Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

by Cassandra Clare

More than anything else, he wanted to pull her toward him, to crush his mouth to hers, to show her with lips and hands what words were inadequate to prove. He had fought Belial, he thought, had twice faced down a Prince of Hell, yet this was the hardest thing he had ever done: to nod, to back away from Cordelia, to leave her without another question or another word. He did it anyway.

“Christopher, apart from providing the reassurance of an authoritative male presence—” “What ho!” put in Christopher, looking pleased. “—is my little brother and must do what I say,” Anna finished.

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. They had only carried those troubles along with them.

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.

He thinks he would be bad for me. I think… in some way… he believes he does not deserve to be happy. Or perhaps it is that he is unhappy, and he believes it is a sort of contagion that might spread.”

“I understand that,” Matthew said, a little wonderingly. “How much love people have denied themselves through the ages because they believed they did not deserve it. As if the waste of love is not the greater tragedy.”

“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.”

Cordelia raised an eyebrow at him. “Thomas Lightwood,” he clarified, tugging on his scarf. “I didn’t think you meant Thomas Aquinas,” said Cordelia.

“I left him, Alastair,” she said. “Not the other way around.” “I know,” he said, “but sometimes we leave people to protect ourselves, don’t we? Not because we don’t want to be with them. Unless, of course,” he added, “you are in love with Matthew, in which case, you had better tell me now, and not spring it on me later. I’m braced, I think I can bear up.”

“I believe in thorough preparation,” Christopher said. “I had heard the term ‘paladin’ before, at the Academy, but only in passing. So I looked it up.” They all waited expectantly. “And then what happened?” Alastair demanded finally. “Or is that the entire story?”

“And who are you, exactly, to have anything to say about wisdom?” Anna said. “Your most recent idea was to run away to Paris with James’s wife.” “Ah, but I am already well known for having only terrible ideas, whereas you are regarded as possessing good judgment and common sense.” “Well, there you go,” said Anna. “If this was not a good idea, I would not be doing it, since I have only good ideas.”

Matthew wound a curl of his fair hair around his forefinger, a nervous gesture left over from childhood. “Did you know,” he said slowly, “that you were saying something she did not want to hear? Something you thought might cause her to cut you off? Even to—hate you?” “I knew,” Ariadne said. “Yet I would do it again. I am sure my mother is mourning the daughter that she never had. But if she loves me—and I believe she does—I think she must love the reality of me.”

“We are all flawed creatures. As diamonds are flawed, each distinct imperfection makes us unique.” “Perhaps I don’t wish to be unique,” Matthew said. “Perhaps I wish only to be happy and ordinary.”

I went after you the moment I knew you’d left. I didn’t wait until hurt pride settled in or anything like that. I realized you were leaving and I ran after you, because when someone you love is leaving, all you think about is getting them back.”

“Will!” Tessa said reproachfully. “What have I said?” Will looked chastened. “No ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ at the table.” Tessa patted his wrist. “That’s right.”

We all carry a light inside ourselves. It burns with the flame of our souls. But there are other people in our lives who add their own flames to ours, creating a brighter conflagration.” She glanced quickly at Ariadne, and then back at Cordelia. “James is special. He has always burned bright. But when he looks at you, his light blazes up like a bonfire.”

“I am not sure we choose who we love,” said Cordelia, turning toward the door. “I rather think love is something like a book written just for us, a sort of holy text it is given to us to interpret.”

“He did need clothes,” Cordelia agreed. “Nothing he had fit.” “Oh, no,” said James. “We are not chatting.

“Asheghetam. I love you. I love you. Without you, I cannot breathe.”

“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.”

“I adore discussing domestic details with you,” said James, and kissed the inside of her wrist, where her pulse beat. “Talk to me of locksmiths and grocery deliveries and what’s wrong with the second stove.”

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.

“I suppose,” Christopher said, “I have always thought everyone deserves a second chance. We are each given only one life. We cannot get another one. We must live with the mistakes we have made.”

“I am not saying these things because I am naive or foolish,” said Christopher. “Only because I do see things that are not in beakers and test tubes, you know. I see how hatred poisons the person who hates, not the person who is hated. If we treat Grace with the mercy she did not show James, and that was never shown to her, then what she did will have no power over us.” He looked at James. “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 thought you were only supposed to be good at putting the contents of one test tube into another test tube and saying, ‘Eureka!’ ” “That is most of it,” Christopher agreed.

“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 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.”

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.”

“We haven’t just popped round the corner shops,” Matthew said wearily, though without any rancor. “We’re in another world, James.” “I have faith,” James said. 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.”

On the way out, Thomas stopped in the kitchen to fetch a pitcher of water, and went to water the potted plants in the entryway. A show of faith, he thought, that the Fairchilds would return home. That despite Belial’s power, all would be right again eventually. He had to believe that.

“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 thought there might be violence.” “The birdie and the drunk are right,” Belial allowed.

I think you shared your secret with her; I think that is part of what has made you long for her. We so desperately want to be with those who know the truth of us. Our secrets.” “You guessed all this?” Matthew said, sounding a little amazed. “When I am not under a spell, I am surprisingly insightful,” James said dryly.

“Do you mean, you preferred London when it was not cut off from the rest of the world, or you preferred London when the mundanes were autonomous rather than puppeteered by a demon?” Thomas said politely. “I mean,” said Alastair dryly, “I preferred when the shops were open. I miss buying hats.

“I have learned,” Alastair said, “that when my sister sets her mind to something, there is little point in trying to stop her. And besides, what would I be stopping her for? So she could experience more of this?” He gestured around. “If she wants to die as a Shadowhunter, in battle, defending her family, I can’t deny her that.”

“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. “Your bad decision did have terrible, unforeseeable consequences,” James went on. “But you are not the devil incarnate, or Cain condemned to wander.” His voice softened. “Imagine me a few years ago. Imagine I came to you and told you this story, that I was the one who made the mistake. What would you say to me?” “I would tell you to forgive yourself,” said Matthew. “And to tell the truth to your family.”

“These rules seem vague,” said Cordelia. “And subjective.” “That’s magic for you.” Carbas shrugged.

Matthew was no longer shaking. He was taking deep, steady breaths, looking down in incredulity at his arm, where a crisscrossing map of healing runes—some new, some fading—covered his forearm. “Jamie bach,” he said. “You can’t do this all night.” “Watch me,” James said grimly, and braced himself against the wall so that he could keep drawing for as long as it took.

Don’t turn around. She thought of Orpheus in the Greek tales, who had been forbidden from turning to look behind him at his dead wife as he escorted her from the underworld. He had failed, and lost her. Grace had always thought he was silly—surely it could not be that difficult simply not to turn around and look at someone. But it was. She felt the ache inside her like pain, the loss of Christopher. Who had understood her, and not judged her.

“You don’t need my help to solve this,” said Christopher, and she could see him, behind her eyelids, looking at her with his funny quizzical smile, his eyes such a dark violet behind his spectacles. “You only need to believe that you can solve it. And you can. You are a natural scientist, Grace, and a solver of puzzles. All you have to do is silence the voice in your head that says you aren’t good enough, don’t know enough. I have faith in you.”

“I knew you could do it.” She heard the smile in his voice. “And you’ve invented ever-burning vellum. Splendid work, Grace.”

Christopher was not there, but the memory of him was like a presence—and more than that, a new feeling, something blossoming under her rib cage, something that made her push aside the papers in front of her and reach for her stele, ready to get to work. Something that she imagined felt very like the beginning of believing in herself.

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.”

“Let me finish. People fear power. That is why the Inquisitor is so afraid of your mother that he feels he must drive her from London. Belial counted on it, on the Enclave’s prejudices, their fears. But Luce, I will always defend you. I will always stand up for you, and if ghosts decide to attend our parabatai ceremony, I will invite them around for tea afterward.”

“You don’t have to say anything back, Thomas. I know what I hope for. I hope against hope that you could possibly feel anything like what I feel for you. It is almost impossible to imagine anyone feeling that way about me, given who I am. But I hope. Not only because I wish to have what I desire. Although I do desire you,” he added in a quieter voice. “I desire you with an ardor that frightens me.” Thomas said, “Come lie down next to me.”