Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

by Cassandra Clare

Charles looked stunned. “Christopher is dead? Little Kit?” and for that moment he sounded not like the temporary head of the Institute, or Bridgestock’s pawn. He sounded a bit like Alastair did sometimes, as if he still thought of his little sibling as a child. As if Matthew’s friends too were children in his mind, Christopher only a little boy, looking up at him with bright and trusting eyes.

He was the last of the Merry Thieves left in this world, Cordelia realized with a dull horror. The last of four. If they did not get James and Matthew back somehow, he would always be alone.

“You shouldn’t have come, Math.” Matthew coughed again. “Whither thou goest,” he said. James picked up a jagged black pebble and threw it at a wall, where it made an unsatisfying plink. “Not if you’re following me into death.” “I think you’ll find it’s especially when I’m following you into death. ‘And naught but death part thee and me.’ No exceptions for demon dimensions.” But there’s nothing you can do to help, James thought, and But Belial will kill you if it amuses him, and I will have to watch.

“I know there’s no point to it. But I’ll feel ridiculous if I don’t even try to search for a way out of here.” “I won’t judge,” said Matthew. “I admire a pointless heroic quest.”

Matthew looked at him, his green eyes steady. “Good,” he said, and put his hand over James’s, where it rested on his heart. “It’s good to have faith.”

“ ’Course not,” said Stymphalia. “It’s my bloody great wings, innit?” It flapped them proudly. “The bird-demon sounds like a Londoner,” Matthew observed. “Spent some time in London,” acknowledged the bird-demon. “Back in the day. Ate a few Romans. Delicious, they were.”

“Yes, yes,” said Belial. “Everyone loves London. Tea, crumpets, Buckingham Palace. If we may return to the matter at hand, James—agree to be possessed by me, and I will send him back to your people unharmed.” He pointed at Matthew. “No,” Matthew said. “I didn’t come here to abandon James to his fate. I came to save him from it.” “Good for you,” said Belial, sounding bored. “James, you must know this is the best thing for everyone. I don’t want to have to resort to violence.” “Of course you do,” James said. “You love resorting to violence.”

“That seems true,” said Matthew. “I only agreed to come,” put in Stymphalia, “because I thoug...

“And you are the other half of my soul, my parabatai; how could I not guess?”

Then Matthew sat up a little straighter and said, “Bloody convincing Herondales.” He tipped his head back, staring up at the strange triple moon. “All right. I’ll tell you what happened.”

Inside they found Thomas, who was sitting at the end of one of the beds, and Alastair, who was standing between him and the door. Thomas was glowering. “You cannot make me stay here.” “I can,” Alastair said with feeling. “I will. I shall sit on you if necessary.”

Anna’s eyebrows went up. “Well, I don’t wish to overstate our position, but that seems… like good news? Rather unexpectedly?” “It is hard to think of a downside,” Alastair said reluctantly. “And I have tried.”

Alastair waved his hand. “Yes, yes. It has been Roman and Saxon and now it will be demon. It has survived plague and pestilence and fire—”

“You are the most devilishly clever schemer.” Anna smiled. “It’s because you bring out the best in me, darling.”

“I’ve made many bad decisions. None of them have ever had consequences like this.” “Because,” said James, “you ensure that the worst results of your decisions always fall upon yourself.” Matthew was silent for a moment. “I suppose that’s true,” he said.

“You can’t do this all night.” “Watch me,”

If you are reading this, this is the first Fire-Message that has been sent with success. It has been written by Grace Blackthorn and invented by Christopher Lightwood.

“I can believe anything at the moment,” Alastair said. And madly, insanely, under the crackling black sky of possessed London, they grinned at each other as if neither of them had ever been more delighted in their lives.

“Oh, Daisy. I’ve done a dreadful thing.” “Really?” Cordelia was bewildered. “What kind of dreadful thing? It can’t be that bad.” “It is,” Lucie wailed, and reached for her rucksack. As she rummaged in it, she said tearfully, “I stopped writing The Beautiful Cordelia. I was too angry—” “That’s all right—” “No, you don’t understand.” Lucie pulled a small notebook out of her pack. “I started writing a new book. The Wicked Queen Cordelia.” “And you brought it with you?” Cordelia was astonished. “To Edom?” “Of course,” said Lucie. “You can’t just leave an unfinished manuscript behind. What if I had an idea?” “Well,” said Cordelia. “I mean. Clearly.” Lucie

Should I read aloud? Will there be another mention of my bosoms?” “Several,” Lucie admitted, and for the first time in many long centuries, under the harsh glow of three moons, the sound of simple human laughter drifted across the plains of Edom.

“Of course—of course you were pretending to be asleep—” “Would you have said all those things if I was awake?”

“I thought you were feeling optimistic.” “It passed,”

“Now, I know what you’re thinking,” Belial said in a singsong voice, as if he were teaching a history lesson to a small child. “The king of England can only be crowned by the archbishop of Canterbury.” “That,” said James, “is not what I was thinking.”

There was a great deal about how angry the Council had been when they’d realized Anna and the others had remained behind in London, which did not bother Anna, and that both Aunt Tessa and Uncle Will had cried when they realized that James and Lucie were trapped in London, which did.

“Oh, yes,” Eugenia said. “He fancies men. As if that ought to matter, but I suppose it does to some people.” She sighed. “Poor Charles. Matthew always was the braver of the two of them, though no one could see it.”

His silver eyes were wide and confused and full of a fear so complete it was nearly innocence. “I cannot die,” he said, wiping the blood from his mouth. “I don’t know how to die.” “Nor does anyone living,” said Cordelia. “I suppose you will learn like the rest.”

“Father?” he said.

Let him be the effigy atop the tomb of a knight, she thought; let him be that warrior.

Matthew’s whole being seemed focused on James—which, Cordelia thought, was as it should be.

Jesse heard someone swearing loudly and was almost entirely sure it was Will.

Anna’s waistcoat had rose stripes to match Ari’s dress, Cordelia noticed—Anna had taken to matching bits of her outfits to what Ari was wearing, which for Anna was a commitment more serious than marriage runes.

The Home Mark, which was permanent, had been given to him by Will, who had also presented him with the gift of a stele that had once belonged to Will’s father (and had now been modified to create fire-messages, as all current steles were).

“Because the Consul is the mother of the dog’s owner,” pointed out Thomas, trying—and failing—to prevent Oscar from licking his face. “Terrible favoritism,” Alastair said.

“I am in love with Alastair Carstairs,” Thomas had said loudly and slowly, so there could be no mistake, “and I am going to spend the rest of my life with him.” There had been a momentary silence. “I didn’t think you even liked Alastair,” Gideon had said, looking puzzled. “Not much, at least.”

“If anyone here condemns Thomas for who he is or who he loves,” she had announced, “he and I will leave this house immediately. I will reside with him and renounce the rest of you as my family.”

Thomas was wondering in alarm how he would explain this business of Eugenia residing with him to Alastair, when Sophie put down her reading glasses with a click. “Eugenia,” she had said, “do not be ridiculous. No one here is going to condemn Thomas.”

“It does not change our love for you one iota. And it is truly a gift that you are telling us now”—she had exchanged a look with Henry that James had described as “treacly”—“because we have something to share with you, as well. Matthew, I am going to have another baby.”

“What would he have done if we didn’t?” Cordelia wondered. “The Angel only knows,” James said. “He certainly won’t be happy about all these ducks.”

He grinned at Matthew, who looked back at him in that way he had that seemed to convey everything about how he loved James: that their friendship was both very silly and terribly serious all at once.

We have been in the crucible, and come out as gold.”

Side by side with James, Cordelia ran.