Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

by Cassandra Clare

“I shall amuse you with a tale, then,” said Will. “The tale of my hellride with Balios from London to Cadair Idris, in Wales. Your mother, James, was missing—kidnapped by the miscreant Mortmain.

can’t believe you haven’t heard this story before, James,” said Magnus mildly.

“I haven’t,” said James. “Not since last Thursday.”

James leaned his head against the carriage window. The scenery had turned dramatic—cliffs fell away to their left, and below was the uproar of pounding surf, waves of gunmetal ocean smashing against the rocks that reached knobbled fingers far out into the gray-blue sea. In the distance, he saw a church atop a promontory, silhouetted against the sky, its gray steeple seeming somehow terribly lonely, terribly far from everything.

Is this the church emma and julian burnt down???

“You were calling for Cordelia,” Will said. “I have never heard anyone sound as if they were in such pain. Jamie, you must talk to us.”

James, you don’t need to tell us what you know. 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.”

He gazed at the fire as though he could read something in the dance of its flames. “I have waited a hundred years. Time is not the same for me as it is for a mortal, especially one as young as you are. I will wait another hundred years, if I must.”

Malcolm you little witch

“Madame Dorothea is a medium,”

EXCUSE ME. She is ancient

“Well,” said Magnus, folding his arms, “you did take a Shadowhunter child to a secret location without her parents’ knowledge. That’s frowned on. Oh, and you stole the corpse of a Shadowhunter. I’m pretty sure that’s frowned upon as well.” “Et tu, Magnus?” Malcolm said. “Have you no solidarity with your fellow warlocks?” “Not when they kidnap children, no,” said Magnus dryly.

Bro does it again but worse 100 years later

It is not easy for me, Jem said. His expression had not changed, but his pale hands moved, knotting together. I know I must listen dispassionately to Grace’s testimony. 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.

No wonder Cordelia doesn’t want you.

I-

“Don’t.” The agony in his voice made her look up. “Don’t talk about hurting yourself. What wounds you wounds me. I love you, Daisy, I—”

She blinked for a moment, her eyes adjusting to the new illumination. Someone had switched on the Tiffany lamp in the reading corner. Someone who was sitting in the plush velvet armchair beneath the lamp, someone in a black traveling suit, pale face a smudge of white between his shirt and his crow-black hair. Someone with eyes the color of lamplight and fire. James.

told you it would work!” Will cried in Magnus’s direction. Magnus was busy magicking the unfastened baggage to the top of the steps, blue sparks darting like fireflies from his gloved fingertips. “We should have done that on the way out!” “You did not say it would work,” Magnus said. “You said, as I recall, ‘By the Angel, he’s going to kill us all.’ ”

“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.”

“Your devotion to family is admirable,” Alastair said dryly. “I’m sure it is unrelated to your having just run off to Paris with your husband’s parabatai.”

“You’re still married.” Lucie was shaking her head. “And—I don’t believe you.” “Then you’re calling me a liar. And perhaps that is the distance between us. It is the same as the distance between myself and James. It has a name: Grace Blackthorn.”

Dayummmmm

“It’s not that,” Jesse said. “I was only going to say—you might as well look through my house, because I’ve been in all of yours.”

“I don’t want to have an argument at all,” said Cordelia. “I want—” She sighed. “I want you to stop drinking,” she said. “I want you to tell your family the truth about what happened two years ago. I want you to reconcile with your parents, and with James. I want you to be brilliant and wonderful, which you are, and happy, which you are not.”

James doubted Matthew was concerned about the other tenants, but he said nothing. Instead he got up, kicked off his shoes, and crawled onto the blanket with Matthew.

“Yes, and even heart failure, which is why he should not be alone.” Christopher blinked owlishly. “I cannot emphasize enough, Matthew. You must stop trying to do this on your own. Let us help you.”

Which was how they ended up sleeping curled on the eiderdown before the fire, like a litter of puppies. Matthew fell asleep almost immediately, and the others shortly after; James, back-to-back with Matthew, had not thought he would sleep, but the crackle of the logs in the fire and the soft breathing of the other Merry Thieves quieted him into an exhausted slumber. Only Oscar did not sleep: he padded a slight distance away and sat down, watching over them throughout the night.

Thomas bent over Matthew; he was fast asleep but breathing regularly, his hand clamped over James’s wrist.

I am SICK

“There is someone else,” she said, “who has been harmed greatly by my actions, through no fault of their own. Someone who deserves to know the truth.” She took a deep breath. “Cordelia. Cordelia Carstairs.”

Matthew raised his chin. There was a terrible look in his eyes, the sort of look her father had when he had lost a great deal at the gambling table. “Am I so hard to love?”

“Not true,” said Jesse quietly. “I have come to know them now. There is a truth much harsher. One I think you know. They have not tried to ruin you over all these years. They have not plotted your downfall. They have barely ever thought of you at all.”

“I think that you will be clever enough, when the choice is forced, to show your loyalty. Loyalty, after all, binds us.” James winced, and Cordelia recalled the engraving on the inside of the bracelet Grace had given him. Loyalty binds me.

Matthew hesitated a moment, and Thomas knew him well enough to read the look in his eyes: Because I do not deserve to have it be easy, because the suffering is part of the punishment.

Belial gave me this gift, this power. I can convince any man to do anything I like. But it didn’t work on James. The bracelet had to be invented to keep him in line. He and I were still friends when I gave it to him. I recall snapping it onto his wrist and seeing the light go out in his eyes. He was never the same again.

“You have to promise,” said Will, “not to shout when I tell you.” “Ah,” said James, “rather what you said to me when it turned out the puppy you bought me when I was nine was in fact a werewolf, and had to be returned, with apologies, to his family.”

James loves you, she had told Cordelia. He loves you with a force that cannot be turned aside, or broken, or made small or insignificant. For these past years Belial struggled against that force, and in the end he lost. And Belial is a power that can move the stars.

“Where do you think he is?” he said, and he did not have to explain which he they were speaking of. She curled her fingers around his, feeling immensely protective—of Matthew and of James in equal measure.

Herongraystairs 2.0

“It doesn’t matter,” Matthew said, and there was a sharp blade in his voice.

“But I am your parabatai,” said Matthew, and Cordelia realized the blade in his voice was set against himself. “I

“You attend orgies?” Thomas said to Matthew. “Don’t I wish,” murmured Matthew.

but Alastair caught hold of Thomas and pulled him close, his fingers cupping the back of Thomas’s neck. His eyes were wide, black, feverish. “I need to get out of here,” he said. “Come for a carriage ride with me. I have to breathe.” He leaned his forehead against Thomas’s. “Come with me, please. I need you.”

Morning was as dark as night. Sona took Cordelia’s hand. “You are grieving,” she said, “but you are a warrior. You have always been a warrior.” She looked over at Alastair, who stood by the window, gazing out at the blackened sky. “You will help her to do what is necessary.” “Yes,” Alastair said. “I will.”

“You shouldn’t have come, Math.” Matthew coughed again. “Whither thou goest,” he said.

“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

“Good for you,” said Belial, sounding bored.

This diva

Matthew hugged his arms around his knees. “The truth is, I do not know the person I will be when I am entirely sober. I do not know if I will even like that person myself, assuming I survive to meet him.”

mean,” said Alastair dryly, “I preferred when the shops were open. I miss buying hats.

“Your heart will always want that oblivion,” said James. “You will always have to fight it.” He laced his fingers through Matthew’s. “I will always help you.”

This is going to be quite the family tree. It will confuse scholars for decades.”

Good save Cassie

thought,” she whispered, “ghosts could only return if they had unfinished business. Are the fire-messages yours?” “I think,” he said, “that you are my unfinished business.”

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.

both Aunt Tessa and Uncle Will had cried when they realized that James and Lucie were trapped in London,

“They say angels weep,” said Cordelia. “But I suppose you’ve forgotten.” Belial narrowed his silver eyes.

“Stories,” Cordelia said, “are true.”

He looked at her. His eyes were still gold, and full of sorrow. “Daisy,” he said. And plunged the sword into his own heart.