Chain of Iron (The Last Hours, #2)

by Cassandra Clare

Relief passed over Cordelia in a wave. James wasn’t abandoning her. Of course not. He never would. He was James.

He had decided when it had all happened that he would not betray his wedding vows by word or deed. He might not be able to control his heart or his thoughts, but he could remove the bracelet. That much lay within his power.

“So here it is: always tell Cordelia what you feel.” He looked James in the eye. “You may fear what will happen if you speak your heart. You may wish to hide things because you fear hurting others. But secrets have a way of eating at relationships, Jamie. At love, at friendship—they undermine and destroy them until in the end you find you are bitterly alone with the secrets you kept.”

Matthew moved closer to James, their shoulders touching. James knew Matthew was staring too; they were all staring, and yet he felt as if he were alone in the room, the only one watching as Cordelia entered, Lucie at her side. Daisy. She seemed to blaze like a torch. James had always known she was beautiful—had he always known? Had there been a moment he had realized it?—but still the sight of her hit him like a blow. She was all fire, all heat and light, from the gold silk roses woven into her dark red hair to the ribbons and beads on her golden dress. The hilt of Cortana was visible over her left shoulder; the straps that secured it had been fashioned from thick gold ribbons.

The sound of a violin, audible even through the thick stone walls. The guests looked about them, startled. James looked at Matthew. “Jem?” Matthew nodded and indicated James’s parents: Will and Tessa were both smiling. James thought there were tears in his mother’s eyes, but it was natural to cry at weddings. “Your parents asked him if he would play. He’s outside in the courtyard. He wouldn’t come in—said Silent Brothers had no place at weddings.” “I’m not sure that’s true,” James murmured, but he recognized it for what it was: a gift from the man who had always been like an uncle to him. The music rose, as exquisite as Cordelia, as pure and proud as the look on her face as she stepped up to join him at the altar.

Literally cried?!?!!

Cordelia felt a light squeeze to her hand. James had raised his head; he was looking at her with a level gaze and an encouraging smile.

Steady on, he mouthed soundlessly, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

Cordelia hesitated. James’s hands were firm and gentle on hers; she knew he would always be this way, gentle and determined, kind and thoughtful. Her heart beat hard and treacherous inside her chest. He had not been gentle in the Whispering Room. Not gentle with his hands on her body and his lips on hers. That had been the James she wanted, her one glimpse at the James she could not have. She had told herself she could get through this time easily, that at least she would be close to James, be beside him, see him sleeping and waking. But she knew now, looking at his face—the curves of his mouth, the arch of his eyelashes, sweeping down to hide his thoughts—that she would not walk away at the end of this year unscathed. She was agreeing to have her heart broken.

She was married. She was married, and she was absolutely terrified.

They were Persian miniatures done in richly pigmented shades of scarlet and cobalt and gold. She spun to look at James in astonishment. “Where did you find these?” “An antiquities shop in Soho,” James said. She still couldn’t quite read his expression. “They were selling off the estate of a Persian merchant living abroad.” Cordelia leaned close to examine the beautiful nasta‘ lı¯q calligraphy above the images of prophets and acolytes and musicians, birds and horses and rivers. “This is by Rumi,” she whispered, recognizing a verse: The wound is the place where the Light enters you. It had always been one of her favorites.

He’s so thoughtful 😭

“Lucie can come over and consult it whenever she likes,” James said. “But don’t let her start bringing her books over here or she’ll fill up the shelves I’ve left for you.”

The shelves he left for her 😭

But he had left space for her. And the things he had picked out—the dictionary, the miniatures, the chess set—were thoughtful, beautiful. No wonder she had hardly seen James for the past few months. It must have taken him an incredible amount of time to create such a lovely space. It was perfect, everything she would have dreamed of and chosen for herself.

Otherwise known as ‘checkmate.’ ” James sucked in his breath. “Bloody hell,” he said, and burst out laughing. Cordelia let herself float in that laughter for a moment—he laughed so freely very rarely, and it transformed his whole face. “Very well done, Daisy. Excellent use of distraction.”

Cordelia focused on the first thing her eye fell on, a carved panel over the fireplace. Worked into the marble were the crenellated towers of the Carstairs crest. “Is this…?” “I hope it’s all right,” James said quietly behind her. “I know that to the rest of the world, you are a Herondale now, but I thought you might like to have a reminder of your family.”

Crying pt.2

He was most beautiful when he was in motion, she’d decided. It was a conclusion she’d come to while they trained together—another part of married life she’d never considered, but found she liked very much.

“Daisy,” he said. “You look—” He broke off, shaking his head, and fumbled something out of his pocket. It was a simple black velvet box. He held it out to her and she took it, quite surprised. “Our two-week anniversary,” he said, in answer to her quizzical expression. “But—I didn’t get you anything.” She took the box, the velvet nap soft against her fingers. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.” “You weren’t,” said James. “Sometimes I have foibles. This is one of them.” He grinned. “Open it.” She did, revealing, nestled on a bed of more dark velvet, a glimmering gold pendant on a chain. She drew it out of the box, exclaiming as she realized what it was—a small, round globe, the faint outline of seas and continents etched onto its surface. “We have talked so much of travel,” James said. “I wanted to give you the world.”

Crying pt.3

He noticed everything about her as if he had been given a divine mathematical assignment intended to total up her charms:

She had been stunning tonight;

“To repair death?” he said softly. “Lucie. You were wrong in what you said—but only when you claimed you are not like Princess Lucinda. Not brave or resourceful or clever. You are a thousand times those things. You are better than any imagined heroine. You are my heroine.”

Jesse 🥺

A ghost falling in love. A small flame lit in Lucie’s chest. An ember, the beginning of a blaze. “It’s never a tragedy to love somebody.”

“Are you all right?” Cordelia asked, as the fire crackled into the silence between them. “I cannot imagine tonight was enjoyable for you.” James looked surprised. “For me? I’m not the one who suffers when there is tension in your family, Daisy. I was only there to make it easier for you. If I didn’t help—” “Oh, but you did. You absolutely charmed my mother. She would marry you herself if she could. And my father was delighted to have someone to tell the old stories to. And—I hadn’t known you were learning Persian.”

That’s so sweet of him 😭

‘I do not want to be respectable!’ cried Cordelia. ‘I only care for true love!’ ”

Cordelia, accepting a cup of coffee from James. He had put milk into it, no sugar, as she liked. She smiled at him, a little surprised.

“I didn’t want to trouble you,” Matthew said, with uncharacteristic shyness. “Nothing you do troubles me,” said James. “Well, that is not precisely true. You are quite troublesome, as you well know.” He grinned. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know what’s happening in your life. I’m your parabatai.” “I know. And I had rather thought—I suppose I had thought, since you had just been married, that you would want to spend time alone with Cordelia. That there was some chance your marriage might become a real one.”

Omg 😭🥺

“All I want for you, Math, is that you love yourself as much as I love you.”

Stop 😭😭😭 I love James so much

James rose and paced the room the moment Cordelia left. He wished he could remember what she so clearly badly wanted him to recall. He felt as if he were disappointing her, letting her down somehow. Yet when he reached back into his mind, it was as if a curtain had been drawn across that time at Cirenworth, and he could see only in glimpses through gaps in the fabric. The smell of jasmine and woodsmoke. The length of a body, warm and solid, all along his own. Her husky voice: I sought not fire, yet is my heart all flame. Layla, this love is not of earth.

He wanted her. It was something he had to face. She was beautiful and desirable and they were cooped up in the house together. It was bound to happen.

James folded the note up and placed it in his shirt pocket, close to his heart.

“That love is complicated,” said Cordelia. “That it lies beside anger and hatred, because only those we truly love can truly disappoint us.”

“You do not know what you are asking.” “Yes, I do,” she said. “I am asking for the truth. Your truth. You know mine, and I do not even know what makes you so unhappy.”

“Thank you. For not hating me. I promise you, it makes a difference.”

“It reminds me of you when you are not there.”

There was no reason to treat her as if she were afraid, he realized: this was Daisy. She was never afraid.

She was his wife, and she was adorable, incredibly desirable. He had never wanted anyone like this.

He was not about to explain why further proximity to Cordelia seemed like a bad idea.

Daisy…” He hesitated. “I’d like to ask you something.” When he said her name that way, she wanted to give him everything and anything he wanted.

“Daisy,” she heard James say; she felt his stele brush over her arm, the faint sting and then the numbness of healing runes being applied. “Daisy, my love, I’m so sorry—”

“I remember,” he said. “At the ball, the first time I really met you, you told me I was beautiful.