Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

“I don’t know,” Ariadne said. “But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was that in the fireplace, partly burned, I found this.”


From the pocket of her coat, she withdrew a sheet of paper, crumpled and black at its edges, and handed it to Anna. It was obviously a letter, with the Inquisitor’s sign-off and messy signature halfway down the page, but it was singed with small holes and its first page was missing.

—and I have always considered you to be one of the brightest [blotch] in the Shadowhunter firmament. I have found us to be aligned in our views as to the proper behavior of a Shadowhunter and the importance of the Law and strict adherence to it. Therefore I have watched with growing concern, as it seems to me your sympathy and even preference has increased toward the Herondales and some of the more scandalous Lightwoods with whom they consort. I have reasoned with you and argued with you, all, it seems, to no avail. Therefore I have decided to take the step of letting you know that the secrets which you believe well hidden are known to me. There is such in your history as I might be willing to overlook, but I can assure you the rest of the Clave will not. You should be aware that I intend to [blotch] the Herondales and have them removed from [blotch]. With your help, I believe I could also make charges stick against certain of the Lightwoods as well. I expect resistance from the Enclave, as some people are sentimental, and this is where your support of me will be key. If you back me in my actions to prune the more corrupt branches of the Nephilim tree, I will overlook your indiscretions. Your family has benefited from the spoils of—here the letter became illegible, marred by a huge inkblot—but it could all be lost if your house is not in order.

I remain,

Inquisitor Maurice Bridgestock



Anna looked up at Ariadne. “Blackmail?” she said. “The Inquisitor—your father—is blackmailing someone?”

“It certainly looks that way, doesn’t it,” Ariadne said grimly. “But it’s impossible to tell whom he is blackmailing, or why, or what about. I only know my mother was furious when she realized what I’d found.”

“It might not be what it looks like,” Anna offered. “He didn’t send this, for one thing.”

“No,” said Ariadne slowly, “but do you see this blotch? ‘Your family has benefited from the spoils of—something.’ I think this must have been an early draft and he discarded it in the fire.”

Anna frowned. “Without the first page, it is hard to even guess who the target might be. It does seem the person is neither a Herondale nor a Lightwood—they are both mentioned as separate from the recipient.” Anna hesitated. “Did your mother really throw you out just because you found these papers?”

“Not… entirely,” said Ariadne. “I was greatly distressed when I found the files and the letter. She said it was none of my business. That it was my concern only to be an obedient and dutiful daughter, and to make a good marriage. And when she said that, well… I may have lost my temper.”

“Oh?” said Anna.

“I told her I would not make a good marriage, I would not make any marriage, that I would never get married, because I had no interest at all in men.”

The air seemed to have been sucked from the room. Anna said quietly, “And?”

“She fell to pieces,” Ariadne said. “She begged me to say it wasn’t true, and when I wouldn’t, she said I could not let such impulses ruin my life.” She scrubbed impatiently at her tears with the back of her hand. “I could see in her eyes that she had already known. Or at least suspected. She told me to think of my future, that I would be alone, that I would never have children.”

“Ah,” Anna said softly. She ached inside. She knew how badly Ariadne had always wanted children, that that desire had been at the heart of what had ended their relationship two years ago.

“I went to my room, threw a few things into a holdall—I told her I would not live under the same roof as her and Papa if they would not accept me as I truly was. As I am. And she said—she said she would promise to forget everything I had told her. That we could pretend I had never spoken. That if I were to tell Papa what I had told her, he would throw me out onto the street.” Anna did not breathe. “And so I fled,” Ariadne finished. “Left the house and came here. Because you are the most independent person I know. I cannot go back to that house. I will not. My pride and my… my self depend on it. I need to learn how to strike out on my own. To live independently, as you do.” Her expression was determined, but her hands trembled as she spoke. “I thought… if you could show me how…”

Anna gently took the rattling teacup from her. “Of course,” she said. “You shall be as independent as you wish. But not tonight. Tonight you have had a shock, and it is very late, and you must rest. In the morning you will start a new life. And it will be wonderful.”

A slow smiled bloomed across Ariadne’s face. And for a moment, Anna was undone by her sheer beauty. The grace of her, the way her dark hair glowed, the line of her neck and the soft flutter of her lashes. An impulse to take Ariadne in her arms, to cover her eyelids and her mouth with kisses, came over Anna. She curled her hands into fists behind her back, where Ariadne would not see them.

“You take the bedroom,” she said evenly. “I will sleep here on the chaise longue; it is quite comfortable.”

“Thank you.” Ariadne rose with her holdall. “Anna—the last time I saw you—I was angry,” she said. “I should not have said you were hard. You have always had the biggest heart of anyone I have known, with room in it for all manner of waifs and strays. Like me,” she added, with a sad little smile.

Anna sighed inwardly. In the end, Ariadne had come to her for the same reason Matthew did, or Eugenia: because Anna was easy to talk to, because she could be depended on for sympathy and tea and a place to sleep. She did not blame Ariadne, or think less of her for it. It was only that she had hoped that perhaps there had been a different reason.

A little while later, after Ariadne had gone to bed, Anna went to bank up the fire for the night. As she turned back, she caught Percy’s disapproving scowl.

“I know,” she said quietly. “It is a terrible mistake, letting her stay here. I shall come to regret it. I know.”

Percy could only agree.



* * *



No one, as it turned out, wanted tea.

“Malcolm Fade,” Will said, advancing on the warlock. His anger, which had dissipated quickly enough on hearing Lucie’s story, seemed to have returned along with Malcolm. James stood up, ready to intervene if needed; he knew the tone in his father’s voice. “I should have you hauled in front of the Clave, you know. Put on trial, for breaking the Accords.”