Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

by Cassandra Clare

“I would render the help myself, but that would be scandalous.” Cordelia smiled. Men did not usually accompany even wives or sisters into a dressmaker’s shop.

Madame’s own past was shrouded in deep mystery, which Cordelia found to be very French of her.

Matthew loved nothing more than the appearance of scandal.

“Now she thinks I’m your mistress,” Cordelia said to Matthew, hands on her hips. He shrugged. “This is Paris. Mistresses are more common than croissants or needlessly tiny cups of coffee.”

“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.”

“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.”

“Mine is a complicated story, and people do not want to hear complicated stories. They want simple stories, in which people are either good or evil, and no one good ever makes a mistake, and no one evil ever repents.”

You love as your father loves: wholly, without conditions or hesitancy. To use that as a weapon is blasphemy

The Seine rolled on from here, she knew, piercing the heart of Paris like a silver arrow just as the Thames did London. “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.”

“It’s hard to swear yourself to the service of an angel,” Tessa said, “when there never seem to be any around.”

Lucie has been in love with Jesse all this time, and I never knew, Cordelia thought. Now they are more firmly together, and that will only bring her closer to Grace. Perhaps Grace will be her sister-in-law someday, and meanwhile I cannot even be her parabatai. I will lose Lucie to Grace, just as I lost James to her. “I am happy for you, Lucie,” she said. “And for you, Jesse. But I find I am very tired and must return home to see my mother. She is not entirely well, and I have left her for too long.” She turned to leave. “Cordelia,” Lucie said. “Surely we could at least have time for a moment alone together—just to talk—” “Not now,” Cordelia said as she walked away from the group of them. “It seems there is much I did not know. Forgive me, if I require some time to consider the nature of my own ignorance.”

“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 used to think that it was most important to endure, to stay strong. But unhappiness, over time… it poisons your life.”

“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.”

“ ‘The wound is the place where the light enters you,’ ” Alastair said. It was her favorite Rumi quote. Cordelia looked quickly out the window.

“I—I can’t, Anna. I do not want you to despise me.” “I would never despise you,” Anna said. “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.” “Matthew, darling, you are the least ordinary person I know—besides myself—and that is part of what makes you happy. You are a peacock, not a duck.”

“You know it’s the people who we love the most who can hurt us the most.”

“Grace,” he said. “Grace. It’s me. It worked.” Grace Blackthorn did not cry, or at least, she did not truly cry. This was one of the earliest lessons her mother had imparted to her. “The tears of a woman,” she’d said, “are one of the few sources of her power. They should not be freely shed any more than a warrior should throw his sword into a river. If you are to shed tears, you should know, from the first, your purpose in doing so.”

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.”

“There is no holy light about you,” said Hypatia. She gazed at Cordelia, her starry eyes fathomless. “I have seen the voids between the worlds, and what walks there,” she said. “I have known the fallen angels of the heavenly war, and admired them for their steely pride. I am not one to turn away from shadows. One finds beauty in the darkest of places, and Lucifer was the most beautiful of all Heaven’s angels, once.” She leaned forward. “I understand the urge to reach for such dark beauty, and such power. I have not brought you here to sit in judgment upon you.”

“It ought to be your choice, I think. What you wish to be called.” Ariadne was touched, and a little startled. It was something she herself had been considering, but she would not have expected Anna to have thought of it. “It is a good question,” she said, leaning against the dresser. “Both names were given to me. As names are, of course; they represent a sort of gift, but also, I think, a set of expectations. My first family thought I would be one sort of girl, but I am not that girl. My second also had expectations of who I would be, and I am not that girl either. Yet those names are still a part of who I am. I think I would like to be named something new, that binds the two together. I thought,” she said shyly, “Arati. It was my first grandmother’s name. She always said it referred to divine fire, or to praising the Angel with a lamp in hand. It makes me think of being a light in darkness. And that is something I would like to be. I would ask to be called Ari,” she added, “for that honors the name I have had for the past twelve years.”

“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.”

Her eyes were deep and wide, and this time he let himself touch her cheek, his palm against her soft skin, his whole body burning at even that little touch. “It means I would rather have a home with you than all the world,” he said fiercely.

“I like to break rules,” Anna said. “Even ones I have set myself.” Ari smiled and held out her hand. “Then let us dance.”

“I thought you were in love with Grace,” she said. “I was too proud to tell you I loved you, when I thought you had given your heart to someone else. We have both been too proud, James. You feared I would pity you?” Her voice rose, incredulous. “Belial wove an enchantment, a band of silver and the darkest magic, to bind you. Most would have crumbled. You fought it. All this time you have been fighting a silent battle entirely alone, while nobody knew. You fought it and you broke it, snapped it in half, the most incredible thing. How could I ever pity that?” She felt his chest rise and fall against hers with his quick breaths. He said, “I did not break that enchantment knowingly. Yes, I fought it, without knowing I was fighting. But what snapped that band was the force of what I felt for you.” He gathered up a handful of her tumbling hair, let the strands slip through his fingers. 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.”

Ari had never known anyone to grieve so silently. She had not seen Anna shed a tear. She’d always thought Anna resembled a beautiful statue, with her fine features and balanced grace, but now it was as if Anna had truly turned to stone. She wasn’t completely immobilized—she had thrown herself into the plan to stay in London and defeat Belial as much as anyone. She and Ari had spent long hours together, not just boarding up the Institute but looking through old books in the library, too, searching for ways out of London that Belial might have overlooked. But any attempts Ari had made to deepen the conversation, or bring up Christopher or even family, were gently but firmly rebuffed.

“I suppose you think I am weak.” “No,” Ari said vehemently. “Anna, you are the strongest person I know.” “I told myself not to come to you,” Anna said bitterly. “You should not have to share the burden of my grief. It is mine to carry.” “It is ours,” said Ari. “No one is strong and unyielding all the time, and none of us should be. We all have to let down our guard sometime. We are made up of different parts, sad and happy, strong and weak, solitary and in need of others. And there is nothing shameful about that.”

We so desperately want to be with those who know the truth of us. Our secrets.”

“Stories are not lies,” Cordelia said.

“Stories,” Cordelia said, “are true.”

“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.”