Chain of Gold (The Last Hours, #1)

by Cassandra Clare

The killing witchery that lies, in her black, delicious eyes. And when her cheek the moon revealed, a thousand hearts were won: no pride, no shield, could check her power. Layla, she was called.’ ”

“The only equivalent in real life is memory,” Tessa said, looking up as Will Herondale came into the room, followed by Cousin Jem. “But memories can be bitter as well as sweet.”

“Besides, they might feel they needed to tell some of the others, and I—I have been told that being sought out by ghosts is not an appealing trait in a young woman.” Cordelia caught at Lucie’s hand with her own bandaged one. “Tell me who said that to you. I will kill them.”

“The Angel gave me this hair,” replied Matthew. “It’s one of the Shadowhunters’ gifts. Like the Mortal Sword.”

He wore it through the summer, into the next year and the year after. He had, even now, still not taken it off.

“We don’t always love people who deserve it,” said Thomas quietly.

There are only four flames, in the whole world, that burn fiercely enough for me to feel something like the person I was. Your mother, your father, Lucie, and you.

“There is something rather odd I wanted to talk to you about. Charles—well, Charles is always odd, but Charles and Grace—”

“I am a Herondale. We love but once.” “That is only a story.” “Haven’t you heard?” James said bitterly. “All the stories are true.”

And yet… I have always thought—is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”

His breathing went ragged. “Daisy… my Daisy…”

A tall man—very tall, with a shock of black hair. His skin was brown, a shade darker than Cordelia’s own, his eyes gold-green and slit-pupilled like a cat’s. He was dressed as if for a summer wedding, in a gray frock coat and trousers, with gray suede gloves and boots. The outfit was topped off by a magnificent waistcoat of gray-and-magenta brocade, a walking stick, and bright magenta spats.

KING

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” he said. “Because I’d never wanted anything so much.”

“No.” He shook his head, voice rough. “Don’t. If you come close to me, Daisy, I will want—”

“I know you hate me for how I treated you in school, and rightfully so,” Alastair said, fixing James with a level gaze. “But however much you hate me, do not take it out on my sister.”

“I thought at first you might have been in the water. Drowning. The life force in the locket could have emptied your lungs and let you breathe.” He hesitated. “I thought, if you were dying, I would use it to bring you back.” Lucie inhaled sharply. “You would do that? For me?”

“Tonight someone died because of me. Because of my actions. Someone I loved. Someone I didn’t know. But I loved them just the same.”

Those who mock fiction do so because they fear the truth.”

“Daisy,” he breathed, and caught her in his arms. She had not expected it, and she let go of the hilt of Cortana in surprise—which was fortunate, as she might otherwise have stabbed one or both of them. His cheek pressed against hers; she could feel his heart pounding. “I thought I would never see you again,” he murmured. “Daisy, angel—”

Cortana flew to her like a bird: she reached out for her blade, and it thumped home against her bloody palm. “It’s very rude to take someone else’s sword without asking,” she said.

“Daisy? Would you come here?” He smiled crookedly. “I would come to you, but I do not think I have the strength to walk.”

“You read to me,” he said. “Perhaps, now all this is over, we could read it again, together?” Reading together. Never had Cordelia heard of anything so romantic.

“Yes, well,” he said. “I chose the one where I wasn’t made to feel like a laughingstock.” Cordelia was very still and silent. Alastair’s face was impassive. “And how has that worked out?” she said, as mildly as she dared. “Awful,” he said. “It’s awful.”

that was shaped a bit like a duck. His father would be horrified.

“Without you, I am not sure I will ever understand it.” “You will.” She looked up, and there he was. Jesse, leaning against the side of the tomb like a farmer’s boy against a gate. Smiling his odd little smile, straight black hair in his eyes. Lucie dropped the flowers she was holding and reached out, without pausing to think, to grasp his hand.

You brought light into my lightless world, and for that I am grateful.” “I am the one who is grateful,” she said. “And I will find a way to help you, Jesse. I swear to bring you back if I can, or lay you to rest if I cannot.”

It was so close to the joyous scene Cordelia had always dreamed of. She had only to try to forget that Will might have wished for her to join his family, but if James had been free to choose, he would have chosen someone else.

“I should have left when you abandoned her in such a terrible way. Now you are engaged yet again, and I have realized that you will never care half as much for me—or for anyone—as for your career.”

But it was not enough. Some kinds of love weren’t.

Matthew spoke in a low voice. “It would be one thing if James loved her. I would go into the quiet dark like Jem did and never speak of her again. But he doesn’t love her.”

We fooled them. So it had been as she feared, despite what he had said—and perhaps believed—at the time: it had been real to her, but not to him.

For a year, she would stand close to the fire and know what it was like to burn.