Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

by Cassandra Clare

But we will put it together, regardless.” He glanced at Will. “Well, I shall; I can’t promise anything for your father. He’s always been slow.” “But I have never worn a Russian hat with fur earflaps,” said Will, “unlike some individuals currently present.” “Mistakes have been made on all sides,” said Magnus. “James?” “I do not own an earflap hat,”

“Who’s a pretty bird?” Ariadne Bridgestock said. Winston the parrot narrowed his eyes at her. He offered no opinion on who might or might not be a pretty bird.

That night James slept like the dead, and if his father rose in the middle of the night to check on him as if he were a small boy, if Will sat beside him on his bed and sang to him in rusty Welsh, James did not remember it when he woke up.

“Not at all. I will do the gentlemanly thing, and hit myself with the poker, and you can explain the resultant carnage to Malcolm when he returns.”

“Oh, dear,” Magnus muttered. This struck James as an understatement.

“Does he speak?” Jesse raised his eyebrows. “Oh, right,” Magnus said, and snapped his fingers again. “No more Silence spell. Proceed.” “I speak,” Jesse said calmly, “when I have something to say.” “Interesting,” Magnus murmured. “Does he bleed?” “Oh no,” said Lucie. “Don’t encourage my father. Papa, don’t you dare—”

“Enough sentimentality,” he said, obviously wishing to forestall Will, who looked as if he were considering leaping up and folding Jesse into a fatherly embrace.

“I am somewhat insulted,” Magnus said, “that you went to Malcolm Fade to seek his advice on what to do about Jesse, and did not come to me. Usually I am the warlock you annoy first, and I consider that a proud tradition.”

“You saved my son’s life,” said Will. “And my daughter trusts you. That’s good enough for me.” He held out a hand to Jesse to shake. “I apologize for having doubted you, son.” At that last word, Jesse lit up like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

“Thought we’d pop by, Malcolm,” said Magnus airily. Malcolm looked as if he wanted nothing more than to flee through the night, winding up in the morning perhaps in Rio de Janeiro or some other far-flung locale. Instead he sighed and resorted to the last bulwark of an Englishman under stress. “Tea?” he suggested.

Yet when she speaks of what was done to you, my silent heart cries out: this was wrong, it was always wrong. You love as your father loves: wholly, without conditions or hesitancy. To use that as a weapon is blasphemy.

It was possible that Alastair wanted something translated into Spanish, or needed a very tall person’s opinion on a matter. (Though Thomas could not imagine why this would be the case.)

Dear Alastair, why are you so stupid I brush my teeth don’t tell anyone —Thomas “I don’t know why you don’t want anyone to know you brush your teeth,” Alastair added, “but I will, of course, keep this news in strictest confidence.” Thomas was torn between a feeling of terrible humiliation and a strange excitement.

“So true,” said James. He was pleased to realize that as low as he felt, he could still wind his sister up. “Halcyon memories of a golden past.”

He rather bristled at the thought, in an older-brother way—James didn’t seem to be here, so someone had to do the bristling for him.

“Never,” said Will. “My faith in you is unshakable, Magnus. Which is good,” he added, rocking back and forth a little, “because the rest of me feels quite shaken indeed.”

But it seemed that one could not change oneself by changing one’s place, as much as one might dream of it; neither of them had left their troubles behind.

“How nice that Charles has found someone new to adopt him,” said Matthew.

“What happened to the horse?” said Matthew. “Ran off,” said Will. “Probably back to the Adamant Citadel. Horses have sense. Balios would never have put up with that nonsense going on.”

“Whatever else happens, don’t hate me, James. Please. I don’t think I could bear it.” James wanted to close his eyes. He knew that behind them he would see two boys running across a green lawn in Idris, one fair-haired and one dark. “I could never hate you, Math.” As Matthew went to join his brother, leaving James alone on the steps, James thought, I could never hate you, for all my hate is reserved for myself. I have none left over for anyone else.

“I don’t really like James,” he added, “but on the other hand, I also don’t like Matthew very much. So you see, I am torn.” “Well, this must be very difficult for you,”

“Christopher,” said James calmly. “Where is Thomas?” Christopher’s ears turned pink. “He went to talk to Matthew.” “I see,” James said. “You got me, and Thomas got Math. The better for wheedling information out of at least one of us.”

“And I shall send a bevy of my new fire-messages to everyone coming to the meeting,” Christopher said, excited. “No!” James protested, and then, as Christopher blinked worriedly, he said, “We can just send runners.” “And fire-messages,” said Christopher. James sighed. “All right. I shall notify the runners. And the fire brigade.”

“Let me guess,” he said. “Christopher was assigned to James, and you assigned to me.” “Not at all,” Thomas protested. Matthew raised an eyebrow. “All right, yes.” He sat next to Matthew on the floor. “We drew straws.” “You lost, I suppose.”

“We’ll work it out,” he said. “All our troubles. We’re still the Merry Thieves.” “That’s true,” Matthew said. After a long silence, he said, “I probably need to stop drinking so much.” Thomas nodded, staring into the blazing fire. “That, also, is true.”

Matthew seemed to flinch. Anna thought with a pang of the time when the Fairchilds had been one of the closest families she knew, before Charles had grown so cold, before Matthew had become so sad.

Will’s eyes lit up. “My goodness. We have a call.” Tessa looked puzzled. “A call?” “A call!” confirmed Will. “On the telephone. Bring it in, Bridget.”

Will was already hanging up. Without another word, he bent to kiss Tessa, who looked as astonished as everyone else, and walked out of the room. To contact Jem, of course; James did not have to wonder. He knew his father.

James had been raised by Will, whose central tenet in life was that he would have been dead in a ditch at age fourteen had it not been for Jem.

One finds beauty in the darkest of places, and Lucifer was the most beautiful of all Heaven’s angels, once.”

“if you die, I will die, and I will haunt you. I will give you no peace—”

“Are we really going to discuss it?” Jesse said. “Or are you just going to go ahead and use the mirror?” James looked at Jesse over his shoulder. “And here you were worried about fitting into the London Enclave.” Despite himself, despite everything, he felt himself smile. “It’s like you’ve known us for years.”

“It’s one of my favorite parts of the Christmas party, you know,” she said. “What is?” asked Tessa. “The part when you do my hair beforehand,”

“What are you doing here?” said Thomas indignantly. Alastair looked at him with his dark eyebrows peaked. “I live here,” he pointed out. “Thomas, have you brought me a fruit basket?” “No,” Thomas said crossly. He knew it was unfair, but he could not help but feel Alastair had played a sort of trick on him by being home when Thomas had not expected it.

“If you don’t go, I won’t go either. I will stay home, and mice will nibble on me in my despair.” Alastair blinked. “There’s no reason for that,” he said. “You’ve got every reason to go—” “But I won’t,” Thomas said. “I will remain at home, despairing, being nibbled upon by mice. It’s your choice.”

“But look at his eyes.” She sighed, as if Jesse were not, in fact, present. “Couldn’t you just die? Isn’t he divine?” “Excruciatingly so,” said James. “Sometimes it pains me just to gaze upon him.” Jesse shot him a dark look.

“I’ve known you a long time, Matthew,” said James. “You were witty and charming long before you began drinking. You will be witty and charming again. It’s too much to ask it of yourself at this very moment.”

Matthew looked at him. “James,” he said. “Do you know when I started drinking?” And James realized: he did not. He had not seen it, because of the bracelet; he had not felt the changes in Matthew, and then it had seemed too late to inquire.

“Would you like me to do something about it?” Thomas said.

You keep me human, Tom.”

“No one says that. What they say is that I am the handsomer one.” “That,” said Matthew, “is also clearly untrue.” “And the better dancer.” “James, this terrible habit of lying seems to have come on you suddenly. I am concerned, very concerned—”

“He thinks it would ruin his political career,” said Alastair. “He is meant to be the next Consul. I don’t know if you knew that.” “I, for one, hadn’t heard,” said Matthew dryly.

I would do anything to spare Matthew pain. I would cut my own hands off if it would help.” “It would be dramatic, but unhelpful,”

“It’s why I came. I can’t leave Thomas alone in close quarters with Charles. There’s no telling how unpleasant Charles will decide to be to him, and Thomas is too good-natured to—” He stopped and glared. “Cease looking at me like that.”

“You have been terribly strong,” he said, “enduring this, all alone, for so long. Let us help you leave anger and bitterness in the past. For if we don’t do that, if we are consumed by the need to pay Grace back for what she has done, then how are we any different from Tatiana?” “Bloody Kit,” said Matthew. “When did you get to be so insightful? I

Alastair dropped his book with a thump. “I had a feeling you were going to do something like that.” “So you didn’t just come in here to read a book about”—Matthew stared—“sixteenth-century warlock burnings? Ugh.” “I did not,” said Alastair. “I chose it randomly from the shelves. What a pity so many books are filled with terrible things.”

You can dance with anyone you wish, man, woman, or other, at your salons and your clubs and your orgies.” “You attend orgies?” Thomas said to Matthew. “Don’t I wish,” murmured Matthew.

“We all understand,” Thomas said forcefully. “Myself as well. I’m like you, you idiot. I always have been.

Tatiana Blackthorn, I renounce you.

“But,” Thomas said, dazed, “if I’d been there—” “You might be dead too.” Matthew stood up. “And then I would have to live with not just a quarter of my heart cut out, but half of it gone. We were glad you were somewhere else, Thomas. You were out of danger.” He turned to Alastair, his green eyes bright with unshed tears. “Don’t just stand there, Carstairs,” he said. “It isn’t me Thomas needs now. It’s you.”