Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

by Cassandra Clare

“Kheili khoshgeli,” he said. He found the words easily: they were the first thing he’d taught himself to say in Persian, though he had never said them to his wife before. You are so beautiful.

“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,” James said. The two men glared at him.

“Then I’ll give you something else,” Magnus said decisively. “Water, with something more magical than mere fortified wine. How about you, Will?” “Certainly,” said Will, and James thought he still sounded lost in thought. “Bring on the potions.” 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.

Will is such a good dad brb crying

“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. He had never had a father, James realized.

And Will seemed to be thinking the same thing. “You really are the spitting image of your father, you know,” he said to Jesse. “Rupert. It’s a pity you never knew him. I’m sure he would have been proud of you.” Jesse looked as if he had actually grown taller. Lucie beamed over at him. Ah, James thought. This is not some sort of crush. She is truly in love with Jesse Blackthorn. How did I never guess any of this was happening?

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.

Dead

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.

There was a chorus of agreement; only Jesse did not join it. After a moment, when it was quiet again, he said, “Thank you. Thank you for doing this for me.” Magnus mimed raising a glass in his direction. “Jeremy Blackthorn,” he said. “Welcome, in advance, to the London Enclave.”

“We are not here just to forget,” Matthew said, “but also to remember that there are good and beautiful things in this world, always. And mistakes do not take them from us; nothing takes them from us. They are eternal.”

Due to the winter and the vanishing English sun, Alastair’s skin was a few shades lighter than usual, which made his eyelashes look even darker. They framed his black eyes like the petals of a flower. Petals of a flower? SHUT UP, THOMAS.

Oof Thomas is in love

“Come on, let’s go, shoma mitavanid tozieh bedid, che etefagi brayehe in ahmagha mioftad vagti ma mirim,” Alastair said. You can explain what’s going on with these idiots when we leave. Apparently it had slipped his mind that James had been learning Persian.

she was happy. I don’t recall anyone ever saying that about me when I went to Paris,” he added. “It is a dreadful chore, being the eldest.”

Periodt

Matthew looked over at him. As did Oscar, who seemed equally curious. “Yes?” “I don’t like girls,” Thomas said. “Well, I like them. They’re lovely people, and Cordelia and Lucie and Anna are excellent friends—” “Thomas,” said Matthew. “I am attracted to men,” said Thomas. “But not like you. Just men.” Matthew smiled at that. “I rather guessed,” he said. “I wasn’t sure. You could have told me earlier, Tom. Why would I ever have minded? It isn’t as if I was sitting about, waiting for you to write a handbook entitled How to Seduce Women.”

“Alastair, get in the carriage.” Her brother’s arms were folded, his look stormy. In a world of chaos, thought Cordelia, exasperated, at least some things remain consistent. “I don’t want to,” he said. “Nobody wants me at this harebrained confabulation anyway.”

Always the diva

“I want you to be nice in there,” she said sternly. “I don’t want to hear any comments about how the furniture is shabby and the bust of Apollo has its nose chipped.” Alastair arched one eyebrow. “My concern is never with the shabbiness of the furniture,” he said loftily, “but the shabbiness of the company.” Cordelia made a frustrated noise. “You are impossible,” she said, and swung the door open.

He looked Alastair up and down: Alastair was certainly not dressed like someone planning to attend a party. He was in shirtsleeves, his braces hanging down around his hips, his feet in slippers. He looked sulky and bitten-lipped and ferocious, like a Persian prince from a fairy tale. A Persian prince from a fairy tale? SHUT UP, THOMAS.

Thomas is down bad

“I love you,” Cordelia said. She had never said it to him before, and she sensed somehow now was not the time for flowery phrases or shy deflections. He needed to know. “Asheghetam. I love you. I love you. Without you, I cannot breathe.”

There was wonder in his eyes as he looked at her. “If it were not for you, my Daisy, I would have belonged to Belial long ago. For there is no one else in this world, my most beautiful, maddening, adorable wife, that I could ever have loved half as much as I have loved you. My heart beats for you,” he said. “Only ever 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.” “A mistake anyone could make,” said Jesse. “Thank you, Jesse,” said Will.

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.”

Thomas stepped forward to clip Oscar’s leash back on. “Good boy,” he said, rubbing Oscar gently behind the ears. “You did exactly what you were meant to do.” “Who would have thought Matthew Fairchild’s dog would be so well trained?” Alastair said. “I assumed Oscar lived a life of dissipated debauchery at the Hell Ruelle.”

You would be the one to take the bigger risks, to fight the harder fights. And I would be the one who would watch you, again and again, walk into danger. And I hated that thought.” “Alastair…” He held up his hand. “I should have told you that. A long time ago.” His voice carried the weight of a thousand emotions: resignation, loss, anger—and hope. “I know I cannot fight beside you, Layla. I only make one request. Be careful with your life. Not only for your own sake, but for mine.”

But in the middle of the page was a note in a slightly crabbed hand: 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.

“It is easy to confuse monstrousness and power,” said Cordelia. “Especially when one is a woman, as one is not supposed to possess either quality. But you, Lucie—you have a great power, but it is not monstrous, because you are not monstrous. You have used your ability for good. To help Jesse, to get us to Edom. When you saved me from the Thames. When you comfort the dead.”

“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 thrust the notebook toward her. “I can’t hide it from you,” she said, looking woebegone. “I wrote such terrible things.” “Perhaps I oughtn’t read it then,” Cordelia said, with some trepidation, but the look on Lucie’s face made her flip the notebook open hastily. Oh, dear, she thought, and began to read.

Lucie is so Will and Tessa's daughter

The wicked Queen Cordelia tossed her long, easily managed scarlet hair. She wore a gown of gold and silver thread, and a massive diamond necklace that rested atop her large and treacherous bosoms.

The fact that both James and Lucie talk about Cordelia's bosom has me dead. Proof that Lucie and James are siblings

“Oh, Lucie—I have never—read anything so funny—” “Really?” Lucie looked amazed. “I do have to ask something,” Cordelia said, tapping the page with her finger. “Why are my, er, the Wicked Queen’s bosoms so enormous?” “Well they are,” Lucie explained. “Not like me. I look like a little boy. I always wanted to have a figure like yours, Daisy.” “And I,” said Cordelia, “always wanted to be dainty and delicate like you, Luce.” She started to giggle again. “The International Council of Sword

Girlhood

“I suppose you might as well give it back now.” Cordelia whipped the notebook away. “You can’t be serious,” she said. “I am simply dying to find out what happens to Princess Lucie in the dungeon. 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.

that you wish I would treat myself as I deserve to be treated. The thing is, that’s exactly what I was doing. I was denying myself the thing I wanted more than anything else in the world because I didn’t believe I deserved it.” Thomas could stand it no longer. He opened his eyes and saw Alastair—tired, rumple-haired, shadow-eyed—staring down at him. “Deserved what?” Thomas whispered. “Deserved you,” Alastair said, and shook his head. “Of course—of course you were pretending to be asleep—”

he added in a quieter voice. “I desire you with an ardor that frightens me.”

Giving Jane Austen

“I didn’t know it—I hoped, but I wasn’t sure—” “Kheli asheghetam,” Thomas whispered, and heard Alastair suck in his breath. “I love you. Let me love you,” he said,

The boys learning Persian for the Carstairs siblings have me down bad

Belial sneered. “She will not touch me with her foul blade,” he said. “For I will be possessing you—and for her to harm me, she would have to end your life. Which she will not do. Women,” he added, “are notoriously sentimental.” “Wonderful,” Matthew muttered. “Advice about human women from a Prince of Hell.”

“Throw me the sword, Blackthorn!” Jesse wrenched his gaze away from the Chimeras—and stared in amazement. Halfway up the War Memorial was Bridget, wearing a flowered dress and an apron, her red curls flying, her face blazing with fury. “I knew it!” Jesse yelled, “I knew you were still in London! But how? How did you escape Belial’s enchantment?” “No one tells me what to do!” Bridget shouted back. “The sword!”

She looked at him—covered in blood and dirt and healing runes, with the dust of Edom still caught in his lashes. She thought of all the things she’d wanted to say, about how it was over and they were safe, and she had never thought it was possible to love someone so much as she loved him. But he spoke first. His voice was rough, his eyes shining. “Daisy,” he said. “You believed in me.” “Of course I did,” she replied, and she realized as she spoke the words that that was all she really needed to say. “I always will.”

And the young were resilient. Even after all she had been through today, Cordelia had wept with happiness when she found out she had a little brother now: his name was Zachary Arash Carstairs. Sona would be arriving the next morning, bringing the baby with her, and neither Cordelia nor Alastair could wait to meet him.

Lucie clapped her hands loudly. “Now that you have a parabatai,” she said, “you will never need to keep secrets again! At least not from me,” she added. “You can keep secrets from the rest of these heathens here, if you like.”

“Lucie, dear,” said Anna. “Don’t give Cordelia terrible advice. We all want to hear what she has to say, no matter how scandalous. In fact, especially if it’s scandalous.” She grinned lazily. “Anna,” Matthew said, in a mock-serious tone, “is it not your turn now? What will you be contributing?” Anna sketched a wave on the air. “Nothing. I like everything I have and I approve of everything I’ve done.”

Alastair now seemed to feel free to express the love and affection for his friends and family he had always tamped down and hidden away. He had truly astonished Sona and Cordelia with the attention he paid to his new baby brother. As long as Alastair was there, Zachary Arash never needed to fear being alone for a second:

He rarely came home from a day out without a rattle or a toy to keep the baby entertained. One night after dinner at Cornwall Gardens, Cordelia had passed the drawing room in her mother’s house and seen Alastair sitting on the sofa with the baby—a swaddled mass of blankets with two pink fists visible, waving as Alastair sang, in a low voice, a Persian melody Cordelia half remembered: You are the moon in the sky, and I am the star that circles around you. It was a song their father had sung to them when they were very small. How things came full circle, Cordelia could not help but think, in the last ways one would expect.

Cool crying on how sweet this is

“I will not trust a Shadowhunter again,” he said, and without another glance at her, walked away.

no amount of complaining on Lucie’s part would budge Will. “I’m sure you and Mother got up to all sorts of scandalous things when you lived together in the Institute,” Lucie had said. “Exactly,” Will replied darkly. Tessa had laughed. “Maybe when you’re engaged, we can loosen the rules,” she said cheerfully.

“I do not see,” Alastair said as Oscar deposited a stick at his feet, “why this hound here got a medal. None of the rest of us got a medal.” “Well, it isn’t an official medal,” said Thomas, dropping to his knees in the grass to rub Oscar’s head and muddle his ears about. “You do know that.” “The Consul presented it,” Alastair said, kneeling down as well. He caught at the little medallion attached to Oscar’s collar.

Best boy

OSCAR WILDE, HERO DOG. Charlotte had presented it to Matthew, saying that as far as she was concerned, Oscar had done as much as any human to save London.

Everyone had looked at him, Sophie’s knitting needles arrested in mid-motion. “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.” Eugenia had tossed her book to the floor. Rising to her feet, she regarded her parents—the whole room, in fact, even the cat asleep by the window—with a magnificent righteousness. “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.”

Ally

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.” Thomas had exhaled in relief. Eugenia had looked slightly deflated. “No?” “No,” Gideon had said firmly. Sophie looked at Thomas, her eyes full of affection. “Thomas, my darling, we love you and we want you to be happy. If Alastair makes you happy, then we are delighted. Although it would be nice if you introduced us,” she added pointedly. “Perhaps you could bring him to dinner?” Eugenia might feel let down, but Thomas didn’t. He had always known his parents loved him, but knowing that they loved the whole truth of him felt like putting down something very heavy that he’d been carrying for a long time, without realizing the weight of it.

“Thank the Angel you told us,” she said. “We always knew something had happened, but we did not know what. Not only did we lose that child, but we lost another child—you. You grew further and further away from us, and we could not get you back.”

“But it was a mistake,” Charlotte had said firmly. “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.” Matthew had goggled. It had, James had said at the time, been a day of many revelations.

“I don’t think I realized—until you sent the Merry Thieves to me at my lowest point—how much I would need someone in my life who would see the truth of me and offer me kindness, even though I had not asked for it. Even when I felt I did not deserve it. And when I travel the seas with Oscar, every time I set eyes upon a new land, I will think of you and of that kindness. I will always carry it with me, and the knowledge that it is the gifts we did not have the strength to ask for that matter the most.”

James, his dark hair wildly untidy, coming toward them across the grass. He held a stack of charred paper in his hand. “I have just,” he said, by way of greeting, “received a seventh fire-message from my father.” He shuffled through the pages. “In this one, he says they are running late and they are ten minutes away. In this one, they are nine minutes away. In this one, they are eight minutes away. In this one…” “They are seven minutes away?” Matthew guessed. James shook his head. “No, in this one he wants to know if we have enough mustard.” “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.”