Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

She heard Matthew call out to her, even as he backed up—there must have been ten Naga demons left. He couldn’t possibly kill them all, she thought, even as he shouted at her to get back, to protect herself. From Lilith, she thought, but what use would protecting herself be if she let something happen to Matthew?

She slammed the runed cane hard into a Naga demon’s head, heard its skull shatter, the crumpling as its body vanished, sucked back to its home dimension. Matthew, giving up on stopping Cordelia, cut a wide arc with his blade, slicing a Naga demon neatly in two. Cordelia stabbed down with the cane, punching a hole through another demon’s body. It, too, vanished, a tide of ichor spilling across the ground. Cordelia struck out again—and hesitated. The Naga demons had begun skittering backward, away from the two Shadowhunters.

“We did it,” Matthew panted, touching a hand to his bloody cheek. “Got rid of those bastards—”

He froze. Not because of surprise, or even watchfulness. He simply froze, blade in hand, as if he had been turned to stone. Cordelia looked up, her heart beating wildly, as at her feet the Naga demons bent their heads, their chins scraping the ground.

“Mother,” they hissed. “Mother.”

Cordelia’s heart turned over in her chest. Walking toward her along the quai, dressed in a gown of black silk, was Lilith.

Her hair was loose and unbound, the wind catching it, unfurling it like a banner. Her eyes were flat black marbles, with no white visible. She was smiling. Her skin was very white, her neck rising like an ivory column from the collar of her gown. Once she had been beautiful enough to seduce demons and angels. She looked as youthful as ever, though Cordelia could not help but wonder if she had changed through the ages, with bitterness and loss. Her mouth was hard, even as she looked at Cordelia with a deadly pleasure.

“I knew you could not stop yourself, little warrior,” she said. “It is in your blood, the need to fight.”

Cordelia flung the stick she’d been holding. It bounced across the pavement, fetching up at Lilith’s feet. The wood of it was stained with ichor. “I was protecting my friend.”

“The pretty Fairchild boy. Yes.” Lilith flicked a glance at him, then snapped her fingers; the Naga demons slithered away, back into the shadows. Cordelia wasn’t sure whether to be relieved. She was far more afraid of Lilith than of the demons in her command. “You have many friends. It makes you simple to manipulate.” She cocked her head to the side. “But to see you, my paladin, fighting with this—this bit of wood.” She kicked contemptuously at the walking stick. “Where is Cortana?”

Cordelia smiled. “I don’t know.”

She didn’t. She had given Cortana to Alastair and told him to hide it. She trusted that he had. She was glad not to know more.

“I made sure I wouldn’t know,” she added, “so that I couldn’t tell you. No matter what you do to me.”

“How brave,” Lilith said, with some amusement. “That is, after all, why I chose you. That brave little heart that beats inside your chest.” She took a step forward; Cordelia held her ground. Any fear she felt was for Matthew. Would Lilith harm him, just to show Cordelia her power?

She vowed to herself that if Lilith did, she, Cordelia, would dedicate her life to finding some way to hurt Lilith back.

Lilith looked from Matthew to Cordelia, and her smile widened. “I will not hurt him,” she said. “Not yet. He does well in that area himself, don’t you think? You are loyal, faithful to your friends; but sometimes I think you are too clever.”

“There is nothing clever,” said Cordelia, “in my doing what you want. You wish to have the sword so you can slay Belial—”

“Which you also desire,” Lilith pointed out. “You will be glad to know those two wounds you dealt him pain him still. He is in agony without respite.”

“We may desire the same thing,” Cordelia conceded. “But that does not make it clever to give you what you want—a paladin, a powerful weapon. You are not better than Belial. You simply also hate him. And if I accepted you, became your true paladin, that would be the end of me. The end of my life, or any part of it that is worth living.”

“And otherwise a long and happy life will be yours?” Lilith’s hair rustled. Perhaps the serpents she liked so much, slithering among the dark mass of her locks. “You think danger is behind you? The greatest danger lies ahead. Belial has not stopped his planning. I, too, have heard the whispers on the wind. ‘They wake.’”

Cordelia started. “What—?” she began, but Lilith only laughed, and vanished. The quai was empty again, only the stains of ichor, and her and Matthew’s fallen coats and weapons, to show anything had occurred.

Matthew. She whirled, and saw him on his knees. She darted to his side, but he was already rising, his face white, the cut on his cheek standing out stark and red. “I heard her,” he said. “I couldn’t move, but I could see—I heard all of it. ‘They wake.’” He stared down at her. “Are you all right? Cordelia—”

“I’m so sorry.” She fumbled off her gloves, reached for her stele. She was already starting to shiver, with reaction and with cold. “Let me—you need an iratze.” She pushed up the cuff of his shirt, began to scrawl the healing rune with the tip of her stele. “I’m so sorry you’re hurt. I’m so—”

“Do not say you are sorry again,” Matthew said in a low voice. “Or I will begin shouting. This is not your fault.”

“I let myself be fooled,” she said. The inside of Matthew’s forearm was pale, blue-veined, marked with white, lacelike patterns where old runes had faded. “I wanted to believe that Wayland the Smith had chosen me. I was a fool—”

“Cordelia.” He caught hold of her with such force that her stele clattered to the ground. The cut along his cheek was already healing, his bruises fading. “I am the one who believed a faerie who told me that what I was purchasing was a harmless truth potion. I am the one who nearly murdered my own—” He inhaled, as if the words hurt to speak. “Do you think I don’t understand what it is to have made a wrong decision, believing you were making the right one? Do you think anyone could imagine what that is like better than I could?”

“I should cut my own hands off so that I can never pick up a weapon again,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

“Don’t.” The agony in his voice made her look up. “Don’t talk about hurting yourself. What wounds you wounds me. I love you, Daisy, I—”

He cut himself off abruptly. Cordelia felt as if she were floating in a dream. She knew she had dropped her cloak, that cold air was cutting through the fabric of her dress. She knew she was in a sort of shock, that despite all she knew, she had not truly expected Lilith to appear. She knew despair was there, reaching out long, dark fingers for her like a siren, desperate to draw her under, to drown her in misery, in the whisper of voices that said, You have lost James. Your family. Your name. Your parabatai. The world will turn its back on you, Cordelia.