Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

There seemed nothing more to say. Charles seemed visibly shrunken, but he was still shaking his head, as if denial could ward off the truth. Alastair turned on his heel and left; after a moment, Thomas followed.

He found himself alone in the corridor with Alastair. Matthew was already long gone. Alastair was leaning back against the wall, breathing hard. “Ahmag,” he snarled, which Thomas was fairly sure meant idiot; he was also fairly sure Alastair didn’t mean him.

“Alastair,” he said, meaning to say something vague and kind, something about how none of this was Alastair’s fault, but Alastair caught hold of Thomas and pulled him close, his fingers cupping the back of Thomas’s neck. His eyes were wide, black, feverish. “I need to get out of here,” he said. “Come for a carriage ride with me. I have to breathe.” He leaned his forehead against Thomas’s. “Come with me, please. I need you.”



* * *



“Daisy, you summoned a demon? All by yourself?” Lucie exclaimed. “How enterprising and brave and—also a terrible idea,” she added hastily, catching James’s dark expression. “A very bad idea. But also, enterprising.”

“Well, it was certainly interesting,” Cordelia said. She was perched on the edge of a table, nibbling the corner of a piece of shortbread. “I wouldn’t do it again, though. Unless I had to.”

“Which you will not,” James said. He gave Cordelia a mock-stern look, and she smiled at him, and the stern part of the look melted away. Now they were gazing soppily at each other.

Lucie could not help but be delighted. It was as if James had been going around with something missing, some small piece taken out of his soul, and now it was put back. He was not perfectly happy, of course; being in love did not mean one did not notice anything else going on in the world. She knew he was worried about Matthew—who was currently lounging in one of the window seats, reading a book and not eating—and about their parents; about Tatiana and Belial and what was happening in Idris. But now, at least, she thought, he could face these things with his whole self intact.

They were all gathered in the library, where Bridget had set out sandwiches, game pies, tea, and pastries for them, since, as she loudly complained, she did not have time to put together a real supper for so many people on short notice. (Besides, she had added, the brewing storm was giving her the worriments, and she could not concentrate enough to cook.)

Everyone except Thomas and Alastair—who had, according to Matthew, rather inexplicably gone on some sort of errand in an Institute carriage—had gathered around the food. Even Charles had turned up briefly, taken a game pie, and stormed out, leaving them to an inevitable discussion of Belial’s plans.

“Now that we know this whole dreadful bracelet business,” Anna said, sitting cross-legged in the middle of a table near a shelf holding books on sea demons, “surely it points toward Belial’s goals. Certainly breaking James’s heart and tormenting him was part of it,” she added, “but I do not believe it was a goal in itself. More of a treat to enjoy along the way.”

“Ugh.” Cordelia shuddered. “Well, clearly he sought to control James. He always has—he wishes James to collude with him. To offer up his body for possession. He no doubt hoped he could talk him into it using Grace.”

Christopher, holding a chicken sandwich as delicately as he might hold a beaker of acid, said, “It is a terrible story, but an encouraging one in a way. The bracelet was Belial’s will made manifest. But James matched Belial’s will with his own.”

James frowned. “I do not feel ready for a battle of wills with Belial,” he said. “Though I have wondered if my training with Jem has helped me to hold out against him.”

The courtyard below seemed to flash in colors of blue and scarlet as lightning speared through the clouds. And the clouds themselves—Lucie had never seen anything like them. Thick but jagged-edged, as though they had been drawn onto the darkening sky with a razor dipped in melted gunmetal. As they heaved and collided with each other, she felt her skin prickle, as if snapped by a dozen elastic bands.

“Are you all right?” It was Jesse, his look quizzical. He had been quiet since James had told his story. Lucie could understand why; though she had told him over and over that no one could possibly blame him, she knew he did not, could not, entirely believe her.

“I feel awful,” Lucie said. “James is my brother, yet I allied myself with Grace, even held secret meetings with her. I did not know what she had done, but I did know she’d hurt him. I knew she’d broken his heart. I just thought…”

Jesse said nothing, only leaned against the window, letting her gather her thoughts.

“I suppose I thought it wasn’t real heartbreak,” she said. “That he didn’t really love her. I always thought he’d come to his senses and realize he loved Daisy.”

“Well, in a way, that was true.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lucie said. “She may not have broken his heart in the classic sense, but what she did was much worse. And yet—” She looked up at Jesse. “If I had not done what I did, I don’t know if I would have gotten you back.”

“Believe me.” Jesse’s voice was husky. “Where it comes to my sister, I too am torn.”

Thunder cracked again outside, loud enough to rattle the windows in their frames. The wind was tearing around the Institute, howling down the chimney. It was the sort of evening Lucie usually enjoyed, curled up in bed with a book while a storm raged. Now, she found it made her uneasy. Perhaps it was the unseasonable nature of the storm—when did snow ever come with thunder and lightning?

The door to the library slammed open. It was Charles, his red hair falling out of its usual cap of stiff pomade. He was pushing someone ahead of him, someone in a torn and wet dress, with straggling hair the color of milk.

Lucie saw James stiffen. “Grace,” he said.

Everyone went still, save Christopher, who rose to his feet, his expression hardening. “Charles, what on earth—?”

Charles’s face was twisted in a look of fury. “I found her creeping around the entrance to the Sanctuary,” he said. “She’s broken out of the Silent City, clearly.”

Did he know? Lucie wondered. Did he know what Grace had done to him, that she had enspelled him into proposing to her? James had said that his own memories of Grace’s past actions were coming back to him; perhaps Charles’s were too. He certainly seemed angry enough for it to be possible.

Lucie had always thought of Grace as cold and self-possessed, hard and shining as an icicle. But now she was cringing back—she looked awful; her hair was hanging in wet strings, there were scratches up and down her bare arms, and she was shivering violently. “Let me go, Charles—please, let me go—”

“Let you go?” said Charles incredulously. “You’re a prisoner. A criminal.”

“I hate saying this, but Charles is right,” said Matthew, who had put his book away. He, too, was on his feet. “We should contact the Silent City—”

“It’s gone,” Grace whispered. “It’s all gone.”

Lucie could not help but look at James. It was clear, when he had told them his story earlier, that he did not expect to encounter Grace again soon, if ever; now he looked frozen in place, staring at her as if she were a dream that had sprung to life, and not the nice kind of dream.

It was Cordelia who, placing a hand on James’s arm, said, “Grace, what do you mean? What’s gone?”

Grace was shivering so hard her teeth chattered. “The Silent City. It’s been taken—”

“Stop lying,” Charles interrupted. “Look here—”

Jesse snapped. “Charles, stop,” he said, stalking across the room. “Let go of her,” he added, and Charles, to everyone’s surprise, did exactly that, though with a look of reluctance. “Gracie,” Jesse said carefully, drawing off his jacket. He flung it over Grace’s thin shoulders; Jesse was hardly burly, but his jacket seemed to swallow up his sister. “How did you get out of the Silent City?”

Grace said nothing, only clutched Jesse’s jacket around her and trembled. There was a starkness in her eyes that frightened Lucie. She had seen that look before, in the eyes of ghosts whose last memories were of something dreadful, something terrifying.…

“She needs runes,” Jesse said. “Healing runes, warming runes. I don’t know how—”

“I’ll do it,” said Christopher. Ari and Anna rose to help him, and soon enough Grace was seated on a chair, with Christopher drawing on her left arm with his stele. She would not let go of Jesse’s jacket, but clutched it around herself with one hand.

“Grace,” James said. Some of the color had come back to his face. His voice was steady. “You need to tell us what’s happened. Why you’re here.”

“I hate to say this,” said Anna, “but ought she be restrained while we question her? She does have a very dangerous power.”