Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

“But you love me,” she insisted, her voice rising. “You loved me always. You are bound to me forever. When I am gone, we will be together at last. You must understand—”

“Whomever it was that I loved,” Rupert said, “that woman is gone now. It seems she has been gone for years. Tatiana Blackthorn, I renounce you. I renounce any feeling that I ever had for one who bore your name.” He gazed at her impassively. “You are nothing to me.”

At that, Tatiana screamed. It was an unearthly sound, like the howl of the wind. Lucie had heard noises like it before: it was the sound of a ghost who had only just realized it was dead. A scream of loss, of despair. Of defeat.

As she screamed, on and on, the Watchers, one by one, lowered their staffs. They began to march down the steps, passing Tatiana as if she were a lifeless pillar of salt. Their white robes gleaming, they filed out of the courtyard, passing under the Institute gates one by one until the last of them was gone.

It worked, Lucie thought wonderingly, it actually worked. And then she realized that her legs had given out from under her, and she was sitting on the steps. Her heartbeat was strong in her ears, and fast, too fast. She knew she should let Rupert go. The effort of keeping him here was wrecking her.

And yet, if there was any chance at all that Jesse could speak to his father, even once—

Lightning blazed across the sky. Rupert turned toward Jesse, looking up at him. He began to reach out his hand, as if to beckon Jesse, to urge him to come closer.

Tatiana, seeing this, gave one more terrible scream and bolted out of the courtyard, disappearing through the iron gates.

To Lucie’s utter astonishment, a figure flew down the steps and through the courtyard, and flashed through the gates after Tatiana. A figure in a ragged dress, with long white hair.

Oh no, Lucie thought, struggling to get to her feet. Grace, no—you cannot hope to fight her.

But Cordelia had already had the same thought, it seemed. Without a word, she turned and tore after Grace and Tatiana, hurtling through the gates in pursuit.





26 THE REMORSEFUL DAY




How hopeless under ground

Falls the remorseful day.

—A. E. Housman, “How Clear, How Lovely Bright”



Cordelia ran.

She ran through the ice-blasted streets, under a red sky streaked with black and gray. The cold air froze her lungs, and she could hear her own breath whistling, the only sound in the noiseless maze of streets around the Institute.

Though she knew they shouldn’t be noiseless. London never truly went to sleep; there were always late-night wanderers and barrow boys, policemen and lamplighters. But the streets were utterly empty, as if London had been scraped clean of its people.

Cordelia ran, deeper into the tangle of side streets between the Institute and the river. She ran with no clear plan, only the knowledge that Grace could not possibly face down her mother on her own. That she would certainly be killed. That perhaps Cordelia shouldn’t care, but she did. Christopher’s words echoed in her ears: If we don’t do that, if we are consumed by the need to pay Grace back for what she has done, then how are we any different from Tatiana?

And then there was Tatiana. She couldn’t get away. Not again.

Cordelia ran, and her hair came out of its bindings and flew out behind her like a banner. She turned a corner, nearly skidding on the icy street, and found herself in a cul-de-sac where a short paved lane ended abruptly in a wall. Grace and Tatiana were both there—Grace, a knife in her shaking hand, seemed to have trapped her mother, like a hound trapping a fox. And like a fox, Tatiana bared her teeth, her back against the wall. Her white hair was a startling contrast to the red brick behind her.

“Are you going to attack me, girl?” she said to Grace; if she noticed Cordelia, she gave no indication. “You think I didn’t know about your little training sessions with Jesse?” She laughed. “Were you the finest of all the Nephilim, you could not touch me. Belial would strike you down.”

Grace shivered—she was still barefoot, still in only a light dress—but did not lower her knife. “You are deluding yourself, Mother,” she said. “Belial cares nothing for you.”

“It is you who care nothing for me,” snapped Tatiana, “after all I have done for you, after every advantage I gave you: the clothes, the jewelry, after I trained you in proper manners, after I gave you the power to bring any man to heel—”

“You made me cold and hard,” Grace said. “You taught me there was no love in this world, only power and selfishness. You closed my heart. You made me what I am, Mother, your blade. Do not now complain if that blade is turned on you.”

“Weak.” Tatiana’s eyes glowed luminous in the ugly light. “You have always been weak. You could not even peel James Herondale away from her.”

Grace started, and turned; it was clear she had not realized Cordelia was there until that moment. Cordelia flung her hands up. “Keep the blade trained on her, Grace,” she said. “We must bind her hands, get her back to the Institute—”

Grace nodded determinedly. She kept the blade level, as Cordelia moved forward, already thinking about how she could secure Tatiana: if she caught her arms behind her back, she could march her forward—

But as she approached, Tatiana, with the speed of a striking snake, lunged for her with a pearl-handled blade—the twin of the one she had thrown at Christopher. Cordelia ducked out of the way, knocking into Grace, who dropped her knife. It rolled into the middle of the street, the metal blade striking sparks off the cobblestones.

Cordelia stared at it, her heart beating fast. There was nothing for it. And perhaps, in some dark corner of her heart, she wanted what she knew would come next if she touched the weapon at her feet.

“Run, Grace,” she said in a low voice, and caught up the knife.

Grace hesitated for a moment. Then the brick edifice that rose before them began to open—somehow, impossibly—the bricks grinding and turning to smoke, and Lilith stepped from the dark doorway, wearing a dress of green overlapping scales, and with black serpents wriggling from her eye sockets.

Lilith smiled. And Grace, wisely, ran. Cordelia did not move, but she heard the rapid patter of Grace’s bare feet on stone, mixed with the harsh gasps of Tatiana’s breathing.

“My paladin,” said Lilith, grinning like a skull. “You have finally come to your senses, I see, and taken up arms in my name.” Her serpent eyes darted, looking Tatiana up and down. One of the serpents flicked out a silver tongue. Tatiana did not move, seeming frozen in terror and revulsion. “And how clever, Cordelia,” said Lilith. “You’ve got Belial’s little minion at the end of your blade. Now go ahead and cut her throat.”



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