder-white faces, and werewolves in sack suits; faeries dressed as parlormaids, with seaweed curls peeking out from under their mobcaps, moved among the guests, carrying trays of drinks. An unfamiliar warlock with cat’s ears sat across from a round gnome in a pin-striped suit, arguing about the Boer Wars.

But she did not see Matthew. Cordelia blew out a frustrated breath, just as Hypatia Vex herself glided up to her. She wore a silver gown that spread in a pool around her feet, but somehow did not catch on things as she walked—magic, surely—and, atop her head, a massive midnight-blue headdress into the center of which was set a white pearl, the size of a dinner plate and etched to resemble the moon.

“Shadowhunter,” Hypatia said pleasantly, “if you must insist on attending my salon, I’d thank you to take a seat. I cannot tell you how much having Nephilim hovering about unnerves my guests.”

The first time Cordelia had met Hypatia, she had found her terrifying. Now she just smiled politely. “Good evening, Hypatia. Your hat matches your eyes.”

Hypatia’s eyes, whose pupils were the shape of stars, sparkled a bit. Cordelia had known Hypatia long enough to recognize that a bit of flattery was helpful when speaking with her. “Thank you. It was a gift from a sultan. I don’t recall which one.”

“I haven’t any intention of staying and disturbing your guests,” Cordelia said. “I only came to see if Matthew Fairchild was here.”

Hypatia’s perfectly plucked brows rose. “It distresses me that Shadowhunters have decided the place they are most likely to find wayward members of the Enclave is in my salon.”

“He’s not some wayward member of the Enclave,” Cordelia said. “He’s Matthew.”

“Humph,” said Hypatia, but Cordelia thought she saw a flicker of sympathy in Hypatia’s spangled eyes. “Well, it’s likely a good thing you came, regardless. I’d been hoping to speak to you.”

“To me?” Cordelia was astonished. “What about?”

“A private matter. Come with me,” Hypatia said, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Round Tom can look after the salon while we’re gone.”

With no idea who Round Tom might be, Cordelia followed Hypatia from the room, trying not to trip on her silver train as it slipped and slid over the false snow.

Hypatia led Cordelia through an arched door and into a small, circular room, in which two plush chairs faced each other across a table inlaid with a chessboard. A rosewood box for the chess pieces had been set to the side, and a tall bookshelf, which oddly held no books, rested against the far wall.

Hypatia sat down and motioned for Cordelia to be seated across the table. Cordelia hoped very much that Hypatia did not want to play a game of chess. Chess was something Cordelia associated with James: with cozy domestic evenings at Curzon Street, where they sat together on the sofa in the light of the fire.…

“Stop daydreaming, girl,” said Hypatia. “Good gracious, you’d think you’d have heard me. I said, ‘So, you’ve become a paladin?’?”

Cordelia sat down hard enough to jounce her spine. Oh, Raziel. She’d been a fool, hadn’t she? “The Cabaret de l’Enfer,” she said. “They told you, didn’t they?”

Hypatia nodded, the pearl in her headdress gleaming. “Indeed. There is quite a gossip network among Downworlders, as you should well know.” She gave Cordelia an appraising look. “Does Magnus know of this paladin business?”

“He does not. And I would ask you not to tell him, but I know you may, regardless. Still. I am asking.”

Hypatia did not respond to Cordelia’s request. Instead, she said: “There have been Shadowhunter paladins before, of course, but—”

Cordelia raised her chin. Might as well make Hypatia say it. “But I’m different?”

“There is no holy light about you,” said Hypatia. She gazed at Cordelia, her starry eyes fathomless. “I have seen the voids between the worlds, and what walks there,” she said. “I have known the fallen angels of the heavenly war, and admired them for their steely pride. I am not one to turn away from shadows. One finds beauty in the darkest of places, and Lucifer was the most beautiful of all Heaven’s angels, once.” She leaned forward. “I understand the urge to reach for such dark beauty, and such power. I have not brought you here to sit in judgment upon you.”

Cordelia said nothing. Far away, she could hear faint laughter from the salon, but she felt as if it were happening on another planet. This was a sort of chess, she realized—a chess game without pieces, played with words and insinuation. Hypatia had not mentioned Lilith by name, yet Cordelia knew Hypatia to be very interested in Lilith indeed.

“You are correct. I am not sworn to an angel,” Cordelia said. “But you do not know who it is I am sworn to, and I am not inclined to say.”

Hypatia shrugged, though Cordelia suspected she was, at the least, disappointed. “So you do not wish to name names. I will find out eventually, I suspect. For when the Shadowhunters discover what you have done, it will be a scandal that rocks the foundations of their world.” She smiled. “But I imagine you know that, and do not care. As a paladin, you are more powerful than any of them now.”

“It was not a power I wanted,” said Cordelia. “I was tricked into taking the oath. Deceived.”

“An unwilling paladin?” Hypatia said. “That’s rather unique.”

“You don’t believe me,” Cordelia said. “Yet I am desperate to sever this bond. There is much I would do for anyone who could tell me how to cease being a paladin.”

Hypatia sat back in her chair, her gaze thoughtful. “Well,” she said. “Ceasing to be a paladin is easy enough. The trick is to do so and survive. A paladin can be rejected by the one she serves, of course. But whether that rejection would leave you alive afterward… well, I would not bet money on it.”

Cordelia let out a long breath. “I do not think the one to whom I am bound would reject me,” she said. “My master knows I did not seek this out. That I serve unwillingly. That I go unarmed, that I might not even in error lift a weapon in the service of the demon who tricked me.”

“My,” said Hypatia. She seemed, someone despite herself, interested in the drama of the situation. “That is commitment. A Shadowhunter who will not fight.” She shook her head. “Most paladins of demons have served enthusiastically. And the ones who refused to serve were torn apart by their masters, as a warning. You have been lucky, so far.”

Cordelia shuddered. “So, what you’re saying is that it can’t be done?”

“I am saying it is a waste of time to pursue it. Pursue instead the idea of turning your power toward something good.”

“No good can come from an evil power.”

“I disagree,” said Hypatia. “You took on, what, a dozen Naga demons in Paris? And more demons here in London. You truly could become the greatest, most effective Shadowhunter that has ever been known.”

“Even if I were willing to lift my sword in a demon’s name,” Cordelia said, “other demons recognize me as a paladin. They flee from me. It happened just today.”