Chain of Iron (The Last Hours, #2)

by Cassandra Clare

The nature of the corset, Cordelia thought irritably, was to make a woman aware of every minute way that her shape differed from society’s impossible ideal.

“Why,” he said, “are you not even wearing a hat?” “And cover up this hair?” Matthew indicated his golden locks with a flourish. “Would you blot out the sun?”

Matthew Fairchild I have missed you terribly.

“I feel I am ever apologizing for Alastair. Last week he made the milkman cry.” Matthew handed her up to the carriage seat. “Never apologize for Alastair to me. He provides me an adversary to sharpen my wits on.”

Look, Alastair was wrong, ok? But he is CHANGING and I am here for the glow up arc.

“Kit almost blew off Thomas’s eyebrows with the latest experiment. He says he’s close to making gunpowder ignite even in the presence of runes, but Thomas has no eyebrows left to give to the cause of science.”

Cordelia chuckled. “You always do find the most decadent possible solution to any problem.” “I believe that decadence is a valuable perspective that should always be considered.”

“Matthew has a habit of getting his heart broken. He seems to prefer a hopeless love.”

it is only perhaps that we worry that you are too honest—too good, and goodness can be a blade sharp enough to cut, you know, just as much as evil intent.”

James drew back enough to smooth Matthew’s hair away from his forehead. “Have you wished me gone?” he said teasingly. “No. Only I wish myself gone, sometimes,” Matthew said in a whisper, and it was that rarest of things where Matthew was concerned, an entirely true statement with no mockery or teasing or humor to be had.

It is too early for me to be dealing with Matthew Fairchild's trauma. I can't. I simply can't.

“Good night, my dear! Tomorrow I will be your suggenes! We will be sisters.” Cordelia looked momentarily anxious. “Only for a year.” “No,” Lucie said firmly. “Whatever happens, we will always be sisters.”

Lucie Herondale - Official Cinnamon Roll

“A penny is very little,” she said, keeping her voice light with an effort. “My thoughts are most interesting and should require a greater outlay of cash.” “Pity I’m stony broke,” he said, indicating his empty pockets.

“Will you train me, too?” Grace said, in a rush, and her brother broke into a smile that made her burst into tears, overwhelmed by the sudden feeling of being cared for. Of being cared about. Of belonging to something larger than herself.

Oof. Tragic backstory unlocked.

‘He’s indeed very dashing, but you must not forget your own heroism.’ So all will be well. Only do not forget your own heroism.”

“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.”

Be still my Wessa heart. Will Herondale, we do not deserve you.

I owe Cordelia a better performance than this, James thought. Oddly, the thought of Daisy strengthened him: he forgot sometimes, it was Daisy he was marrying, Daisy with her light laugh, her gentle, familiar touch, her surprising strength. It was not some stranger.

I ship these two fools who love each other SO HARD. Daisy really does hold the brain cell though.

“Well, you know what they say,” said James. “All the best men are either married or Silent Brothers.”

“I owe you nothing.” “I’m not sure that’s true,” Matthew said. “If nothing else, you owe me for the pain you have put my parabatai through.”

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. “By the Angel, she is brave,” he heard Matthew murmur, and he could not help but agree:

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.

To give of our hearts, to let them be filled and filled again with the love that consecrates us all. To love one another is to come as close as we ever can to being angels ourselves.”

“Hast thou gone among the streets of the city and the watchmen there, and found the one thy soul loves?” Cordelia heard Lucie catch her breath. She didn’t release it until James responded in a firm, clear voice that echoed through the chapel. “I have,” he said, then seemed slightly startled, as if surprised at the strength of his own conviction. “And I will not let her go.”

“You may now kiss,” said Charlotte cheerfully. Cordelia stared at James, openmouthed. He looked just as surprised; it seemed they had both forgotten that this would be part of the ceremony.

Only these two would forget that kissing was part of their fake wedding. I love them.

His hand cupped her cheek, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth. “We’ve come this far,” he whispered. “Don’t back out on me now.” She raised her chin, her lips grazing his. He was smiling. “I would never,” she began indignantly, but he was already kissing her. She felt the kiss, and the smile it carried, all the way down through her body and her bones. Helplessly, she caught at him, holding his shoulders. Though he kept his mouth decorously closed, his lips were incredibly soft, so soft and so warm against hers that she had to bite back a soft moan.

SCREAMING. CRYING.

“It’s my understanding,” Cordelia said, “that the question is never whether you know Magnus Bane. The question is always whether Magnus Bane knows you.”

Magnus, as if sensing the advent of an awkward situation, excused himself and slipped away smoothly into the crowd.

Same Magnus. Same.

“How can I make amends for my past when no one will let me?” When James replied, there was real kindness in his voice. “You must give people time, Alastair,” he said. “We are none of us perfect, and no one expects perfection. But when you have hurt people, you must allow them their anger. Otherwise it will only become another thing you have tried to take away.”

All day, she had played a part. All she wanted was to be at home, whatever that meant now. And if home meant James, well then, she could no longer pretend to herself that it was something she did not want. “Let’s go home, James,” she said. “Take me home.”

“I’m glad you told me the truth. Alastair—he has always been his own worst enemy, seemingly determined to ruin his own life.” “His life’s not ruined,” James said. “I believe in forgiveness, you know. In grace. Even for the worst things we do.”

The teasing and laughter after was often the best part; Cordelia had loved James as a friend before she’d ever loved him another way, and this was when she was reminded why.

“We have talked so much of travel,” James said. “I wanted to give you the world.”

James. You can't do things like this. My heart simply cannot take it.

“Most people are boring,” said Matthew. “Being married or not has little to do with it.”

“You mean is anyone a murderer?” Matthew turned her in a swift circle: the dozens of candles seemed to blur into a stream of light all around them. “I am.”

MATTHEW. NO.

We cannot know all things.” “I, for instance,” said Matthew, “know very little.”

“I didn’t want to trouble you,” Matthew said, with uncharacteristic shyness. “Nothing you do troubles me,” said James.

“I ought to be alone—settle myself—” “No one need be alone to settle themselves,” said James quietly. “All I want for you, Math, is that you love yourself as much as I love you.”

What does that say about me?” “That love is complicated,” said Cordelia. “That it lies beside anger and hatred, because only those we truly love can truly disappoint us.”

I agree with him, by the way: that sword can’t un-choose you and it has no reason to do so. Probably it’s broken.” “It’s a mythical sword. It can’t be broken.”

That was something more than friendship, and besides, friendship did not make you want to seize someone the moment you saw them and ravage them with kisses.

“I believe what he means to say is that it cannot be the responsibility of one’s friends to prevent one from doing something one believes is right,” he said. “It is, however, the job of one’s friends to rescue one from the consequences of one’s actions when it all goes skew-whiff.”

“At the ball, the first time I really met you, you told me I was beautiful. That held me for quite a long time, you know. I am very vain. I didn’t love you then, I don’t think, though I recall thinking how fine you looked when your eyes blazed with anger. And then at the Hell Ruelle, when you danced, and proved yourself braver than all the rest of us combined, I knew it for sure. But love is not always a lightning bolt, is it? Sometimes it is a creeping vine. It grows slowly until suddenly it is all that there is in the world.”