And If

by snowflurry

Summary:

“So, what do you say?” Matthew slid one of the many rings off of his hand – a gold ring inlaid with a glittering ruby, as fashionable and over-the-top as the owner – and held it out. “Will you step into the endless void that is adventure and engage in a temporary, whirlwind marriage with me, Cordelia Carstairs?”

In a reimagining of The Last Hours series, it is Matthew to whom Cordelia becomes engaged, not James.

Experience the books from a fresh perspective as we explore Cordelia and Matthew's deepening romance, how they grow together as people, and how their lives and futures become entangled.

For all Matthew/Cordelia shippers (and anyone else interested!).

This work is now complete. Thank you all for your support.

Notes:

For all of us Matthew/Cordelia shippers. There are dozens of us! Dozens!

Each chapter is written as its own self-contained story, all of which come together to form a complete work that reimagines the plot of the books whilst telling a brand new tale.

Comments are very much welcome and appreciated.

Thank you for reading!

Chapter 1

PART I

LOVING ANOTHER

“The truth is that James Herondale did not burn down Blackthorn Manor last night. James cannot have been in Idris. He was with me. In my bedroom. All night.”

So it had been done in a matter of moments. So had Cordelia brought shame upon both herself and her family. So had she doomed her reputation, never to be married into a respectable Shadowhunter family. So had she brought her plan to save her father crashing down around her.

The room exploded with hushed whispers. The Shadowhunters gathered in the meeting eyed Cordelia as though she were as mad as Tatiana Blackthorn herself, who sat dumbstruck at the front of the room, eyes bulging, hands wringing her hair. Their accusing stares bored straight through Cordelia where she stood. Cordelia dared not make eye contact with Alastair or her mother for fear that their eyes would reflect the same shame and judgement. Instead, she gazed defiantly forwards, chin raised, eyes locked onto the Inquisitor.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Matthew hunch over, burying his head in his hands. Perhaps he did not agree with her plan. Perhaps he felt that she had doomed herself alongside James.

It did not matter. Cordelia would defend James until the end.

Even if it meant throwing away all of the efforts that she had made since coming to London.

The reality of the circumstances in which Cordelia found herself did not set in for the rest of the meeting. It did not set in as James approached her, face pained, and asked her to follow him. It was only as they slipped into the drawing room, James hesitantly closing the door behind them, that the truth of what she had done began creeping up on Cordelia.

Despite that, the certainty that she had done the right thing stopped her from panicking. A cold sense of calm had settled over her.

James began to pace by the fire. “Daisy, you have to take it back.”

Cordelia had anticipated this. How like James, she thought, to worry about others first.

“There is no taking it back," she said simply.

“Cordelia. You will be ruined.”

As Cordelia opened her mouth to assure James that she was aware of this, and that this was precisely why she had said what she had, the door opened behind her. Cordelia and James both looked up, startled, as Matthew entered quietly. His expression was grim. Cordelia had thought that they had left the room rather stealthily, but Matthew must have been watching his parabatai closely, as concerned as she was for his safety and freedom.

“They have started the final proceedings,” Matthew said slowly. “Regarding Tatiana. And regarding...”

He trailed off, eyes briefly meeting Cordelia’s before glancing down. Matthew looked as drained as if he had come from a funeral - and yet it was the sympathy in his eyes that made Cordelia’s heart sink.

If even Matthew was so concerned that he could not make a quip, the situation was bleak indeed.

“Math, help me,” James pleaded, turning to his parabatai. “Help me to convince Cordelia to take back what she said.”

“I do not think that it would make a difference, Jamie,” Matthew replied, choosing his words carefully. “Cordelia has said her piece. Even if she were to withdraw her words now, well...”

“They would not believe me.” It was what Cordelia had expected when she had spoken up. She only hoped that Matthew’s words would help to convince James.

In response to even his parabatai refusing to take his side, James started to pace again, hand fidgeting uncomfortably with the bracelet on his wrist. As he walked, he muttered to himself, almost feverishly, “But Grace. What will she think? How can I explain this to her?”

Cordelia's heart, already so fragile from the stress of the past few days, cracked.

Yes, how like James it was to worry about others first.

But how could she have been so foolish as to assume that he was worrying about her?

“Grace?” A strange look had come over Matthew's face. “You are concerned for Grace?”

James lifted his head. “She asked me to marry her. Now that she thinks I spent the night with Daisy...”

“Have you gone mad?” Matthew’s face turned incredulous. His voice was suddenly louder, angrier.  “Grace is the reason that you are in this mess! She knows exactly where you were last night and she knows that it was not with Cordelia. Why are you so determined to bow to her every whim? What has she done to you? What has she done to our Jamie?”

Matthew’s words were pleading and anguished. But James barely seemed to respond. Momentarily, almost imperceptibly, he flinched. For a second, his expression mirrored the one on Matthew's face. Then, almost as quickly as it had appeared, the expression faded. James' face closed off once again, the mask firmly back in place.

Taking a deep breath, hand still fiddling with the bracelet, James fixed Matthew with a stony look. “I need to go and find her,” he said. “She will need my support during the proceedings.”

And, without so much as glancing at Cordelia, James hastened towards the door and left the room.

The strength rapidly leaving her legs, Cordelia sank down onto one of the drawing room’s plush sofas. She was a fool. She had thrown everything away for James, to keep him out of the prisons of the Silent City. Her reputation was in tatters. Everyone would think that she was a ruined woman - the kind who threw herself at men who spurned her for another the very next day. But, even worse than that, she had thought, for a few brief moments in the Whispering Room and in James’ bedroom, that he might have even loved her.

That he might have even felt the same way that she did.

“Daisy.”

Cordelia’s head fell into her hands. She bit her bottom lip to keep the tears welling up behind her eyes from falling. What would her mother and brother think? She had disgraced the name of Carstairs. There was no possibility of freeing her father from prison now. She would be sentenced to die alone, unmarried, disgraced as a Shadowhunter. How would she ever look her mother in the eye again?

“Daisy.”

And Lucy. What would Lucy think? As her soon-to-be-parabatai’s face appeared in her mind, whatever strength Cordelia had been using to hold back the tears broke. She sobbed gently.

All of a sudden, a gentle weight settled onto Cordelia's shoulders. An arm. Matthew’s arm. She had not realised that Matthew had sat down beside her. Now, he was trying to comfort her, one arm around her shoulders, the other fumbling in his pocket. As she turned her head to look at him, tears dripping down her cheeks, she watched as he produced an elaborate handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and offered it to her.

The kindness of this gesture proved too much. Taking the handkerchief from Matthew's outstretched hand, Cordelia started to sob even harder. In response, Matthew tightened his arm and brought her to his chest. Gratefully, Cordelia buried her face in his waistcoat, dimly aware that she was spilling tears over what was undoubtedly a very expensive piece of clothing.

“I am here, Daisy,” Matthew murmured softly. His hand lifted from her shoulder to stroke her hair. “I will always be here.”

There was something comforting and calming about the rhythmic movement of Matthew’s hand. It reminded Cordelia of the way in which her mother had comforted her as a child. The thought of her mother made fresh tears well up. Cordelia took a deep breath. She focused on the feeling of Matthew’s hand trailing through her hair and his sweet scent of cherry and cologne.

She needed to be stronger than this. She could not afford to fall apart at this moment.

And just the reminder that she was not alone in the world, that she had Matthew – Matthew, who knew the truth of the situation and had not left her to fend for herself – gave Cordelia the strength to finally sit up.

Dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief, Cordelia murmured, “Thank you." She smiled a watery smile. “I will have to clean this before giving it back to you.”

“Consider it a gift. Lord knows that I have far more handkerchiefs than I need. It is the birthright of any self-respecting gentleman, after all.”

It was a valiant attempt at bracing humour, yet Cordelia could see that the smile on Matthew’s face had not reached his eyes. He looked anxious, furious - and, somewhere deep within his gaze, unsettled and confused over why James had reacted in the way that he had.

Cordelia's chest ached. She knew exactly how Matthew was feeling. Undoubtedly, she thought, she looked much the same to him.

At this thought, Cordelia felt suddenly embarrassed. She looked down self-consciously at Matthew's handkerchief, rubbing its soft material between her fingers.

“What should I do now? How can I-” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “How can I fix this?”

Matthew did not speak for a few moments. Then, tentatively, he replied, “Perhaps it need not be fixed. As a self-proclaimed expert in terrible reputations, I can assure you that the bohemian lifestyle is not without its merits.”

He had meant them as a joke, but Cordelia considered his words. Would it really be so bad to finally be free of the pressures of high society? To not have to consider every man's eligibility as a marriage candidate? To drown her feelings for James in the emptiness of freedom?

It was tempting. So very tempting. But, as ever, there was a significant obstacle in her path.

“My father," Cordelia blurted out.

“Your father?”

It was always so easy to talk to Matthew. “My father is in prison. I need to make a good marriage so that I can work to free him. That has been my aim since I came to London. But after what I said at the meeting...”

Cordelia felt so childish, hearing herself speak her silent purpose aloud. Yet the reality of what she had proclaimed at the meeting had finally settled in. Not only had she ruined her chance at achieving a successful marriage, she had also ruined her family’s reputation. There would be no hope of marriage, no hope of an ally for her father now.

Cordelia's eyes stung with fresh tears.

Suddenly, with no warning, Matthew leaped onto his knees. Eagerly, he grasped Cordelia's hands. His eyes sparkled with mischief. “In that case, I shall marry you!”

Dumbstruck, Cordelia opened her mouth, but Matthew went on before she could speak.

“I do not mean a permanent marriage, only a temporary one. For a year. A marriage to the Consul’s son should place you in good stead to free your father, should it not? And we can use this year to improve your reputation, so that when we part ways amicably at the end of it, you can find yourself a proper, respectable husband.”

Cordelia did not like the way in which Matthew seemed to refer to himself as both improper and disreputable. Still, the shock of his proposal had distracted her from her thoughts.

Shaking her head, Cordelia said, “My reputation is not with you, but with James.”

Matthew gestured wildly. “Then I will tell everyone that I was also there that evening. That it was a night of wild and frenzied passion between the three of us and that I could not keep myself from you for a second longer.”

In spite of, or perhaps because of, the absurdity of the situation, Cordelia let out a laugh. “You would truly damage your own reputation for me?”

“My dear Daisy, my reputation is already as low as it can possibly go.” Matthew shook his head. “Alas, I fear that a marriage to me might drag yours down even further. I fear, too, that I will make a terrible husband and that you will spend much of our one-year arrangement concerned for my wretched safety.”

Cordelia laughed again. Matthew’s face lit up.

“So, what do you say?” He slid one of the many rings off of his hand – a gold ring inlaid with a glittering ruby, as fashionable and over-the-top as the owner – and held it out. “Will you step into the endless void that is adventure and engage in a temporary, whirlwind marriage with me, Cordelia Carstairs?”

Cordelia hesitated for only a moment. And if the image of James Herondale swam into her mind’s eye, what of it? He had made his feelings towards her abundantly clear.

“Yes, I will engage in a whirlwind marriage with you, Matthew Fairchild,” she answered, giving him her first genuine smile of the day.

A grin spreading across his face, Matthew slid the ruby ring onto Cordelia’s finger. Clasping her hand tightly with both of his, Matthew leaned down and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. At the soft touch of his lips, a tingle spread up Cordelia's arm, warm and dangerous and new.

“On one condition,” she added suddenly, a thought occurring to her.

Matthew looked up, hesitation in his eyes. “Anything, my Daisy.”

My Daisy. Perhaps the excitement of the moment was affecting him. Cordelia reached out her hand and tucked a stray lock of Matthew’s hair behind his ear, fingertips gently brushing down his cheek. Matthew shivered and leaned into her touch like a man starved of affection.

“You will tell me what it is that weighs so heavily on you.”

Matthew froze.

“It need not be right away,” Cordelia added hastily. “But at some point before our marriage.”

With a seemingly great effort, Matthew heaved a sigh.

“I swear that I will,” he promised, placing his hand over Cordelia's so that her palm remained firmly against his cheek. He placed his other hand over his chest. “And I vow to you now, Cordelia Carstairs, that I will do everything in my power to free your father. I will be the perfect husband. I will take responsibility for sorting all matters related to this marriage, and I will be by your side at every possible moment that you may need me.”

Feeling suddenly choked up again, Cordelia nodded. “And I swear to you that I will do everything that I can to free you from your demons.”

Matthew’s eyes widened, but before he could say anything, the door to the drawing room opened once again. Will and Tessa Herondale entered, both looking exhausted and drawn. Cordelia, startled, withdrew her hand hastily and almost guiltily from Matthew’s cheek.

“Have you seen James?” Will asked, eyes scanning the room. If he thought that there was anything strange about Matthew kneeling on the floor in front of Cordelia, he said nothing to suggest it.

“He left,” Matthew responded, meeting Will’s gaze with his own. An understanding seemed to pass between them - an unspoken conversation, borne of a shared love for James Herondale.

“I should go and find him,” Will said tiredly, turning to leave the room.

“Wait,” Matthew called. He stood up. “Before you go, we have something to tell you.”

Matthew held out his hand to Cordelia. Reaching out, she took it and let him pull her up from the sofa, once again relying on his strength. Matthew’s grip was firm, supportive, encouraging.

“I would like to introduce you to the future Mrs Fairchild,” he proclaimed dramatically, slipping his hand from Cordelia’s to wrap it around her waist in a gesture of unity. “I have asked Cordelia to take me as her husband, and she has very graciously and perhaps rather foolishly accepted.”

Looks of complete surprise appeared on Will and Tessa’s faces. They shared a quick glance before turning incredulously back to Cordelia and Matthew, who stood rigidly side by side. Cordelia forced a smile onto her face and wrapped her arm around Matthew’s back. They had to look like a happy couple, even if the events of the day meant that no one was likely to believe them.

Slowly, Will said, “Well, in that case, I believe that congratulations are in order.” He stepped forwards and offered his hand to Matthew to shake. Like his son, Will had moved quickly to mask his confusion with a look of forced joy.

Cordelia looked across the room at Tessa, who still stood by the doorway. Tessa gave her a smile so full of warmth and pity that a chill passed through Cordelia’s chest.

How easy would it be to fool everyone of their marriage? How easy would it be to fool herself, if only for a year, that she felt nothing for James?

That cold, empty feeling remained in her chest as she and Matthew did the tour of the Enclave members leaving the meeting. It remained as Matthew shook hands with as many people as possible and loudly proclaimed his endless love for Cordelia, and how excited he was at the endless possibilities open to them in their future.

And if Matthew’s smile was ever so slightly strained, it did not show as he laughed and joked about how he would have to brush up on his dancing so as not to embarrass Cordelia at the wedding, for all the world as if Cordelia’s outburst at the meeting had never happened. And if the congratulations from their friends, if the hug from her mother and thunderstruck look from her brother and confused expression from Lucy, were fake, they did not show it as they shook Matthew’s hand and hugged Cordelia so tightly that she felt as though her aching heart would crack even further. And if Cordelia’s eyes scanned the crowd for a golden pair that she could not see, if her vision fogged and her heart froze in ice, she made no indication, except to move closer to Matthew’s side to bask in his warmth, to feel his hand squeeze her shoulders comfortingly.

Because, at that moment, Cordelia knew that she needed Matthew, more than anyone else in the world. And that together, they could begin to sew their broken selves back together, one stitch at a time.

Chapter 2

Summary:

“It is a tale that tells the worst of me, Daisy,” Matthew warned tentatively. “I fear that if tell you, you will see what a horrid, wretched creature I am, and all that we have enjoyed over the past few months will come to an end.”

Cordelia reached out her hand and placed it on Matthew’s cheek, turning his head to look at her. “Tell me. Tell me so that I can tell you, with no uncertainty, that you are a good man, Matthew.”

~~~

In this chapter's story, we see the events of Matthew and Cordelia's engagement following the proposal and leading up to the wedding. As they grow closer, becoming more inseparable as time goes on, Cordelia becomes more resolved than ever to discover the truth of the darkness lurking inside of Matthew.

Several months had passed since the engagement. In that time, much had changed in Cordelia’s life.

At first, she had endured a multitude of taunts about her alleged trysts with two men in the span of a few days; comments about her supposed failings as a woman; questions about her suitability as a Shadowhunter if she was, as some remarked, unable to control her emotions. She had suffered snide side glances at her and Matthew's engagement party and when shopping for a wedding dress, hushed voices when she entered rooms with other Shadowhunters, and even outright glares at one particularly memorable party hosted by the Wentworths.

Knowing what she did about the truth of the situation, Cordelia had done her best to shut out the harsh words and the harsher stares. But still, they wore her down - so much so that each night in bed, she fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Yes, the actions of those around her exhausted Cordelia. And yet, what wore her down most of all was the distance at which she now found herself from James.

The same day that Matthew had proposed - after Cordelia had finally found an opening to slip away from the crowds of Enclave members who wanted to congratulate them both and shake hands with Matthew and give Cordelia silent, judgemental looks - James had approached her. Cordelia had been perched on the Institute steps, taking careful breaths and trying to process everything that had happened that day. To her surprise, James had sat down next to her, face pained and unmasked, bracelet shining on his wrist, black hair mussed from running his hands through it unrelentingly.

“Daisy, I-” he began helplessly, struggling to find words. “I am sorry for this situation. I wish that I could... I wish that I could do more.”

Cordelia had said nothing. She had merely shaken her head and risen from the steps, wanting only to put distance between herself and the source of her breaking heart.

And distance she had put: James had mostly avoided her since that moment, stopping only to exchange pleasantries and to give Cordelia's mother his best wishes on her pregnancy.

Even now, Cordelia was not sure what she wanted. Did she want James by her side, to act as he had before, even if he was madly in love with Grace? Or did she want him to stay away, to force herself to move on from her feelings? Over and over in her head, every evening without fail, Cordelia pondered these questions, asking them to herself as if with repetition she could find an answer. Her heart ached to understand - to be free of James. At times, it felt to Cordelia as though she were drowning in her emotions.

And yet, true to his word, every time that Cordelia felt angry or overwhelmed or was on the precipice of giving in to the accusations of others, Matthew was there.

He had been there at the engagement party, standing proudly at her side as they shook hands with people whom Cordelia barely knew and with whom Matthew seemed comfortably familiar. He had introduced her to his parents, Charlotte and Henry, both of whom had seemed delighted, dumbfounded, and even perhaps a little relieved at the sudden announcement of marriage. Cordelia had felt warm and guilty when Charlotte had taken her hand and said how pleased she was that Matthew had found such a lovely woman with whom to spend the rest of his life.

What would she think of Cordelia in a year's time, when their temporary marriage came crumbling down?

He had been there when Cordelia had tried on her wedding dresses, distracting her from the cruel looks she had received by cracking jokes about how he did not know how he would wait until the wedding to see her in the dress. He had even gone so far as to pretend to sneak a look around the curtain and the chastising from the shopkeeper had had Cordelia laughing so hard that she had barely been able to stay standing on the stool.

He had been there when an impromptu meeting with the Enclave had been called to discuss a spate of Shadowhunter murders that had broken out across the city. When the hushed whispers had started, Matthew, sat at Cordelia’s side, had begun pointing out different individuals and clueing Cordelia in on the gossip surrounding them.

“Did you know that I once saw Piers Wentworth take an almighty tumble back at the Academy?” he had said, not troubling to keep his voice particularly low. “He had just dropped his sword in training and slipped on a pinecone, of all things. Fell backwards and the sword went right up his-”

Cordelia did not quite find out where the sword went over her sudden fit of giggles and the loud hushing from a Shadowhunter sat behind them.

He had even been there at the Wentworth’s party, when Cordelia had been at her lowest. As Rosamund Wentworth had descended on Cordelia - undoubtedly to ridicule her or to make her feel worse than she already did, watching James dance effortlessly with Grace across the floor - Matthew had hurried to her side. Dropping a profuse and rather sarcastic apology to Rosamund, he had whisked Cordelia onto the floor, spinning her around and around, faster and faster, until she could no longer see James and Grace, until she could no longer see anything but him.

Matthew had been dressed in a velvet waistcoat of deep green that brought out the rich hues of his eyes. Unexpectedly, Cordelia had suddenly wished that she could capture those colours somehow - that she could bottle the light in Matthew's eyes as he danced with her and use it to brighten her mood at her darkest moments.

As if he knew what she was thinking, Matthew had leaned in close. His golden curls had tickled Cordelia's cheek. His lips had brushed the top of her ear.

“Ignore them,” he had murmured softly. “You are worth a thousand of any of these people.”

Stunned, Cordelia had remained silent, but her hand had tightened in Matthew's. She had been struck by how natural the gesture felt.

Indeed, spending time with Matthew had become as natural as breathing. Most mornings, Matthew would have flowers delivered to Cordelia’s door, sometimes by a delivery person, more often hand-delivered by Matthew himself. Rich red roses, vivid violets and colourful carnations now adorned Cordelia’s bedroom and spilled out into the hallway.

When Matthew visited, they would go for walks through the park or around the shops of London, where Matthew would try to convince Cordelia that she needed a new necklace, or a new hat, or a new dress, and Cordelia would try to convince Matthew that she most certainly did not. Matthew would usually give up, good-naturedly abashed and defeated, and the very next day, said item would appear in a box on the Carstairs’ doorstep. When questioned about it, Matthew would pretend to be shocked and deny all knowledge, declaring that he would find the scoundrel responsible and punish them. At other times, when he was in a more serious mood, he would say that courtship was important, and that even if they were not to be married long-term, he was still determined to carry out the engagement correctly.

Cordelia’s favourite times, however, were when the two of them would sit for hours in the salon or in the garden, discussing which books they were reading or what they had been doing that week. Always light-hearted topics. Never about the wedding. Never about James.

One afternoon, after Cordelia had admitted to only having read a few of Oscar Wilde’s poems, Matthew had feigned horror and dashed out of the house. He had returned, barely an hour later, red-faced and out of breath, clutching his side with one hand and a book with the other.

“Not very becoming of me,” he had gasped, panting, “but this was an emergency, after all.”

Quickly, they had settled in the grass in the garden and Matthew had read the poems aloud. He was an excellent speaker, his tone shifting at just the right moments, his pauses perfectly placed. Cordelia, feeling more content than she had in a long while, had laid down first on her side, and then her back, and had finally fallen asleep with the warm sunlight streaming down on her and Matthew’s calm voice floating through her dreams.

On another occasion, Cordelia, bashful that she had fallen asleep during his reading, had offered to read to Matthew from Layla and Majnun. She had initially been hesitant. This was, after all, the book that she associated with James and subsequently with her first love and loss. But somehow it had just felt right. It had felt to Cordelia as though she were being guided by an invisible force, opening up a new part of herself to Matthew, letting him see a side to her that she mostly kept hidden away. Matthew had teased that he would fall asleep in revenge, but he did not. Even as Cordelia read and read and the hours ticked on, Matthew remained awake, green eyes fixed on Cordelia, as if he were trying to memorise every part of her face, every lilt of her voice, every word that she spoke.

On days when Matthew could not visit, he would send letters by delivery boys - in particular, by one young werewolf who seemed to know the Merry Thieves quite well. The contents of the letters varied: they could be short notes with jokes that Matthew had thought up, extracts from poems or stories, or long letters lamenting everything from his brother Charles’ pompous antics to a button falling off of his favourite waistcoat. Each time, Cordelia would hasten to write a reply, and so their passing of secret messages back and forth had continued. Matthew always had excellent timing: each time that Cordelia's thoughts would drift to James, another note would appear and she would be immediately distracted.

Of course, it had not all been perfect since the proposal. Many times since, Alastair had taken Cordelia aside and tried to convince her to end the engagement. She had refused, reassuring Alastair that she had everything in hand, and that this was her choice. Reluctantly, as if he were fighting a battle within himself, Alastair had told her the truth about their father, about his drinking habits, about his propensity for brutish behaviour. Cordelia, taken aback, had listened and asked herself how she had not noticed it over all these years. How could she have let the burden fall so solely on her brother’s shoulders? Alastair had warned her that she was making the same mistake that their mother had made. Cordelia had shaken her head and denied this, but even then, she knew that Alastair had a point. The drink had a hold on Matthew, even if he could not see it himself.

Yet, in Cordelia’s mind, this was even less of a reason to leave Matthew. She wanted to support him, just as he had supported her tirelessly over the past few months.

Another problem had been her father himself. True to his word, Matthew had lobbied his mother to release Elias. However, one afternoon, Alastair's words playing in her mind, Cordelia had paced back and forth in her bedroom. Matthew had been perched silently on her bed.

“If Alastair is right and he is dependent on the drink,” she had muttered, “would it really be a kindness to free him? Is there nothing that I can do to help him?”

Matthew, a somewhat burdened look on his face, had replied tentatively, “Perhaps I could see about arranging a...stay for him with the Silent Brothers? I am sure that Jem would ensure that your father was kept in the best comfort.”

Cordelia, shaking her head, had turned to Matthew. “No, you have done so much for me. Even just freeing my father was another debt which I cannot repay.”

Matthew had risen from the bed and taken Cordelia’s hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You already do so much for me, Daisy,” he said, stroking his thumb softly over the back of her hand. “More than you can ever know.”

And so it had been arranged by Matthew that Elias was to spend several weeks in the Silent City, away from outside influences and, hopefully, the demons inside. Matthew himself had also taken several trips into the Silent City to spend time with the Silent Brothers, though to what end, he would not say. Cordelia prayed that he was finally taking steps to free himself from his darkness, even if he had not yet told her what pained him so.

When he was not spending his evenings in the Silent City, Matthew had taken to visiting Cordelia’s house for dinner. It had taken all of an hour for Sona to become enamoured with Matthew. He had gushed about the food and the décor and asked Sona if she could teach him a few words in Persian, and she had obliged, eyes sparkling with warmth each time Matthew stumbled on a word. Even Risa seemed to tolerate him more than she did others, though she would never admit it. She would ask Cordelia each day if Matthew would be joining them that evening, and the food always seemed to taste just a little better when he did.

At first, Alastair had made every effort possible to avoid Matthew’s presence in his house – and, indeed, had made it quite clear to Matthew through word and deed that he was not pleased with the engagement. Sona, however, had eventually berated him enough that he had joined them one evening. He had looked disgruntled and had made a point of picking at his food with his fork. Matthew, too, had seemed displeased, even though he had made more of an effort to hide it.

All of that had changed, however, one afternoon. Matthew had come to see Cordelia once again, but it had been Alastair who had answered the door. The two of them had headed into a separate room. Cordelia, eavesdropping in what she felt was a rather stealthy manner, had heard angered whispers, what had sounded like a punch, more angered whispers, and finally, as she had made to approach the room, the sound of the door flying open and Matthew and Alastair stepping out. Matthew had looked rather frustrated and was breathing heavily. Alastair had sported a mark on his cheek that looked rather like a fist. Despite that, they had both seemed more relaxed, as if they had worked through something together. Cordelia had rather thought that this was the best outcome for which she could have hoped.

From then on, Matthew and Alastair had seemed, if not friendly, then more tolerable of each other. Dinners were no longer a tense affair, and the two even engaged in polite conversation from time to time.

Another outcome, Cordelia had noticed, was that Matthew had stopped drinking wine with his dinners, instead opting for water or another such drink. Cordelia found herself pleased at this change, though she wondered how much it lingered outside of their home.

It seemed to Cordelia that Matthew and Alastair had even developed an unspoken understanding of sorts. This became evident one evening, about a week before the wedding, when Elias Carstairs had shown up, drunk and sporting a gift for Cordelia. The gift, it had turned out, was an elaborate leather scabbard of sparkling gold. Even Cordelia, with her untrained eye, could tell that it was the work of a master craftsman and had accepted the gift gratefully.

Alastair, however, had not been so impressed.

“Another attempt to buy us off then, Father?” he had scoffed.

Elias had given Alastair a big grin that more resembled an animal bearing its teeth. “Forgive me, Alastair. I did not have time to buy you a gift.”

“But you left the Silent City weeks ago,” Alastair had stated, arms crossed. “Where have you been all this time?”

This had been news to Cordelia. How did Alastair know? Had Matthew told him instead of her?

“Travelling,” Elias had said in a tone of forced calm. “Exploring. Finding myself, as they would say.”

Alastair’s eyes had briefly met Matthew’s across the room before flicking back to Elias. “Well, I am glad to hear that you were able to find yourself while your wife remained at home with child. Perhaps you should go out and look for yourself some more.”

Sona had looked horrified, but before she could speak, Elias had turned to Matthew.

“So,” he had begun without preamble, “this is the fiancé, is it?”

As if on cue, Matthew had risen from his seat and offered his hand. “Matthew Fairchild, sir. It is a real pleasure to meet you. I have heard so much about you from your family.”

Acting as though he could not see Matthew’s hand, Elias had given him a smile that did not reach his eyes. “And just how much time have you been spending with my family since you had me locked away?”

Cordelia’s heart had fallen.

“Please forgive any missteps on my part,” Matthew had said, a good attempt at a bashful smile on his face. “I merely wished to help my fiancée and my new family by providing all of the support that I could. I am endlessly grateful to them for welcoming me as a part of the family.”

“But you are not.”

“Not what?”

“Not part of this family.”

But Elias had been wrong. In fact, the evening had ended with Elias stepping out, heading to who-knew-where, saying that he would arrange separate accommodation for the time being. And Matthew had remained right there with them, rapidly filling the hole in Cordelia’s family and her heart.

 

Four days later, Cordelia, Sona, Alastair and Matthew had just finished eating and were relaxing at the table, drinking and talking. Sona, as she often liked to do, was teasing Matthew about the wedding arrangements. Cordelia’s mind wandered elsewhere, wondering where her father was at that moment, whether he had stayed away from the drink or fallen back into it.

“Will you not even tell us what decorations you have chosen?” Sona moaned, pretending to be in despair. “We are just supposed to put our faith in your choices?”

Matthew, grinning, took a sip from his drink and replied, “I swore to Cordelia that I would take responsibility for the wedding. I can hardly burden her family with any of the dreadful details of placemats and curtains.”

At this, Cordelia felt a pang of guilt. Matthew had indeed assumed all responsibility for wedding planning, organising everything from the invitations to the arrangements of the day itself. She had no idea how he had managed this alongside his frequent visits. Though she had offered her help several times, he had outright refused. Matthew would claim that he had made a vow, and then he would find something else with which to distract Cordelia. It rather alarmed her how deftly he could do that.

“What sort of placemats did you choose?” Cordelia asked, more to distract herself from her thoughts than anything.

“Nothing unusual,” Matthew reassured her, waving a hand airily. “An elaborate sort which I managed to source from a reputable maker. I hear that he is renowned in the world of cabaret decorations.”

Sona burst out laughing. Cordelia smiled. Alastair, groaning, buried his head in his hands, but even this was done out of good-natured teasing rather than annoyance.

“And what about the house?” Sona asked. “You really should allow us to take a look and make any changes before my daughter moves in.”

Cordelia froze. She had known deep down, of course, that she would have to move in with Matthew to allow the ruse of their marriage to succeed. However, the thought of leaving home, of leaving her mother and brother and all that they had built in London, made her feel hollow and discomfited.

As if sensing Cordelia's apprehension, Matthew caught her hand under the table and clasped it in his. Cordelia turned to meet his eye. He gave her a small, encouraging smile, as if to remind her that she was not alone. Borrowing his strength once more, Cordelia returned the smile. It would not be so bad, after all, living with Matthew. They already spent most of their time together as it was. Would it not be fun to spend evenings sat together by the fire, reading books or discussing members of the Enclave or even just sitting in silence, enjoying one another’s company?

Of course, if they were to be married, even temporarily, what did that mean? Would she be allowed to attend parties and see her friends? Would she be able to return home for evenings like these with her family? Would she be able to engage in improper activities like visiting the Hell Ruelle, or spend nights with Lucie at the Institute?

And would Matthew expect them to share a bed?

These questions followed Cordelia as she and her family left the dining room. Both Sona and Alastair retired to their rooms - Alastair now seeming to have amassed a certain amount of trust in Matthew so as not to escort him personally to the door. Matthew indicated that he was heading out, but Cordelia stopped him. She had so many confusing thoughts swirling through her head and it was at times like these that she needed Matthew the most.

What was more, she had not forgotten the promise that Matthew had made when he had proposed to her - the vow to tell her the truth that seemed to devour him from the inside.

Cordelia led Matthew up the stairs to her bedroom. She sank onto her bed. Matthew sat down next to her. A part of her recognised that, in any other circumstances, it would be improper for two people engaged to be alone in a bedroom, side by side. But with Matthew, this was normal. Expected. Comforting.

As she had done several times over the past few months, Cordelia rested her head on Matthew’s shoulder. In response, he wrapped his arm around her. It reminded her of his proposal, of breaking down in his chest at the Institute. But this time, with her thoughts so full of her father’s reaction the other night and what would come of married life, Cordelia felt no draw to tears, but rather a kind of frustrating confusion.

“You know, I rather think that your father liked me the other day.” Matthew, as ever, had sensed what was on her mind. “It can be so hard to tell sometimes. I do tend to bring out the worst in people.”

Under normal circumstances, Cordelia would have laughed. Instead, Matthew’s words had brought up the opportunity for which she had been waiting.

“You have not yet told me.”

“Told you what?” Matthew asked.

“About what it is that haunts you.”

Cordelia pulled her head back to fix Matthew with a scrutinising stare. She was feeling bolder this evening than she had in a while.

Matthew did not respond. He did not even look startled. Instead, he stared down at his hands, not meeting her gaze. He seemed resigned to this moment, having known that it would come sooner or later.

“It is a tale that tells the worst of me, Daisy,” he warned tentatively. “I fear that if tell you, you will see what a horrid, wretched creature I am, and all that we have enjoyed over the past few months will come to an end.”

Cordelia reached out her hand and placed it on Matthew’s cheek, turning his head to look at her. “Tell me. Tell me so that I can tell you, with no uncertainty, that you are a good man, Matthew.”

Finally giving in, Matthew spoke. He spoke about Alastair’s taunts at the academy about his true father. He spoke about his determination to find out the truth, his deal with the fae at the Shadow Market. He spoke of pouring what should have been a truth potion into his mother’s drink, only to cause her to lose the child whom she had been carrying. As Matthew spoke, his voice grew stronger and stronger, and yet his eyes grew harder and harder, as if he were bracing himself for Cordelia to turn on him, to call him a monster, to throw him out of her arms and her house.

But as his words came to an end, Cordelia had no inclination whatsoever to do any of that. Instead, as Matthew finally finished and trailed off, Cordelia simply whispered, “Oh, Matthew,” and wrapped her arms around him.

Initially stiff, Matthew’s body gradually relaxed. His arms came around Cordelia once more. He buried his face in her neck, his head fitting perfectly against her shoulder, his soft hair brushing her cheek. Still with both arms around him, Cordelia began to stroke Matthew’s hair and rock gently back and forth, almost as if she were comforting a child. In a sense, perhaps she was: all of Matthew’s fears that he had held onto for years, that had shaped him into the loved yet lonely man that he was, seemed to spill out onto her shoulder. If she could provide him with this moment to release the pain that had been torturing him for so long, then she would remain here as long as he needed her. Always by his side. Just as he was for her.

“You are not a bad person, Matthew,” Cordelia murmured softly, as his tears seemed to subside. “You are a good person who was tricked into doing something bad.”

In her shoulder, Matthew shook his head. “I am a fool. I am a fool and a wretch of the highest calibre.”

“No, you are not,” Cordelia replied firmly. “I have seen plenty of wretches in my time and you are not one of them. And as for being a fool, I am afraid that I am also a fool. It unfortunately comes with being human. But that does not, under any circumstances, make you a bad person.”

Matthew lifted his head from Cordelia’s shoulder and looked intensely into her eyes. His forehead was so close that it almost touched hers, their breath clouding together in the air. Almost desperately, his gaze flickered to her lips and back. Cordelia’s mouth went dry. Her hand came up to cup Matthew's cheek again, to wipe away the lingering remnants of tears.

But, before she could touch him, Matthew leaned down and kissed her.

Cordelia, startled, froze. Her senses became suddenly aware of how soft Matthew’s lips were, how warm they felt against her own. She became aware of his arms tightening around her, pulling her in closer. She became aware of her hand in his hair, running through his smooth golden curls.

And then, all of a sudden, she was not aware anymore.

As Matthew made to lean back, Cordelia's other hand moved to rest around his neck, to bring him closer. Her mouth pressed more firmly against his, inexperienced but eager. For a second, Matthew seemed startled, before he began to respond enthusiastically, one hand lightly gripping her waist, the other tangling in her long red hair. He parted Cordelia’s lips with his mouth, exploring within her own almost feverishly. A low moan echoed from his throat. Cordelia’s hand tightened in his hair.

Somewhere within her, she knew that this was not right. She could feel Matthew’s cheek against her own, warm and tear-stained. Now was not the time to be holding him so passionately, her body pushed up against his. But then Matthew’s mouth, experienced, practised, left hers and moved to her throat, and the thought fell from her mind.

Cordelia had wanted to know what was inside of Matthew, what troubled and tormented him so. And she had wanted Matthew to know her - her fears, her wants. Now, finally, they were connecting, understanding each other at a deeper level than they ever had before. She bit her lip to keep from gasping as Matthew grazed her throat with his teeth, placing soft kisses around her collarbone.

“Daisy,” he whispered into her skin like a promise, “Daisy, Daisy.”

Desperation overtaking her, Cordelia slid down the sleeve of her dress, eager for Matthew to explore all parts of her. As she did, her arm brushed over something smooth, tossed haphazardly on the bed covers next to her.

The scabbard.

Matthew's eyes followed her movement. Then, all at once, he froze and pulled back. Confused, lightheaded, Cordelia looked up dazedly at Matthew. His eyes were glued to the scabbard, a sudden look of alarm and...fear in his eyes.

Startled by his sudden change in attitude, Cordelia moved to reach for Matthew’s hand, but he had already retreated from the bed, several steps away. He ran his hand through his hair, his eyes still fever bright.

“Daisy, forgive me,” he said shakily. “I never meant to...”

Numbly, Cordelia shook her head. “It is not your fault. I should not have taken advantage of you.”

“You took advantage of me?” Matthew laughed humourlessly, disbelievingly. “I should be better than this. I swore to you that I would be better than this.”

“Matthew, please, it is not a problem,” Cordelia said hurriedly, readjusting the sleeve of her dress.

But Matthew seemed suddenly jumpy and on-edge. Slowly, he backed towards the door. He did not seem to have heard Cordelia. “I need to get some fresh air. I am so sorry, Daisy.”

With that, Matthew left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

Cordelia remained sat on her bed, stunned. She remained there as Alastair knocked and entered, asking why Matthew had apologised to him on his way out of the house. She remained there as Alastair gave her a concerned look, moved the scabbard from her bed to the corner, and left. She remained there until, exhausted, she lay back on her bed and closed her eyes, too tired to change out of her dress.

Even as Cordelia slept, thoughts about the day and about Matthew swirled unrelentingly around her mind and her dreams.

But if she had been any less tired, perhaps Cordelia would have realised that, for the first evening in years, not one of those thoughts was about James Herondale.

Chapter 3

Summary:

This was what Cordelia had wanted, was it not? To go back to those lazy afternoons in the garden? To go back to falling asleep to the gentle lull of Matthew’s voice? To go back to morning walks in the park and easy conversations over dinner in the evenings?

So why did she feel so numb inside?

~~~

In this chapter, Matthew and Cordelia each have their own parties the night before their wedding. Unfortunately for Matthew, when you let Christopher Lightwood plan the festivities, the night is bound to dissolve into chaos...

Matthew did not return that night.

He did not appear at the door the next morning. As usual, a beautiful bouquet of flowers – peonies this time – was delivered by a florist, an indignant Risa collecting them at the door and handing them over to a weary Alastair. He did not arrive as Cordelia sat down for breakfast with Sona and her brother, feeling somewhat dejected by the events of the night before. Even after Cordelia had arranged the flowers in a vase on the dining room table, positioning them so that Matthew would be able to appreciate them during dinner, he still had not arrived.

That evening, Cordelia’s careful arrangement went unappreciated: Matthew did not visit. And yet again, the next morning, there was no sign of him.

It was not unheard-of for Matthew to miss a day of visits, but it was unusual for him to miss two days in a row, or even for a day to go by without some sort of note being sent. Given that the wedding was only one sleep away, it would not be surprising if he had much to organise, to ensure that the proceedings went off without a hitch. Still, Cordelia could not help but feel that Matthew’s absence had much to do with what had transpired two nights before.

Daisy, forgive me.

Craving a distraction, Cordelia spent the morning in the training room, running through her usual routine of exercises, Cortana in hand. Something about the familiar practised motions made her feel calmer, more alert, more in control. It was strange, she thought, to now be seeking a distraction from Matthew, of all people. Up until the other night, Matthew had been her constant - her distraction from all of her troubles with her father and James. Perhaps too late, Cordelia had realised that she had taken his presence and warmth for granted.

She bit her lip to keep from gasping as Matthew grazed her throat with his teeth, placing soft kisses around her collarbone.

Frustrated, Cordelia swung Cortana wide. She sliced straight through the training dummy that she had been relentlessly attacking for the past half an hour. It did not make her feel any calmer. Wiping the sweat from her brow, she sheathed Cortana into the new scabbard that she had received from her father, finally putting it to use. As she ran her fingers over the soft leather, Cordelia pondered Matthew’s reaction to it. He had seemed almost frightened by its presence, as if something about it had struck a chord in his mind. It had been a long time since Cordelia had seen Matthew act like that in her presence. For the past few months, he had tried his best to seem relaxed, composed and in control. Yet the other night, finally, Cordelia had felt that they had broken down the walls between them - that she had finally come to understand why Matthew guarded himself so heavily against others and why he did not believe himself worthy of love.

She only hoped that she had not driven him more firmly into this belief by her actions.

Cordelia's other hand moved to rest around his neck, to bring him closer.

Cordelia shook her head. Regardless of what had happened between them, she would see Matthew tomorrow, at the wedding. He could not avoid her forever, after all. And now that she knew why he had turned to the drink in the first place, she could finally help him to escape from it.

There was, thankfully, something other than training to distract Cordelia. The spate of Shadowhunter murders across London had picked up, with yet another death occurring the night before. She and Alastair spent the afternoon together in the salon, trying to draw connections between each of the murders and where they had taken place. Thus far, Cordelia could see no links between the locations, but what concerned her and her brother the most was what had happened to the runes on each Shadowhunter.

“It is as if the murderer removed the runes from their bodies,” Cordelia mused, rereading the notes from the last Enclave meeting.

Sona, resting on the settee, lowered the book that she was reading. She had a strained look on her face. “Neither of you is to go out of the house on your own after nightfall,” she said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Sona’s words, however, were soon to be tested. At around five o’clock that evening, just as Cordelia and her family were settling down for dinner, a knock sounded on the door. Cordelia’s heart leapt – could that be Matthew?

She rose hastily from her seat and followed Risa out of the dining room door. Perhaps it would be strange for the engaged couple to spend the evening before the wedding together, but Cordelia did not care. After the discussions that she and Alastair had had that afternoon, she found herself once more wanting to talk with Matthew, to hear his thoughts.

To her great surprise, however, it was not Matthew on the doorstep as Risa opened the door: it was Christopher Lightwood. He stood there in a black suit that would have looked smart if not for his messy hair, skewed glasses and tie just slightly out of place. Behind him was an elaborate horse-drawn carriage. In his hands, he held a black gift box with a red bow tied around it, atop which rested a piece of paper that he had propped open.

Spotting Cordelia in the doorway, Christopher took a deep breath and began to read aloud:

“‘My dearest Daisy, I hope that this evening finds you well.’” Christopher’s voice was stilted and rehearsed. “‘I apologise that I cannot be there with you right now, but alas, it is my curse as the groom to stay fated from your side until the hour at which we are to be wed.’”

As if summoned by Christopher’s loud voice, Alastair and Sona appeared behind Cordelia. The looks of bemusement on their faces mirrored that on her own.

“‘Do not despair, however,’” Christopher went on, “‘for I have arranged an evening of joy and festivities for you. I have no doubt that you will make many fond memories that you will treasure for the rest of your life, and it pains me so that I cannot be there to be a part of them. However, I have seen to it that you will be in most excellent company for the evening, and I will do my utmost to hold together my breaking heart until the moment at which I can see you again and it can mend in your presence one more. All my love, Matthew.’”

Christopher finished, folded up the paper and blinked owlishly up at the Carstairs in the doorway. The Carstairs stared numbly back.

“What in the name of Raziel did you just say?” Alastair asked, breaking the silence.

In response, Christopher unfurled the sheet once more, cleared his throat and said, “‘My dearest Daisy, I hope that this evening finds you well. I apologise that I-’”

“No, no, we heard you the first time,” Alastair interrupted. His voice cracked in panic.

“Oh, of course.” Christopher folded up the paper once more and walked further up the steps, standing across the threshold from Cordelia. He held out the black gift box. “I have instructions to ensure that you put on this dress, after which I am to take you to a secret destination, only to be revealed once we arrive.”

Cordelia took the box from Christopher hesitantly. This did indeed seem like something that Matthew would dream up. Despite the dour day that she had had, a feeling of excitement had started blooming in her chest, as it always seemed to when Matthew was around.

Christopher turned to Alastair. “I am also instructed to bring you along.”

Alastair gave Christopher a dirty look. “There is no chance that I am getting involved in a hare-brained scheme devised by Matthew Fairchild.”

Confused as to how to respond to this, Christopher turned beseechingly to Sona, who placed a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Come now, Alastair,” she said soothingly. “Matthew clearly took the time to prepare this event, and you would not want to let your sister down.”

“I thought that you did not want us out late at night,” Alastair pointed out.

“I am sure that it will be safe if you are all together. Matthew will have made appropriate preparations.”

Alastair sighed, resigned to his fate. “I have had my suspicions that you would have preferred Matthew as a son,” he muttered, no real anger or venom in his words, “and this rather proves it.”

Leaving the others on the doorstep, Cordelia slipped away to her bedroom to put on the dress. As she lifted the lid off of the box, her movement caused a small card of paper to fly out from on top of the dress and land on the floor. Cordelia picked it up. She smiled as she recognised Matthew’s handwriting.

Hear my soul speak:

The very instant that I saw you did

My heart fly to your service            - Matthew

Cordelia's smile faded. She frowned, pondering the extract that he had chosen. If she remembered correctly from their long discussions in the garden, this had been from a Shakespearean piece. But why had he chosen this passage?

Placing the note on her bedcovers, Cordelia reached into the box and lifted out the dress. She gasped. It was a gorgeous, deep red, the sides patterned with swirling white roses, ending in a skirt that bloomed like a flower. Beneath it was a pair of matching gloves, made of silky velvet. Cordelia ran her fingers over the material, awestruck.

As if on cue, a knock sounded on her door and Risa entered. She looked relieved to have escaped whatever was going on downstairs. Together, they changed Cordelia out of her evening wear and into the dress. Risa even took the time to brush Cordelia’s hair, though they did not have enough time to style it. As she headed for the door, Cordelia impulsively grabbed a bracelet from her vanity table - one that Matthew had bought for her a few weeks earlier. It was made of gold and patterned with small roses, which Cordelia felt was rather appropriate, given the dress. Looking down at the bracelet, Cordelia’s stomach jolted as she suddenly remember James and the one that he wore, the gift from Grace.

No, I must not be silly, Cordelia scolded herself. I cannot go my whole life avoiding bracelets just to avoid thinking about him.

Back at the bottom of the stairs, Cordelia re-joined Alastair and Christopher.

“...and then, can you believe it, it went up in flames! Well, of course, that was the intention. It was supposed to be a fire message, after all. But the problem was, I thought that it had been a success! I had just begun writing down what I had done in great detail when Matthew’s mother came downstairs and started berating me for not telling her about the leak in the bathroom upstairs. Apparently it had flooded the entire landing. Well, I said that I had told her. The message should have come to her! I watched it catch fire! So now I am banned from sending important messages using fire, which is rather a shame, because I just had a new idea for-”

“Oh, thank the Lord,” Alastair said, standing up from where he had been leaning against the wall as Cordelia approached. He looked as if he had aged ten years in the last twenty minutes. Sona, it seemed, had disappeared, leaving Alastair to talk to Christopher alone.

Christopher smiled brightly at Cordelia. “You look smashing! Now, right this way to the carriage.”

With that, he bounded down the steps, leaving Alastair and Cordelia to trail after him. Cordelia, surprised, realised that the carriage at the foot of the stairs was not, in fact, the Lightwood’s carriage, but instead was the Fairchild’s, decked out in streamers of gold. Christopher gentlemanly opened the door for Cordelia and helped her up the steps. He then held out his hand to Alastair, who gave him a look even dirtier than the one earlier, before clambering in after Cordelia.

Once everyone was seated, Christopher rapped on the top of the carriage. As they rolled away from the Carstairs’ residence, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a very crumpled looking piece of paper.

“Now then,” Christopher declared, “I am to read to you from this next letter.” He cleared his throat. “‘My dearest Daisy, how I hope that you have found the dress to your taste. I only wish that I could see you in it with my own eyes and savour the sight of your radiant-”

“Absolutely not,” Alastair interrupted, panicked. He snatched the piece of paper away from Christopher and flung it on the carriage floor, as if it had burned his fingers. “Please, in the name of the Angel, tell me what is going on.”

Christopher, looking hurt, picked the paper up off of the floor and tucked it back in his pocket. “But I swore a vow to secrecy!”

The glare in Alastair’s eyes made it very clear that a vow would not be the only cause of Christopher's swearing should he not answer.

“Oh, very well.” Christopher sighed. “I am to deliver Cordelia to a party in her honour at the Hell Ruelle. Anna and Lucie are already waiting there for her. I believe that Matthew has planned a number of exciting activities for them over the course of the evening.”

“I see,” Cordelia said, suddenly relieved. “I will admit, I was imagining much worse.”

Cordelia and Christopher lapsed into easy conversation as the carriage rolled through the streets of London. Alastair, sulking in his seat next to Christopher, stared out of the window. The twinkling streetlamps and the soft chatter of the passing pedestrians, many heading home from a long day of work, made Cordelia rather feel like she had fallen into a dream.

As they pulled up outside of the Hell Ruelle, Christopher dutifully climbed out of the carriage to help Cordelia down. Then, almost immediately, he climbed back in. Confused, Cordelia made eye contact with Alastair.

“Are you two not joining me?”

“Oh, no.” Christopher shook his head. “Alastair is coming with me to join Matthew’s party.”

Alastair froze, eyes wide in horror. “Surely not.”

“Of course,” Christopher replied, confused, as if it were to be expected that Alastair would join them. “As his soon-to-be brother-in-law, Matthew wanted you to join us for the night. The others will be there, too. James, Thomas-”

Frenzied, Alastair leaped across Christopher, aiming for the open carriage door. As though he had been warned that this might happen, Christopher jumped in front of the door, crouching awkwardly on the floor. He rapped quickly and repeatedly on the side of the carriage; the coachman coaxed the horses forwards.

Still crouched awkwardly in front of the door, one leg trying to keep Alastair at bay, Christopher craned his head over his shoulder and called, “Have a good evening, Cordelia!”

Dumbstruck, Cordelia stared blankly as the carriage rolled away, until it was lost in the throng of evening traffic. Saying a silent prayer for Alastair, she hitched up the skirt of her dress and headed for the entrance to the Hell Ruelle.

 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Matthew sat face-down at the bar of the Devil’s Tavern.

Next to him, his parabatai, James, patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Come now, Math, it cannot be that bad,” he said bracingly. “Tell us exactly what happened.”

“Nothing happened,” Matthew groaned, not lifting his face. “I just ruined everything that I had worked so hard to build over the past few months.”

“That does not sound like nothing,” Thomas Lightwood said. He was sat on Matthew’s other side, sipping from a drink that he had received free of charge.

This was, as the bartender, Polly, had put it, Matthew’s final night as a free man. Indeed, the patrons of the Devil’s Tavern had spent much of the evening slapping him on the back and congratulating him and buying him so many drinks that it must have seemed to many a miracle that he was still standing. Thomas and James had, of course, taken advantage of this, to the point that none of the Merry Thieves present had paid for a single drink all night.

Unbeknownst to the others, however, Matthew had not touched one of those drinks. In his breast pocket, like a weight pulling him down, he could feel a metal flask. Inside the flask was a special concoction put together by Christopher at Matthew's request.

He had seen the damage done by Elias to his family. Had seen how much Cordelia had suffered.

“Do you really think I will allow you to hurt my sister like that?” Alastair had scorned, eyes blazing with fury, when the two of them had been alone together.

Matthew, trembling, had shaken his head dazedly. “No, I will not be like that. I will treat her better.”

“Then show that through your actions, Fairchild. Or I will deal with you as necessary.”

“How did you ruin everything?” James asked, frowning. His words jolted Matthew back to the present. “What did you do?”

“I did not do anything!” Matthew cried. And then: “I kissed her.”

Thomas choked on his drink. James froze.

“And then, I think she kissed me back.”

Thomas, coughing into a handkerchief, managed to splutter out, “Then it hardly seems like there was a problem.”

Matthew shook his head, staring into his cup of tea morosely. “You do not understand! I made a promise to Cordelia that I would be the perfect husband!”

“And kissing your fiancée makes you a bad husband?” Polly interjected, polishing a glass behind the bar.

“We are not to be wed until tomorrow and yet I forced myself on her,” Matthew moaned, dropping his face back down onto the bar with a loud thunk. The downside to drinking only Christopher’s concoction was that his head felt as though it were being run over by a steam train. “What am I to do, Thomas?”

“There, there,” Thomas replied, slapping Matthew’s back and taking a sip of his drink. “You will think of something. You always do.”

But Matthew knew, deep down, that he was out of ideas this time. From the first moment that he had met Cordelia, during the party at the Institute, he had been blinded by her. She was strong-willed, proactive, selfless – everything that he was not. She stood up for those whom she cared about, consequences be damned. She was the kind of person who threw away her future to save another. And as her reward, she had been scorned by her fellow Shadowhunters and abandoned by the boy whom she clearly loved with all of her heart. Despite the fact that Matthew and James had since made up – a necessary part of being parabatai – just the memory of that day filled Matthew with a hollow fury.

Yet in that moment, as he had held a crying Cordelia in his arms, a thought that was beyond selfish had rooted in Matthew’s mind.

If Cordelia was now an outcast like him, did that mean that no longer had to be alone?

A scuffle across the room distracted Matthew from his spiralling thoughts. Tilting his head to the side, cheek still pressed firmly against the wooden surface of the bar, he watched two figures fighting near the door, egged on by a group of goblins. No, not quite fighting – one had his arms wrapped around the waist of the other, trying desperately to yank him through the doorway. The other was holding onto the doorframe for dear life, his feet almost entirely off of the floor. As his grip slipped, the two figures tumbled backwards, knocking into the goblins’ table and bringing the whole thing tumbling down in a wave of smashing glasses and crashing plates.

The goblins were not laughing anymore. Some gave the figures a threatening look as they rose from the ground, dusting themselves off. One that had dodged the table cracked his knuckles menacingly.

Standing up quickly, one of the figures held out his hands placatingly.

“So sorry.” Christopher. “A terrible accident.”

Perhaps recognising who it was, or perhaps deciding that a fight would cut into valuable drinking time, the goblins simply grunted and set about righting their table. Christopher, meanwhile, offered a hand to the other figure, who waved it off. He stood up on his own, dazed. Christopher took advantage of his confusion to guide him towards where the rest of the Merry Thieves were sat.

“Is that...” Thomas squinted. His face fell. He gave Matthew a horrified look. “Matthew, why is Alastair here?”

“Oh right,” Matthew mumbled, finally sitting upright. “I forgot that I had invited him.”

“You forgot? You hate Alastair Carstairs,” Thomas hissed.

Matthew waved a hand as Christopher and Alastair finally reached them. “Burying the hatchet, as they say. Good evening to you, Alastair. I very much enjoyed your performance by the door.”

“Be quiet, Fairchild,” Alastair growled, fixing Matthew with a nasty look. Seeming resigned to his fate, he took the seat next to James, furthest from Thomas, who had his head in his hands. “And what in the name of Raziel was that note you wrote for my sister?”

Matthew paused. He tried to puzzle together what Alastair was talking about. Then he groaned loudly, a long drawn-out noise.

“I forgot about that,” Matthew moaned. His face fell back down onto the bar. “Am I incapable of not making matters worse with everything that I do?”

Unfazed as usual by Matthew’s reaction, Christopher clapped his hands together. “Right then. Now that the whole group is here, the festivities can truly begin!

“As you well know, Matthew asked us to plan this party for him, and thus we have divided the load, so to speak. Each of us has planned an activity sure to make for an exciting night! Thomas, as decided, you are up first!”

“Well.” Thomas sighed and reached into his pocket as Christopher settled into the seat next to him. “I had planned on taking us all to see a show in the West End. Unfortunately,” he gave Matthew a pointed look, “I did not know that we would have an extra member and so there are not enough tickets.”

Thomas, frustrated, tossed the tickets onto the bar in front of Matthew. He still had not looked at Alastair.

James, who had been remarkably silent since Matthew had mentioned the kiss, picked up the tickets and frowned down at them. “These are for tomorrow night.”

“What? No.” Thomas grabbed one of the tickets and stared at it. “Oh, bugger it.”

Matthew snorted, grinning despite himself. With all of his friends around him, up to their usual antics, he could feel his mood lifting. It really was impossible to be down when they were together.

Christopher, looking disappointed, said, “Well, I guess it cannot be helped. I really thought that you would have prepared better than this Thomas.”

Thomas fixed him with a withering stare.

Undeterred, Christopher suddenly brightened. “Very well, that means it is my turn!”

Bounding out of his chair again, Christopher turned dramatically to the Merry Thieves, suddenly a showman on a stage.

“It is time, Matthew, to begin the hunt for your future! I have hidden several clues around the city that will lead you to the treasure that you most seek! Come, step forth into my adventurous world and spread your wings!”

At the four bemused expressions that he received, Christopher added, “I read that in a book.”

“And how are we supposed to find several clues around a city this large?” Alastair grumbled. “Or any city, for that matter.”

“By following my first clue, of course!” Christopher cleared his throat. “After all, there is nothing barring you from finding it!”

“It is behind the bar,” Alastair said immediately, turning away.

“Really?” Thomas replied sarcastically. “I would never have guessed.”

In unison, Matthew and James leaned over the bar, scanning behind the counter. Aside from yellow-stained mugs, a dusty floor and Polly the bartender’s surprisingly shiny shoes, there was nothing of note.

“What exactly are we looking for, Kit?” Matthew asked.

“A small slip of paper,” Christopher replied. “Though I should warn you, it may not be loose on the floor. It may be in the hands of a person.”

All eyes raised suspiciously to Polly.

“Polly has it!” Christopher blurted out, unable to contain himself.

Matthew barked out a laugh. James sighed good-naturedly.

“Rather think that you have misunderstood how a hunt works, Kit,” James said, a small smile on his face.

Matthew had noticed earlier, rather concerningly, that James looked paler than usual this evening. He kept running his hand through his hair and fiddling with the bracelet and looking about anxiously. Though Matthew had tried to ask him why he seemed so tense, James had simple shrugged him off, saying that tonight was Matthew’s night and that he was not to worry about him. Matthew had made a mental note to talk to him later, in private.

As if on cue, Polly reached into the pocket of her apron and handed Matthew a note, slightly damp and stained with a strange-smelling substance. Flicking it open, Matthew squinted down at it. Christopher’s spidery handwriting was barely legible. Still, he could just about make out what was scrawled there.

“‘Where there is a will, there is a way,’” he read aloud.

This clue significantly harder than the last, the group lapsed into silence. Thomas began looking around the bar, as if hoping for inspiration. Alastair, still aggrieved, stared straight across at the wall opposite him. Matthew reread the note, trying to glean any secrets that it may hold.

James, however, asked, “Is it in this room with us right now?”

Christopher shook his head. “I cannot say! But remember, it may be in the hands of a person! ‘Where there is a will, there is a way’.”

The group fell silent again - until James, groaning, gave Christopher an exasperated look.

“Oh no, Kit, really? My father?”

Christopher smiled mysteriously, his excitement rather giving him away. Matthew, downing the rest of his cup of tea, stood up.

“Well, I guess we had best head over to the Institute.”

“I am not going all the way over to the Institute on a whim,” Alastair said. “Tell me, Lightwood, does William Herondale have the clue?”

Christopher looked as if he were warring with the secret inside of him. Unfortunately, he lost. “He does! Off we go!”

Exchanging an amused look with James, Matthew pulled on his coat and followed his friends to the door. Though the evening was not quite going to plan – as it never did when the Merry Thieves assembled – the entertainment had at least served to distract his thoughts from Cordelia. Even so, his mind wandered, wondering if she was having as much fun as he was, and wondering if she was also thinking of him.

 

Indeed, on the other side of the city, Cordelia was having a night to remember. She, Lucie, and Anna had settled in for an evening of conversation, which had quickly been derailed when Matthew’s planned events had started. At first, it had been a troupe of cabaret dancers, whirling wildly, faster and faster, around their table, until Cordelia, who had not moved from her seat, felt dizzy just watching. Then, as they had tried to restart the conversation, a troupe of travelling fae musicians had shown up to play an array of tunes. Though most of the songs were unfamiliar to Cordelia, she had felt a pull of the strings, a draw to dance. The next thing that she knew, she, Lucie and Kellington had been taking part in an awkward three-way dance that involved much jumping and kicking. This had had Anna and Hypatia, still sat at the table, in fits of laughter.

Cordelia felt, for the first time in a while, completely light-hearted. Perhaps it was the music. Perhaps it was the presence of her friends. Whatever it was, her worries had fled her, chased off by the music and the décor and the company. Even being back at the place where she had kissed James so passionately did not bother her in the slightest.

The only thing missing, Cordelia thought as she twirled Lucie on the floor, a grin on both of their faces, was the person who had planned all of this for her.

 

That person, meanwhile, was currently stood on the roof of the Institute, staring bemusedly at the paper in his hand.

They had arrived at the Institute about a quarter of an hour earlier. Christopher had barely been able to contain his excitement in the carriage and had hurtled up the steps as quickly as he could. Once inside, the group had headed for Will’s office. To their surprise, they had found that Will was not alone. He had been joined not only by Tessa, but also Cecily and Gabriel.

Will, dressed unusually dapper for an evening at the Institute, had bowed dramatically to Matthew upon his entrance.

“Good evening, good sirs,” he had said, his voice taking on an unfamiliar tone. “Welcome to my humble abode.”

James had looked bemusedly at his mother. Tessa had simply shrugged, smiled and explained, “He is not Will Herondale tonight.”

“Will Herondale?” Will had asked dramatically, turning to his wife. “Who is this Will Herondale of whom you speak? Could this be the dashing gentleman who has stolen your heart?”

Will had leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of Tessa’s head. Across the room, Gabriel had coughed pointedly.

Will, chastised, had continued, “May I be the first to extend my congratulations to you on this, the eve of your wedding.”

“But you are not the first,” Alastair had pointed out.

“Nevertheless! I have been tasked with guarding this here secret note, until such time that you, Matthew Fairchild, came to collect it.”

With a flourish, Will had reached into his pocket and withdrew a neatly-folded note. He had brandished it at Matthew. Matthew, grinning, had made a dramatic bow in return. “Why, thank you, my good sir. You have fulfilled your duty admirably.”

Taking the slip of paper, Matthew had unfolded it and looked down. This one, at least, was slightly more legible than the last, if a little charred around the edges. Had this poor note been subject to one of Christopher’s experiments?

“‘Find the next clue at the place in the Institute closest to the stars.’”

The room had fallen silent as everyone pondered what the next clue meant. It did, of course, seem fairly obvious that it would involve a trip to the roof. And so that was how Matthew found himself there now, in the chilly autumn air at nine o’clock at night, shivering next to James for warmth. In front of them, Alastair and Thomas were looking up the tallest spire on the roof, the peak of which was not an insignificant distance up from where they stood. Though the roof and their runes would largely cushion a fall, it was still a dizzying height to climb with only the chilling light from the moon to guide them.

“Did you really put it up there, Kit?” Thomas asked.

Christopher, beaming, said nothing. He simply hopped from foot to foot.

Alastair sighed. “Very well, then. You had best climb up there, Fairchild.”

James shook his head. “If he falls and injures himself badly, the wedding will be called off tomorrow.”

“And,” Matthew added, “James will be with me at the altar. I would be remiss if I let anything happen to him tonight.”

Thomas and Alastair finally looked at each other. Thomas shrugged. “I have been drinking tonight.”

Looking around desperately for some kind of support and finding none, Alastair resigned himself once again that night and stepped nervously towards the spire. His hands ran up and down the grainy surface, seeking purchase. Tentatively, he hoisted himself up. His foot found a nook – and immediately slipped out.

“Bloody hell,” Alastair cursed as he tumbled to the floor. As sportingly as he could, Matthew held in his snort of laughter. Thomas was not quite so polite.

Getting back onto his feet, Alastair tried again. This time, he made it a good distance up the spire before he slipped again. Instinctively, Matthew rushed forwards. He grabbed Alastair’s legs and helped him to right himself, then did his best to push him further up with what strength he could muster at this awkward angle.

“Stop pushing on my BLOODY ARSE, Fairchild!” Alastair roared. Despite the cold, sweat poured from his face.

Perhaps having heard all of the commotion, Will and the others arrived on the roof. Gabriel took one look at the scene before him, sighed and immediately turned around. “I will go find something with which to cushion his fall.”

“Yes, that might be for the best,” Cecily replied weakly.

But by some miracle, Alastair had made it to the top of the spire. Carefully, he moved his head around, seeking the note.

“I cannot see anything!” he called down.

“Have you looked the whole way around?” Will called up helpfully.

Alastair, clearly too exhausted and cold to worry about propriety, fixed Will with a seething look – and almost tumbled off. Righting himself, he made a point of looking thoroughly around the spire’s peak.

“Nothing! Are you quite sure that it is up here?”

All eyes turned to Christopher. Christopher grinned that same mysterious smile from before. “I never said that it was.”

A groan passed through the group.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Thomas moaned. “It is not up there!”

“What?”

“IT IS NOT UP THERE!”

“OH, BLOODY HELL!”

Seething, Alastair began to make his way carefully down the spire. Matthew, James and Will gathered at the bottom, ready to catch him. Fortunately, it seemed that the way down was far easier than the climb had been. Feet finally back on solid ground, panting to catch his breath, Alastair turned a death stare on Christopher.

“Tell us where this clue is right now, Lightwood, or Raziel help me I will make you climb up that spire and stay up there!”

Christopher, taken aback, replied hastily, “The note said to seek out the point closest to the stars. We are hardly close to the stars on the roof. They are nowhere near us! Where else in the Institute would be close to them?”

Everyone stared blankly, except for Tessa. “The star chart in the study?”

“Exactly!” Christopher said, delighted. “We were right in the same room as it all along! I tucked the clue underneath it.”

Cecily, however, looked confused. “But we moved that star chart earlier this evening, before the meeting. We did not find anything underneath it.”

Christopher, bewildered, began rummaging in his pocket. His eyes widened. He pulled out a tiny scrap of paper. It looked as though it had been folded a hundred times.

“I forgot to hide it!”

Alastair looked as if he were mustering the last amount of self-control that he had. He strode across the roof on wobbly legs and snatched the paper from Christopher, before thrusting it into Matthew’s hands.

“Read it so that this bloody party can come to an end.”

Matthew found that he felt quite sorry for Alastair, all things considered. He hoped that Alastair would not hold tonight against him during his temporary marriage to Cordelia. Unfolding the paper, he read the final clue aloud.

“‘The final treasure rests where your true heart lies...’ Oh, surely not, Kit?”

To Matthew, this clue had been the easiest of all of them to figure out. Because, no matter where they had been, no matter how much fun that they had been having, a part of his heart had felt like it was missing. His thoughts had drifted continuously to Cordelia, desperate to see her in the dress that he had gifted her, desperate to hear her laugh and see her smile and listen to her talk about her day. Without even realising, Cordelia had become an essential part of his life, as necessary as breathing. And now that she knew his darkest secrets - knew them and had not shunned him for them - he dared to hope that, even if their marriage was temporary, the bond that they now shared would last forever.

 

That was how it came to be that the Merry Thieves arrived at the Hell Ruelle. Cordelia, without quite knowing how it had started, had been duelling with a vampire. She had been grasping Cortana tightly in her hands, swinging it in what should have been perfect arcs but which always seemed to miss. Something seemed wrong with her sword. Lucie, by her side, was cheering Cordelia on enthusiastically, clapping wildly each time that Cortana came within even a few inches of the vampire.

All of a sudden, a glint of gold in her peripheral vision startled Cordelia, causing her to drop her sword. Cursing, Cordelia leaned down to pick it up - and that was when she realised that the glint of gold was Matthew.

It was as if her thoughts had manifested in front of her. As wonderful and adventure-filled as her evening had been, she could not help but wish that Matthew was there to experience it with her. Now, there he was, dressed in a magnificent gold waistcoat and trousers than matched his golden curls.

Cordelia remembered running her fingers through those curls and inadvertently shivered.

It was only as she began to cross the room to him, sheathing Cortana, that she realised that Matthew was not alone.

James stood by his side.

Cordelia froze. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest. How long had it been since she had seen him outside of her dreams? Since she had spoken to him? Weeks, surely. He looked worse than he had when she had last seen him at the Wentworth’s party. His skin was waxy and pale. Under his eyes hung deep shadows. His nails, she realised as she looked at his hands, fiddling with his bracelet, were bitten ragged.

And yet, despite these changes, her memory had not done his beauty justice.

Cordelia’s heart ached. Her mind was blank. But she knew that she could not just stand there. She had sworn to herself that she had changed over the past few months. That she would no longer run from the pain that tormented her heart.

Besides, it was not only James and Matthew who had entered. A guilty-looking Christopher was standing between a disgruntled Alastair and Thomas. Behind them, the sound of voices suggested that there were even more members of their group present.

Lucie and Anna came to Cordelia’s side, Lucie’s face bright at the sudden arrival. Cordelia let her soon-to-be-parabatai’s strength flow into her. “Oh, what fun! Have they come to join the festivities?”

Together, the three of them approached the group. As they did, Matthew stared fixedly at Cordelia. His eyes seemed almost hungry, drinking in every detail of her.

“You look fantastic, Daisy,” he said quietly, throat dry.

Cordelia gave him a small smile. She felt worried that the atmosphere would be strained between them after the events of several nights earlier. “Thank you for the dress.”

James watched the exchange. He hardly seemed to be breathing.

“Your note made it seem as though you would not be joining us tonight,” Cordelia said. She deliberately stared straight at Matthew, forcing herself to resist the temptation to glance at James, to savour in being so close to him.

Matthew gave her a rueful grin. “And so I thought that to be the case. It was not my intention to intrude upon your celebration. Unfortunately, this seems to be a natural consequence of allowing Kit to take control of the planning.”

Cordelia laughed. She felt as though a sudden weight had been lifted from her chest. Perhaps things were not ruined between her and Matthew. Perhaps they could go back to the way that they had been.

At that moment, Christopher stepped forward, clapping his hands once more. “And there we have it! Matthew has found the treasure that he sought all along! And now that the two to be wed have been reunited, they can step into the night in each other’s arms, spread their wings and-”

“In the name of all of the Angels, be quiet,” Alastair hissed.

All at once, an explosion of conversation broke out. Anna began teasing Alastair about his rather bedraggled appearance. Lucie started questioning Christopher eagerly about the details of the hunt that he had planned, clearly seeing potential for an additional chapter of The Beautiful Cordelia. Will Herondale, much to Cordelia’s amusement, poked his head in and made light conversation with her about her evening.

Unfortunately for them, a large crowd of Shadowhunters at the Hell Ruelle was bound to draw attention. Hypatia Vex, who until now had been quite tolerant of their antics, bustled over and asked them to leave in a polite enough tone that brooked no discussion.

As they stepped out into the night, the conversation still ongoing, James pointed out that they had yet to experience his part of the night. And so that was how the now-large group of Shadowhunters found themselves crammed into several carriages, and then those carriages found themselves crammed into the late-night London traffic, and then finally they found themselves at Regent’s Park. James, as it turned out, had planned a night-time picnic by the lake, complete with a hastily-assembled bonfire. Still accompanying them (“I played a role this evening. I want to see it to its conclusion!”), Will Herondale eagerly set about tending the fire. Christopher took the opportunity to practice tossing messages into it and explaining the process excitedly to a patient Tessa. Lucie enthusiastically told anyone who would listen about how Cordelia had defeated three faeries that night in an arm-wrestling match (“And I am certain that at least one of them was part troll!”). Anna, Thomas and Cecily started up a game of catch, tossing what looked suspiciously like Gabriel’s new watch between them.

Matthew and Cordelia, however, snuck away to the lake. Matthew had asked her for a moment in private and she had, nervously, obliged.

Stood at the water’s edge, Matthew seemed lost in thought. Cordelia said nothing. Desperate as she was to talk to him, to explain the other night, she understood the feeling of needing to process your thoughts.

“I am sorry for what I did,” Matthew said suddenly.

Cordelia turned to look at him. “As I told you then, you need not apologise.”

Matthew shook his head. “I care deeply for you, Cordelia. Words cannot express how much I appreciate that you accepted me that night, even after I told you the truth of what I am. I do not want to ruin this bond that we share.” He turned to her, an anxious look on his face. “I beg of you, please forget what happened. I want nothing more than to return to how we were before. Scorn me if you must. My heart is yours to break. But if you can find it within yourself to forgive even a cad like me, I swear that I will never do something like that again.”

Cordelia swallowed hard. This was what she had wanted, was it not? To go back to those lazy afternoons in the garden? To go back to falling asleep to the gentle lull of Matthew’s voice? To go back to morning walks in the park and easy conversations over dinner in the evenings?

So why did she feel so numb inside?

“Then we will speak no more of it,” Cordelia replied, burying that strange feeling deep within her. “I would like that, too, Matthew.”

Palpable relief brightening his face, Matthew smiled widely and offered her his hand. Instead, Cordelia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his chest. Matthew wrapped his arms around her in response - an easy hug, no hidden messages between them. Cordelia held Matthew as tightly as she could, hoping that by doing so she could somehow understand why she felt so empty of all a sudden - hoping that she could see inside of him, that she could see if he felt the same way.

That she could see if he also felt as though he were falling.

Chapter 4

Summary:

“What were you thinking about today, Cordelia Carstairs?" Matthew asked. "Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say ‘Cordelia Fairchild’?”

Cordelia hesitated for only a moment. “I was thinking about how lost I would be without you.”

~~~

In this chapter, the day of Cordelia and Matthew's wedding has finally arrived. However, plans are somewhat interrupted by James, who is acting very unlike himself...

Cordelia awoke the next morning with a groan.

The night before had continued for far longer than it should have. It had already been late at night when the picnic had started, let alone when it had finished. Will Herondale had kept them all sat around the bonfire for several hours, telling stories about the adventures he, his wife, and their friends had gotten into during their youth. Perhaps having heard the tale more times than he could count, James had excused himself. His face had been pale and drawn, the moonlight illuminating the dark shadows under his eyes. Tessa had expressed concern that James should not be wandering around on his own at night, given the current situation within the Shadowhunter community. But James had waved her off, assuring her that he had plans to meet with someone. Cordelia had wondered if that “someone” was Grace. Part of Cordelia had fought to rise, to follow him, to confront her worst fears, but at so late an hour, weariness had won out. Lulled by Will’s soothing voice and the warmth of the flickering flames, Cordelia’s head had sunk exhaustedly to her chest and she had become lost in other thoughts.

I do not want to ruin this bond we share.

That was what Matthew had said. And indeed, a not-so-insignificant part of Cordelia was in agreement with him. Over the past few months, Matthew had become a constant in her life. A solid force on which she could rely. The one person who knew the truth of what had happened between her and James. In many ways, Cordelia thought, she had become too dependent on him. With Matthew, with the easy, meaningless conversation they shared, she could forget, could pretend that everything was normal. However, when Matthew had shared his innermost secret with her, they had finally crossed over some unspoken threshold, an invisible line that had prevented them from opening up and sharing their true thoughts with one another.

Now that they had stepped over this line, would it even be possible to return?

Noticing Cordelia’s exhaustion, Matthew had good-naturedly interrupted Will and pointed out that they really had rather get home to rest before the wedding in a few hours’ time. Startled out of the tale he had been weaving – “If you will believe it, he had turned into an enormous worm! I always knew he was a slimy bastard” – Will had hurriedly set about ushering a very sleepy group of people back into separate carriages. Before they had parted ways, Matthew had helped Cordelia into the Fairchild’s carriage – still generously being offered to take Cordelia and a half-asleep Alastair back home. Cordelia had climbed into the carriage, paying extra attention to where she put her feet to avoid slipping from fatigue.

As she sat down, Matthew had climbed onto the bottom step of the carriage. Gently, he had leaned down and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. The spot where his lips touched had seemed extra warm against the freezing night air.

“Take care, Daisy,” he had murmured. “I will see you tomorrow. I promise, everything will work itself out.”

With that, his hand had slipped from hers and Matthew had retreated into the night. Too weary to contemplate the meaning of his words, Cordelia had slipped into a restless sleep. She had awoken only as the carriage ground to a halt outside of their home. A groggy Alastair had leaned across Cordelia to open the door. He had stumbled out of the carriage and reached up a hand to help his sister out. Gratefully, Cordelia had taken it and clambered down the steps, following her brother towards the lit facade of the house.

“Home, sweet home,” Alastair had grumbled.

Cordelia’s stomach had done a funny sort of swoop as she realised this may be the last time these words would apply to her.

Sona, as it turned out, was not best impressed by the lateness of the hour at which her children had thought to return. Though Matthew had sent a messenger before they had left the Hell Ruelle to reassure Sona of their safety and their imminent return, though they had assured their mother that several adult Shadowhunters had been with them for most of the evening, Sona was not to be cowed. It was only when Cordelia had pointed out that she should rest ahead of tomorrow that Sona’s fury had shifted, her face giving way to a sudden look of pity and concern that made Cordelia turn away. She could not face her mother at this moment. She could not face any sympathy or kind words.

Accompanied by Risa, Cordelia had changed out of her dress. She had placed Cortana carefully by her bed, pausing to trail her fingers tenderly down the cold metal of the blade. Why was it that the sword had felt so unresponsive tonight? Was it just her imagination, a consequence of the stress under which she found herself? Or was it due to her recent failings as a Shadowhunter, her overreliance on others, her sudden lack of motivation and conviction?

Mind too foggy to consider this question seriously, Cordelia had finally climbed into bed. She had buried her face in her soft pillow, breathing it what had now become a familiar scent. Closing her eyes, she had willed the buzzing of thoughts in her head to quieten down. And yet, they would not. As the last remaining hours of her time at home ticked by, Cordelia had simply laid on her side, unfocused eyes following the trails of moonlight sparkling off of Cortana, mind swirling over and over between the different worries that haunted her every waking moment...

A knock at the door startled Cordelia out of her reverie. At some point, it seemed, she had finally drifted off, though she could not speak to the length or quality of the sleep. Groggily, Cordelia slid off of her bed and opened the door to a harried-looking Risa. Cordelia was used to Risa’s bustling nature, but today she seemed different from usual. Face drawn and slightly pale, Risa did not so much as even comment on Cordelia’s bedraggled appearance. She bustled her into the bath, and then into her travel dress – she would be changing into her wedding dress at the Institute, where the wedding was to take place, to avoid prying eyes before her official arrival – and then onto the stool in front of the vanity table to arrange Cordelia’s hair and makeup. Staring at her reflection, Cordelia could see why Risa had looked so concerned. Her skin looked worn and even seemed to be peeling in places – a consequence of her worries about her father and James, no doubt. Her eyes looked slightly bloodshot. Under them hung shadows to rival even those that James had had under his the night before.

As Risa’s fingers moved deftly through her hair, Cordelia’s thoughts drifted, as they so often did, to James. Where had he gone last night? Had he returned home safely? And had it been Grace whom he had been sneaking off to meet?

Distracted by these thoughts, Cordelia barely noticed as Risa finished her work and stopped to lightly stroke the top of Cordelia’s head. She remained distracted as she slid Cortana into her weapons belt, much to a disapproving Risa’s dismay. It was only once Cordelia was out of her room and halfway down the stairs that her stomach jolted yet again. She had left her room for what would likely be the last time. She yearned to turn around, to climb the stairs and go back inside and memorise every inch of her room. Yet she knew she would look ridiculous to do so.

And besides, Cordelia told herself strictly, your marriage to Matthew is only temporary. You will be back in a year.

One year. One year to turn around her reputation. To put the past behind her. To move on from James.

What would her family think when she came crawling back in only a few months’ time?

The mood was not much improved at the breakfast table. Sona, dressed in a rich blue dress inlaid with traditional gold, tried her best to smile warmly and encouragingly. She embraced Cordelia tightly, stroking her hair as Risa had. In Cordelia’s ear, she murmured about her proud she was of her daughter, how she had grown into a beautiful and strong young woman moving with confidence into the next stage of her life. Cordelia bit her lip and tried not to cry.

Across the table, Alastair was dressed in a suit of a matching colour to Sona’s but with noticeably more gold around the sleeves and cufflinks. Unlike his mother, however, he made no effort to smile as Cordelia placed Cortana carefully next to her chair and sat down opposite him.

“If he ever tries anything, Layla,” he said, “you come home immediately and tell me. Do you understand?”

Cordelia shook her head. She reached to serve herself buttered toast from a plate in front of her. “You know Matthew, Alastair. He is not going to try anything inappropriate.”

She pushed aside the voice in her mind that pointed out that he already had. The voice that reminded her of the feeling of Matthew’s lips against her neck, his soft moans and pleading into her skin...

A knock on the front door saved a grateful Cordelia from her train of thought. Frowning, Risa stepped out of the room to answer it. They were certainly not expecting visitors. But, Cordelia thought, it would be just like Matthew to arrange a delivery on today of all days. As Cordelia took a bite of her toast, savouring the rich, comforting buttery taste, a sudden ruckus of noise from the hallway made it quite clear that this was not a routine visit from the florist.

“What are you doing here?” Risa’s sudden hiss of Persian travelled through the half-open dining-room door. This was most unusual: Risa took her position as head housekeeper very seriously and never spoke out towards guests.

An inaudible murmur responded to her. The table fell silent as all three Carstairs strained to catch the conversation.

“This is completely inappropriate! How could you even think of coming here on this day?”

“Perhaps I had best go and see what is happening,” Sona said. She put down her knife and fork and rose unsteadily from her chair, one hand resting on the bump under her dress.

“I need to see her!” the other voice suddenly yelled, strained.

Cordelia’s heart leaped. She knew that voice.

Quicker to her feet than her mother, Cordelia tore from the table and flew through the dining room doors. Down the hallway, she could see Risa standing a few feet back from the entrance. Her posture was rigid, arms crossed, as if by sheer force of will she could stop James Herondale from entering any further into their house.

James looked even worse than he had the night before. He wore the same clothes that he had been wearing when they had parted – only now they looked as though he had been rolling in mud or running through bushes. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned at the top. His shoes were coated in thick clumps of soil that flaked onto the floor as he shuffled nervously. His hair seemed impossibly tangled and knotted, in such a way that she doubted his twitching hands would have been able to run through them, as they so often did recently. What was most concerning, however, was his face. Completely void of his usual mask, drenched in sweat despite the freezing temperature outside, James looked almost feral, his sunken eyes wide and frantic. In the daylight seeping in through the doorway, Cordelia realised for the first time just how pale and frail he looked now, as if he had not eaten in days.

James’ wild eyes met Cordelia’s. He staggered down the hallway towards her, ignoring Risa’s cries of protest. Once in front of her, he seemed to find himself at a loss for what to do.

“Daisy, something is very, very wrong with me,” he said shakily. “I cannot sleep. I hear voices running through my mind, day and night. I hear his voice. He tells me things, Daisy.”

Cordelia’s Shadowhunter instincts, her years of training and independence, kicked in. Grabbing James’ hand, she pulled him into a separate room off of the hallway, a seldom-used drawing room. She could feel James’ palm, sticky with sweat, shaking in her own.

Behind her, Alastair had anxiously entered the hallway. He made to follow Cordelia into the drawing room. “Layla, you should not be alone with him right now.”

“Stay out of this, Alastair,” Cordelia commanded brusquely.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, Cordelia felt, for the first time in a long time, in control. She was a Shadowhunter. She was built to be, trained to be adaptable, strong-willed, brave. Her mother had instilled in her the importance of always taking charge in even the worst of situations. Even though she had spent the last few months pitying herself and relying heavily on others, Cordelia was determined that in this moment, at least, she would be the dependable one.

In a weird form of déjà vu, James began to pace the room. His hand instinctively moved to fiddle with his bracelet. Cordelia realised that it did not shift from his wrist anymore – almost as if it had tightened on his skin. A strange sight, given that James looked more thin than Cordelia had ever seen him.

“Everything is wrong,” James mumbled, his pace quickening, his stare fixed straight ahead. “I thought I wanted to be with her, Daisy. But I do not know anymore. I am not sure of anything. I wake in the strangest of places each morning. Sometimes I find myself in the shadow realm and I do not even remember travelling there. Every time I think of her, it feels as though my mind is burning. Like it is going to burst. And every time it does, I can think only of you.” He turned to look pleadingly at Cordelia. His words grew faster and faster. “I feel as though a great chasm has opened up below me and I am tumbling into it. As though I am lost and I do not even realise it yet. What is wrong with me, Daisy? Am I falling apart?”

Cordelia acted swiftly. Striding across the room, she gripped James by the arms and guided him towards a sofa behind him. Dazed, James obeyed. He sunk down, trembling. He gazed up at Cordelia with eyes so full of longing and loss that her heart thudded through her chest.

Cordelia slapped James as hard as she could across the face.

The resulting crack echoed like a whip through the room. Cordelia could barely hear it over the adrenaline thrumming in her ears, could barely focus over the feeling of her blood burning in her veins. James’ head remained turned to the side, eyes wide. His trembling had stopped.

Breathing heavily, Cordelia hissed, “In four hours, I am to be married to your parabatai. He is marrying me to free me from a mess that you helped to create. I do not know what is happening to you, James Herondale. I cannot explain why it feels as though there are two of you, and I have no idea which one I will encounter each time I speak with you. I find myself sick to death with worry about you every single day. If you need my help, I will always provide it. But right now, I need you to pull yourself together.”

Slowly, James turned his head around to look at her. His eyes were still wide with shock, his face still devoid of his mask. Yet he seemed, for the first time that day, to be looking clearly at Cordelia.

“You are right,” James said, voice barely louder than a whisper. “You are right.” He stood up, legs still shaky but stronger than before. Looking down at himself, James seemed to realise just how much of a mess he looked.

“We need to go to the Institute early,” Cordelia said firmly. “You need to clean yourself up, put on your wedding suit, and find Matthew.”

Cordelia felt that right now, James needed a clear set of commands given to him. Something on which to focus, to guide his movements step by step.

James nodded. “I had best go now.” He headed for the door.

“You will travel with us,” Cordelia ordered. “You are in no state right now to leave this house on your own.”

Cordelia, too, headed for the door. Stepping out of the room, she met Sona’s eyes. Her mother looked horrified. Clearly, they had heard the sound of the slap outside, possibly more of what was discussed. So be it. Right now, she had other, more pressing matters to deal with.

“There has been a change of plans,” she explained. “We need to leave for the Institute now, so that James can prepare himself for the wedding. Any arrangements you need make, make them now, because we do not have much time.”

Perhaps the look on her face convinced her family not to argue the point. Perhaps they simply understood the urgency of the situation. At once, Risa set about gathering Cordelia’s essentials for the wedding, preparing the carriage, helping Sona into it. Alastair, meanwhile, refused to leave Cordelia’s side, his stony gaze fixed on James. James, seeming to have come somewhat back to himself, had the good sense to look ashamed. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples frequently. Cordelia, like her brother, found herself staring at James. Just yesterday, she had fought against the temptation to look at him. Now, standing only a few steps away from him, she did not feel that same pull in her chest. Instead, the sight of his waxy skin and slight frame made her feel as though she was going to be sick.

Now under a strict deadline, Cordelia followed Risa’s gestures to descend the steps to the carriage. It was the Fairchild carriage once again. Alastair climbed in first, James after him. Just as Cordelia made to follow, Risa reappeared. In her hands, she held Cortana.

Cordelia gasped. She took Cortana and quickly sheathed it. How could she have forgotten her sword? She never went anywhere without it. To leave it behind, even accidentally, felt akin to a betrayal.

As if understanding her thoughts, Risa clasped Cordelia’s hands in her own. “Be strong, like a warrior,” she said in Persian, her tone and eyes serious. Cordelia gave her hands a squeeze and turned back to the carriage. She would be. With everything falling down around her, she had no choice but to be.

James leaned out of the carriage door unsteadily to offer Cordelia a hand. Ignoring this, Cordelia pulled herself rather ungracefully into the carriage. She settled herself awkwardly next to James and opposite Alastair, the four of them squashed in amidst the crushingly tense atmosphere. The carriage rolled out of the gates.

It was only once they had already travelled a way down the street that Cordelia realised that, once again, she had forgotten to look back. Perhaps it was meant to be: no matter what may happen over the next year, she must not look back on the past. Only forward, on the future, on what she could still fix.

The carriage remained silent for the entire journey to the Institute. Cordelia sat stiffly, arms crossed, as the adrenaline faded from her body. Alastair seemed quite content to glare furiously in silence at James, who in turn stared down morosely, defeated, at his bracelet. If Sona was upset at this, she said nothing. She sat mostly still except for her fidgeting hands, staring out of the window as if she could somehow will herself out of this carriage.

Finally, they rattled to a stop outside of the Institute. Cordelia was the first out of the doors, landing nimbly and heavily on the gravel. Behind her, James followed suit. Nervously, Cordelia looked up at the Institute windows, shielding her eyes from the blinding sun. They had arrived several hours earlier than expected, and so there should not be many guests milling about. Yet Cordelia could not help feeling anxious at what new rumours would start spreading if people discovered that she had arrived with a dishevelled-looking James Herondale on the day of her wedding.

 As Alastair clambered out and reached up to help Sona – alongside Risa, who had climbed down from the front – the doors to the Institute flew open. Will and Tessa Herondale, looking just as exhausted as their son, hurried down the steps. Lucie ran behind them, her half-plaited hair trailing behind her like a streamer.

Will’s face was thunderous. “Where have you been? We sent messengers and none of them could find you. We tried tracking you, but for whatever reason, you are untraceable. We even tried one of Christopher’s gods-forsaken fire messages, we were so desperate! Explain yourself, right now.”

James’ breathing, Cordelia noted, was growing shallow again, his eyes becoming wilder. Now was not the time for this. She gave Tessa a quick, beseeching look. Fortunately, as ever, Tessa was quick to understand.

“This is not the best time, Will bach,” she said soothingly, placing a hand on her husband’s arm. “We need to get both James and Cordelia ready for the wedding. We can discuss this with him later.”

Will closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He released it in a long, drawn-out sigh. “You are right. Forgive me, Cordelia. This is your day. I did not mean to intrude upon it.”

Cordelia shook her head. “Think nothing of it,” she replied. “We had really best get James inside and ready for the ceremony, though.”

“Yes, of course.”

With everyone now out of the carriage, the group climbed the steps and entered the Institute. The entire entrance hall, Cordelia realised with a sudden wave of emotion, had been painstakingly decorated. Gold garlands of flowers were strung across the awnings like bunting. Shimmering cloth had been draped over every surface, breathing new life into the worn furniture. A sweet scent like incense wafted through the air like a summer’s breeze. Cordelia took in a deep breath, allowing the soothing smell to calm her now-raging nerves.

Tessa appeared at her side. “Do you like it?”

Cordelia smiled in what she hoped was a pleased manner. “It is beautiful. Thank you for all of the effort that you put into decorating.”

Tessa smiled back and shook her head. “It was Matthew who arranged all of this, not us. We simply followed his instructions yesterday.”

Cordelia felt a lump form in her throat. While she had been pining at home, Matthew had once again been looking out for her. Had been making sure everything was perfect for today. It should have pleased her, but instead she felt frustrated.

Do I intend to always leave everything up to Matthew? Cordelia scolded herself. I need to be better than this.

Cordelia turned to Lucie. “Is Matthew here now?” she asked quietly.

“He is in the chapel, sorting some last-minute arrangements,” Lucie answered.

“In that case, would you be able to pass on a message to him for me? When he is done, I would like to have a quick word with him.”

“Of course.” Lucie looked concerned. “Is everything well?”

“Yes.” Cordelia nodded. “It is just a rather urgent matter that cannot wait until after the ceremony.”

Before any further questions could be asked, Sona, seeming in her element now that they had reached the Institute, began to bustle Cordelia towards the room that had been set aside as her dressing room. As they reached the stairs, Cordelia turned back to look at James.

“When you are ready, please come to see me, as well,” she instructed.

James simply nodded, seeming somewhat distant. The other Herondales, if taken aback by Cordelia’s bluntness, said nothing.

Cordelia allowed herself to be whisked away by Sona and Risa. Inside of the dressing room, an elaborate folded screen had been set up in one corner to provide Cordelia with a modicum of privacy as she changed into her dress. The dress itself had been hung carefully against the wall. As Cordelia stood in front of it, she ran her fingers over the material. It was made of a soft golden chiffon material, with an elaborate lace pattern over the chest. It had not been cheap to buy. Though she had insisted to her mother that she did not need anything expensive, Sona had argued that as this was her daughter’s special day, she would not allow her anything but the best. To Cordelia, this was just another weight for which she would be responsible when their marriage fell apart one year later.

Carefully, Risa and Sona helped Cordelia into the dress and settled her down in front of the mirror to sort her hair and makeup once more. Between their two sets of practised hands, they set Cordelia’s vibrant red hair into an elegant wrap that circled her head several times before draping gently down her back. It was a beautiful style, but one that Cordelia found rather over-the-top. Even once finished, a few strands hung loose over her face. She impatiently tucked them behind her ears.

Once Cordelia seemed set, Risa excused herself. Undoubtedly she wanted to leave Sona and Cordelia to share one final moment together. As Cordelia stood, Sona clasped her hands.

“I am so proud of you, Layla. You make me even prouder with everything you do. I know all that you have done for your father and for our family.”

Cordelia’s eyes pricked with tears. Sona gripped her hands tighter.

“But you must never forget, what matters to me more than anything is your happiness. Yours and your brother’s. Matthew Fairchild is a wonderful boy. So is James Herondale, if you can put aside his indecisiveness.” Sona smiled sadly. “But you must not always put others first, Layla. Not even family. Follow your own path.”

The tears began to spill out. Cordelia wrapped her arms around her mother’s waist and buried her head in her chest. Sona held her in return, rocking her back and forth as if she were a child again, whispering soothing Persian words into the top of her head. Her mother smelled like jasmine soap, the same kind that Cordelia herself used. Yet another thing that linked them together. That highlighted their similarity. In that moment, Cordelia felt a strange sense of homesickness that had nothing to do with her actual home.

A gentle knock at the door interrupted them. Cordelia called out, “Come in” and took a step back from her mother. The door opened and a nervous-looking James entered. He had cleaned himself up considerably well. He now wore a golden suit that was designed to match that of his parabatai. His hair was as neatly brushed as Cordelia had ever seen it. Still, all the expensive clothes in the world could not have masked the exhaustion painted on his face.

Yet despite that, his eyes seemed more focused than usual, fixed unwaveringly on Cordelia.

Sona took this as her cue to leave. Gently stroking Cordelia’s cheek one final time, she whispered softly, “Remember my words, Layla,” and left the room, nodding respectfully at James as she passed.

Entering the room, James seemed at a loss as to what to do. Awkwardly, he sat down on one of the sofas that had been positioned against the wall to provide Cordelia with more space to prepare. Suddenly feeling a wave of weariness that had nothing to do with lack of sleep, Cordelia sat down next to him.

James was the first to break the silence. “I am sorry, Daisy. For this morning. For several months ago. For all of this mess.”

Cordelia said nothing in response. Instead, she took his hand in hers, holding it tightly. Even weeks ago, she would have given anything for this proximity to James, this touch between them. But, at that moment, she felt only hollow inside.

They sat together, silently, for what felt like an eternity, both lost in their own thoughts. It was not until a second, more hurried knock on the door that Cordelia’s mind drifted back to reality.

“Daisy?” Matthew’s muffled voice sounded through the door. “Are you alright?”

“Come in,” Cordelia called once more. There was a moment’s hesitation and then the door creaked slowly open.

Matthew stepped tentatively into the room. He was dressed almost entirely in gold, in an outfit resembling the one that James wore – only, in typical Matthew fashion, it was far more elaborate. The jacket was missing – likely to allow for easier movement until the ceremony – but his white button-down shirt was covered with an elaborate golden waistcoat coated in swirling patterns to match even those on Cordelia’s own dress. His soft curls were as messy as usual, but artfully so, as if he had styled them to look sophisticatedly dishevelled.

At first, his face was anxious, cheeks slightly flushed. Then his eyes widened, focusing, taking in the sight of Cordelia in her dress.

And then his eyes fell to Cordelia and James’ interlinked hands. His expression froze over.

Hastily, Cordelia withdrew her hand. A guilty blush crept up her cheeks. But why? From an outside perspective, it may seem scandalous for the bride-to-be to be spending time with another man. But with Matthew, the circumstances were different. Their engagement was a fraud, a fake, intended only to buy Cordelia time. Perhaps it was the guilt from the fact that Matthew had gone out of his way to help her after James had turned from her, only for her to put herself in such a situation that his efforts could be in vain.

Or perhaps it was that a part of her did not want Matthew to see her with James.

Matthew seemed to swallow with difficulty. Turning to Cordelia, he said, “Lucie told me that you had something urgent to discuss. I apologise that it took me so long to get here. Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

Realising how her words could have been interpreted, Cordelia shook her head hastily. “I am sorry, I did not word it right. We are fine.”

“‘We?’” Matthew’s eyes flickered between Cordelia and James, still sat side by side. His expression was unreadable, guarded. On someone like Matthew, who was always so open and lively, it made Cordelia shiver a little. “Lucie mentioned that you arrived together.”

Quickly, Cordelia stood up. “It is not like that.”

Before the situation could spiral any more out of control, Cordelia summarised to Matthew what had happened that morning. James’ sudden arrival. His bedraggled appearance. His strange temperament and mannerisms and words. She deliberately left out the part where she had slapped him, deciding it was perhaps not the best information to pass on at this moment.

As Cordelia spoke, Matthew’s face changed from the unusual, stony expression to one of outright concern. He turned to James, whose head had, in turn, fallen into his hands. “Jamie,” he said, horrified. “What is happening with you?”

Without lifting his head, James responded, “I do not know, Math. I do not know.”

Matthew turned to Cordelia. Cordelia realised that, as she had been speaking, she had drifted closer to Matthew, until they were stood side-by-side. Together, they had become a united front, towering over a crumbling James beneath them. “Could I speak to you in the corner for a moment?”

“Of course,” Cordelia responded. She followed Matthew just to the edge of the folded screen. Just to the point where James, head still buried in his hands, was within their line of sight.

“So you see, it was completely unintentional that we arrived together, and that we are together now.” For some reason, Cordelia found herself almost pleading. Found herself needing Matthew to understand.

Matthew replied hastily, “It is alright. I am just glad that you are not hurt. Raziel knows that Lucie could have chosen her wording better. By how she was acting, I half-expected to find you missing your left arm when I came in. It would have put rather a damper on the celebrations.”

Cordelia laughed quietly. “I could still marry with one arm missing. Lucie would simply have to stand on the right instead. I think that a sudden missing leg would be more of a problem.”

“I am not so sure.” Absent-mindedly, Matthew reached his hand out and tucked a loose strand of hair back behind Cordelia’s ear. His fingertips traced the strand down the edges of her ear, her neck. “There are always ways and means. I could have carried you down the aisle, for instance.”

Cordelia shivered. It was not an unpleasant feeling. She took a step closer to Matthew, heart racing.

“I do not know what to do with him, Math,” she whispered.

Matthew’s hand had reached Cordelia’s. He took it gently in his, interlocking their fingers.

“Nor do I. But we will figure something out. Together.”

And together, they stood there. Neither making an effort to move. To put distance between them.

With what seemed to be an enormous effort, Matthew sighed and took a step back, releasing Cordelia. His now-free hand moved to rustle his hair, seemed to think better of it, and sank back down restlessly.

“Your father arrived about half an hour ago,” he said suddenly, his tone one of forced lightness. He began to walk back towards James on the sofa. “Seemed rather put-out that he was not walking you down the aisle. I told him that he was more than welcome to walk me down the aisle instead, if he so wished. Only told him I would need some time to change out of my dress and back into the suit before your arrival.”

Cordelia grinned. As ever, with only a few words, Matthew had made her feel that everything would be alright. “And what did he say?”

“He seemed rather keen on the idea.” And then, at a raised eyebrow from Cordelia: “Alright, I feared he was about to wallop me for the suggestion. But still, all my best friendships have started with an unflinching, one-sided hatred. Is that not so, Jamie?”

Still pale, James snorted. He lifted his head. “You do have a tendency to make yourself an easy target.”

Matthew gasped and placed a hand over his heart. “It is the curse of one as dashing and well-read as myself. I can hardly take all the blame.” He gave his parabatai a bracing pat on the shoulder. “Come on then, James. Best I take you off of Cordelia’s hands for the time being. I am sure she has plenty on her plate already without a couple of young and immature men squabbling in her dressing room. Besides, I need to run through your best man speech with you. If it does not include mention of my staggeringly good looks at least five times, I will be greatly disappointed.”

“Do not worry, I mention staggering plenty of times.”

James rose unsteadily from his seat and headed for the door, Matthew on his heels. Just before he opened it, he turned back to give Cordelia one final strange look.

“Forgive me for today, Daisy. I...”

James looked as though he had more he wanted to say. Instead, he simply shook his head and left the room quietly. Cordelia, feeling suddenly weak, sat down on the sofa in the spot that James had just vacated.

Matthew stepped through the threshold. As he made to close the door, he poked his head through one more time.

“And I must say, Cordelia Carstairs,” he said, for all the world as if they had been mid-conversation. “It really is quite terrible bad luck for the groom to see his bride in her dress before the big moment. At this rate, we are liable to be divorced within a year.”

Matthew quickly ducked out of the room, laughing loudly, shutting the door hastily to block the cushion that went flying his way.

 

Cordelia remained in the room for an hour or so longer. In a last-minute decision, she rifled through the boxes of accessories that Risa had brought from home and dug out the rose necklace that Matthew had gifted her several weeks earlier. It had taken him many attempts until Cordelia accepted it. She had only taken it when he had had Sona sneak it onto her bedside table one night while she was sleeping. A smile came over Cordelia’s face as she pictured her mother and Matthew plotting together, Sona sneaking into her room like some kind of thief in reverse. She slipped the necklace on, the cold metal like an anchor against her neck.

After a few minutes of pacing, Lucie came in, her expression anxious but her tone light. She sat down with a grateful Cordelia and filled the silence with excited chatter about everything from the decorations to her plans for a wedding scene in The Beautiful Cordelia. Through Cordelia’s spiralling thoughts, she could hear Lucie declare such ideas as “a whirlwind engagement” and “murder at the altar” and, “But of course, that will not happen today! If it did, I would be sure to fight those pirates off!”

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Risa reappeared to escort Cordelia and Lucie to the chapel. Cordelia rose somewhat unsteadily and walked over to Cortana, sheathing it in the weapons belt at her waist. Lucie was by her side in a flash, interlocking their arms.

“This is going to be a grand old adventure,” she whispered in Cordelia’s ear as they walked out of the room. “I am rather jealous, all things considered!”

Though she knew Lucie was just trying to encourage her, the gesture did indeed give Cordelia strength. As they passed through the sweet-smelling hallways, past streamers of sparkling gold, Cordelia brushed her free hand over Cortana’s hilt, feeling her courage grow with each touch. Though many present would undoubtedly consider it strange to be armed during a ceremony, Cordelia saw it as her own form of silent protest. An outward symbol that she would not be cowed by rumours and harsh words. That she would stand strong, a proud warrior, just has she had always sworn to herself that she would.

As they reached the chapel doors, Cordelia paused to take a deep breath. Lucie, forever at her side, gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. Fixing her face into what she hoped was a relaxed yet confident look, Cordelia stepped through the doors.

At once, the crowds on either side of the aisle rose to their feet. Faces, familiar and unfamiliar, stared at Cordelia, through her. The chapel itself, a usually-gloomy space despite its vibrant stained-glass windows, had been lit with low candles placed in just about every available spot. An eerie silence hung in the air for the few seconds before the music began to play.

Cordelia’s eyes sought Matthew’s at the end of the hall. When they met, he gave her a smile and an encouraging nod.

Side by side, Cordelia and Lucie walked up the aisle. Not once did Cordelia’s eyes stray from Matthew’s. Like the necklace she wore, she could feel Matthew anchoring her to the ground, holding her back from falling into the chasm splitting within her. She noted the striking gold jacket he had put on over his waistcoat, the confident expression he wore to match.

Now at the altar, she took Matthew’s hands in hers. Once again, he gave them a soft, barely-perceptible squeeze of encouragement. His expression, she saw, seemed less certain than it had from afar. While his face still seemed relaxed and confident, Cordelia could see, up close, that this was more of an act than anything. He still wore a gentle smile on his face, but his breathing seemed too fast, his green eyes gazing almost longingly at her, pausing for too long on the rose necklace at her throat.

Together, they made their way through the wedding stages: ceremony, vows, runes. Matthew’s hands as he drew the rune on Cordelia’s wrist, she noticed, shook slightly. Was it just nerves? In turn, Cordelia drew hers carefully, her finger tracing the pattern before she drew it. She could feel Matthew’s pulse beating rapidly under her fingertip.

Finally, the declaration of marriage was made. And then came the moment that Cordelia had pushed to the furthest reaches of her mind: the kiss.

Of course, the Shadowhunters gathered would be expecting this to be easy. The rumours stated, after all, that Cordelia and Matthew had already done far more than kiss. And indeed, they had. Despite that, Cordelia had been relying on Matthew to take the lead.

But as Matthew reached a shaky hand up to tuck the hair behind Cordelia’s ear once again, she realised that his confidence had faltered. They could not afford this right now. She would need to take charge this time.

Gently, Cordelia placed a hand on Matthew’s cheek and stood up on her toes to reach him. She could see everything up close. His flickering green eyes. The tired lines under them. His soft golden eyelashes that fluttered closed as he leaned down to meet her.

Their lips met.

This kiss was completely different from the last one. Before, they had been almost frenzied, wounds exposed and desperate to share them with each other. This time, the kiss was light, gentle, soft. Full of the promise of a shared connection, a chance at redemption for both of them. Though Matthew’s lips trembled slightly, they were reassuring, strong against hers.

All too soon, they had pulled back, parted again. The crowd was applauding enthusiastically. Matthew, looking as dazed as Cordelia felt, took her hand in his. Together, they walked back down the aisle. A couple united with a shared goal.

The rest of the day seemed to pass in a blur. Following Matthew’s lead, Cordelia plastered a smile on her face and shook hands with hundreds of guests and thanked as many people as possible, including many that she had never met before. She accepted a big hug from Charlotte Fairchild, and then Henry Fairchild, both of whom expressed their desire for Cordelia and Matthew to join them for dinner one night. She sat through three courses of delicious food, followed by a slightly hesitant speech by James, followed by hours and hours of dancing. At each stage, Cordelia and Matthew took turns supporting one another. Matthew helped Cordelia with cutting the cake and handing out slices to guests. Cordelia guided a stumbling Matthew through several dances. She was concerned as to his shaking and weariness, which seemed to be worsening as the night went on. But, to her disappointment, the opportunity did not present itself to ask him until the night finally drew to a close. On top of this, Cordelia was unable to find time to approach James. In any case, she was not certain about how such an act would come across during her wedding celebrations.

Both exhausted from the events of the day, Matthew started planning their retreat and making their excuses. Extricating themselves from the crowd, Cordelia and Matthew snuck out of the Institute doors, towards where Matthew’s carriage awaited them at the bottom of the steps.

I suppose it is my carriage as well, now, Cordelia thought.

As he had the night before, Matthew offered a hand to help Cordelia into the carriage and climbed in after her. She carefully placed Cortana on the seat before sitting down beside it. Once they were both settled, he rapped on the top of the carriage. Finally, blissfully alone, Cordelia let out a long sigh and leaned her head back against the seat.

Matthew, loosening his cufflinks, grinned tiredly. “You performed excellently out there.”

Cordelia shook her head. “I hardly did anything. You were the one taking the lead out there.”

“Nonsense. I saw you head off an assault from both Lilian Highsmith and Rosamund Wentworth simultaneously. Not many could handle them both so efficiently.”

Cordelia snorted. She closed her eyes. “I do seem to have a talent for scaring people away.”

Matthew laughed. “Something that will no doubt come in very handy during a marriage to myself.”

Ignoring Matthew’s usual self-deprecation, Cordelia reached up to remove some of the pins from her hair, letting it tumble down over her shoulders.

“You really do look beautiful today, Cordelia,” Matthew said softly.

His eyes had darkened and a strange look had appeared on his face.

Cordelia fell silent, recalling that same look in the dressing room. When he had seen her with James.

“Do you think that James will be alright?” she responded.

Matthew’s expression suddenly became pained. “I could not say. But he is with Will and Tessa this evening. We can worry about what to do with him when we are better-rested and he has received a thorough scolding from his father. It does not happen very often, but believe me when I say that it is best to keep as far a distance as possible from a raging Will. I have, as you would expect, been on the receiving end many times over the years.”

In his usual fashion, Matthew continued the light-hearted conversation. They talked about the guests – what they had been wearing, what gossip they had been discussing. Normally, Cordelia enjoyed this sort of fun, meaningless chatter. But tonight, she just felt weary, and not only from the proceedings.

However, Matthew’s distraction had worked. So lost in thought was Cordelia that she did not realise, at first, where they were headed. The streetlamps outside seemed to fade into one twinkling blur, the faces on the people passing them lost in the illumination. It was only as she opened one sleepy eye and recognised the park opposite that she sat suddenly upright.

“This is near my home,” Cordelia stated.

Matthew only grinned mischievously.

A few moments later, the carriage indeed rolled past the Carstairs’ residence.

“I knew it!” Cordelia cried, now bolt upright. “What have you done, Matthew?”

“Just wait and see,” Matthew replied roguishly.

Only a few moments later, the carriage began to slow down. It rolled through a pair of enormous wrought-iron gates, flanked by menacing stone gargoyles. Cordelia leaped from her seat and pressed her hands to the window on the door of the carriage. They were now heading down an impossibly wide driveway, a short distance from which lay an enormous manor house. Even in the shadowed night, Cordelia could tell that it was larger than any house that she had ever seen before – far bigger than the Carstairs’ home and even the Institute. Windows, reflecting the light from the moon, dotted the front of the house. Most were darkened; only a few were dimly lit from inside. The door was slightly ajar, spilling light over a handful of silhouettes standing to attention in front of it.

The carriage came to a gentle stop. Cordelia sat back into her seat to give Matthew space to jump out first. Her dress being frustratingly difficult to move in, she accepted Matthew’s offer to help her out. His hands wrapped carefully around her waist and he lifted her effortlessly down from the doorway. One hand lingered slightly longer than strictly necessary before he let go. Leaning into the carriage, he retrieved Cortana. Cordelia, numb, sheathed it, her attention focused on the house.

Taking a step back, Matthew bowed dramatically to Cordelia. A wide smile brightened his face. “Allow me to formally welcome you to your new abode, Mrs. Fairchild.”

Cordelia gaped, open-mouthed, at both the house looming over her and at Matthew. “How in the name of the Angel did you afford this, Matthew?”

Matthew laughed. “We Fairchilds do tend to have more money than sense. And since I have no sense at all, it only follows that I would have more money than most.” He took Cordelia’s hand excitedly and started leading her towards the entrance. “Let me give you a tour.”

They all but ran up the steps. Cordelia hoisted up her dress to avoid tripping over the long gown. In front of the tall, arching entrance, four servants bowed to them. Two of them respectfully held open the doors. Once inside, Cordelia found herself at a loss for words. The inside was almost entirely made of glittering marble, the light from the resplendent chandelier bouncing off of every shimmering surface. An enormous staircase led away from them, acting as sentinel to a sprawling, carpeted landing. Doors led off in every direction, all uniformly placed and aligned to perfection. There was so much to take in at once that Cordelia’s eyes flew in all directions. Her fuzzy, sleep-addled mind was overwhelmed with bright lights.

“On second thought, perhaps the complete tour should wait until we are not both moments from collapsing,” Matthew said cheerfully. “At least allow me to show you my favourite part of the house.”

Still clasping Cordelia’s hand, Matthew led her through a set of double doors immediately on their left. On the other side was an endlessly-long salon, full to the brim with plush, bohemian furniture, none of which matched the piece next to it. The carpets and wallpaper, Cordelia realised, were patterned with Persian designs, beautifully chosen to match the blankets tossed carefully and haphazardly across the seats. The walls were lined with bookshelves, half-full of books. Many of the titles Cordelia recognised from her afternoons with Matthew: poetry compilations; plays; philosophical books. Others still, she realised, were titles that she had expressed an interest in reading, in English and in Persian. The books were stacked seemingly at random, works by Oscar Wilde placed alongside titles of books in languages that Cordelia could not even read. And yet, there was something oddly comforting, something oddly Matthew-like about the layout of the room. He had clearly gone to great lengths to make this space feel like home for both of them.

Matthew let go of Cordelia’s hand and walked casually into the room. He took off his jacket, yawning, threw it over an expensive-looking red armchair, and flung himself onto a sofa. Laying on his side, he propped his head against his hand and grinned at Cordelia.

“So, what do you think?”

Cordelia was dumbstruck. She shook her head, trying to shake off the bizarreness of the situation. One thought stuck in her mind. “Is this how you were able to visit us so often over the past few months?”

“It was indeed! It was most convenient to find a place so close to yours. I had to make some rather dubious deals with a French businessman to get the place, so if any strange, suited Frenchmen appear at the door, please do tell them to allez au diable.”

Cordelia could not match Matthew’s excited energy. “Matthew, this house is like nothing I have ever seen before. This room alone is incredible. Why would you go to such lengths when it will all be over in a year’s time? The proximity to my family will be meaningless in any future marriage.”

Alarmed, Matthew sat up suddenly. “I do not see it that way at all, Daisy. I wanted to find somewhere that is as much a home for you as it is for me. For as long as you wish it to be.”

He patted the seat next to him on the sofa. Cordelia propped Cortana up against the wall and sat down next to him. The cushions were ridiculously comfortable, drawing her in with the promise of a deep rest.

Matthew turned to look at her, his face completely serious. “I know how difficult this whole situation has been for you. I know you have been nervous about being separated from your family. I thought that if I could find a place near to the Carstairs’ residence, you could travel back there as much as you like. You could even spend all day there, if you wish, returning only when necessary to keep up the pretence. This house is also so large that you could have a whole wing to yourself. You can choose any bedroom that you would like tonight, and change it whenever you feel like it. You could have your own servants to look after you. Lucie over to visit whenever you wish. You need not concern yourself with me at all. Raziel knows that I would not if I were in your shoes.”

Cordelia, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, wrapped her arms around Matthew.

Matthew hesitated only a moment before holding her back. His hands were still shaking slightly against her back.

“Do not say such things about yourself.”

Cordelia buried her face in his shoulder, breathing in his scent. He smelled...different. When she had held him last, he had smelled almost like cherry, sweet and cloying. Right now, however, she could not detect any of that smell. Only traces of his usual cologne, fading at the late hour.

“You smell different,” she murmured.

Matthew did not respond for so long that Cordelia was not sure that he had heard her. Eventually, however, he released a sigh and pulled back from her.

“I have given up drinking,” he admitted. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a small silver flask. “Christopher made a concoction to help wean me off of it. It tastes like what I imagine rat poison tastes like and probably feels just about the same on the way down.”

Suddenly, Matthew’s shaking made sense.

“Nevertheless,” Matthew continued, “I will be persevering, if only so that you will not have to drag me face-down out of a gutter during our marriage. I would generally advise keeping a distance from me at night, however. I do have a tendency to make the most ghastly noises to rival even the inhabitants of Kensal Green.”

“I am so proud of you, Matthew,” was all Cordelia said in reply.

Matthew seemed suddenly at a loss for words.

“You should tell your family what you told me the other night. I am sure that taking the weight off of your mind would help you to forgive yourself.”

Matthew smiled sadly. “You sound just like Jem.” Then, “Forgive me, Daisy. I know you are exhausted and the last thing I want is to put yet more weight on your shoulders.”

Cordelia shook her head vehemently. Finally, she felt like she could say what she had wanted to say in the park yesterday.

“I want this. I want us to be more open with each other. Of course I enjoy our light conversations. But I promised that I would help you this year, Matthew, and I intend to follow through on that. I want this year to be beneficial to us both.”

Matthew seemed taken aback. Silently, he considered Cordelia’s words.

“Then how about this?” he said finally. “What if each night, we tell each other one thought that we had that day? Whether it be something that bothered us, or something that made us happy, or something that we wished that we had done. Anything important or meaningful.”

Cordelia nodded slowly. This was good. This was her chance to really help Matthew. As he had helped her.

“I like that idea very much.”

“In that case,” Matthew said, “seeing as I have shared my sordid attempt to stop drinking, would you care to share a thought of yours? What were you thinking about today, Cordelia Carstairs? Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to say ‘Cordelia Fairchild’?”

Cordelia hesitated for only a moment. “I was thinking about how lost I would be without you.”

Matthew said nothing back. He only gazed at her with that same strange, intense look that she had seen in his eyes in the dressing room, and in the carriage, and at the altar.

In the end, Cordelia did not choose a room that night. Instead, she and Matthew both chose a book from the shelves and settled down to read quietly in each other’s company. Upon her request, she put down her book and Matthew started to read his book of poems aloud. No longer able to fight the urge to sleep, Cordelia lay down on the sofa and closed her eyes. Matthew’s soothing, comforting voice followed her into her dreams.

    “The spring sun shows me your shadow,

     The spring wind bears me your breath,

     You are mine for a passing moment,

     But I am yours to the death.”

Chapter 5

Summary:

“You said that you wished to be more independent.” Matthew's voice was frenzied, choked with tears. “In truth, I am the one who is dependent. You are my world, Daisy. You are the only person who truly knows me. I need you by my side. I need to be by your side. I cannot imagine even a second of my life going forwards without you. Please...”

~~~

Now married, Cordelia and Matthew are coming to terms with the changing nature of their relationship. But with the increase in Shadowhunter murders and Cortana's refusal to obey bearing down on them, Cordelia and Matthew are forced to take risks to uncover the truth...

And so Cordelia and Matthew’s marriage, strange as the circumstances may have been, began in earnest.

The very next morning after the wedding, Cordelia had awoken from a fitful rest on the sofa. At some point during the night, Matthew had moved to another seat nearby, but not before he had laid one of the patterned blankets over Cordelia and tucked it around her. Although she had tried to creep quietly out of the room, picking up Cortana on her way out, it had been more difficult to manoeuvre in the wedding dress than she had anticipated and Matthew had awoken. He had sat up, his messy golden curls hanging around his face and a bashful smile hanging off of his lips. To the gratitude of Cordelia, he had taken Cortana from her, and together they had set about finding her a room. Though she had argued that she did not need an entire wing to herself in an enormous house with only two people, Matthew’s repeated and urgent insistence had driven her into the upstairs east wing. The inside of the master bedroom had been as impressive as the rest of the house. It contained within it a large four-poster canopy bed covered in sheets of deep red and gold. Along the wall was an impressive array of bare bookshelves (“Worry not, we will move some books from the salon”) and an imposing mahogany wardrobe – so large that Cordelia, in her wedding dress, could have fit entirely inside of it.

Still in his own wedding attire, Matthew had gently placed Cortana on the bed and stepped out of the room. A few moments later, undoubtedly at his request, a maid had appeared to help Cordelia change and bathe in the attached bathroom. As she had finally freed herself from the dress, Cordelia could not help but feel somewhat self-conscious changing in front of somebody other than Risa. The discomforting reality of her situation – married and living away from her family – had finally started to sink in now that Matthew had left. The feeling had not improved as she had bathed, or as she had changed into a nightgown, or as she had clambered into bed, still exhausted from the poor-quality sleep. As she had laid there, hand fiddling with the necklace that she had worn during the ceremony, listening to the very distant sounds of traffic and footsteps, Cordelia had felt more alone than ever.

Her mood had greatly lifted, however, when she and Matthew had met for lunch, and then again for dinner. After the meal, Matthew had introduced her to Oscar, his energetic and excitable golden retriever. Matthew had seemed concerned about how Cordelia would react, but she was delighted to have further company in their lonely, expansive house. Oscar had taken an instant liking to Cordelia, often following her around the maze-like hallways. Though Matthew had trained him well, he would often step on her dress and cause her to stumble. One particular morning, when she and Matthew had met coincidentally at the top of the stairs on their way to breakfast, Oscar had found his way excitedly underneath Cordelia’s dress. Not realising, Cordelia had tripped over him, Matthew had reached out to steady her, and the three of them had tumbled partway down the stairs with much yelping and panicked grabbing at clothes.

It was the little moments like these that stayed with Cordelia as she went to sleep each night. As she tried her best to swallow down the homesickness and loneliness that threatened to overwhelm her.

Already, Cordelia was starting to see a pattern: the further she strayed from Matthew, the worse she felt. Again, that feeling of reliance, of becoming too dependent had struck her hard. So much so that one evening, when she and Matthew had sat down in the salon together to make good on their promise to share one thought a day with one another, she had expressed this sentiment.

Matthew had smiled sadly. “I do not see it that way at all, Daisy. But if it is something that worries you, then I am afraid that I cannot give you an answer. If you want to be more independent, then it would not do for me to assist you with finding a solution.”

Cordelia had rather thought that Matthew had a point. And so the very next morning, she had set out on her own after breakfast for the Institute. She felt that training hard as a Shadowhunter was her best path to strengthening herself both physically and mentally. Lucie had joined her, and together they had practiced fighting in unison, blocking and slicing and parrying. Despite Cordelia’s great effort at independence, Cortana still had not responded well in her hands. When she had blocked, Cortana had shuddered. When she had sliced, it had swung wide. When she had parried, the blow had barely been blocked, the shudder of the hit reverberating up her arm. Disappointed, but with a string of encouraging words from Lucie to brace her, Cordelia had determined that she would try again the next day, and the next.

One step at a time. Just as Matthew had shown her.

Indeed, Cordelia’s training was not the only part of their marriage that was taken one step at a time. True to his word, Matthew had been avoiding the drink. At each meal, he would take a swig of the concoction that Christopher had made for him, grimace, and wash the taste out with a strong dose of tea. Concerned, Cordelia would try to distract him, turning the conversation to books or poems or any other topic that came to mind. Matthew, as ever, would respond enthusiastically, making recommendations of books, showing genuine interest in those that Cordelia suggested, or proving his versatility by cracking jokes about any subject that Cordelia chose. To an outsider, he would have seemed the very picture of relaxed. But Cordelia knew him better now. Each night, as they parted ways at the top of the stairs, Cordelia would watch his hands shake almost imperceptibly as he tucked them into his pockets.

Matthew’s resolution was to be further tested during their first lunch at the Fairchild’s. Resigned to the fact that he could put it off no longer, Matthew had suggested the idea over supper on their fourth day of marriage. Cordelia, who found that she rather liked Charlotte and Henry and therefore did not want to disappoint them, had been happy to agree. She had tried not to linger on the thought of how disappointed they would be when the marriage crumbled in twelve months’ time.

During the dinner – an elaborate five-course meal comprised of juicy cuts of fish, succulent roast beef, and strawberries and cream for dessert – Charlotte’s usual stern persona of Consul had disappeared. She had asked Cordelia about how she was faring in the new house, how Matthew was treating her, whether she needed anything at all. Charles, across the table, had not-so-subtly inquired as to Alastair’s wellbeing, and whether she had spoken to him since the marriage. Cordelia had given deliberately vague answers to them both. The house was beyond anything that she could imagine. Matthew had been the perfect husband. No, she did not need anything at all. And she did not know how Alastair was doing, as she had been so busy since the wedding that she had not found the opportunity to visit.

All of these answers were true except the last. Aside from training, Cordelia had found herself with nothing but time. And yet the thought of visiting her family was suddenly not as appealing as it had been before the marriage. She could not bear to face them, could not bear to hug Sona and be teased by Alastair and wish that she was back home amongst family.

Next to her, Matthew had been drinking an overly-strong cup of coffee. In solidarity, a cup of rose-scented tea stood in front of Cordelia’s plate. Everyone else had been served wine, a rich vintage red from a vineyard in France. Though Matthew had been showing impressive strength in resisting the urge to drink, Cordelia had felt only a deep sadness. She knew that the presence of the wine meant that he had not yet spoken to his parents, either about his secret or about giving up the drink. Only Henry had seemed to notice that something was different about his son. When Cordelia’s eyes had met his, he had smiled sadly, the two of them united in their shared love for Matthew and their strong desire to support him.

All in all, Cordelia had been very grateful when a confused Christopher had entered the room, dressed in a white coat covered in ashes and soot. Not understanding the occasion and assuming this to be just another lunch, Christopher had sat down at the table and started helping himself to a large bowl of beef and clotted cream. The thorough scolding that he had received from Charlotte and Charles had provided the perfect excuse for Cordelia and a shaking Matthew to slip out of the door.

And yet it was not until several more days had passed that Cordelia finally realised the true extent of Matthew’s suffering. Feeling particularly lonely and homesick one night, Cordelia had left her room after a few hours of unsuccessful sleep. She had intended to sit in the salon and find a book to read, to while away the hours until breakfast with Matthew in the morning. Instead, just as she arrived at the top of the stairs, a distant moaning reached her ears. Following the cries, Cordelia found herself outside of Matthew’s door. She knew that it was improper to enter a gentleman’s room, even her husband’s, without permission, and so she paused, hand hovering over the door knob. But then the sound of a soft whimper, pleading, escaped between the crack, and Cordelia decided that she would beg forgiveness later.

The room was darkened, the only light that of the moon filtering in through the slight parting of the curtains. Empty cups stained with coffee littered every surface. Several of them were tipped onto their sides, a slow stream of liquid dripping out of them onto the plush carpet or onto the bed sheets that were strewn haphazardly across the floor. In the centre of the room, on an enormous bed now almost completely devoid of sheets, lay Matthew. He was tossing and twitching. His face was coated in a sheen of sweat that glowed in the moonlight. His clothes, the same ones that he had worn the day before, were rumpled and ruined, stains of something yellow painted onto his collar. At the foot of the bed, Oscar sat whimpering, his gaze fixed on Matthew.

Cordelia stepped carefully into the room. She called Matthew’s name several times. He did not reply. Gingerly, unsure if there was anything more appropriate that she should be doing, Cordelia approached him and shook his shoulders lightly. Matthew jolted awake with a groan. His unfocused eyes looked blearily up at her. “Daisy?”

Lightly, Cordelia pressed her palm to Matthew’s forehead. Her hand came away sticky with sweat. He had not felt particularly hot, but Matthew’s unrelenting stare as he watched her every movement made her feel suddenly very warm. She was conscious of the fact that she wore only her nightgown.

“I think that I am dying, Daisy,” Matthew croaked. “I am dying and I will deserve every bit of agony on the way out.”

“You are not dying,” Cordelia said firmly. Her eyes fell to his shirt. The top buttons were undone, revealing part of his chest, the defined collarbone underneath. She swallowed and looked back at Matthew. “And you certainly do not deserve any agony.”

Matthew laughed, softly, humourlessly. “I deserve all of the agony that God can work on me for tricking you into marriage. As if I ever thought that I could help you. Look at me, Daisy. You married a disaster.”

Sudden, bewildering anger flared up inside of Cordelia. Fuelled by this rage, she clambered onto the bed next to Matthew. Rather more forcefully than was appropriate, she repositioned them both, propping herself up against pillows and pulling Matthew closer to her chest. Still half-asleep, he made no move to resist.

Less-than-gently, Cordelia started to stroke Matthew’s head, his sweat-soaked curls. “It is now tomorrow, and so I am going to tell you my thought for the day.”

“You are early,” he whispered. An attempt at a joke, somewhat ruined by the nervous cracking of his voice.

“I am thinking that you are a royal fool, Matthew Fairchild. If this is what you have been going through for days now, then you should have told me far sooner. It makes no odds to me whether our marriage is a sham or not. I am your wife, and I will be supporting you through this, no matter what you say.” Matthew made to speak, but Cordelia interrupted him. “And if you are about to give me a self-deprecating or self-pitying thought in return, I would like to remind you that my hand is in your hair and I can yank it very hard if need be.”

Matthew paused for a moment. Then he laughed quietly, a smile on his face.

“I am thinking that you are the best thing that has happened to me in a long time, Daisy.”

Cordelia had laid there for the rest of the night. Stroking Matthew’s hair until his eyes slid closed and his breathing evened out. Pondering what he had said. Wondering how on earth she had been bold enough to climb into a man’s bed, but was not brave enough to climb back out. And so she had remained, until morning had dawned and she had snuck out, too nervous to face a better-rested Matthew. She then spent the rest of the morning moving her belongings to a bedroom two doors down from his. It was smaller, with only a double bed, a small fitted wardrobe, and sunshine-yellow walls. Even so, Cordelia felt that this room suited her far better.

Each night, Cordelia listened for sounds from Matthew’s room. At first, they came almost every night. When they did, she would hurry to his room, open his door without knocking, and settle into the armchair that she had moved next to his bed. Each time, Matthew would awaken, gazing at her with his deep green eyes. She would hold his hand tightly over the coverlets and assert that he was not to apologise or feel guilt. Then they would remain that way for several minutes, hands clasped, eyes locked, until Matthew finally seemed calm enough to sleep again. One particularly restless night, Cordelia had fallen asleep in the chair, head slumped awkwardly at an angle. Gently, Matthew had woken her and suggested that she return to her room. Feeling inexplicably angry yet again, Cordelia had refused. They had gotten into a heated, whispered argument, which had ended with Matthew laying on one side of the bed and Cordelia on the other. Both had faced away from each other, as far apart as they could, almost falling off of their respective sides of the bed.

But as strange as it was, Cordelia’s plan seemed to have worked. One night, as she lay awake in bed, she realised that four whole nights had passed without a sound from Matthew’s room. This should have been cause for celebration. But for some unexplainable reason, Cordelia felt a dull, aching loneliness in her chest, as she had the first night. Just before she had heard Matthew’s cries. Knowing how it would seem to anybody else, Cordelia headed for Matthew’s room. When she opened the door, she found him lying awake on the bed, only slightly damp with sweat.

Matthew looked up at Cordelia with a guilty half-smile. “Was I making noises again?”

Cordelia only shook her head. She said nothing. But Matthew seemed to understand. Carefully, hesitantly, he repositioned himself and patted the bed next to him. Lifting back the duvet and sliding under it, Cordelia moved in close. In a mirror image of the first night, she laid her head on his chest and he wrapped an arm around her, his fingers lightly stroking through her hair. Gradually, she fell asleep in his arms. When the morning came, she snuck out again, as Matthew pretended to be asleep in the bed beside her.

And so it became their nightly routine. Cordelia would come to Matthew’s room after the world had gone to sleep and leave before it rose in the morning. Yet despite how little time she spent in it, Cordelia still left all of her clothes and belongings in her own bedroom, never leaving anything behind in Matthew’s room in the mornings. Never fully committing. Never fully examining her feelings.

Never fully admitting to herself that everything was changing between them.

But there were many things that Cordelia would admit had changed in just a few short weeks. The Enclave, for one, had grown stricter as more Shadowhunters had turned up murdered, stripped of runes. Despite not being usually welcome, Cordelia and Matthew were invited to the next meeting, where they wound up sat next to a tired-looking James.

James was another thing that had changed. He still looked haggard and pale, but there was something new to the set of his face, a grim determination blazing in his golden eyes. And yet, Cordelia did not like how tight the bracelet now seemed on his wrist, almost as though it was cutting off the circulation to his hand. She also did not like that his other wrist bore marks of a similar fashion, almost as though he had been tying something around it and pulling with all of his might.

When Cordelia had expressed this concern aloud, James had simply said, “Please do not worry, Daisy. Your words at the wedding resonated with me. I understand now what I have to do.”

Though she had wanted to push the point further, the meeting had begun and the announcement of another dead Shadowhunter had distracted her. After much heated debate, it was determined that patrols around the city in groups would be increased, with only the adults out during the evenings and nights. Cordelia found herself in a group with Lucie, with Matthew and James in another. In the hubbub of laying out schedules and routes, neither Cordelia nor Matthew noticed as James slipped silently out of the room.

 

A week later, Cordelia and Lucie met with their group two streets over from Regent’s Park at midday to begin their patrol. It was a strange sort of day, the grey, cloudy sky letting only blotches of sunlight seep through to the streets. Cordelia and Lucie set out on their route, one that would take them around Regent’s Park. The attack that had happened here still fresh in her mind, Cordelia kept a careful eye on the lake as they skirted it. The lake, however, was completely calm, barely a ripple in sight on its pristine surface. As they walked, both Shadowhunters relaxed a little and started up a conversation.

So distracted did they become with swapping theories about the murders that they did not realise, at first, that the sky was darkening.

It was movement up ahead in the bushes that alerted Cordelia. At first, she mistook it for a dog, or a stray cat. It was only as she moved closer, eyes searching intently, that she realised that the beast moving in the bush was long and undulating. It seemed to be struggling, thrashing, as if caught in a trap. And then, with a sudden movement, it leaped from the bush, its body coiled. Jumping back, Cordelia yanked Cortana free from her scabbard. Behind her, the scrape of metal indicated that Lucie had taken out her own weapon. Instincts kicking in, Cordelia moved into position, sword at the ready, mind entering into battle position.

All of a sudden, the snakelike demon reared back, flipped in on itself, and slithered rapidly away from them.

At once, Cordelia and Lucie sheathed their weapons and gave chase, hurtling through the park as fast as they could. But the snake was faster. With its relatively small size, it evaded them with ease, slinking its way unseen between the legs of mundanes. Not having the same ability, Cordelia was forced to duck around the people strolling along the path, the children playing on the grass. Reaching the fence, they were further hampered as the snake slipped easily between the bars, while the two of them were forced to waste precious seconds clambering over.

Once they had landed, Cordelia and Lucie scanned the street. There was no sign of the demon. Breathing heavily, suddenly strongly aware of how many people were around and could be injured if they did not move with haste, Cordelia turned to Lucie.

“We should split up.”

Lucie looked unsure. “But we were told to stay together.”

Cordelia shook her head. “We do not have time. It was only a small demon, but it could still cause great damage if it attacks. We need to act swiftly.” She pointed towards two separate streets branching off from where they stood. “We know it was heading in that direction. I will take the left street and you can take the right.”

Still not looking entirely convinced, Lucie nodded. “Very well. Stay safe, Daisy.”

“And you,” Cordelia replied, her body already tensed in the direction in which she needed to head.

As fast as she could, Cordelia crossed the street. She dodged horses, wove around pedestrians, hurtled over a dog on a lead. In the side street, the traffic thinned considerably. Cordelia could finally pause to survey her environment, her far-sighted rune coming into effect. A beggar crouched on a corner, head low. The delicious smell of baking bread wafted from the shop to her right. The sound of someone hacking up a cough echoed noisily down the cobbled street.

There! Up ahead, the tail just barely visible as it flicked around the corner. Pulling Cortana free once more, Cordelia continued her chase. She turned right, then left, then right again, feet pounding down the street, only ever catching sight of the very tip of the demon’s tail.

She must have been running for several hundred yards when finally, she turned right and came to a sudden and abrupt halt. A dead end. Heart pounding, Cordelia’s eyes scanned the darkened alleyway desperately. She could not see anything. Had she taken a wrong turn?

A sound like pouring liquid trickled from behind her. Whirling around, Cordelia’s eyes looked up. The demon was there, slithering down the wall. It had grown tremendously in size. Even as Cordelia watched, it continued to extend, its body elongating, its sharp yellow teeth doubling, tripling in size.

A Naga demon.

This was significantly more dangerous than a small snake. But as a result of her recklessness, Cordelia was on her own.

It does not matter, she told herself firmly, with more conviction than she truly felt. I am a Shadowhunter. This is what I am trained to do.

The Naga demon hit the floor with a soft thump, blocking the way out of the alleyway. Black, fathomless eyes stared pitilessly down at her. Raising Cortana high, Cordelia took in a deep breath, repositioned her feet, and readied to charge.

But as she lunged, her hands suddenly burned as if they were on fire. Cordelia cried out and dropped her sword.

Momentarily distracted, she almost missed the demon swinging its massive tail around. Just in time, she dodged to the left, hurtling over the demon’s long body, her shoulder crashing painfully into the ground. The tail instead caught Cortana and swung it around in a wide arc. Hands and shoulder now blazing in agony, Cordelia watched helplessly as Cortana clattered noisily down the street.

She was on her feet in seconds. Part of her focused on the demon, part of her on the sword, she tore down the alleyway. Behind her, the demon let out a loud hiss that sounded almost like a twisted laugh. Back out on the street, Cortana collided with the wall of a house and slowed its movement. Jumping the last few feet, Cordelia snatched up her sword and swung back around to face the demon. In her hands, Cortana thrummed. Discomfiting tingles prickled up Cordelia’s arms.

The demon was slithering lazily towards her. It seemed in no hurry to attack. Cordelia moved into a defensive position, ready to strike when the demon was within range. Sweat trickled down her forehead, despite the cold day. Cortana felt uncomfortably warm.

A few more feet. A few more.

The demon reared up its head.

This would have to be close enough, then.

Grasping Cortana once again, Cordelia charged. A frenzied cry tore from her throat, rang down the street.

Cortana was burning hot once again, ablaze in her hands. She did not let go. She swung.

And missed.

Cortana landed wide, clanging off of the cobbled ground, cracking the earth. Cordelia’s heart thumped. That should have been a direct hit. Why had it missed?

With another hiss-like laugh, the demon swung its tail around again. This time, Cordelia was unprepared. The heavy weight, as powerful as a horse, hit her square in the chest. She was flung backwards, Cortana sailing from her hands. Her back collided painfully with a stone-built shop front. Winded, she slumped to the ground. Her head pounded in agony.

Dizzy, Cordelia watched as the demon slithered towards her. Once again, it seemed satisfied to simply watch her, to savour this moment. Her head swimming, she struggled desperately to pull herself up, to force her legs to work again.

The demon was so close that she could smell its putrid, acid-like breath. It opened its mouth wide. Gleaming yellow teeth bared down at her.

And then it howled in sudden pain, jerking backwards. As it did, it lifted its neck high. Cordelia could see a metal disc embedded in its throat.

“DAISY!”

Head turning to the side, Cordelia saw three figures charging towards her. One of them, the closest, clutched a chalikar in his hand. She caught a glimpse of golden hair. She struggled once more to stand, to fight back.

But the demon seemed to have had enough. Or perhaps it had recognised that it was now outnumbered. Turning to Cordelia, it hissed, “My lady sends her regards to you and your sword,” before it swung around and slithered away down the street.

The three figures – James, Lucie, and Matthew – had reached Cordelia. Matthew ran straight to her side. Lucie and James paused, eyes travelling between Cordelia, slumped on the floor, and the retreating demon.

“We need to go after it,” Cordelia gasped, trying to stand.

“You are not going anywhere right now,” Matthew said firmly. He exchanged a glance with James, who nodded and started running after the demon. Lucie, with one final concerned look at Cordelia, took off after her brother.

Cordelia, struggling for breath, moved onto her knees. “It spoke to me. It knows something about Cortana.”

Matthew’s hands came to her shoulders, held her down. Exhausted, Cordelia obeyed, sinking back onto the ground. With shaking hands, Matthew crouched down next to her, lifted up her arm, pulled out his stele, and started to draw runes on her skin. As her mind cleared and her eyes refocused, Cordelia realised that Matthew’s shaking was not his usual trembles of withdrawal.

He was furious.

Laying her arm gently back down, Matthew turned blazing eyes on Cordelia. “What in the name of the Angel were you thinking?”

Cordelia shook her head numbly. “It needed to be stopped. Someone could have died-”

“You could have died! Do you have any idea of what would have happened to you if Lucie had not found us? If we had not made it in time? There would not even have been enough of you left for us to find!” He stood up, running his hands agitatedly through his hair. Cordelia was reminded forcefully of James. “Is this what you meant by ‘becoming more independent’?”

Cordelia flinched. Her eyes travelled to Cortana, lying unassumingly on the ground a few feet away. “Of course not. I thought that I could handle one demon by myself. If Cortana was not still denying me...”

Matthew also turned to look at Cortana. “‘Still’? Do you mean to say that Cortana has been causing you difficulty, that you were well aware of this prior to today, and that you still thought to take on a demon single-handedly with not even a seraph blade in your belt? Why did you not tell me that this was happening?”

Saying nothing, Cordelia stood up, legs now somewhat steady thanks to the runes. Her guilty silence said enough. Nobody spoke for a few minutes. The quiet agitated her. Finally, desperate for some sort of noise, Cordelia changed the subject.

“Your aim has grown steadier,” she pointed out. “Since you stopped drinking.”

Matthew did not look impressed. “It is just as well that it has. If you had died, Daisy, I do not know how I would...”

He trailed off. A few more minutes passed in silence. Just as Cordelia felt as though she was about to burst, James and Lucie returned, both looking disappointed. The demon had escaped.

Matthew let out a long sigh. His breath misted in the chilly air. He lifted his arm to check the time. How like Matthew, Cordelia thought, to wear an expensive watch even when in gear.

“It is past twelve o’clock,” he said, voice clipped. “Our patrols are over. I am taking Cordelia home. She needs to rest, even with the runes.”

James nodded. “We will get word to the Enclave of what happened.”

Matthew started walking down the street. Cordelia hurriedly picked up Cortana and followed after him. When they reached the main street, the bustling noise of Londoners going about their day felt suddenly overwhelming. Silently, Matthew flagged down a hansom cab. He continued to say nothing as Cordelia swung open the carriage door and climbed in, as they travelled what felt like a thousand miles back to their home. Used to Matthew always being ready with a cheerful conversation, Cordelia was completely at a loss for what to say. In any case the strained look on Matthew’s face made it clear that he was not in the mood for light conversation.

And yet, as the carriage pulled up outside of their house, Matthew climbed out distractedly and instinctively offered a hand up to Cordelia to help her out. Still in her gear, this was not strictly necessary. But Cordelia took his hand anyway, holding it tightly in hers, if only for the few brief moments that it took to climb down the carriage steps.

She looked up at the enormous manor towering over them. “The Haunted House”, Cordelia had taken to calling it one night, as she had sat by Matthew’s bedside. It had been a tongue-in-cheek reference to the moans and cries that Matthew had made as he had tried to sleep, to the way the servants seemed to drift around soundlessly, to the gargoyles that flanked the gates and the rooftops.

Matthew had laughed as she had said it. “And on the bright side, it will keep away that pesky Frenchman that I told you about before. He never did have the stomach for a ghost story.”

Now, however, Matthew was not laughing. He let go of Cordelia’s hand and marched up the steps. Abashed, Cordelia followed him inside. When she passed through the doorway, she caught a glimpse of him at the top of the staircase, heading towards his room. Tired of chasing, Cordelia returned to her own. She spent much of the afternoon sat on her bed, staring at the bright yellow wall opposite. Her hands spun Cortana in her lap. It no longer burned her, but it still felt unnaturally warm.

What was she going to do? She had tried to become more independent and had almost wound up dead for her troubles. If even a near-death experience was not enough to satisfy Cortana, then what was? Was it time to try a different approach?

It was with this last thought in mind that Cordelia went down to dinner that night. To her relief, Matthew was already there, sat in his usual seat. Cordelia moved quickly to hers, diagonally opposite Matthew’s. Before he could speak, she drew in a deep breath and started talking.

“I am sorry for today. I should never have sent Lucie away. I should have reached out to the rest of my group as soon as I saw the demon. Everything that has happened recently has had me so on edge that I was almost relieved to have an opportunity to do something. I was reckless and foolish and everything that I told you not to be. And...I am sorry that I did not tell you sooner about Cortana. I have no right to ask this of you now, after you saved my life today. But,” she drew in another breath, “I need your help.”

Matthew listened intently until she had finished. Then he raised his eyebrows. “I thought that you wanted to be more independent?”

Cordelia let out a frustrated sigh. “Oh, blow being independent. It is clearly not working. I need your support.”

Leaning across the table, Matthew clasped Cordelia’s hands in his. “It is not a mark of failure to rely on others, Daisy,” he said, gazing seriously into her eyes. “You are the one who taught me that. Was it not you who told me to share my secrets with you? Did you not say that you wanted us to be more open? Lord knows that I have been reliant on you since our marriage began. Since our engagement began, in truth. You are a strong, fierce, independent woman. Particularly if what James told me today was the truth.”

Matthew was grinning. It took Cordelia a moment to understand what he was talking about.

“Oh no,” she groaned, suddenly realising. “He told you about the morning of the wedding?”

“He did indeed. A slap! Heaven have mercy on any demon that comes between you and a well-aimed strike of the palm.”

Cordelia laughed. Her heart lifted.

Matthew gave her hands a squeeze. “The purpose of marriage is to support one another. We may only be married on paper, and I may only be your husband for a short while, but I will support you in any way that you need. Just as I promised when I asked for your hand. So tell me, what do you need me to do?”

I am your wife, and I will be supporting you through this, no matter what you say.

Cordelia met Matthew’s eyes. “I need information.”

 

For the next few weeks, Cordelia and Matthew set about gathering just that. While Cordelia used her meeting with the Enclave, called to discuss the Naga demon’s attack, to ask questions, Matthew set about exploring well-known Downworlder haunts. While Cordelia, accompanied by an eager Lucie and a confident Christopher, interrogated stallholders at the Shadow Market, Matthew questioned Hypatia Vex and Malcolm Fade at the Hell Ruelle. They searched desperately for leads, for some source of information as to why Cortana was not responding to Cordelia, why it burned in her hands.

During this time, Matthew also convinced Cordelia to finally return to the Carstairs’ residence to visit her family. Specifically, he had said that she should “visit home”. But Cordelia had realised that same night, as she had laid in bed feeling the rhythmic rise and fall of Matthew’s chest against her back, that somewhere along the way, her home had changed. Home was no longer where her mother and brother lived.

The next day, Cordelia set out early for breakfast, walking the short distance between their residence and that of the Carstairs. She found that she rather enjoyed the horrified looks on her family’s faces as she proclaimed that she had walked all the way from home to visit. After explaining, Sona had been delighted, and did not seem in the least bit concerned that Cordelia had not yet visited.

“It is natural that you would want to spend time with your husband,” Sona said. “I remember when Elias and I first married. The newlywed period is truly a beautiful time.”

Alastair, however, seemed less convinced. Over breakfast, he stared suspiciously at Cordelia and made a few passing comments about the wedding. She knew that he was prodding her, trying to force her to open up. Perhaps he really had overheard her talking in the drawing room with James on the morning of her wedding. But Cordelia simply feigned ignorance. Answered the questions straightforwardly. She and Matthew had decided, after all, to keep the truth of their arrangement largely private, save for their small inner circle of friends.

Even so, it hurt her to keep secrets from her brother, when they had recently grown closer than they had ever been before.

It took until one Wednesday evening, well into their second month of marriage, for a promising lead to appear. Unusually, Cordelia had eaten dinner alone that day, awaiting Matthew’s late return. Finally, just after eight o’clock in the evening, she heard the door open and the sound of footsteps. Hurrying into the entrance hall, she spotted a snow-dusted Matthew taking off his scarf and jacket.

His eyes lit up as he noticed Cordelia. “Good evening, Daisy. Apologies for the delay. Hypatia Vex caught me asking questions at the Hell Ruelle again and was not best pleased. Threatened to give me a lifetime ban. I told her that she will have to wait for me to finish serving the other four lifetimes worth of bans that she has already given me. Of course, she liked that even less. Threw me out in the snow and told me that under no circumstances did she want to see me in her establishment again.” Matthew followed Cordelia into the salon. “Best I wait until the weekend to return.”

Cordelia had been reading one of Matthew’s collections of poetry by Oscar Wilde as she had waited for him. Coincidentally, his namesake had been lying on the floor next to her, head resting on her feet, tail wagging and paws twitching occasionally in his dreams. In her haste to see Matthew, she had left the book on the sofa. Now, she moved it quickly to the side table and sat down. Matthew sat down next to her.

“It was not all in vain, however,” he said, excitement building in his tone. “I did receive some information from a vampire, who heard it from another vampire, who heard it from one of the fae. All rather roundabout, but it seems like a solid lead.” He drew in a breath. “What do you know of Wayland the Smith?”

Feeling increasingly hopeful, Cordelia and Matthew sat together until late into the night, formulating a plan. Matthew had been told that Wayland the Smith had a forge – the entrance to which, if the rumours were to be believed, frequently moved about the country. Supposedly, it only stayed in one place for a few weeks at most. Some said that they had found it on a rocky cliff overlooking a choppy ocean. Others said they had found it in a small copse of trees surrounded by swirling symbols.

“But apparently, as the rumours go, the entrance has recently been found quite near here,” Matthew explained. “In Regent’s Park, of all places.”

Regent’s Park. Where all of these demonic attacks had started. And where...

“The Naga demon!” Cordelia gasped. “I saw it crawling out of a bush in the park! It looked as though it was caught on something. Do you think that-”

“That the entrance is under the bush?” Matthew was suddenly bursting with enthusiasm. “We should head over there right away.”

Cordelia paused. She was eager, desperate to get to the entrance before it had a chance to move. And yet she could not escape the thought of the late hour, and the memory of her recent near-death experience at her inability to follow instructions.

Matthew seemed to understand what she was thinking. “The difference today will be that you will, of course, bring a surplus of seraph blades, as well as your very own secret weapon – me.”

Cordelia snorted and raised an eyebrow. “Do you think yourself the equal to a surplus of seraph blades?”

Matthew pretended to be wounded. “I will have you know, many have described my never-ending humour as ‘cutting’ and ‘painful’.”

“Well, then,” Cordelia said, rising from the sofa. She was convinced. “We had best hope that any demons present are open to a bit of impromptu comedy.”

 

It took them a little under an hour to reach Regent’s Park. The traffic had been mercifully clear, only a few late-night stragglers wending their way into pubs or homes. Once in the park, the new moon in the sky made it difficult to navigate. With only a witchlight rune-stone each, Cordelia and Matthew advanced, one hand resting on their weapons belt at all times, ready to draw. Feeling rather foolish, Cordelia held her witchlight close to every bush that they passed. She had hoped that she might recognise the bush when she saw it up close, but the more she checked, the more she was beginning to fear that no shrubbery was distinguishable enough to identify.

Losing hope and growing cold in the frosty night, Cordelia had been just about to tell Matthew that they had best return in the morning when a sudden glow caught her eye. She moved the witchlight closer. She squinted her eyes. Etched into the earth just below her feet was a strange rune, not one that she had seen before in the Gray Book. It glowed almost as if it were on fire – no, not quite. More as if it were a hole to the centre of the earth, to the craters of hell.

This had to be the spot.

“Matthew, over here,” she called quietly.

In a few seconds, Matthew had knelt down beside her, the light of his witchlight joining hers.

“I cannot understand what it says,” he whispered.

Cordelia stretched out a hand to touch it. Matthew grabbed her wrist.

“As much as I promised you an adventurous marriage, Daisy, I am not so sure that touching a strange, glowing rune on the ground is the best way to achieve that.”

“What happened to the confidence of the man who said he would defeat a horde of Naga demons with a joke?”

Somewhere overhead, an owl hooted softly.

“I did not pretend that it was an effective plan,” he replied, chastened. “I simply suggested that we should keep all of our options open. In my time, I have defeated many a foe through the power of conversation. Last year, in fact, I chased off a horde of vampires causing mayhem in the Devil’s Tavern simply by-”

Cordelia reached out and touched the rune. Matthew looked on in horror.

“Did anything happen?” he asked nervously.

Cordelia shook her head. Nothing had changed. The air still froze her hands. The grass still felt rough against her knees through the fabric of her gear. An owl still hooted in the sky.

And then the ground opened up and swallowed her whole.

It really was like falling into the earth itself. Endless darkness surrounded her, an impenetrable void. Her arms and legs flailed wildly, desperate to find something to cling onto, to slow her fall. Her body was spinning, spinning, until she could not tell which way she faced, the only clear direction beneath her as the incredible force dragged her down, down, down...

Her body landed heavily on packed earth. Every part of her hurt, but nothing felt painful enough as to be broken. Dazed, Cordelia sat up slowly. She seemed to be in some sort of stone building. To her right was a weighty-looking metal door. In front of her was a long wooden table, stacked high with metallic instruments, some of which she recognised, most of which were entirely unfamiliar. To her left, she realised with a swoop of the stomach, was a man. He had his back turned to her, facing a monstrously large forge. He seemed not to have noticed her arrival, focused as he was at the task in front of him.

Cordelia rose to her feet and took a step towards him. “Who are you?” she called out. Her heart thudded in her chest.

But the man did not answer. He simply continued his work as if he had not heard her.

Behind her, another loud thump. Cordelia swung around quickly to see that Matthew had fallen onto the spot where she had been sat only moments earlier. He was holding his head, disoriented, gazing around wildly. His eyes met Cordelia’s anxiously. Then his eyes slid past her, to the man, and his face went suddenly pale.

“Daisy, what is that?” he whispered.

Cordelia was confused. Though their sudden landing and location was indeed very bizarre, she rather thought that the man was the most normal feature of the room. Turning back around to face him, she realised that the man had turned to face them as well. He raised his arm, strong muscles visible on his bicep. Then he waved it, a quick, untraceable motion. With a cry, Matthew was lifted up into the air. Cordelia let out a shout. The man gestured again. At the end of the room, the metal door flew open with a deafening clang. Matthew’s limp body flew through it a doll and disappeared into the void beyond.

Cordelia cried out and ran to the door. But just as she reached it, it swung shut with another loud bang. Desperately, she searched for a handle to open it, to reach Matthew. The door, however, resembled a thick sheet of metal, rigid and bumpy, with no handle in sight.

She whirled around, instinctively yanking Cortana from its sheath rather than a seraph blade.

“What did you do to him?” she demanded.

The man did not answer. He simply stared at Cortana.

“Welcome home,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that shook through Cordelia’s frozen limbs.

It took her a moment to process these words. He had not been speaking to her. “Are you Wayland the Smith?”

“I am,” the man replied. He was turning back to his work.

“What did you do with Matthew?” Cordelia demanded once again, almost frantic.

“He was not needed here.” The man paused. He turned back to face Cordelia. “But you and I have much to discuss. About what is happening in your realm. About the Prince of Hell, Belial. And about James Herondale.”

 

Cordelia gasped. She could barely open her eyes, barely draw breath, barely move her head through the thick tangle of twigs and leaves surrounding her face. Her body felt as though it was sinking back into the ground. She had parted ways with Wayland the Smith, had left through the door to his forge feeling more determined than ever. But now she felt only terrified, trapped, unable to fight her way through.

“Daisy?”

“Matthew!” Cordelia cried.

“Daisy! Daisy, hang in there!”

The scrape of metal. The distressed thud of a blade hacking through wood. Several times, the sharp blade came dangerously close to her face. Wrenching her hands free of the earth, Cordelia tore furiously at the cracking twigs, tossing them aside.

The blade dropped onto the grass next to her head. Hands reached through to grab hers.

Matthew pulled hard; Cordelia pushed harder. Together, they wriggled Cordelia’s numbing body out of the ground and onto the grass next to the bush. Exhausted, breathing heavily, Cordelia collapsed, searching for Matthew in the glow of the lightening sky.

All of a sudden, shaking arms encircled her. Clung to her.

“Daisy, my Daisy,” Matthew muttered frantically. He tangled his fingers in her knotted hair, gently kissed the top of her head. Cordelia lifted her aching arms and wrapped them around his back. She clung to the fabric of his jacket like a lifeline.

“I thought that I had lost you.” Matthew’s voice cracked. “I waited here for hours and you never returned. I tried everything to come back to where you were. It was my idea to come out here tonight, based on information that I found. If something had happened to you, it would have been all my fault. I am so sorry, Daisy. I am so sorry.”

Cordelia tried to move, to look Matthew in the eye, but he was holding on to her tighter than even the earth had.

“You said that you wished to be more independent.” His voice was frenzied, choked with tears. “In truth, I am the one who is dependent. You are my world, Daisy. You are the only person who truly knows me. I need you by my side. I need to be by your side. I cannot imagine even a second of my life going forwards without you. Please...”

His voice trailed off. He let out a gentle sob. His grip loosened ever so slightly. Cordelia used this chance to free herself from his grip, to move her head up until it was level with his, to rest her hands on his cheeks, to place her forehead against his own. Matthew’s face was streaked with dirt and tears, clumps of soil crumbling from his hair and staining his clothes.

“I am not going anywhere,” she said firmly, soothingly. With her hands, she gently wiped tears from Matthew’s cheeks, well aware that tears were spilling down her own. “I need you, too, Math. I will always support you. We are a team now, and regardless of whether we are married or not, I will always be at your side.” She paused. “I will always be yours.”

Cordelia buried her face in Matthew’s neck. She needed somewhere warm and safe to let the tears flow. Matthew buried his face in her hair. They held onto each other as the morning sun rose in the sky over them.

After a long while, their breathing evened out, their dirt-covered bodies relaxed. Leaning back, Cordelia finally surveyed their surroundings. Next to them, two bushes had been thoroughly decimated. One had been hacked to pieces, half of its roots detached from the main plant. The other – the one through which Matthew must have arrived, Cordelia realised – had been removed entirely from the ground and thrown roughly onto its side.

Matthew followed her gaze. He smiled ruefully, his eyes shining in the morning light. “I did do rather a crude job on those. I suspect that I will not be able to give up my career as a Shadowhunter to pursue my dream of gardening any time soon.”

Cordelia’s mind was a blur of thoughts. She could barely think straight. “We have two options,” she said. “Either we try to reattach the bushes somehow...”

“...Or we hastily leave the park and feign ignorance, forever living with the guilt of our sins?”

Cordelia and Matthew looked at each other for a few seconds. Then they both scrambled up from the ground and half-ran towards the park gate.

As they neared the exit, Matthew brought up the topic that neither of them had yet dared to broach. “So, what did happen down there?”

There was so much to explain that Cordelia did not know where to start. Should she start with the threat that Belial still posed to London? Should she start with the danger that James now found himself in, the reason why he had seemed so pale and sickly recently? Should she start with news of Cortana’s upgrades, of its newfound strength?

Cordelia stopped walking and looked Matthew straight in the eye.

All of these were pressing matters that would need to be discussed before the day was over. But right at this very moment, there was only one thing that Cordelia wanted to share with Matthew.

“He made me his paladin,” she said quietly.

Matthew’s eyes widened in alarm. “Who did?”

“Wayland the Smith.”

Matthew’s brows drew together. He looked very concerned. “But I thought... I thought that I saw...”

“Saw what?”

Matthew paused, lost in thought. Then he shook his head. His face cleared. “I must have been mistaken. It was quite the drop, after all. Forgive me, Daisy.” He looked at Cordelia. “He made you a paladin? But what does that mean going forward?”

Without answering, Cordelia unsheathed Cortana. Her sword still thrummed with energy, but this time it did not feel lifeless. It sparkled with light, infused with a heat that no longer felt out of control, but rather was an extension of herself. Taking a step back, Cordelia swung Cortana. The sword no longer felt heavy in the slightest. It felt as light as a feather, responding to her every thought before she could think it, dancing to her every step.

Her eyes bright, Cordelia looked at Matthew. He was staring at her as if he had never seen anything quite like her.

“How do I look?” she asked.

“Like an angel,” Matthew replied, awestruck.

A warm feeling spread through Cordelia’s body.

The feeling remained as they made their way home. It took them several tries to flag down a hansom cab. Covered in dirt as they both were, nobody seemed eager to stop for them. Finally, Matthew managed to stop one by all but jumping in front of it. They boarded quickly, both eager for a chance to sit down on something comfortable.

The feeling remained as they reached home and parted ways, with the intention of bathing, changing clothes, and finally resting. Cordelia washed quickly. Scrubbed harder than was necessary. Yanked on her nightgown forcefully. She felt suddenly restless.

It remained as she knocked tentatively on Matthew’s door and entered. As he stepped out of the bathroom, hastily pulling on a clean white shirt that had been tossed over a chair and buttoning it up over his chest. As he sat down on the bed and eyed her warily. As Cordelia walked over to the desk and gently laid Cortana on it. Finally crossing that invisible line. Finally breaking that rule of non-commitment.

It remained as Matthew lay down on the bed, as she moved next to him, as she placed her head on his chest and felt his arm wrap around her, as she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep and revelled in the sensation of finally having a purpose, a goal, and a person with whom to share it.

With no idea of just how much worse she had made everything.

Chapter 6

Summary:

“What are you thinking, Daisy?” Matthew's voice was thick. The words came out strangled.

Cordelia stared down at him. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his defined collarbone. Her breath caught at the sight of it. Though they shared a bed each night, this felt far more intimate. She felt a sudden, burning desire to run her hands over his chest, a sudden frustration at how many layers existed between them.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I want you, Matthew.”

And then, finally, Matthew groaned and pulled her down over him.

~~~

Having spoken to Wayland the Smith, Cordelia and Matthew are more determined than ever to save James from Belial's clutches. James, however, has a plan of his own in mind...

There were three things that Cordelia had learned from her talk with Wayland the Smith.

The first was that Belial, the Prince of Hell who had terrorised London last summer, was not dead. He was very much alive, very much angry, and very much hell-bent on enacting revenge against Cordelia and her friends.

The second was that, somehow, James had been drawn into this. Had become the weapon through which Belial would carry out his vengeance. Somehow, Belial had found a way to torment James, to control him, to force him to do his bidding. This explained, Cordelia thought, why James had seemed so ill recently – so pale and sickly and withdrawn. It also explained his rapid changes in attitude, his strange mannerisms, the way that he had acted the night that he had burned down Blackthorn Manor and again the morning of Cordelia and Matthew’s wedding.

The third, and perhaps most important, thing that Cordelia had learned was that Belial needed to be stopped by any means necessary. And that she, a paladin, was the only person who could do this.

A few hours after she and Matthew had collapsed with exhaustion following the events in Regent’s Park, they had awoken, side by side in bed. Mind now finally somewhat clear, Cordelia had roused a groggy Matthew and had explained all that she had learned. Matthew’s eyes had grown clearer as she spoke, more focused. Cordelia saw him swallow grimly as she reached the part about James.

“I should have noticed,” Matthew scolded himself. “What use am I as a parabatai if I cannot even see the depth of his suffering?”

“I am the one who should have realised,” Cordelia replied. “On the morning of the wedding. Instead of listening to him, I simply told him to pull himself together. Slapped him, even. What was I thinking?”

Matthew shook his head. “You had enough on your mind that morning, Daisy. Do not blame yourself.”

“You have been dealing with much yourself, Math. You can hardly lay the blame solely on yourself.”

Matthew smiled ruefully. “Perhaps we are both terrible people. A fact to which I am sure that those two bushes in Regent’s Park would attest.”

Cordelia snorted. She was climbing out of bed, a plan already formulating in her mind. “Then perhaps we terrible people had best put our heads together and think of a solution.”

And so they moved to the salon, which had quickly become their favourite place to plan and enjoy one another’s company. They laid out every book that they owned that was even remotely related to Belial or Hell, laid out every piece of information that they could find. As the hours ticked by and the sun sank low, casting the room in a warm orange glow, the pieces started falling into place. They would need to discover how Belial had survived. Find out how he had retained such a supposedly strong hold on James. And determine how they could find him and put an end to him, once and for all.

The part that turned out impossible to plan for, however, was finding James himself. Although Matthew sent message after message by delivery boy, the children all returned with the letters still clutched in their hands, bemused expressions on their faces. James, it seemed, was turning them away.

Which was why, several days later, tired of waiting for a response that would not come, Cordelia and Matthew travelled to the Institute. It was a particularly foggy evening. They were determined that if James would not reply, then they had no choice but to find out the truth in person.

They were greeted warmly by a tired-looking Tessa. “If you are looking for James,” she said, “he is currently in his room. He does not leave it very much at all these days. I am sure that he will be delighted to see the both of you.”

James, as it turned out, was not delighted to see them. In fact, Cordelia and Matthew had no idea how James would have felt, as when they entered his room, they found that he was not in it. The room itself was a mess. The bed was unmade, the sheets thrown across the floor (not unlike Matthew’s room on that first night, Cordelia thought). Discarded pieces of equipment, some of them stained with what looked concerningly like blood, littered the floor. Perhaps most worryingly of all, gouged into the wall were deep scratch marks, as if a deranged animal had tried to tear furiously through the wallpaper.

A suddenly-anxious Tessa left. She returned a few minutes later with a distressed Will and a panicked Lucie at her side. As he had on the day of the wedding, Will tried desperately to track James using a shirt that lay torn in pieces on the floor. It did not work. Then, despite the room clearly being empty, Will started to check every corner, in the peeling wardrobe, under the dank sheets on the floor. He even crouched down to peer despairingly under the bed. Cordelia stood in the doorway, her heart sinking. Were they too late?

Will, looking more frantic than Cordelia had ever seen him, set off hastily down the corridor. Tessa, with an air of forced calmness, relocated Lucie, Matthew, and Cordelia to the drawing room, where they were served tea despite the late hour. About a half-hour later, the sounds of footsteps and loud voices in the corridor brought the three of them to the door. In the entrance stood Gabriel, Gideon, Sophie, Cecily, and Will, all in full gear, each equipped with an assortment of weapons and a forbidding look.

Noticing them watching, Will turned. His eyes were serious, haunted. Cordelia was reminded forcefully that he was the leader of the Institute, chosen by the Consul herself.

“Under no circumstances are any of you to leave the Institute tonight,” he commanded grimly. “No matter what happens. I need to know that you are safe and protected while we are out. If you hear any information, you pass it onto Bridget, who will make sure that it reaches us. Do you understand?”

Cordelia nodded numbly. She watched as the group of Shadowhunters marched out of the doors, waiting until she could no longer see their backs before returning to the drawing room. Feeling suddenly shaky, she sat down on the sofa. Lucie, her face ashen, sank down next to her, Tessa at Lucie’s other side. They took each other’s hands and held them tightly. By the door, Matthew paced anxiously. It seemed as though he, more than anyone, found Will’s orders hard to follow. As the hours ticked slowly by, he kept moving, kept pacing. Only occasionally did he look up and meet Cordelia’s eye, but his usual cheerfulness was gone. He could not even force a smile. Could only stare at her painfully. It seemed like he wanted to say something to her urgently – something that he could not express in front of Lucie and Tessa. Cordelia was quite sure that she understood how he felt. The same need had overtaken her.

How she wished, at that moment, that Lucie and Tessa were not there with them. That she could talk to Matthew alone. That he was the one sat down next to her, holding her hand in silence, holding her breaking heart together.

I really am a terrible person, Cordelia thought, to think such selfish thoughts at a time like this.

Many hours later, as the morning sun began to creep through the curtained windows, they heard the sound of heavy footsteps once more. Rushing into the corridor, Cordelia’s heart leaped into her mouth. And then abruptly lodged in her throat.

James was not with them.

Will looked as though he had aged decades in a few hours. “We could not find him,” he said to Tessa. His eyes shone and his voice cracked. “He could be anywhere by now, Tess. He could be...” He swallowed hard. “How have I failed my son so badly?”

Tessa wrapped her arms around Will, folded him into her chest. Will crumpled against her. “It is not your fault, Will bach,” she murmured soothingly. Her hands in his hair shook. “We must not lose hope. James is strong. He will come home to us.”

Will sobbed into her shoulder. “So many have died, Tess. So many strong Shadowhunters. He is only a boy.”

Cordelia felt arms wrap around her. Matthew. She buried her face in his chest, realising for the first time that she, too, was crying.

The sound of the door opening again. A sudden gasp. Cordelia whipped her head around.

There, standing in the entrance, was James Herondale, looking worse than she had ever seen him in her life.

Every inch of his clothing was a deep black – ichor. In contrast, what little of his skin was not stained was completely bloodless, as pale as a corpse. The runes on his arms shone starkly against his sallow skin, dark as night. Beside them, on one wrist, was the bracelet, a small trickle of blood slowly dripping from underneath it. On the other were ringed scars so deep and fresh that it looked as though he had drawn them there himself that very night. He was panting, breathing heavily, as if had been running for miles.

Nine pairs of widened eyes stared in horror. James returned their look in kind. He was taken aback, frozen.

Dazed, Will took a step towards his son. “Jamie,” he whispered, alarmed. “What have you done?”

James did not move. He was as still as a statue, just as pale and lifeless. With a tremendous effort, he responded, with the air of one who had rehearsed it a great many times, “It is nothing. I have everything under control. Please, do not worry.”

Judging by his face, Will had moved beyond the point of anger. It was as though, Cordelia thought, he had become so furious that he had entered a state of calm, the place in battle to which a Shadowhunter had to direct themselves in order to fight effectively.

Will walked right up to James. Stood straight in front of him. Placed his shaking hands on James’ stiff shoulders. Looked him in the eye. And whispered, in a voice of deadly calm that every person in the room strained to hear, “Go to your room.”

James seemed genuinely unnerved. Exhaustedly, he dragged his body across the hall to the stairs, barely acknowledging that there was anybody else present. Will followed so close to his shoulder that it was a miracle that either of them could walk.

A set expression on her face, Tessa made to follow. Halfway up the stairs, however, she seemed to remember about Cordelia and Matthew, about their purpose for being there. “I am sorry to have kept you here overnight for nothing,” she said, turning to face them. “But I am afraid that you will have to return another day. I suspect that this will take a while.”

With that, Tessa hastily moved to catch up to her husband and son.

Everyone else stayed still, each lost in their own lightheaded trance. They continued to stand like that until Will’s shouts and screams reached them, loud enough to echo clearly through the corridors.

“What are we going to do with him?” Sophie said quietly. She tried and failed to shrug off her gear jacket, tired as she was. Gideon, at her side, reached up to help her.

“He will need to be monitored constantly, most likely,” Gabriel replied, shaking his head. He walked in the direction of the drawing room that Cordelia had just vacated. “Raziel knows what he was doing this evening.”

As Cordelia watched Gabriel pass Matthew, she belatedly realised that Matthew had paled considerably. She recognised immediately what he needed: to talk and then to rest. She needed to get him home as quickly as she could.

Still, determined that they should not leave empty-handed, Cordelia turned to Lucie. “I need you to do a favour for me,” she murmured quietly.

“What is it?” Lucie was straining, trying to overhear what her father was saying to James.

“I need you to pass on a message to James for me. Tell him that I finally understand. Tell him to come to our house and we can help him.”

Lucie looked confused. “Daisy, do you know something about James?”

“I do not have time to explain.” Cordelia was conscious of the fact that Matthew was now swaying slightly. “Please, trust me that this is urgent.”

Lucie bit her lip. Her eyes followed Cordelia’s to Matthew. “Oh, very well. I will tell him. It is not as though I do not have secrets of my own, after all.”

With no time to ponder what Lucie had meant by that, Cordelia took Matthew’s hand and led him out to the carriage. Once they were seated and had rattled through the Institute gates, Matthew turned anxiously to Cordelia.

“There is something very wrong with James. I felt it through our bond tonight. I have felt it for a while now, but tonight is was...overwhelming.”

“Belial,” Cordelia said flatly. They shared a knowing, dark look.

 

Though they returned the next day, and the day after that, Matthew and Cordelia were unable to speak to James. He had been, as a downcast Lucie told them, placed under watch in his room by a furious Will, who had ordered that nobody was to enter other than family.

“But I am his parabatai,” Matthew argued indignantly. “I am his family!”

“I know that,” Lucie replied miserably, “but my parents are convinced that he is sneaking out to meet someone. Every night in his sleep he cries out for Grace. Oh, Daisy, it is awful.”

Cordelia hugged Lucie tightly. It was awful. To be so close to James and yet unable to do anything to help him.

No, that is not quite right, Cordelia thought. There were other parts to our plan.

With the sudden, urgent sense that time was running out, Cordelia and Matthew set about putting into practice another stage of their plan: discovering how to reach Belial.

Their first thought had been to consult Wayland the Smith again. But when they reached Regent’s Park and moved aside the disgruntled bushes that had been gingerly placed upright once more, they found that the marks on the floor were gone, wiped as if they had never existed. Although they waited until the sun set – as long as they dared with the whisper of death in the air – the runes did not return.

Matthew pointed out to a disappointed Cordelia that Regent’s Park was not the only place in which the entrance to the forge had been discovered. It seemed unlikely that it would return to a place that it had been previously. However, desperate for something to do to feel productive, Cordelia and Matthew spent evening after evening reading through books and accounts that Matthew gathered from regulars at the Hell Ruelle, day after day visiting these spots and swallowing down disappointment. It felt almost as though fate were taunting them. Each time they found a promising lead that dangled a golden opportunity in front of them, it would guide them to a dead end and an encroaching feeling of helplessness.

Matthew had noticed Cordelia’s growing despondence. On several occasions, he had suggested that they head over to the Carstairs’ residence for breakfast or supper. But, determined as she was to surmount the insurmountable, Cordelia refused adamantly, choosing instead to pore over books with Matthew at her side until the wee hours of the morning.

She had come to the conclusion that the places that seemed most promising were the ones outside of the city. But it would have been impossible to travel the country, let alone the countryside outside of London, at a fast enough pace to explore even one of these destinations thoroughly.

One evening, when she voiced this frustration to Matthew, he seemed completely unperturbed.

“Ways and means, Daisy,” he said mysteriously. “Ways and means.”

The next morning, Cordelia awoke, exhausted, to find that Matthew was missing. In his place on the bed lay a note. It stated, to her surprise, that he had stepped out for a few hours and would not be joining her for breakfast, but that she should go to the Carstairs’ and he would meet her there after she had eaten. Bemused, Cordelia followed his instructions. She dressed quickly, prepared to go out into the unusually warm weather for the time of year, and, spontaneously, had one of the servants bring a lead so that she could take Oscar along with her. It seemed a shame for him to remain indoors on a day as nice as today. As they walked, Oscar seemed to agree, bounding excitedly down the street, stopping to sniff at each lamppost on their way.

Though Cordelia would never admit it, she needed the company that Oscar provided. At some point in the past few months of marriage, she had unknowingly grown to hate being alone.

Following a lively breakfast, during which all three Carstairs had snuck scraps under the table to the delight of Oscar, a sudden loud rumbling noise shook the house. They ran for the door. Outside, on the driveway, was a car. Inside of it sat a windblown Matthew, an infectious grin on his face. A rare sight over the past few days.

“Good morning, Mrs Carstairs, Alastair,” he called loudly over the whirring of the engine. “It is always a delight to see you both. I am here to take my wife on a grand adventure, if you would do me the honour of allowing her to accompany me. I assure you that I will return her safely in one piece, with not even a scratch on her, or my name is not Matthew Fairchild. It is, after all, the duty of any gentleman to watch out for his lady, to ensure that she can live the life that she deserves, to-”

“What is he saying?” Alastair asked irritably. “I cannot hear him over that infernal racket.”

Matthew continued to talk, but his words were lost to the engine.

“I think that he wants me to accompany him.” Cordelia turned to Alastair. “It sounds urgent. Could you look after Oscar for me?”

They had left Oscar under the dining room table, overfed and deep in a food-induced sleep.

“Oh, very well,” Alastair grumbled. Cordelia noted that his face did not look half as annoyed as his tone suggested.

Cordelia hastened down the steps towards Matthew. He climbed out of the car to meet her, bowed dramatically, and offered her a hand. Taking it, Cordelia climbed apprehensively into the car. The seats were plush but firm, less comfortable than a carriage and with far less room inside. Still, this did not dull the sudden burst of excitement in her chest.

Matthew climbed in next to her. His face mirrored hers, lit with feverish anticipation. “Ways and means,” he said again, grinning broadly at her. Fiddling with what looked like a series of complicated controls, Matthew started the car and drove them out into the streets of London.

It became almost immediately apparent that the car was not built for city streets. Though the early-morning traffic had mostly cleared, it was a challenge for Matthew to manoeuvre around clueless pedestrians and startled animals. At one point, he was forced to veer violently to the right to swerve around a stray cat that was not at all bothered by the enormous machine bearing down on it. A man in a suit on the pavement leaped back and began a furious tirade of swearing that followed them down the street.

Matthew only looked slightly abashed. “I had to make a choice, Daisy,” he explained. “And I did not hear the cat telling me creative things that I could put up my-”

He swerved again to avoid another pedestrian. Cordelia gave him an unimpressed look. Matthew grinned sheepishly.

The real value of the car proved itself once they had left London behind and were out in the countryside. With a bright blue sky and empty roads ahead of them, Matthew was able to push the car as fast as it would go. Though it was only about twice the speed of a carriage, it felt much quicker. However, it was also, Cordelia quickly realised, far more exposed to the elements. The wind tugged at her clothes furiously, whipped her hair about wildly. She pulled it hastily over one shoulder to stop it blowing into Matthew’s face. Matthew simply laughed riotously, his voice swallowed up by the air.

After an hour or so of driving, they stopped at an inn about halfway to their destination. Matthew helped Cordelia out of the car. She made a valiant effort to straighten out her hair and reached up to straighten his.

“I promised you a grand adventure when you married me, did I not?” he asked cheerfully.

“You certainly did,” Cordelia replied, “and that is one way of describing today.”

But she was grinning madly, just like Matthew, despite the grim task ahead of them. At this moment, staring into Matthew’s bright green eyes and the golden curls that had blown into them, Cordelia felt like anything was possible.

Inside the inn, they were shown to a table in a corner by a pretty young barmaid with striking blue eyes. She seemed quite taken with Matthew as he thanked her profusely and flashed his usual charming smile. Cordelia did not know quite why, but an unwelcome feeling had started brooding in her chest.

“Just a moment, we are still deciding,” Matthew said warmly for the third time as the barmaid approached yet again to take their order. Looking slightly disappointed, she stepped back to serve another couple two tables over.

“I think she rather fancies you,” Cordelia said, before she could stop herself. She immediately regretted it. What was she saying? Why did it matter to her who fancied Matthew?

And why did it matter to her who Matthew fancied in return?

Matthew only laughed. “I suspect that it is simply the case that I make a change from her usual clientele. If only she knew that I am even more of a degenerate than most men who come in here.”

But even though Matthew downplayed it, when the barmaid returned to take their order – a roast beef sandwich and a slice of carrot cake each – he made a point of saying, “A cup of coffee for me and a cup of tea for my wife, please.”

After lunch, they set out quickly for their destination. It was not hard to find: the swirling patterns were visible from a mile away, the copse of trees that had supposedly housed the entrance to Wayland the Smith’s forge sticking out clearly even from a distance. Matthew parked the car just off of the road and they spent the afternoon climbing and hiking, searching desperately for any sign of angelic or demonic activity. But although they stumbled across several promising locations, it became clearer and clearer, as the hour drew later and the weather turned bitingly cold, that any presence of the forge had been wiped, just as it had been in Regent’s Park.

Dejectedly, Matthew drove them both back to London. Even though he turned to look at Cordelia several times, as if wanting to say something, they exchanged no words for the entire journey. Cordelia was lost in her thoughts. They had wasted so much time searching for the forge and not enough time considering ways to defeat Belial, ways to actually reach him. Most frustratingly of all, James had not come to visit them once, despite Cordelia’s insistence and Lucie’s promise that she had passed on their message.

Once they had collected Oscar and returned home, Cordelia headed for her room. She bathed and changed quickly, not bothering to properly brush the tangles from her windswept hair. She needed to return to her research. There had to be something that they were missing. Something glaringly obvious, staring them in the face. She just needed to work harder, push herself harder...

Lost in thoughts, it took Cordelia a moment, as she entered the salon, to realise that Matthew was not bent over their usual long table. Instead, he was sat near the roaring fire, surrounded by cushions and blankets that had been torn haphazardly from the sofas and seats around the room. He still wore the same clothes from that day, a gold button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and plum-red trousers. His hair was even messier than hers.

Seeing Cordelia enter, he patted the cushion next to him. “Come and join me, Daisy.”

Unsure of what Matthew was thinking, Cordelia sat down hesitantly. It took her a moment to rearrange the skirts of her evening dress. When she had settled, Matthew poured her a cup of steaming tea.

At Cordelia’s confused look, Matthew explained, “You have been working tirelessly over the past few weeks, Daisy. You must take a break. We need you to be rested and ready. Neither of us can be of any help to James if we are both close to collapsing at any given moment.”

Cordelia wanted to deny this, to argue that they could not afford to waste time. And yet there was something soothing about gazing into the flickering flames, Matthew sat reliably at her side. She took a sip of the tea. A snug warmth spread through her body, thawing her frozen bones. She had not quite realised how cold and tired that she was until this moment.

“Thank you,” Cordelia said quietly.

“No need to thank me, Daisy. I am sure that the housekeepers tomorrow will not be nearly so grateful when they see the state in which this room will be left.”

Cordelia shook her head. “Thank you for everything. For marrying me. For freeing my father. For being at my side whenever I needed you, without even a need for me to ask. For the never-ending gifts and flowers. For giving me your time and your company. For...”

Cordelia trailed off. It felt like she could have continued forever, endlessly listing ways in which Matthew had saved her since the day of the fateful Enclave meeting. But Matthew was staring intently into the fire. He seemed completely lost in thought. For a few painful moments, Cordelia thought that he had not been listening. Then, finally, he spoke.

“When I first saw you that day at the Institute ball, I thought that you were the most amazing woman that I had ever met. Despite all of the rumours that followed you to London, despite the stares and the whispers, despite James abandoning you on the floor at the sight of Grace,” he laughed softly, humourlessly, “you never gave in. Never let them affect you. You were so driven, so purposeful. It was as though you were unstoppable, a force of nature. When I looked at you, it was like staring into the sun. And when I stood by you, it felt as though I could bask in your warmth.”

Cordelia’s throat was very dry. She made no effort to drink. “And now?”

Matthew turned to look at her. His green eyes were dark, the flames bouncing off of them. “Now, I realise that I was wrong. You are not the sun, Daisy. You are an angel. A guardian angel and an avenging angel, sent down from heaven itself. And to be by your side is to be blessed by God Himself.” Matthew shook his head. “I will say nothing self-deprecating about myself, such as that I am not worthy to stand in your presence, even if perhaps I feel that way deep down inside. You have taught me to be better than that. To respect myself. To better myself. I vowed, many months ago, that I would be the perfect husband, that I would be by your side for the entire length of our brief marriage. But I swear to you now, Daisy, that I will work my entire life to be somebody worthy of you.”

Cordelia stared at Matthew. Stared at his cheekbones that had grown far rounder, far softer since he had quit the drink. Stared at the muscles in his forearm, the strength that he had regained since restarting his training in earnest. He had come so far in such a short amount of time.

Her gaze moved to his. He was staring unflinchingly at her. A warmth that had nothing to do with the fire spread through her.

“You already are,” Cordelia murmured and leaned in to kiss Matthew.

Much like before, the kiss started off soft and tender. Matthew’s lips were warm against hers, inviting, drawing her in. Unlike last time, however, the kiss did not deepen. Matthew was showing great restraint. He made no effort to pull her closer, to explore her. Impatiently, Cordelia moved towards him, kissed him more firmly. Matthew responded in kind. She suddenly realised that he was trying to be respectful, allowing her to take the lead, to decide their pace. For some reason, this irritated her. She was new to this, inexperienced, while Matthew had practice. And he was treating her, despite his words to the contrary, as if she were fragile, breakable.

As if she might change her mind and flee at any moment.

No good. This position was no good. She needed to be closer, to show him her strength, her drive. Ungracefully, Cordelia swung herself onto his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck. Her long hair dangled over him, brushed his cheeks. Beneath her, Matthew was breathing heavily despite not having moved at all. His arms wrapped around Cordelia’s waist. His pupils were so wide that his eyes looked almost completely black.

“What are you thinking, Daisy?” His voice was thick. The words came out strangled.

Cordelia stared down at Matthew. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his defined collarbone. Her breath caught at the sight of it. Though they shared a bed each night, this felt far more intimate. She felt a sudden, burning desire to run her hands over his chest, a sudden frustration at how many layers existed between them.

“I want you,” she whispered. “I want you, Matthew.”

And then, finally, Matthew groaned and pulled her down over him.

He kissed her deeply, passionately, as if he wanted to drown in her. Cordelia responded eagerly, relieved that Matthew’s experience was finally showing itself. His hands were everywhere at once: running up her back, tangling in her hair, gliding down her face to cup her neck. Cordelia moved her hands desperately to Matthew’s shirt. Blindly, she fumbled with the buttons.

Matthew suddenly realised what Cordelia was attempting to do. Carefully, he flipped them both, laying Cordelia back gently against the cushions and blankets. Now on top, Matthew deftly unbuttoned his shirt, bunched it up, and threw it across the room. Then he was back, leaning on top of her, mouth pressed firmly against hers. She slipped her hands up the smooth arches of his back, tracing the scars left behind by years of Shadowhunter fighting. Then she ran them down his chest, tracing the curves of his muscles. Matthew shuddered and moaned. He deepened the kiss.

She had gotten what she had wanted, but suddenly Cordelia felt frustrated once more. The feeling of too many layers, too many obstacles between them still persisted. Only this time, it was her dress that felt too tight, too restrictive. Cordelia wrapped her arms around Matthew’s neck and sat upright.

“Now mine,” she panted breathlessly.

Matthew understood. His hands wrapped around her and, with far less dexterity, he struggled with the buttons on the back of her dress. He leaned in close so that he could see what he was doing. His hot, feverish breath brushed Cordelia’s cheek.

And then she was free. Dimly, she was aware that this was the first time that Matthew had properly seen her like this. A voice in her mind told her that she should have felt embarrassed, apprehensive.

But Matthew was looking down at her as he had in the Hell Ruelle the night before their marriage. As he had in the carriage on their way back from the wedding. As he had in Regent’s Park as she had swung Cortana, a paladin for the first time.

As if she really was an angel.

Lovingly, Matthew leaned down and started trailing kisses down her neck. Cordelia’s back arched. Her hands tangled in his hair, still full of knots from their drive that day. She pictured the face of the barmaid who had seemed so interested in Matthew. Satisfaction roared in her chest. Maybe she really had become a terrible person over the past few months, to think such selfish thoughts. But nothing could dim her pleasure that Matthew was here with her now, in her arms, responding to her touches.

Matthew lifted his face and kissed Cordelia again. She wrapped her arms tightly around him. He groaned, louder than ever. “Be mine, Daisy,” he mumbled between kisses. “Please be mine. Be mine and only mine.”

Cordelia’s mind was blissfully blank. The only sensation that she was aware of was Matthew. The sound of his desperate whispers. His mouth against hers. The smell of his cologne.

So engrossed was she that Cordelia did not hear, at first, the tentative knock on the door. It was only when it came a second time, louder, more persistent, that she and Matthew sprang apart.

Matthew swore loudly. Delirious, he shielded Cordelia with his body and shouted, “Who is it?”

A calm female voice replied, “Apologies for the intrusion, Mr Fairchild. You have a guest. One Mr Herondale.”

Cordelia and Matthew stared at each other for a moment, eyes wide. Then they started scrambling almost guiltily. Cordelia hastily pulled up the top of her dress, suddenly feeling the embarrassment that she had avoided earlier. Matthew helped her button it up. His hands were shaking. They were so distracted that Matthew was halfway across the room before Cordelia looked up and hissed, “Matthew, your shirt!” He turned hurriedly around and sprinted across the room to where it had landed. Cordelia leaped to her feet, desperately and pointlessly patting down her hair. Not bothering to tuck his shirt into his trousers, Matthew tore across the room to the door. With a quick glance back to check that Cordelia was decent, he flung it open.

Right there, in the entrance hall, stood James. He looked no better than he had the last time that they had seen him, albeit without the ichor-soaked clothing. He was dressed in clean clothes and his hair was more neatly brushed. But his eyes were sunken, his body so thin that his cheekbones looked carved into his face.

Matthew ran towards him, arms outstretched. James held up a hand. He was looking straight at Cordelia.

“I do not have time.” James’ voice was strained, but he spoke clearly, concisely, as if it took a great effort to speak and he needed to ensure that they understood his every word. “Lucie told me that you understand, Daisy. I need both of your help. Belial is using me. I do not know how, but he is using me to carry out the murders of Shadowhunters. I can feel him right now. He is going to strike again this evening.”

James suddenly winced and bent double. He buried his hands in his hair. “Do not listen to me if I tell you that I am fine. I am not. It is him speaking through me. I need you to watch me. Tie me to the bed, knock me out, kill me, if it comes to it. Just do not let me out of the house.”

Matthew looked as though he wanted to argue the point, to demand an explanation. Understanding the urgency of the situation, Cordelia spoke before he could.

“We understand, James. We will watch you. As long as it takes.”

Matthew nodded slowly. He was staring at James, face strained as though he, too, were being torn apart inside. “Then let us move him into the salon.”

Cushions and blankets strewn across the floor, drinks spilled in fervour crossed Cordelia’s mind. “The salon is perhaps not in the best state at the moment,” she said pointedly. “We should move him to our room. We can watch him there.”

“‘Our room’?” James whispered uneasily.

“Yes, of course,” Matthew replied distractedly.

As quickly as they could, the three of them made their way up the stairs. This was made significantly more difficult by James’ staggering. He slipped on a step and almost tumbled back down. In an instant, Matthew was at his side. He wrapped an arm bracingly around James and helped him to steady his feet.

James looked at Matthew strangely. “Your shirt is buttoned wrong.”

Matthew glanced down, his face hard. “Apologies, I am usually better at dressing for guests. I will have to beg your forgiveness later.”

There was no real humour in his voice.

Cordelia and Matthew half-carried James between them to their room and positioned him carefully on the bed. He was now shivering and twitching. It reminded Cordelia of the first night that she had seen Matthew in this bed. A man fighting against urges, fighting the withdrawal. As she had then, Cordelia laid a hand over James’ forehead. It was burning hot. He stared at her, dazed.

“He needs a Silent Brother,” she said firmly. “We need to send word to them. And also, most likely, to his parents. I doubt that they know that he is here.”

“My parents are fine,” James gasped. His body suddenly convulsed. His back arched. “I am fine, Daisy.”

“Give me your belt, Matthew.”

“My...what?”

“We need to tie him to the bed.”

Cordelia finally understood from where the scars around James’ wrists had come.

Matthew’s eyes were wide with fear, but he did as Cordelia had instructed. Together, they tied not only a belt around his wrists, but also strips of curtain that Cordelia sliced down with Cortana, a tie that Matthew had tossed over a chair – anything that they could find. James remained remarkably still the whole time. But as soon as they finished, he jerked again, yanking hard on the ties. The bracelet, now soldered onto his wrist, caught on the edge of the belt. Blood dripped slowly out from underneath it.

“Daisy!” he cried. “I am fine! I am telling you that I am fine!”

Cordelia ignored him. “You need to send word now, Matthew. To our friends, as well. We may need their help this evening. And in any case, we cannot continue like this. We will need to lay everything out tomorrow morning.”

Matthew looked alarmed. “And leave you here with James, in this state? Daisy, he could kill you!”

“The longer that we stand here discussing, the longer before you return. Go!”

For a moment, Cordelia was certain that Matthew was about to refuse. But then, with a frustrated sigh, he disappeared out of the door. As soon as he had left, Cordelia locked it behind him. She could not afford for James to escape. Unsheathing Cortana, she settled into the chair that had been her place for so many evenings, so many nights spent sat at a tormented Matthew’s side.

This time, it was James who was staring unblinkingly at Cordelia. His golden eyes, framed by beautiful, long black lashes, shone in the moonlight that filtered through the slashes in the curtains. Time had seemed to slow. Her pulse calmed. Her breathing relaxed.

Cordelia gazed at James’ throat as he swallowed. Watched his chest rise and fall. Followed the line of his neck down to his collarbone. For years, she had wanted exactly this – James Herondale, laying in bed beside her, completely unguarded, staring at her with such longing that her chest ached. How strange would she had found it to know that the James in her dreams would have been tied to the bed, looking for all the world as if he were moments from death?

James interrupted Cordelia’s thoughts. “I am a terrible person, Daisy.”

Cordelia smiled sadly. “We all are, James. No person is entirely good.”

“Not you,” James croaked. He was staring so intently that Cordelia thought that she might burst into flame. “You are the best person that I have ever met.”

Cordelia did not reply. They remained silent for what felt like an eternity, listening only to the sounds of their hearts beating.

“You look beautiful, Daisy,” James murmured finally, so quiet that she could barely hear him. “Like an angel.”

And then his demeanour changed. As if he had been suddenly possessed, James let out a blood-curdling scream. His back lifted completely off of the bed, his arms twisted awkwardly. He thrashed wildly, his legs flailing in all directions.

Instinctively, Cordelia raised Cortana. But there was nowhere to hit. Nowhere to strike that would not seriously maim him. Despite what James had asked, Cordelia would never resort to killing him.

Not when there were other paths that she could follow.

Throwing Cortana aside, Cordelia leaped atop James. She pinned his legs under her knees, pushed down roughly on his chest with her hands. But it was like riding a frenzied wild horse. James bucked and writhed beneath her, no sign of recognition on his face. The makeshift bindings, Cordelia realised fearfully, were already starting to come undone, unable to resist the force with which James tugged on them.

A banging on the door. “Daisy! Let me in!”

Cordelia swore. Why had she thought that it was a good idea to lock the door? Her head swivelled around desperately, searching for something, anything, to hold James down while she moved. In her distraction, James wrenched himself free from her grip. Already unbalanced, Cordelia tumbled off. She landed heavily on the ground. Her head throbbed in agony.

“DAISY!”

“I am coming!” she yelled. Half-blinded by the pain, Cordelia dragged herself to her feet. Relying more on memory than anything, she staggered for the door. Her hands fumbled blindly with the lock, finally turning it. The door swung open immediately and Matthew ran in. He was completely bloodless, his eyes moving frantically between Cordelia and James.

Cordelia turned back around. To her horror, she realised that James had freed one of his arms and was working feverishly on the other. A few drops of something black ran from underneath the bracelet, trailed down his arm. Not blood - ichor.

The bracelet.

It suddenly seemed obvious to her. Almost as if an invisible force had guided her towards this conclusion.

“Hold him down,” she commanded.

Matthew did not argue. He sprinted across the room and clambered atop James barely a second before James’ other hand came free. With impossible strength for one who looked so weak, James grabbed at Matthew’s shirt. For a few moments, they fought each other frenziedly. Then they rolled to the side and tumbled off of the bed.

Heart beating, Cordelia tore across the room, snatched Cortana off of the floor. She whipped around. Matthew seemed to be winning, but just barely. His white shirt was stained with spots of black from James' wrist. Underneath him, James was a wild animal.

“Hold the bracelet out,” Cordelia instructed.

At the word “bracelet”, James redoubled his efforts to escape. His knee rose and dug painfully into Matthew’s chest. Matthew swore loudly but did not let go. He looked moments away from entering a frenzy himself. Using all of the strength in his body, he yanked James’ arm around, pinned it to the bed. Cordelia leapt onto the covers, raised Cortana high. There was no time to position the strike carefully.

She swung Cortana down.

A deafening clang echoed through the room. A long, spidery crack splintered across the bracelet.

But it was still attached. Still digging into James’ skin. Now realising Cordelia’s plan, James focused his efforts on tearing his arm free. He tried once again to kick at Matthew. Still, Matthew did not let go.

Cordelia lifted Cortana again. She could not afford to fail.

Taking a deep breath, she swung with all of her might.

The bracelet cracked in two. Instead of falling apart cleanly, it crumbled into ashes that rained down James’ scratched arm. In her half-delirious state, Cordelia could have sworn that she heard a scream of frustration issue from it as it faded into nothing.

The urge to fight left James almost immediately. Thrown off by the sudden lack of resistance, Matthew tumbled over him. Cordelia shuffled the rest of the way over the bed, leaning down to peer over them. Her head throbbed in pain.

Matthew dragged himself back onto his knees. He was covered in scratches and scrapes, his hair in complete disarray. He stared down at James, who was in turn sitting himself up, almost as if he were coming out of a trance.

Matthew readied himself for another fight. Cordelia clutched Cortana tightly. They both eyed James warily.

James sat up. Crawled dizzily onto his knees. Leaned over the bed. Stared up at Cordelia above him.

“I am so sorry, Daisy.”

Then, with no warning, he threw up onto the bed sheets and collapsed.

 

Together, somewhat awkwardly, Cordelia and Matthew moved James into her old room down the corridor. He was unconscious, but his eyelids flickered, lost in a dream, and his breathing was steady. Only once they had laid him down for the second time that night did Cordelia finally let out the breath that she had been holding. Exhausted, she moved onto the bed. Sat down next to James, as much as her dress would allow. Matthew sat next to her.

“You are bleeding, Daisy,” he murmured. His fingers lightly touched the top of her head.

Cordelia looked at the state of Matthew’s arms, at his ichor-soaked shirt. “You are hardly one to talk, Math.”

Matthew smiled sadly. “Come here.”

Taking out a stele – Cordelia was not sure where he had found it – he traced an iratze onto her skin. She watched his careful movements. His hands were warm against her frozen limbs. As the pain lifted and her mind cleared, the absurdity of the night was finally settled in. How had her world changed so much in just one evening? Surely it was years ago that she had been tangled with Matthew in front of the fire, warm, safe, desperate to feel him, to take things too far.

Matthew lifted the stele. Then he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Cordelia’s wrist, right over the completed rune. Another sensation washed over her, different to the ache in her chest when she had stared at James. She could not yet put a name to each of these feelings, had not yet taken the time to sort them, to understand them. But what she could tell, at this moment, was that whatever she felt with Matthew was real. Sturdy. Reliable.

Something that she could not bear to lose.

Please be mine. Be mine and only mine.

As she took the stele from Matthew and began to trace an iratze on his arm, another soft knock came on the door.

“Forgive the intrusion, Master Fairchild,” came the housekeeper’s voice. “You have another visitor.”

Matthew’s head lifted. As if he were hearing something that Cordelia could not.

“Jem,” he muttered, and then called, “Come in.”

The door swung open and a Silent Brother glided in noiselessly. Jem Carstairs. Her distant relative. Relief washed over her. There was always something about him, some sense that everything would turn out fine when he was present.

Jem walked over to the bed and looked down at James. Though Cordelia could not see his face, she could feel his concern and pity.

I would like to examine his wounds, Jem said calmly. Understanding this as her cue to step out, Cordelia rose from the bed, picking up Cortana from where she had placed it next to her. Matthew looked up at her in concern.

“I will be just outside of the door,” she said. She hesitated for a moment and then leaned down impulsively, placing a kiss on Matthew’s golden curls. Then, face burning, she hurried out of the room.

For what felt like hours but must only have been a few minutes, Cordelia paced in the corridor. Not long after she stepped out, Oscar trotted over to her. He looked as anxious as she felt. She sank down next to him on the floor next to the door. Oscar lay his head on her lap. She stroked it reassuringly.

On several occasions, servants drifted over to her with messages from their friends. It seemed that Matthew had been successful in reaching out to everyone that he could. Every message was the same: their friends were on their way. Cordelia was bolstered. This time one year ago, she had been preparing to move to London, with many worries and few friends. Now, there was a whole group of people upon whom she could rely. Who she would always support and who would always support her in turn.

“I am a very lucky person, Oscar,” Cordelia said quietly, “to have such wonderful people in my life.”

Oscar’s tail thumped against the floor in agreement.

Through the wall, Cordelia could hear two voices. James must have woken up. Though she strained, she could not catch what they were saying, only the pauses in their conversation as they allowed the third, silent member of their group to speak. Leaning her head back against the wall, with Oscar’s warmth at her side and the soft voices that floated through the wall soothing her, Cordelia drifted off into a fitful sleep.

Eventually, the sound of the door opening roused Cordelia. Matthew stepped out. He looked drained, deep black marks of exhaustion burned under his eyes. Seeing Cordelia on the floor, he offered her a wan smile and a hand. She took it gratefully and let him pull her up.

“James and Jem want to speak with you,” Matthew said. His voice was strained. “Daisy, I am so very sorry.”

Feeling suddenly apprehensive, Cordelia stepped into the room. Though the windows in the hallway had been gradually lightening, the bedroom was very dark, the curtains drawn tightly. She could just make out the silhouette of James sat up in bed, his face buried in his hands, and Jem stood near him, hand resting comfortingly on his shoulder.

Matthew followed her in and closed the door behind them. The room fell into almost impenetrable darkness.

“How are you feeling, James?” Cordelia asked tentatively, walking further into the room.

James did not reply. After a moment, she heard Jem’s voice in her mind.

He will be well, once he has rested. It was the right decision, taking the bracelet off of him.

“Taking” was perhaps not the word that Cordelia would have chosen. Still, she was too weary to argue the point. Approaching James, Cordelia sat down in one of the chairs near the curtained window.

James finally spoke. “Daisy, I messed up. It is my fault. I am so, so sorry.”

Cordelia did not understand. Her chest felt suddenly cold. She turned pleadingly to Jem.

“What is he talking about?”

Jem moved in close. So uncharacteristically human for a Silent Brother, he knelt down in front of Cordelia. Took her hands in his.

James saw your father being killed last night. I had the other Silent Brothers dispatch a group of Shadowhunters to the scene. I am so sorry, Cordelia. Your father has passed away.

Numbness. Dizziness. Feeling suddenly sick, Cordelia stood up unsteadily, stumbled from the room. She needed to get away, away from this room enveloped in darkness, away from the pitying stares, away from James’ wracked sobs in the corner. Unaware of where she was going, Cordelia staggered down the hallway, ignoring Matthew’s arms held open to her. Her feet carried her down the steps, out of the front doors, into the driveway. And then they could not carry her any further. She sank onto the gravel, not caring that she was visible to the whole house, the whole world. Her mind felt too empty, her body too sore to cry.

Her father had been a terrible man who had done terrible things. But did that mean that he had deserved to die, alone, murdered by Belial for whatever purpose that the demon had in mind? She had married Matthew to free her father, had become a paladin to protect those that she loved. If she could not attain even one of these goals, did she deserve a fate much the same?

Cordelia barely noticed as a warm, wet nose and a furry head nuzzled her hand. As a jacket wrapped around her. As an arm pulled her close, making no effort to lift her from the ground where they both knelt.

The comforting scent of cologne enveloping her, Cordelia prayed that tonight had been nothing but a bad dream. That she could close her eyes and awaken by the fire once more, safe in Matthew’s arms. But she had learned, many times over the past few months, that no matter how hard that she wished, she could not change what had happened.

So instead, she buried her face in Matthew’s chest and finally broke down in tears.

Chapter 7

Summary:

James sank to the floor across from Matthew, back against the wall. “I love her, Math,” he whispered despairingly. “I cannot live my whole life without telling her. Without knowing if I have a chance to win her heart. Why should I not tell her of my feelings?”

Matthew felt suddenly exhausted beyond words. He thought of Cordelia clutching James’ shirt, of the way that she had held onto James' hand on the day of their wedding, of the way that she had fallen apart when James had broken her heart.

“Because she loves you, too. Because I would not stand a chance. Because she would not hesitate to leave me behind.”

~~~

Following her father's passing, Cordelia has started distancing herself from a heartbroken Matthew. Desperate to reconnect with her, Matthew joins her and James on a fateful trip to the Shadow Market...

In just a single evening, Matthew’s entire world had turned upside-down.

Only one day before, he and Cordelia had been focused on the task of hunting down Belial, of saving James from the Prince of Hell’s plans. They had been anxious of what was to come, aware that time was running out, exhausted from the constant effort of searching and searching and searching. But there had been something reassuring about having a goal to work towards, an obstacle to overcome.

Matthew had known that Cordelia had felt the same. In the almost-year that they had been friends, Matthew had realised that Cordelia craved a purpose. That she was lost without one. She was a hero, driven to stand up for her friends whenever she could. Her own life, which had come to mean so much to Matthew, meant so little to her. Just watching her fight made his heart race and ache all at the same time.

Yet now, the situation had changed. Belial and his army of demons still threatened London – still threatened all of the Shadowhunter world. However, one of their purposes had finally been fulfilled: James had been freed. Although Matthew did not quite understand how they had done it – had not understood Jem’s explanation – it was clear to him now that the bracelet had been tormenting James. Somehow, through it, Belial had been controlling him.

The thought made Matthew feel ashamed to his very core. As his parabatai, Matthew was supposed to be James’ closest confidant. Despite that, he had missed all of the signs. Had been so wrapped up in his own troubles that he had done nothing to help his best friend in all of the years that James had been suffering.

I really am a lowly creature, Matthew thought. Poor James, to have no choice but to be partnered with me for the rest of his life.

What made Matthew feel even more ashamed, however, was that despite everything that James had been through that night, Matthew’s thoughts continued to drift to Cordelia. He felt strangely numb, lost, as if everything that had happened that evening had happened to an entirely different person. One moment, he had been tangled with Cordelia in blankets, hands wrapped around her waist, mouth pressed urgently against hers. The next, he had been holding Cordelia in his arms as her whole life had crumbled down around her.

His mind flashed back to the driveway, to how she had sobbed, face buried in his chest. He had held her tightly, just as she had held him on so many nights. Breathing in the scent of her jasmine soap, he had rocked her back and forth until the tears had subsided, until she had finally looked up at him with a face so raw with emotion that he had felt it in his own heart.

“I need to speak with Jem,” Cordelia had said, voice heavy with exhaustion. “I need to make arrangements. I need to...do something.”

Matthew had wanted to offer to go with her. The last thing that he had wanted at that moment in time was to part from her side, suffering as she was. Yet he knew Cordelia well now. Had studied her every expression. The way that the corner of her mouth twitched when she tried to hide her laughter. The way that her face scrunched up when she was lost in a difficult problem. The way that her eyes became glassy when she wanted to be alone, to work through something by herself.

So instead, he had watched in silence as Cordelia had walked slowly up the steps and back into the house, leaving him behind in the dirt.

 

Since Cordelia had left, a strange discomfort had settled over Matthew. They had grown closer as the months had passed. They shared everything – every thought, every worry. She was there by his side when he awoke in the mornings, wrapped in his arms as he slept. And last night, she had kissed him. He had deliberately let her take the lead, allowed her to set the pace, not wanting to scare her away. But she had been urgent, insistent, and his instincts had taken over. Matthew had kissed her as he had wanted to for months. As he had wanted to each time that she had laid her head on his chest and he had held onto her as if steadying himself against her.

Be mine, Daisy. Please be mine.

He had sworn that he would be the perfect husband. That he would not take advantage of her. That their marriage would be little more than a ruse to protect Cordelia’s reputation.

And yet, in that moment, Matthew had dared to believe that Cordelia may have felt even a semblance of what he felt for her.

But there would be no time to discuss their feelings that morning. Cordelia had spoken first with Jem, and then with James, and then with an anxious Will Herondale, who had arrived barely an hour later. Matthew had ducked in and out of the room as their friends had arrived, one by one. It had seemed rude to turn them away, particularly after the urgent messages that he had sent out in the middle of the night. But Matthew wished that he could have sent them away. Wished, selfish as it was, that he could have been alone with Cordelia. Whenever Matthew had entered the room where she sat, absently fiddling with Cortana, he had wanted nothing more than to sit down and wrap his arms around her.

Next to her had sat a haggard James, face buried in his hands. On occasion, James’ face had lifted, eyes more focused than Matthew had seen them in a long while. Every time, he would stare at Cordelia as if he could not take his eyes off of her.

For reasons that he dared not voice aloud, even to himself, Matthew’s heart had hurt at the sight.

Shirt now properly buttoned, Matthew led their gathered friends into one of the drawing rooms. He would need to give them an explanation of what had happened. They deserved that much.

Perhaps I should have told them sooner, he thought. Another way that I have failed the people that I love.

Matthew deliberately chose the drawing room furthest from the salon. For some reason, he wanted to keep his friends away from that room, away from the strewn pillows and thrown blankets. He had also asked the servants to leave it untouched. He did not know quite why, but it felt as though to tidy the room was to tidy away the memory of what had happened there.

He did not want to forget. He did not want to forget for the rest of his life.

I want you. I want you, Matthew.

Before settling into the drawing room, Matthew knocked on Cordelia’s bedroom door and entered quietly. She did not look up, barely seemed to recognise that anyone had entered at all. James’ eyes kept flickering to her, reflecting a deep, raw emotion. Matthew swallowed hard.

“Everyone is in the drawing room now,” he said in a hushed voice, as if he were at a funeral. “If you would like to step out, Daisy, now is your chance. I can keep everyone distracted.”

Cordelia shook her head. She still did not look up. “No,” she replied. Her voice sounded surprisingly strong. “I wish to speak with them.”

She rose, sheathed Cortana, and walked towards Matthew in the doorway. As she passed him, Matthew gently laid a hand on her arm.

“You do not have to do this, you know,” he said softly. “Nobody will expect you to be there.”

Cordelia finally looked up at him. She smiled sadly. “Yes, I do. This is something that I can do, Math.”

Matthew paused for a moment. Then he placed a light kiss on her forehead. “I am always here for you.”

I am here, Daisy. I will always be here.

Cordelia had a strange look on her face. “I know,” was all that she said in reply.

They all gathered in the drawing room. James sunk down next to Matthew on one of the sofas. In an effort to support his parabatai and push away some of his guilt, Matthew took James’ hand. James squeezed Matthew’s in return, with startling strength for one who looked so defeated.

Matthew gazed around at the crowd. To his surprise, he realised that Thomas was not amongst them. Guiltily, he scolded himself for not noticing his friend’s absence sooner. But it was natural to assume that Thomas would have been there. It was completely out of character for him to not answer their urgent summons on an occasion such as this.

Before he could ponder Thomas’ non-appearance any further, Cordelia cleared her throat. Matthew tried to catch her eye, but her attention was focused elsewhere. She took a deep breath and began recounting the events of the night before. She spoke factually, starting with James’ sudden arrival, moving on to their fight, and finally explaining the breaking of the bracelet. Everyone listened with a silence punctuated only occasionally with gasps and shouts. Halfway through, Will received a message and slipped out of the room. Cordelia did not stop. Her voice faltered only when it came to the part about her father.

Unexpectedly, it was James who filled in the rest. Speaking for the first time since he had entered the room, James explained hesitantly about the nightmare that he had seen. How he had felt as though he were at the scene of the murder. How he had been completely unaware of what his body had been doing as it had fought Cordelia and Matthew. Though he spared the gruesome details, Cordelia’s face grew increasingly paler. When James finished, she looked so ghostly that Matthew was tempted to call for a break. But when she spoke, her voice betrayed no hint of despair.

“Now that we are all on the same page,” she said, “I would like to apologise for having summoned you all here so early in the morning. I thought that we may have needed support, but it seems as though the matter is largely resolved for now. I deeply appreciate that all of you came, however.”

The room lapsed into silence. Everyone was lost in their own thoughts. Cordelia’s foot tapped anxiously against the ground.

It was Lucie who broke the silence. “May I ask something?” When nobody responded, she continued, “You told me before that you ‘finally understood’. What did you mean by that, Daisy? Did you know about the bracelet?”

Cordelia finally met Matthew’s eyes. Matthew nodded encouragingly. It was up to her whether she chose to tell their friends about Wayland the Smith. He simply wanted Cordelia to know that he would support her either way, as he had always promised.

Cordelia said nothing for a moment. She seemed to be deep in thought, warring within herself. Finally, she said, “I was made a paladin.”

If their friends had been surprised before, it was nothing compared to their reactions now. Anna choked on the drink that she had been sipping. Lucie covered her mouth in shock. James’ eyes widened, his gaze locked on Cordelia.

Cordelia opened her mouth to explain further. But as she did, the door opened and Will re-entered. His mouth was set in a grim line.

“I have just received word from the Institute. Cordelia, I hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but I will need you to accompany me back there.”

“What has happened?” Cordelia looked even paler than she had a moment earlier. “Is it my father?”

Will shook his head. He looked incredibly pained. “I am afraid that your brother has been arrested.”

 

It turned out that it was not only Alastair who had been arrested. As Matthew and Cordelia scrambled to get ready to leave, Will filled them in on the details. Apparently, Shadowhunters and Silent Brothers had combed the streets upon finding Elias Carstairs’ body. They had found, in a park not two streets away, a dozing Thomas Lightwood. He had been covered in ichor, bloodied weapons in his belt, his shirt unbuttoned and hanging off of his chest. After waking him up, they had immediately set about arresting him on suspicion of murder. That was when a bedraggled Alastair, completely missing his shirt, had appeared and demanded that they release Thomas at once. He had argued that they had no real evidence, other than Thomas looking much the same as any other Shadowhunter coming off of a patrol. As the report went, this argument had turned into fisticuffs, which had turned into a black-eyed Alastair being carted off to the Institute alongside a half-asleep Thomas.

Still, you would not have thought that they had been arrested on suspicion of murder, Matthew thought as they arrived at the Sanctuary. Indeed, despite the circumstances, Thomas and Alastair seemed downright cheerful. As Cordelia, Matthew, and Will entered the room, Matthew was surprised to find that the pair were sat together on one mattress, deep in conversation. Noticing their arrival, Alastair leapt guiltily to his feet.

“Thank goodness you are here, Layla,” he said, striding towards them. Matthew noted that he was now, at least, wearing a shirt. “Nobody will tell us anything. I have told that damned Inquisitor Bridgestock a thousand times that I was with Thomas all night. We patrolled together. They said that another murder had occurred, but they would not give us any further information.”

Will looked alarmed. “You mean to say that they did not tell you who had been killed?”

Alastair shook his head. “They did not. They did not seem inclined to talk or listen to us.”

Will swore loudly in Welsh. “I will be back shortly.”

With that, he left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Matthew did not know quite what to say. This was not how he had envisioned this meeting going. After everything that she had been through that morning, he did not want Cordelia to have to be the one to break the news to Alastair. And yet, he felt uncomfortably aware of his presence as an outsider. This was their family’s matter, and the feeling loomed over him now more than ever that he may never truly be a part of it.

But Cordelia said nothing. She seemed to be searching within herself, seeking the best way to phrase the details. Desperate to break the tension in the meantime, Matthew asked, “Why is it that they found you shirtless, Alastair?”

Alastair turned to Matthew for the first time since they had entered. Alastair had been making a pointed effort to ignore him. Perhaps he still had not forgiven Matthew for his role in the party on the night before the wedding. Matthew rather thought that he could hardly blame him.

To Matthew’s surprise, however, Alastair flushed. Still sat on the mattress, Thomas coughed loudly.

“Oh, that...that was nothing. My shirt was torn. By...a demon.”

“A very strong and powerful demon,” Thomas added, a grin on his face. “Just before another, very excited demon tore mine open, as well.”

“Yes,” Alastair replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “it was a very impatient demon. One not too impressed with the number of buttons on your shirt.”

“Our father,” Cordelia blurted out. She seemed to have given up on finding the right words.

“‘Our father’ what?”

“Our father was the one killed.”

The smile and flush faded from Alastair’s face. He looked suddenly very pale. Thomas rose quickly from the mattress and hurried to his side. He placed a hand on Alastair’s back to steady him.

Ah, Matthew realised. Now I understand.

“I am so sorry, Alastair,” Cordelia whispered.

“It is not your fault, Layla.” Alastair swallowed hard. “Our father was a drunken fool. He was going to get himself killed one of these days.” He laughed humourlessly. “Though I never expected that I would be the one on trial for it.”

Cordelia fell silent. Alastair, still looking a little dizzy, stared at her warily.

“You do not think that I did it, do you, Layla?”

Cordelia shook her head firmly. “I know that it was not you, Alastair. And I am going to prove it. I can fix this. I will fix this.”

Now, Alastair looked completely unnerved. “What are you planning, Layla? Do not do anything that will get you locked in here with us.”

But Cordelia was already walking towards the door. Matthew made to follow. “I am just tired of everyone that I love being dragged into my messes.”

 

Cordelia remained in a dark mood for the rest of the day. After everything that she had been through, Matthew could hardly blame her. She was concerningly strong as she held a weeping Sona in the Silent City, as she identified her father’s body. It seemed to Matthew as though she were trying to take on the role that her brother usually filled. Although Jem, stood next to them, offered kindly for Cordelia to step out of the room, she refused. She was biting the inside of her mouth, eyes unblinking, face pale. Matthew was reminded uncomfortably of James’ expressions over the past few months as he had fought the bracelet’s influence. He wanted to reach out and pull Cordelia into his arms as he had that morning. Yet he could see how hard she fought against despair, how one kind touch could be enough to break the façade that she had built. Instead, Matthew resolved to offer her comfort upon their return home.

However, this also proved impossible. As soon as they walked through the front doors, Cordelia stated flatly that she needed some time to herself and returned to her room. Heading into the salon alone, Matthew stared around at the disarray in which they had left the room. It was silly to leave it in this state, foolish to have instructed the servants to leave it untouched. Letting out a long sigh, Matthew set about picking up the cushions and repositioning them on the sofas. Despite knowing that he was being ridiculous, he waved away the housekeeper who came to tidy the room on his behalf. Undoubtedly, they would rearrange the furniture again later, would straighten up his haphazard organisation. But right now, Matthew understood more than ever the “need to do something” that Cordelia had expressed earlier.

He carefully picked up the blanket onto which he had gently laid Cordelia last night. It still smelled strongly of jasmine soap. Sinking onto one of the sofas, Matthew buried his face in the blanket and tried unsuccessfully to hold in his tears.

Cordelia did not join him for dinner that night, or for their usual evening talk in the salon. Feeling suddenly weary, Matthew returned to his room – their room. Over the course of the day, the curtains had been replaced, the bed remade. It was completely tidy. It bore no trace of the night before.

Matthew hated it.

He perched on the bed and stared blankly out of the window for hours. But Cordelia did not come. Finally, concerned, he headed over to her room. Seeing that the light was on underneath the door, he knocked and stepped tentatively inside.

Cordelia also sat on the edge of her bed, facing away from the door. In her hands, she turned something over and over. Matthew realised with a sudden jolt that it was James’ shirt, cleaned and free of stains. It looked wrinkled from Cordelia’s absentminded wringing.

Matthew’s throat felt suddenly dry. He cleared it softly and said, “What are you thinking about, Daisy?”

Cordelia did not reply for so long that Matthew was sure that she had not heard him. Finally, she said, “I am sorry, Matthew. I would like to be alone this evening.”

“Of course,” Matthew said quickly. “I apologise for disturbing you. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

He paused in the doorway. “I will always be here for you, Daisy,” he said once more.

Cordelia did not reply, but as he slowly shut the door, Matthew could have sworn that he heard her repeat, “I know.”

Matthew did not see Cordelia the next day. The housekeeper reported that she had spied Cordelia leaving the house early that morning, dressed in full gear. Concerningly, she had not taken the carriage, had walked the streets of London alone. Arriving home late in the evening, Cordelia once again did not stop by to share her thoughts. Matthew found that his own head was now full of them.

Resolved to speak with Cordelia, Matthew made an effort to wake up even earlier the next morning. He was determined to wait in the dining room for a chance to talk to her before she could leave. His efforts paid off: he caught her as she hurried down the steps, fastening a seraph blade to her belt.

“Let me come with you, Daisy,” he begged. “Whatever you have planned, I can help you.”

Cordelia simply shook her head and hurried towards the door, shrugging on her gear jacket. “This is something I have to do by myself.”

Seeing Matthew’s crestfallen face, she walked over to him. Gently, she took his hand in hers and gave it a squeeze. “I cannot lose you, too, Math.”

Then she was gone, all but running out of the door. His hand felt suddenly cold. His heart ached to chase after her, to tell her that he felt the same, that he could not bear to lose her, either. That he had vowed over and over that he would be by her side, as her husband, whenever she had need of him.

But he was not her husband – not truly. And no matter how much he wished it were so, Cordelia was not his wife.

So instead, Matthew spent the day in the salon, poring over text after text about Belial, head pounding with exhaustion. Then he spent the next day doing exactly the same, and the next, and the next. Each morning, he rose earlier and earlier, in constant competition with Cordelia. Each evening, he would stay up until the early hours, awaiting her return. He would stand in the hallway each morning to ask if he could join her that day, already knowing that she would refuse. And when he heard the sound of the door in the evening, he would rush out to see an ichor-soaked Cordelia creeping into the house.

Every time, he would ask her, “What are you thinking, Daisy?”

Every time, Cordelia would reply, “I am thinking that I need to be better.”

When he was not poring over books, Matthew was at the Institute with James. To his delight, James was growing stronger. He had taken to training again, and he and Matthew would spend hours running through drills in the training room. James’ skin no longer looked pale and sallow. His golden eyes were more vibrant, no longer sunken into his face. The more that they practiced, the steadier he was on his feet. Like Cordelia, it seemed that James, too, had found a purpose.

After each session, they would stop by the Sanctuary. Matthew would work his charm on the guards, who would begrudgingly allow them a few minutes to talk to Thomas and Alastair. Though they both seemed well, despite the circumstances, stress was clearly taking a toll on Alastair. Usually, he was put-together, well-groomed. Now, his hair was messier than Matthew had even seen it, his clothes clean but rumpled. He would ask them how Cordelia was doing, beg Matthew to make her visit. But every time, Matthew would reply that Cordelia had refused, saying only that she was too busy “fixing things” to stop by. A strained-looking Thomas would comfort Alastair with a word or an arm, which Alastair would accept. Matthew found that he felt for both of them. How strange, to pity even the boy that he had hated for so many years.

Love did strange things to people.

One afternoon, after a particularly taxing practice, Matthew and James sat together on the training room floor, catching their breath. Matthew looked over at James, at his sweat-soaked gear, and remembered the shirt that he had seen Cordelia clutching the other night.

Carefully, he asked, “Jamie, has anyone returned the shirt that you left at ours?”

James seemed confused. It took him a moment to understand what Matthew was talking about. “The shirt I wore the night that...” He trailed off and started again. “They have not. I had assumed that you had tossed the old thing.”

Matthew’s heart sank.

His mood remained low for the entire carriage ride home. Lost in thought, he did not realise at first that voices were drifting from the entrance hall as he stood on the other side of the front door.

“You inspired me the other day, Daisy.” Lucie’s voice. “You were honest with us all and I want to be honest with you in turn.” She drew in a deep breath. “I have been keeping secrets from you. I am so very sorry, Daisy. I know that it was terrible of me. But you and I are to be parabatai soon, and this is something that I cannot keep from you any longer. You see, I need your help with something.”

Not wanting to eavesdrop on a private conversation, Matthew opened the door.

His heart leaped as he saw Cordelia standing in the hall. For once, she was not wearing gear, but rather one of the dresses that he had bought for her during their engagement. A deep, ruby-red dress, the same colour as the ring that he had given her and that she still wore on her finger, the same colour as the hair that tumbled down around her shoulders. He remembered arguing good-naturedly about buying her that dress, remembered sneaking off to the counter at the tailor’s and purchasing it before Cordelia could realise and scold him. How he longed to return to those times. When every day had been full of light-hearted antics. When their strongest enemy had been the rumours created by Enclave members. When they had wanted nothing more than each other’s company.

To Matthew’s surprise, Cordelia gave him a small smile. “Welcome home,” she said softly.

Matthew felt a sudden rush of warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of the entrance hall. Aware that Lucie stood by, watching them intently, Matthew stepped forward. He took Cordelia’s hand and gently placed a kiss on it, right next to the ring that he had given her. His heart was racing at just the simple touch of her skin against his lips.

“It is good to see you, Daisy,” he murmured softly. Then, straightening, he forced a grin onto his face. “Forgive the interruption. I will be on my way upstairs. It would not be fair of me to deny you both the opportunity to talk about me in private.”

Lucie snorted. “What makes you think that we were talking about you?”

Matthew pretended to look scandalised. He gasped theatrically. “Well, what on earth would you be talking about otherwise?”

“Not all of our conversations revolve you around you, you know, Math,” Cordelia replied, good-naturedly playing along. She still seemed gloomy, but at least she was brighter than she had been in days.

Matthew made his way up the stairs. As he did, he called cheerfully over his shoulder, “But by your words, at least some of them do!”

Despite his assurance to the contrary, Matthew paused at the top of the stairs, straining to catch the last of Cordelia and Lucie’s chatter as they entered the drawing room.

“You two do seem close now,” Lucie was saying hesitantly.

Cordelia’s response was barely audible. “He means a great deal to me, Lucie. I do not fully understand it myself, yet.”

He meant a great deal to her. Matthew’s heart leapt. He pondered Cordelia’s words as he bathed and changed, as he pored through yet more texts about Belial all afternoon, less focused than usual. He continued to consider these words as he sat down to dinner, expecting to be alone as had had been for days. But, to his great surprise, Cordelia sat down in her usual seat. At some point in the afternoon, Lucie must have left, as Cordelia was now alone.

As soon as she had sat down, Cordelia spoke without preamble. “I cannot tell you what Lucie and I discussed today,” she began.

Matthew nodded slowly. That was what he had assumed. It was strange for Cordelia to bring this up.

“But,” Cordelia continued, “Lucie is also fighting her own kinds of demons. She needs my help with finding something.” She paused. “And I would like you to accompany me.”

Matthew lowered his knife and fork. “Anywhere, Daisy,” he said. “Where are we going?”

Cordelia took a deep breath. “The Shadow Market.”

The Shadow Market. A place full of mystery and intrigue, danger and adventure – a place that Matthew had dreamed about visiting, envisioning all of the escapes in which he and James could participate.

Now, all the Shadow Market represented was everything that had gone wrong in his life. The start of his downfall. What he could have been.

“Daisy...” Matthew trailed off, his voice barely a whisper.

Sensing his apprehension, Cordelia leaned across the table and clasped his hand tightly.

“I know, Math. But this could be good for you. A chance to put the past behind you.” Her eyes were serious. “I have not forgotten the promise that I made to you. I will help you to forgive yourself. I will be by your side for the whole time that we are there, I swear.”

Matthew met her eyes. He wanted, more than anything, to be strong for Cordelia. He wanted her to take him seriously, to trust that he could handle himself, to take him with her on her excursions each day. If he could not face even this, then there would be no hope of her accepting his offer of assistance.

“Very well,” he said finally, voice slightly shaky. “Very well. I can hardly allow the two of you to have fun without me.”

He would have to mentally prepare himself over the next few days, Matthew thought. Unfortunately, he discovered, the next morning, that the plans had been set for that very evening. That was how, barely twenty-four hours after making his decision, Matthew found himself anxiously sat in a carriage trundling along in the direction of the Shadow Market. He wore a dark blue waistcoat, less resplendent than his usual style, designed to disguise the gear that he wore underneath. Opposite him, Cordelia wore a dress of a matching colour, her hair tied back, Cortana on her lap. They had exchanged few words that evening – nothing beyond simple pleasantries. Though they sat so close that their legs brushed, Cordelia still seemed a thousand miles away, lost in her own thoughts.

It was only as they neared the Market that Cordelia finally spoke. “We are meeting Lucie, James, and Christopher,” she explained. “We supposed that it was safer in a group. From what I gather, as well, Christopher is rather well-versed in the workings of the Market.”

Matthew nodded distractedly. While he was glad for the presence of his friends, part of him wished that it would be only himself and Cordelia. He did not want an audience to see him struggle, to watch him break down when his cowardice inevitably won out.

As promised, Lucie, James, and Christopher were waiting by the entrance as their carriage pulled up. Through the window, Matthew could appreciate just how much James had changed in the past few weeks. He was barely recognisable from the person that he had been under Belial’s control. He was dressed in a simple but elegant button-down shirt, his hair messy but groomed. His muscles had filled out, his body no longer malnourished, his cheeks no longer hollow. When the carriage ground to a halt, he was at the door in an instant, hand outstretched to help Cordelia out. She took it, allowing him to guide her down the steps. Matthew followed, his own hands feeling suddenly empty.

Despite this trip being on Lucie’s behalf, it was Christopher who took the lead. With the air of an experienced instructor, he led them into the Shadow Market. He was not rambling as he often did, but was instead completely focused, in control. In his hands, he held a crumpled piece of paper with barely legible writing scrawled across it. Clearly, this must have been a list of ingredients, as Christopher ran through each item with a number of stallholders, all of whom seemed to know him very well. Together with Lucie, he argued and haggled his way through stall after stall. Many times, it was not entirely clear how he managed to convince the sellers. The stallholders would say something and Lucie and Christopher would immediately break into loud and angry voices, gesturing wildly, furious faces barely inches apart from vampires and werewolves and fae. Minutes would pass, and eventually a triumphant Christopher would walk away clutching bags of strange ingredients.

As it turned out, James was also skilled at haggling. Though he lacked Christopher and Lucie’s ability to point dramatically, his stony mask turned out to be an asset in lowering prices. He even succeeded where Christopher could not, talking one particularly disgruntled warlock down from an extortionate price on what looked like a bag of moth wings.

It seemed as though the trip was largely proving to be a success. Matthew did not realise this, however, as his attention was elsewhere.

As they walked, he felt the eyes of Downworlders on him, felt their harsh stares and concealed fury. He saw vampires bare their fangs, heard werewolves bite back snarls. The sounds and smells of the Shadow Market were overwhelming – perfume and laughter, blood and cries. Once or twice, he caught sight of fae staring at him calculatingly, sizing him up. He felt dizzy, lightheaded. For the first time in weeks, he wanted desperately to lose himself in the drink, to forget.

Cordelia, as promised, was at his side. “How are you feeling?” she asked tentatively.

“As if I am prey to the wolves, about to be eaten whole,” Matthew admitted nervously. “Everybody here is watching me.”

“You are imagining it, Math,” Cordelia replied soothingly. “Nobody here is watching you any more than the rest of us.”

But whether Cordelia spoke the truth or not, Matthew could not tell. All he knew was that he felt as though the stalls were pressing in on him, as if they would surround him completely and he would be trapped here, alone, for the rest of eternity.

As the hours wore on and the night slowly drew to a close, Christopher and Lucie seemed increasingly more frustrated. Despite their successes that night, they had not been able to acquire all that they had set out to buy.

“Perhaps we should split up,” Christopher suggested, checking his watch. “We could cover more ground that way. I can continue down this path, Lucie can take Cordelia that way,” he pointed towards a row of cramped stalls, “and James and Matthew can go in that direction.” He nodded towards a darkened alleyway, lined with a few ominous displays.

Out of the corner of his eye, Matthew saw Cordelia’s gaze flicker to him and away again. “Perhaps it would be best if we stayed together,” she said.

“I also do not like the thought of leaving my sister and Daisy alone in a place like this,” James added.

Lucie crossed her arms angrily. “Now, really,” she scolded. “We are all Shadowhunters. Daisy and I can handle ourselves just fine. And there is no time to argue.”

“She is right.” Christopher nodded. “And Cordelia and Matthew will need to be accompanied by one of us. They have proven to be rather useless at haggling,” he added innocently.

“Thank you, Kit,” Matthew replied. He tried to joke, but his voice came out scratchy. “Always glad to have your support.”

As they prepared to go their separate ways, Cordelia took Matthew aside.

“Are you certain about this?” She bit the inside of her lip. A strand of her hair had worked loose and dangled over her face. “I promised that I would be by your side.”

Matthew reached out and tucked the hair behind Cordelia’s ear. “I will be fine,” he replied. “James will be with me. Just focus on what you came here to do, Daisy. Do not worry about me.”

Cordelia looked thoroughly unconvinced, but at Lucie’s urging, she parted from Matthew. With one final anxious look back, Cordelia was suddenly lost in the crowd. Her flaming red hair disappeared from view.

As instructed, Matthew and James set off towards the sketchy alleyway. They walked for close to half an hour, James stopping to inspect stalls for any sign of the goods that they needed to buy, Matthew pausing to skirt around hunched fae and wizened warlocks. Flattening himself against the wall to avoid an old werewolf had her head hunched low and was muttering under her breath, Matthew suddenly realised that James was no longer at his side. A momentary panic made his vision blurry. Head swinging around, he spotted James standing next to a stall a few feet away.

Moving hastily to his side, Matthew noticed what had distracted his parabatai. In James’ hand was a metal bracelet, not unlike the one that he had worn for so long. In comparison, this one was rather pretty, patterned with roses and engraved with a message that Matthew could not read in the dim candlelight. James was turning it over and over in his hands.

“So many years lost,” he said softly.

It hurt Matthew deeply to see James look so upset. “I am so sorry, Jamie. I should have realised. I should have saved you sooner.”

James seemed to notice for the first time that Matthew was there. He looked up and shook his head.

“I was not blaming you, Math. It was hardly your fault. It was the magic of the bracelet that kept you from suspecting the truth, in any case.”

The bracelet fell back down onto the table with a dull thunk. James started walking again, heading deeper into the darkened alleyway. As he moved, he spoke.

“It took so much from me. So much that I will never get back. I failed so many that I love, almost ruined so many lives. But you freed me. I can finally move forwards now.”

They had reached a dead end. The stalls had long since finished. Not even the faint moonlight reached them here, the cobbled ground cast almost completely in shadows. An uneasy weight had settled in Matthew’s chest.

James was facing away from him. His head was tilted slightly backwards as he gazed up at the sliver of moonlight in the sky. Finally, with a slow droop of the shoulders, he turned around. He was smiling sadly.

“I should have listened to you back then,” he said. “I should have asked Cordelia to marry me. She was almost thrown out of the Enclave. Almost banished for defending something that I was foolish enough to do.” James paused. “Thank you for marrying her. For looking after her where I failed.”

No, Matthew thought. I know you, Jamie. I know what you are about to say.

“You need not thank me,” Matthew replied, voice strained. “There is nothing that I would not do for her. Daisy is a very special woman.”

James nodded slowly. “You are right. She is.”

Time was slowing. The air was growing heavier, thicker. Matthew could hardly breathe.

Please, Jamie. Please.

James continued, “I will forever be grateful to you for protecting her. But you need not continue this ruse for much longer.”

No. Do not say it. Do not say it.

James took a deep breath. “When your marriage is over, I intend to court Cordelia. I should have done so far sooner.”

The world was crumbling. The earth was tilting. The sky was falling.

Matthew’s throat was very dry. “But I thought that you loved Grace,” he said quietly.

James shook his head, a bitter look on his face. “So did I,” he said. “But I was wrong.”

“You were wrong,” Matthew repeated. He felt weak, as though his knees could barely support him. But something in James’ words had lit an unsteady fire in his chest. “Cordelia put her reputation on the line for you. She was almost stripped of her marks, disgraced from the Enclave. She has endured months of taunting and snide remarks, has tolerated party after party of watching you dance with Grace, has suffered all manner of hateful rumours, describing her as nothing but a failed woman, throwing herself at the feet of men who toss her aside like discarded newspaper.”

Matthew was breathing hard. He stepped closer to James, his legs shaking. “And you were not there. You were not there when they were mocking her at the Wentworth’s party. You were not there when she needed her father saved. You were not there when she could not sleep each night, haunted by nightmares. You did not hold her in your arms and stroke her hair and remind her that she was not alone.”

Matthew’s heart was beating so fast that it was close to bursting from his chest. Opposite him, what little he could see of James’ face was in agony.

“Why now?” Matthew cried. “Why now, Jamie?”

James swallowed hard. Tears dripped down his face.

“Because I love her. I love her so much that I cannot live without her.”

Matthew punched James hard in the face.

Startled, James stumbled several steps back, clutching his jaw. Shocked by what he had done, Matthew froze. All training fled him at the sight of his parabatai’s horrified face, at the blood dripping from his nose.

But then James retaliated. Stepping forward, he hit Matthew in the chest.

Matthew tumbled to the ground with a groan. He looked up just in time to see James overbalance, trip over him, and fall to the floor. He had gotten stronger in their weeks of training, but clearly, he still had not recovered completely from his time under the bracelet’s influence.

Instincts finally kicking in, Matthew clambered atop James. They fought desperately, fists flying. James’ elbow connected painfully with Matthew’s face. With a yelp, Matthew recoiled back. James took the opportunity to roll them over. But he had misjudged: they were closer to the wall than he had expected. Matthew’s head smacked painfully against brick. His vision went momentarily cloudy before refocusing sharply. Suddenly realising what he had done, James leaped to his feet. Took several hurried steps back. He was nursing his face.

Matthew propped himself up against the wall. His chest ached painfully from James’ hit. His vision was cloudy again. He blinked it away hastily. It took him a second to realise that he was crying.

“Please.” Matthew gazed tiredly up at a frantic James.

James was breathing hard, staring down at him. But a grim realisation had set in. James’ shoulders slumped.

“You love her,” James said, voice cracking.

“Of course I love her,” Matthew croaked. “She has changed my life. She is my entire world. She is the kind of woman that you meet once in a lifetime. I would spend every waking moment by her side, if she would have me. I would do anything that she would ask of me. I would battle every demon in every realm of hell for nothing but the glimpse of a smile on her face.” He was breathing hard, gasping for breath. “I am nothing without her. I am begging you, James, with every part of me, selfish and wretched as I am. Do not tell her how you feel.”

James buried his head in his hands. “I am so sorry, Math. I did not realise.”

Matthew shook his head blearily. “I thought that you loved Grace. That you would do anything for her.”

James’ voice was bitter as he repeated, “So did I. But I realise now that I never loved her.”

“How? How do you know that?”

And then, all of a sudden, slumped there in the dim moonlight, Matthew understood. He could not understand how he had not figured it out earlier.

“The bracelet,” he whispered.

James did not reply. The fight had left him. Looking utterly drained, he sank to the floor across from Matthew, back against the wall. “I love her, Math,” he whispered despairingly. “I cannot live my whole life without telling her. Without knowing if I have a chance to win her heart. Why should I not tell her of my feelings?”

Matthew felt suddenly exhausted beyond words. He thought of Cordelia clutching James’ shirt, of the way that she had held onto James’ hand on the day of their wedding, of the way that she had fallen apart when James had broken her heart.

“Because she loves you, too. Because I would not stand a chance. Because she would not hesitate to leave me behind.”

James said nothing. The only sound that Matthew could hear was his heavy breathing and muffled sobs.

Minutes passed. And then he heard footsteps, frantic voices. Wearily, he turned his head and saw three figures charging towards them. A few seconds later, Cordelia was at his side. Her hands were on his face, her eyes looking into his.

“Matthew?” she said urgently. “Matthew, what happened?”

Matthew smiled tiredly. “I was a fool again, Daisy.”

A sting shot up his arm, reenergising him like a strong cup of coffee. An iratze.

“What did I say about calling yourself a fool?” Cordelia scolded. “You had me very worried. We could not find you anywhere.”

Across the alleyway, James had waved Lucie away. He was drawing a rune roughly on his own arm. “It was my fault,” James called out, voice stronger than he looked. “I got us lost. Then I took a tumble. Pulled Matthew down with me. Unfortunately, we both took a rather nasty hit to the head.”

It was a flimsy lie at best. Matthew was fairly certain that Lucie, Cordelia, and Christopher could all tell that James was not speaking the truth. Still, they did not argue as Matthew and James clambered to their feet, both steadier thanks to the runes.

As they made their way back down the alleyway towards the lights, Cordelia suddenly leaned in close to Matthew. Her breath tickled his ear as she whispered, “I should not have left you. I am so sorry, Matthew.”

Turning to reply, Matthew eyes met James’. James’ gaze was full of raw pain and agony.

And yet James said nothing. Only turned his head away. Looked forward. Put the mask back in place over his features.

With a tremendous guilt weighing him down, Matthew took Cordelia’s hand. “You have no reason to apologise, Daisy. You need never apologise to me.”

As they walked down the path, Matthew glanced at their interlocked hands. At the ruby ring on Cordelia’s finger. The one that he had given her. The one that signalled, to any man outside of their circle, that she belonged to him. That she was his lover. His partner.

But Cordelia did not belong to him. She was not his wife. He was not her husband.

And Matthew was coming to realise that he never truly would be.

Chapter 8

Summary:

“We spend all of our time with each other,” Matthew murmured roughly. “We eat breakfast and dinner together. We take walks. We share a bed. We kiss and are intimate. We tell each other our deepest thoughts. You fall asleep in my arms most evenings. We make plans, however loose, for the future.” He let out a sigh that tickled the top of Cordelia's head. “If you cannot say for certain that you love me now, then I am not sure that you ever will.”

I do not know, Cordelia wanted to say. I do not understand it myself. Please give me more time.

“Do you love me, Daisy?”

Yes, she thought desperately. I do love you, Math. Of course I love you. But I do not yet know if I love you in the way that you want.

~~~

Following their visit to the Shadow Market, Cordelia and a secretive Matthew are reaching a turning point in their relationship. But when Belial returns to carry out his plan, the pair are finally forced to confront their feelings for one another...

Why is it that I am incapable of protecting the people that I love?

This question had been circling round and round Cordelia’s mind for weeks. First, it had taken her months, despite their closeness, to realise that James’ bracelet was tormenting him. Then, her failure to free James sooner from Belial’s clutches had caused her own father’s death, which had in turn led to Alastair’s imprisonment.

For as long as she could remember, Cordelia had wanted to become a hero, to protect those who could not protect themselves. In the end, she had even been made a paladin. It should have been a simple task, therefore, to protect those around her, blessed as she was with extraordinary power.

Yet, as Cordelia sat in the carriage on the way home from the Shadow Market, she felt anything but powerful. Opposite her, Matthew looked thoroughly miserable. Bruises dotted his face, slowly fading as the iratze worked its way through his body. But it was not his physical wounds that troubled Cordelia most. Matthew’s eyes had darkened. The remnants of tears stained his soot-covered cheeks. He had clearly been through a great deal of suffering that evening, even if he would not tell her the details.

Cordelia supposed that she had no one but herself to blame for Matthew’s secretive nature. After all, she had been avoiding him for weeks.

But it was not that she did not wish to be around him. Indeed, she wanted to be by his side more than anything. To share her thoughts. To lay next to him at night and feel his chest rise and fall. To reassure herself that he was safe and alive.

But she could not. She could not afford for Matthew to be dragged further into her messes, to suffer the consequences of her actions. It broke her heart to hear him rise early in the mornings so that he could wait for her in the hallway, so that he could plead desperately to join her. Yet, Cordelia knew that to lose Matthew would feel far worse than heartbreak.

She would be destroyed.

Looking across at a downcast Matthew, however, Cordelia wondered anxiously if she had gone too far. She had sworn to support him through his struggles and yet they had barely spoken for weeks. Casting around for something that she could do, Cordelia rummaged in the pocket of her gear jacket and pulled out a handkerchief. It was the same one that Matthew had given her following the Enclave meeting, just moments before he had proposed. Cordelia held onto it even now, placed in the pocket over her heart. She knew that it was silly – that the pocket could hold far more useful items. Yet each time that Cordelia changed into her gear, she made a point to fold it carefully and tuck it out of sight.

Now, feeling the silky material slip through her fingers, Cordelia held it out to Matthew. He looked down at it for a second, as if searching through his memories. Then he laughed softly, a look of dawning realisation on his face.

“You really held onto that old thing?” he asked in bemusement. At Cordelia’s urging, he took the handkerchief and used it to wipe down his face. “Thank you. You always do look out for me.”

“Might I remind you that it was you who gave me that handkerchief in the first place?” Cordelia replied. “It is more the case that you are always looking out for me.”

Cordelia smiled at Matthew. He did not smile back. Instead, he looked suddenly serious, staring down at the dirtied handkerchief.

“I did something terrible tonight,” he whispered. “Something unforgiveable.”

Cordelia chose her words carefully. “Is this related to what happened between you and James in that alleyway?”

Matthew did not respond.

“What happened, Math?” Cordelia pushed.

“I asked James to do something for me,” Matthew said quietly. “Something that I had no right to ask of him.”

Matthew was evading, clearly not eager to give her an honest answer. So be it. It was not as though Cordelia was not also keeping secrets from him. Lucie’s driven face flashed across her mind.

Hastily, Cordelia changed the subject. “I am sorry,” she said. “I should not have brought you to the Shadow Market, and I most certainly should not have left you while we were there.”

Matthew shook his head. “It is not your fault, Daisy. You have done so much for me. I greatly appreciate the consideration that you showed in inviting me along tonight, and I am glad that we could finally spend some time together.”

Guilt flared up inside of Cordelia.

“But I am not yet strong enough,” Matthew continued. “Perhaps I never will be. Mentally, of course. Physically, I am growing stronger each day, as the bruise on James’ face can attest.”

So they did fight, Cordelia thought sadly. Oh, Matthew. What am I going to do with you?

The carriage trundled along in silence for several more minutes before Cordelia spoke again.

“You need to talk with your parents.”

“About what?”

“About what happened all those years ago, with the faerie potion.”

Matthew’s face paled. “They would despise me for it, Daisy.”

“I have met them, Math. They both love you very much. I am sure that it hurts them far more to see you suffer than it would to hear the truth. You could be free of so much guilt if you would only speak with them.”

“It is my burden to bear.” Matthew was shaking his head. “I deserve the guilt. And besides, honesty has never been my strong suit. Not when it matters, anyway.”

“Do not make the same mistake that I did,” Cordelia said quietly. Her hands twitched on her lap. “Speak to your parents while they are still alive.”

“Daisy...”

“And honesty is far easier than people think it is. I will be honest with you now, for example. I have met many people since coming to London who should feel tremendous guilt, and you are far from one of them. So, if you say one more thing about how you deserve to suffer, then I will kick you very hard in the leg.”

Matthew laughed. His face seemed brighter, some of the misery lifted from his features. Cordelia’s heart warmed at the sight. As the carriage pulled up in their driveway, Matthew leaped eagerly out of the door and reached up a hand. Once again, with Cordelia still wearing her gear, this was not necessary, and yet she allowed him to help her out regardless. She realised then that he still grasped the handkerchief in his hand.

Matthew followed her gaze. “I did rather ruin this one, did I not? I dread to think of the state of my face as we speak. I only hope that Anna never catches wind of my bedraggled appearance tonight.” He folded the handkerchief and tucked it into his pocket. “I will find another one for you, Daisy. Perhaps one with CC for ‘Cordelia Carstairs’ embroidered on it, rather than my own initials.”

Cordelia shook her head. “I like this one,” she said simply.

Matthew smiled bemusedly. “Very well. I will not argue the point. I shall at least arrange to have this one thoroughly cleaned before I return it to you.”

They walked up the stairs towards the house.

“In any case,” Cordelia said lightly as they stepped through the door, “it would raise suspicion to have CC embroidered on a handkerchief. My name is Cordelia Fairchild. Or have you already forgotten that you married me?”

She had meant it as a bit of light-hearted teasing. But Matthew fell silent. Almost imperceptibly, Cordelia heard his breath catch in his throat.

Feeling abruptly warm, Cordelia started shrugging off her gear jacket. Matthew reached to help her. His hands gently moved her hair out of the way. Cordelia suddenly remembered what it had felt like to have his hands wrapped around her and inadvertently shivered. Matthew slid the jacket carefully from her shoulders and paused. Cordelia did not dare turn around. He was so close that she could feel his breath tickling the back of her exposed neck.

“Are you coming to bed tonight, Daisy?” he asked softly.

Cordelia’s heart beat with unspoken expectations. What did he mean? Was he wondering, quite literally, if Cordelia would be returning to sleep beside him, as she had done every night until recently?

Or did he want to continue what they had started the other night?

“Do you need me?” Cordelia croaked. Her throat felt clammy, the air suddenly hard to breathe.

Matthew laughed softly. He was so close that her hair fluttered in response. “I always need you. But if you are referring to my once-frequent nightmares, then the answer is ‘no’. That is not why I am asking.”

There was her answer. Cordelia closed her eyes. She could feel Matthew directly behind her, could feel the warmth emanating from his body. His lips brushed the top of her ear.

“Nobody would disturb us this time,” he whispered.

Cordelia did not yet understand her feelings for Matthew, complicated as they were. But she knew one thing: she wanted him. Badly. Just as she had the other night. She wanted to go further than they had dared go before, to learn more of Matthew than anyone else.

But she had sworn that she would distance herself from others for the time being. That she would not allow those whom she loved to become tangled in her problems. And to do...that with Matthew would be the exact opposite of distancing. And after all that Matthew had been through that evening... Perhaps neither of them were thinking entirely clearly.

Cordelia let out a long sigh and finally turned around to face Matthew. “Not tonight, I am afraid,” she said regretfully.

Matthew looked disappointed but understanding. “Of course. I apologise. It was not fair of me to put you in such a situation.”

Impulsively, Cordelia kissed Matthew’s cheek. “To be clear,” she said firmly, “you are not putting me in any situation. Under other circumstances, I probably would have agreed.”

Matthew’s eyes widened.

“But I fear that neither of us is in the right mindset to make a decision like that tonight,” Cordelia continued. She paused. Feeling strangely bold, she added, “Perhaps another night.”

Matthew looked as shocked as if she had slapped him. Dazed, he stuttered, “It would hardly be right of me to do something like that with you, Daisy, blasphemous degenerate that I am.”

Cordelia looked pointedly at Matthew’s leg. He took a wary step backwards. Taking her jacket from Matthew’s frozen arms, Cordelia strode towards the staircase. Matthew followed closely.

“Everyone expects us to have done it,” Cordelia said. “In a way, it would make sense to gain some...experience before remarrying.”

They had reached the top of the stairs. Cordelia watched as Matthew swallowed hard.

“Who knows?” Matthew’s tone was light, but his face was deadly serious. “Perhaps you will not need to remarry. Perhaps you will remain Cordelia Fairchild for many years more.”

What was Matthew saying? Cordelia felt lightheaded. It was suddenly very difficult to breathe again. “Perhaps you are right,” she agreed. “A conversation for another day. Goodnight, Math.”

“Goodnight, Mrs Fairchild,” he replied, placing a gentle kiss on Cordelia’s cheek before stepping away.

Cordelia raised an eyebrow at Matthew’s retreating back. “Do you intend to keep calling me that?”

Matthew did not turn around. “But of course! It was you who requested it, after all, my Daisy. It would be just terrible of me to refuse.”

My Daisy. There was that phrase again. The first time that Cordelia had heard it, she had been startled and confused. Now, as she lay awake on her bed, watching the sun rise high and dip low through the window, Cordelia found that she did not mind it quite so much.

 

Cordelia had come to the conclusion that it had been a mistake to avoid Matthew completely. Of course, it had been unnecessarily cruel to him, when he was also suffering from what had happened to James. But, more than that, Cordelia now knew that when she denied herself time with Matthew, her hidden desires grew closer to the surface. If the night of their visit to the Shadow Market had been any indication, Cordelia was stepping nearer to the point of no return in her relationship with Matthew. And though the thought no longer made her feel sick with anxiety, a small voice in her mind continued to remind her that their marriage was only temporary. That after a year, reputations repaired, Cordelia and Matthew would part ways amicably. Never to sit together, reading late into the night. Never to fall asleep in each other’s arms.

It was that voice, that horrible feeling that there was suddenly a deadline on their time together, that drew Cordelia back into bed with Matthew a few nights later. To her relief, despite her words and implications, Matthew made no further effort to touch her beyond the usual way that he held her. It seemed to Cordelia that Matthew was content to simply spend time at her side. Though Cordelia still left to battle demons and hunt down Belial alone each day, she made certain to join Matthew each night in the salon, to listen to his calming voice read poetry until she fell asleep with her head on a cushion in his lap.

Yet, Cordelia could not help but feel that some irreparable damage had already been done to their relationship. Though they continued to share a thought each evening, Cordelia had the sense that Matthew’s answers were deliberately evasive. Something was preying on his mind – she saw it in the haunted look in his eye and the unsteady breath against her neck at night. She was desperate to know what had happened between him and James at the Shadow Market, why it was that Matthew was spending less and less time with his parabatai at the Institute.

But Cordelia respected Matthew’s secrecy. After all, she was keeping a secret of her own.

Lucie had shown up at their house about a week before. Her face had been shining, but her eyes had been glassy. Concerned, Cordelia had led her into the drawing room, where the whole story had finally come to light. Lucie was trying to raise a man from the dead – one with whom she had fallen in love – alongside Grace, and she wanted Cordelia’s aid.

“No,” Cordelia had said firmly. “You must see how terrible this plan is. You cannot raise someone from the dead.”

But Lucie had shaken her head. “I told you, Daisy! He is not truly dead! If I can just figure out some way of reconnecting his soul with his body...”

Horrified, Cordelia had replied, “If you did, it could have terrible consequences on you. Please reconsider.”

Finally, Lucie had started crying. She had looked distraught.

“I love him, Daisy. He saved my brother’s life. He is so good. He deserves a chance at life. I would not ask you unless it were unavoidable.”

I would not ask you. Cordelia felt ashamed. Had she really failed her future parabatai so badly that Lucie could not even share her innermost thoughts with her?

Cordelia sighed. “You plan to go through with this with or without me.” It was not a question.

Lucie nodded, wiping away tears.

“Very well, then. What do you need me to do?”

Beyond helping to source ingredients at the Shadow Market, it turned out that what Lucie needed most of all was a third pair of eyes to help with research. Cordelia found that, between both Herondale siblings, she was growing rather tired of trawling through books and papers. Still, there was nothing that she would not do for Lucie. And so, when she was not out hunting demons for James’ sake or seeking loopholes for Alastair’s sake or curling up with Matthew for both his sake and hers, Cordelia was in the Institute library alongside Lucie. No matter how hard they searched, no new information came to light, no revelation that Lucie had not had herself.

Until one evening.

It had been an unseasonably warm day. Cordelia had dug out a summer dress from the back of her wardrobe as the sun had set in the sky. Checking her appearance in the mirror, Cordelia suddenly remembered wearing this exact dress the day that Matthew had first read Oscar Wilde’s poetry to her. She ran her fingers over the soft material, remembering what it had felt like the first time that she had heard Matthew’s reading voice, his smooth performance lulling her to sleep. It had been the first time in months that she had felt truly at ease.

With a jolt, Cordelia realised that it had been almost a year since Matthew had proposed. Almost half a year since they had married.

Only half a year left, the voice in her mind pointed out.

Pushing the thought away, Cordelia headed down to dinner. When she entered the dining room, she found that Matthew was already sat there, book in hand. He placed it on the table and smiled warmly as she entered and took her usual seat.

“You look very summery today,” Matthew said affectionately. “I remember the first time that I saw you wearing that.”

“The first time that you read to me,” Cordelia finished.

“Indeed. It was this book, actually.” Matthew turned the book over so that Cordelia could read the cover. “You had said that you had never heard one of Oscar Wilde’s poems.”

“And now I have heard more than enough poetry to last a lifetime.”

Matthew looked good-naturedly wounded. “Impossible! You must endure. We still have an entire bookshelf worth of poetry to get through!”

They continued to laugh and tease as dinner was served – three courses of delicious food. Cordelia felt light and carefree. Perhaps it was the warm weather. Perhaps it was that Matthew seemed in a brighter mood than he had in days. Whatever the reason, Cordelia felt bold enough to ask something that had been bothering her for months.

“You know,” she started, still laughing from Matthew’s comparison of Augustus Pounceby and the angry street cat that often yowled outside of their window at night, “I never did ask you about the poem that you gave to me the night before our wedding.”

“Oh no,” Matthew replied, covering his face with a hand. “I cannot even remember which one I chose in the end. Something dreadfully poetic and sickeningly romantic, no doubt.”

“I think that it went something along the lines of ‘flying to my service’...”

“‘Hear my soul speak’,” Matthew recited, “‘the very instant that I saw you did my heart fly to your service.’”

“Yes, that was it.” Cordelia nodded.

Matthew smiled ruefully and ran his hand through his hair. “Shakespeare. Shameful, really. Undoubtedly I was deep in the drink when I made the decision to send that. Forgive me, Daisy.”

Cordelia shook her head. “There is nothing to forgive. I simply wondered what you meant by it.”

Matthew paused for a few moments. Cordelia suddenly felt uncomfortable. Had she gone too far? Had she ruined the atmosphere?

Matthew finally said, “I chose that passage because it encapsulated what I felt for you. What I feel for you, even now.” His gaze was focused on her. “My heart is forever in your service.”

Oh, Raziel help me, Cordelia thought. That all-too-familiar warmth was creeping over her, unrelated to the heat of the day. Desperation and longing sang through her veins. As she leaned in closer to Matthew, all Cordelia could think was, I am finally going to cross that line, right here at the dinner table...

A knock sounded at the front door. One of the servants slipped out to answer it. The magic broken, Cordelia pulled back guiltily.

Matthew looked frustrated. “We really do have the most terrible timing. If only I had not told that joke about Augustus Pounceby, we may already have been past the point of disturbance.”

Cordelia snorted. “How do you know for certain that the joke was not an essential part of the courtship?”

Matthew grinned. “You know, your wit really has grown during our time together. If there is to be one thing that I impart onto you at the end of our marriage, let it be my excellent sense of humour.”

“It certainly will not be your modesty.”

As Matthew opened his mouth to retort, the servant re-entered. She bowed low.

“Miss Herondale is here to see you.”

Cordelia’s heart sank. Lucie rarely came to visit, saying that she found their house overly large and disquieting. When she did come, it usually heralded bad news.

Cordelia hurried out of the dining room, Matthew close behind. In the entrance hall, Lucy was in tears, her hair windblown as if she had run the whole way here. Behind her stood James, looking unusually tense.

“Daisy!” Lucie sobbed, running to Cordelia the second that she spotted her. “He is gone!”

“Who is gone?”

“Jesse!”

Cordelia was confused. She was aware that Matthew stood beside her, unaware of the situation. But now hardly seemed the time to worry about secrets.

“Do you mean someone took him?”

Lucie shook her head. “The coffin was opened from the inside. He let himself out, Daisy!”

“‘Coffin’?” Matthew interjected, alarmed.

“Are you sure that it was not Grace?” Cordelia asked.

“Grace is gone!” Lucie wailed. “James had her sent away to the Silent City.”

This was far too much information to process at once. Cordelia’s head hurt. How had a man come back from the dead all on his own? Had Lucie’s plans actually succeeded? And why would James have sent Grace away when he was in love with her?

Cordelia’s eyes met James’. He looked pained.

Now is not the time, Cordelia thought. Soothingly, Cordelia pulled Lucie into her arms. Lucie sobbed onto her chest.

“We will help you find him,” Cordelia said, sounding more composed than she felt.

“But I have no idea where he could be.” Lucie sniffed sadly. “He could be anywhere in London by now.”

Cordelia, however, did not think that this was entirely true. She could not shake the feeling that this had something to do with Belial. Perhaps her research was about to prove fruitful.

“I think I may know where to start,” she said.

 

Before she had married Matthew, Cordelia had been analysing the patterns of the murders with Alastair. Ever since, she had continued to map each location in which a body had been discovered. She had found that the sites had formed a pattern of some kind – a rune. Cordelia had suspected that this had something to do with Belial, and had been using this as her basis for hunting demons over the past few weeks. Now, showing the map to the others, James’ expression proved that her theory was correct.

“I saw this rune in my nightmares,” he said grimly. “This has to be it.”

“You think that Belial took Jesse?” Lucie asked. “If so, where would he be tonight?”

James pointed to a spot on the map. “I would guess there. It is the final location, by the looks of it.”

Lucie let out a sob.

A plan in mind, Cordelia and Matthew changed quickly into their gear and joined Lucie and James in the Herondale carriage. The air outside was soupy with heat, but a cold feeling had settled over Cordelia. Finally, her and Matthew’s plan was coming to fruition. She could end this tonight.

Matthew, however, seemed less convinced. “This is different to Belial’s usual handiwork,” he pointed out. “Why take someone who is already dead?”

As it turned out, this question was soon to be answered. Spilling out of the carriage at their destination, Lucie gasped loudly. Standing in the middle of the graveyard, facing away from them, was a boy with black hair.

“Jesse?” Lucie called tentatively.

They walked towards him carefully, feet crunching on the grass. The boy did not turn. He continued to stare straight ahead, still as a statue. Unnerved, Cordelia unsheathed Cortana. Around her, she heard Matthew and James do the same.

But Lucie was still unarmed, walking forwards as if in a trance. “Jesse?” she asked again.

Slowly, the boy turned. He was tall and lean, his face made up of handsome features. This must have been Jesse Blackthorn.

Cordelia came to a sudden stop. An inhumanly broad grin slashed across the boy’s face.

“My, my,” Jesse crooned. The cadence of his voice was hauntingly familiar. “Both of my grandchildren and the bearer of Cortana, all gathered in one place to see me. What an honour.”

Cordelia’s hands tightened on Cortana. It was quivering in her hands, as if it were guiding her towards her purpose.

Jesse – no, Belial – was turning something over and over in his hands. It looked like a warped, dented stele.

“Alas, you are too late,” Belial said, mockingly sad. “If only you had arrived a few minutes earlier.”

Belial waved his hand as if dismissing them. A huge blast of air struck Cordelia in the chest. Somehow, teeth gritted and hands sweating with the effort of clinging to Cortana, she remained standing. Her feet skidded backwards on the earth. Her friends were not so lucky: they were lifted from the ground and sent flying. Out of the corner of her eye, Cordelia watched Matthew collide forcefully with a gravestone. One of his chalikars flew from his hand and skittered across the cobblestones.

Braced for another attack, Cordelia ducked low and sprinted towards him. Reaching his side, she pulled out her stele one-handed and hastily scrawled an iratze on his arm. Her heart was pounding, Cortana still clutched in one hand.

But Belial was not attacking. Discomfited, Cordelia lifted her head. Jesse Blackthorn’s body was still standing, but it no longer seemed poised to attack. Rather, Belial had tilted his head to the side, a curious smile playing on his lips.

“How interesting,” he said. “How very interesting indeed.”

Belial turned to face the other side of the graveyard. Cordelia followed his gaze. James was rising from the floor, wiping dirt from his face. A gash had opened on his forehead.

“Do you see that, grandson?” Belial asked conversationally, as if they were talking over tea. “She did not even notice you. The love of your life is in love with someone else.”

“Be quiet,” James growled. He was now standing, holding a new seraph blade in his hand.

“How rude. I was only trying to help. I can even kill him, if you would like. You could have her all to yourself.”

“I said, be quiet!” James roared.

Powered by fury, he lunged for Belial, swinging his seraph blade in a wide arc. But Belial simply raised his arm and swatted James away as if he were an annoying pest. James soared through the air once again, disappearing from view behind a gravestone.

Cordelia used Belial’s momentary distraction to pull herself to her feet. Gripping Cortana lightly, she advanced. Belial turned around. The broad grin had returned.

“Do you mean to strike me again, Cordelia Carstairs?” he taunted. “Do you mean to deal me another blow?” The grin widened. “Because I look forward to ending you and that sword, here and now.”

He was swaggering towards her almost leisurely. His features were serene – other than that horrifying smile. Cordelia was walking faster and faster. Her arms thrummed with the energy that radiated from Cortana.

She was a paladin. She was a hero. She would not falter here.

All at once, Cordelia’s body seemed to move of its own accord. She charged at Belial, faster than humanly possible, her arms lifting without her consent. Distantly, she could hear Lucie screaming. Jesse’s eyes widened in sudden alarm.

And then he was ducking, weaving, leaping back – dodging each of Cordelia’s blows. Cordelia moved with angelic grace, almost as if she were dancing. It should have felt incredible to have so much power. To be feared by even a Prince of Hell.

But Cordelia was terrified. This was not her doing. Every parry that she landed was not her own. Every swing made her feel more and more like a puppet, moving to someone else’s tune. She was coated in sweat. Every part of her fought to resist.

“Daisy, please!” Lucie was yelling. “Please do not hurt him!”

Lucie. She had to stop. She could not break her best friend’s heart like this.

But she was not strong enough. She was not good enough.

Something seized her around the waist.

Cordelia was kicking, her elbows flying backwards, frantically trying to break free. She did not want to resist and yet she could not stop. Her arm connected with something hard. She heard frustrated cursing.

Matthew.

He was holding her as if his life depended on it, arms wrapped tightly around her. Cordelia wanted more than anything to drop Cortana, to collapse in his embrace. But the sword felt as though it were welded to her hand, compelled towards the Prince of Hell.

Her elbow hit Matthew again. With a loud yelp of pain, he released her. He stumbled to the floor. Completely out of control, Cordelia spun around. She lifted Cortana high. Below her, Matthew’s eyes widened in horror.

No. Not Matthew.

With every last ounce of willpower in her body, Cordelia wrested one of her hands free and grabbed Cortana’s blade.

The pain was startlingly liberating. Finally releasing Cortana, Cordelia watched her sword clatter noisily to the ground. Exhausted, she sank onto her knees next to Matthew. She barely had the strength to turn back around to face Belial, to prepare for his final blow.

To her surprise, however, Belial had taken several steps back. He was breathing heavily, his face covered in sweat. He was looking at Cordelia in fear.

“How did you do that?” he panted.

Cordelia was not sure why she answered. “It is my duty to stop you. I have been chosen by an angel.”

Belial’s eyes narrowed. “That was not the work of the angels. That was demonic magic.”

“No,” Cordelia replied, her voice firm despite her fatigue. “I have been ordered to defeat you. And I will defeat you.”

Belial had regained his composure. No longer panting but still sweaty, he walked slowly over towards Cordelia, still collapsed on the ground.

“You are wrong, Cordelia Carstairs,” he whispered in a voice of deadly calm. “Because I am going to kill you while you continue to cower on the floor.”

Belial reached for Cortana. Matthew groaned and wrapped his arms protectively around Cordelia. As if he could somehow shield her from her fate.

Feeling nothing but bitter disappointment at her failure, all Cordelia could think to say was, “Fairchild. Cordelia Fairchild.”

Belial took the sword. He swung it high.

And then screamed in agony as his hands caught fire.

Stumbling backwards, he tried frantically to pat out the flames, to shake himself free. But the fires were consuming him. They followed the lines of the runes that patterned Jesse’s arms. It was almost as if the fires of heaven were blazing through his skin.

“JESSE!” Lucie screamed. “DO SOMETHING!”

Jesse’s body began to convulse. He collapsed to the floor, screaming in agony. His hands tore at the flames on his arms. And then, in the strangest sight that Cordelia had ever seen, he seemed to split in two, a second, ghostly figure emerging from his body. The true Belial, Cordelia realised. For whatever reason, Belial was being forced out of Jesse’s body.

A suddenly lifeless Jesse, no longer on fire, collapsed to the ground. Lucie stumbled over to him, wrapped her arms around him, exactly as Matthew had wrapped his own around Cordelia. A horrified, transparent Belial was staring down at his chest. Cordelia noticed that a huge gash had appeared there, scar-like in appearance.

“Lilith,” Belial snarled. He turned his dark, furious gaze on Cordelia. “I will be back for you, paladin. And I will end you.”

With one final cry of fury, Belial disappeared in a cloud of haze. Or perhaps it was not haze at all. Cordelia’s vision was swimming so greatly that she could no longer trust her eyes. Blackness was creeping in at the edges of her vision.

“Daisy?”

Cordelia fought it desperately. But just like before, her body was refusing to obey her.

“Cordelia?”

Finally, blissfully, she fell into the darkness, taking with her only the scent of Matthew’s cologne and the sound of his desperate whispers.

 

Cordelia awoke to complete darkness.

It took her a moment to orient herself. She was in her bedroom – no, not her bedroom, but rather the one in which she slept when she was apart from Matthew. The memories of what had happened before she had passed out swirled around her mind. What had Belial meant when he had called Lilith’s name? Did the scar on his chest mean that she had dealt him another blow, however inadvertently? Were her friends safe?

Desperate for answers, Cordelia forced herself to stand. She was no longer in her gear, wearing only a thin nightdress. She shivered, suddenly aware that she was cold. Next to her bed lay Cortana. She shivered again at the memory of the sword soldered to her hands.

Slipping on a shawl, Cordelia stepped out of the room. She could hear faint voices drifting from downstairs. Her legs shaking, she made her way slowly down the steps. Halfway down, a miserable Oscar trotted up to meet her. He did not dart under her legs as he usually did, but followed cautiously at her side, almost as if he were assuring her safety.

“I am alright, Oscar,” Cordelia whispered, giving him a quick scratch behind the ears. Clearly, Oscar did not believe her. His tail wagged once before drooping back down dolefully.

Cordelia reached the bottom of the stairs. It was now clear from where the voices were coming: the salon. This was unusual. Normally, only she and Matthew would be in that room together. Creeping closer, Cordelia eavesdropped in silence.

“She has not woken up yet.” Matthew. “It has been almost a day.”

“She must wake up. She would know where my sister has gone.”

That was James. Cordelia’s heart thudded. Something had happened to Lucie. She reached for the door handle, but suddenly froze as the conversation resumed.

“Are you going to tell her?” Matthew asked. He sounded pained.

There was a long pause. “I have not yet decided. Believe me, the last thing that I want is to hurt your feelings, Math. But I am not sure that I could live with myself if I did not at least try.”

“Are you going to tell her about the bracelet?”

“No,” James said firmly. “I will not.”

“Cordelia is not a fool, Jamie,” Matthew said softly. “She will figure it out on her own.”

James sighed. “I know. But for now, at least, I need to keep the truth from her.”

More silence. Then Matthew croaked, “Please. Please do not tell her.”

Cordelia opened the door.

James was standing with his back to the fire, Matthew hunched over on the sofa in front of him. Seeing Cordelia enter, Matthew leaped to his feet and started across the room.

Before he could reach her, Cordelia said without preamble, “I heard you talking. What happened to Lucie?”

Matthew stopped walking. He grew suddenly pale.

James replied, “She disappeared this morning. We found only a note that said that she has left for Cornwall with Malcolm Fade to resurrect Jesse Blackthorn. We do not understand the finer details, but we are making preparations to track her down. My father has called upon Magnus Bane for aid.” He paused. “I was hoping, if you were feeling well enough, that you would join us.”

Cordelia nodded without hesitation. “Of course. Give me a few minutes to prepare.”

“Are you sure that you are strong enough for this, Daisy?” Matthew’s voice was quiet.

Cordelia stared at him, her expression hard. It was time for the truth to come out.

“James, could you give us a moment?”

Wordlessly, James nodded and passed Cordelia. He paused next to her, face turned as if he wanted to say something. Then, without speaking, he stepped out of the room and closed the door soundlessly behind him.

Cordelia fixed Matthew with a blunt stare. “What is it that you are not telling me?”

Matthew was as tense as a coiled spring. “We have both been keeping secrets from each other.”

Cordelia shook her head. “What is it that you are not telling me about James?”

“Daisy, I...” Chest rising and falling rapidly, Matthew looked like a cornered animal.

“Tell me, Matthew!”

Matthew flinched. And then he deflated, as if all of the fight had left him. He buried his head in his hands.

“He is in love with you.”

The world tilted. Cordelia felt as if she were falling. As if she were about to tip into the great chasm opening up beneath her. It was not possible. James was madly in love with Grace. She had seen the way that he looked at her, what he would do for her. How was it possible that he could feel anything like that for anyone else?

Matthew watched Cordelia’s face closely. He understood exactly what she was thinking. Just as he always did. “He does not love Grace. Those were not his true feelings.”

What did he mean by that? That James had somehow been confused about what he had been feeling? Certainly, Cordelia thought, James had been greatly confused under the bracelet’s influence, but...

Are you going to tell her about the bracelet?

“Belial,” she whispered in realisation. Her entire chest felt as if it were frozen.

Matthew had stopped breathing. Cordelia stared at him. The ice inside of her began to thaw in the heat of a blazing fury.

“Why would you say that, Matthew? Why did you ask him not to tell me?” Her voice was growing louder. “Why would you do something like that?”

Cordelia was frenzied, angrier than she had ever felt in her life.

“Because I am in love with you!” Matthew cried suddenly. “Because all that I want is to spend the rest of my life with you! To wake up by your side each morning! To spend my every evening with you! I want to travel around the world with you, to buy you everything that you could ever want, to make you happier than any other man could make you. I want to kiss you at every single opportunity and, Raziel help me, do far more with you. I love you so deeply that I cannot bear the thought of this marriage, our time together, coming to an end. And so I delude myself day in and day out that you feel the same way, when I know, deep down, that you are as in love with James as I am with you.”

Cordelia was numb. The fire inside of her had gone. She was dizzier than she had felt even during her fight with Belial.

“You do not know my feelings,” she whispered. “You do not know how I feel about you.”

Before she could react, Matthew strode across the room and kissed her forcefully.

It was a kiss unlike any that they had shared up until now. It was rough, needy, desperate. Thrown off by the sudden force, Cordelia stumbled backwards. She felt the wall against her back. But still, Matthew did not relent. Fingers tangled in her hair, he braced his other arm against the wall. She was surrounded by him. He was all that she could see, all that she could feel. Instinctively, her hand reached for his hair. She pulled him closer. Matthew did not groan as he usually did when she did this. Instead, he pushed his mouth harder against hers, his teeth biting her lip. His cheeks, Cordelia realised, were wet with tears. A second later, she realised that hers were, too.

With surprising gentleness, Matthew pulled back. He leaned over her, catching his breath. Cordelia stayed where she was, face inches from his chest.

“We spend all of our time with each other,” Matthew murmured roughly. “We eat breakfast and dinner together. We take walks. We share a bed. We kiss and are intimate. We tell each other our deepest thoughts. You fall asleep in my arms most evenings. We make plans, however loose, for the future.” He let out a sigh that tickled the top of her head. “If you cannot say for certain that you love me now, then I am not sure that you ever will.”

I do not know, Cordelia wanted to say. I do not understand it myself. Please give me more time.

“Do you love me, Daisy?”

Yes. I do love you, Math. Of course I love you. But I do not yet know if I love you in the way that you want.

But the words would not come, would not form on her tear-stained lips. Instead, all Cordelia said was, “You should not have kept this from me, Matthew.”

Matthew seemed to collapse in on himself. Utterly defeated, he stepped back from Cordelia. Turned away from her. Wiped his face on his sleeve. Without his warmth, Cordelia felt frozen again.

“I understand,” Matthew said, voice cracking. “We had best prepare to find Lucie.”

Abruptly, all Cordelia wanted was to put some distance between them. She knew that it was foolish. Knew that they needed as many people as possible to find Lucie before she could hurt herself.

And yet, as she had once said to Matthew, it was human nature to be foolish.

“I think that I had best accompany James alone,” Cordelia said.

Matthew was too broken to argue. He simply nodded, still facing away. “Very well. I wish you the best of luck.”

Willing feeling back into her numb legs, Cordelia stepped shakily towards the door. She needed to leave this room. She could not cry here, in front of Matthew, when she had just broken his heart so thoroughly.

As she opened the door, Matthew spoke one final time. “Our marriage was always supposed to be temporary, Daisy. You owe me nothing. If you really do love James, then please do not feel any guilt on my behalf.”

Cordelia said nothing in return. She only left the room and shut the door, leaving Matthew to crumble on the floor, alone.

She wanted to cry desperately the second that she stepped outside. But she could not. Matthew had been the person upon whom she could rely when she lacked the will to be strong. But she had closed that door forever. There would be no other shoulders on which to cry, no other arms to wrap around her, no other hands to stroke her hair softly, no other warm mouths to press against hers. Instead, Cordelia changed lethargically, joined a concerned James on the steps, settled into the awaiting carriage opposite a frenzied Will Herondale and a strained Magnus Bane, and closed her eyes.

She needed to move on. To focus on the task at hand. On her closed eyelids, she tried to picture Belial’s face, to draw up the hatred that she needed to fuel her rage.

But all she could see was Matthew, crouched on the ground, sobbing into the handkerchief that she had left behind.

Chapter 9

Summary:

For so long, this had been all that Cordelia had wanted. For so many years, she had dreamed of the day that James would tell her that he loved her. That he had always loved her. The day that he would take her in his arms and kiss her as if she were the one thing anchoring him to reality.

But as she stepped back, James’ hands falling from her waist, Cordelia realised that those years were long gone. That the Cordelia who had pined for James was gone.

She had changed. She had grown. All because Matthew had been at her side.

~~~

Unsure of her own feelings towards Matthew, Cordelia turns to those around her for support as she searches desperately for a missing Lucie. As she finally comes to understand, she returns to London to find a very different Matthew to the one whom she left behind...

PART II

FORGIVING YOURSELF

A little over a month had passed since they had left London, but to Cordelia, it felt far longer.

At first, she had been distracted by panic, by a desperate need to find Lucie as quickly as possible. Surrounded by a despairing Will Herondale and a downcast James, there had been little time to worry about the mess that she had left behind. They searched for every lead. Questioned as many people as they could. Checked houses and estates and outbuildings. Still, they found no sign of Lucie or Malcolm Fade, the warlock who had supposedly accompanied her to Cornwall.

However, this was not the only matter troubling Cordelia. She ran through her fight with Belial constantly in her mind, comparing all of the different ways in which she could have better handled the situation. She was a paladin now – she should have been powerful enough to stop Belial in his tracks. But why had Cortana fought her control – fought to control her? And what had Belial meant when he had cursed Lilith’s name?

Driven as she was by her fears and worries, Cordelia’s mind rarely drifted beyond the moment. Except, unfortunately, for their long carriage rides through the English countryside. With Lucie’s whereabouts being largely unknown, Magnus had explained, it would be unfeasible to summon a Portal to her.

“There is also the problem of Fade,” Magnus had added grimly. “I have little doubt that he will have prepared measures to prevent us from arriving by magic. It is already impossible to track her, after all.”

As a result, they had taken to travelling by carriage for hours at a time. But, with James as quiet as ever and Will unusually so, Cordelia found little on their journeys to distract her from her thoughts of Matthew. What was he doing now? Had he moved on, found comfort in their friends, and settled into a new routine and a new life? Or was he all alone in their enormous home, wandering dejectedly through the empty corridors, missing Cordelia as much as she missed him?

One morning, she realised, staring at the calendar opposite her bed in the inn in which they had stayed that night, that over six months had passed since her wedding with Matthew. Her stomach jolted. How had time passed so quickly? Had Matthew remembered the date, too?

And what was he doing with his time now? Did he spend hours writing letters that he then threw away? Did he struggle to fall asleep at night, his mind running over and over their last interaction? Did he keep his eyes closed for just a few minutes each morning, wishing beyond hope that when he opened them, Cordelia would be there beside him?

Because she did. Every day.

Desperate to escape these never-ending questions, Cordelia tried to lose herself as often as she could in empty conversation. Will and James being too anxious to speak, Cordelia found herself talking increasingly more frequently with Magnus. Although he, too, was strained and exhausted, he seemed more than happy to fill the silence with meaningless chatter. They discussed everything from the latest incantations that Magnus was trying to learn, through to the plethora of werewolves and vampires of whom Magnus had made enemies.

On one particular journey, their carriage trundling along the coastline on a stormy afternoon, Magnus regaled her animatedly about the time that he had saved Marie Antoinette in Paris. As he spoke, Cordelia’s mind did the exact opposite of what she had wanted and drifted back to Matthew. How many times had he enthused of his love for Paris? How many times had he promised that he would one day travel there with her?

Now, with the rain lashing at the sides of their rocking carriage, the thought of a sunny afternoon by the Seine with Matthew seemed impossibly far away.

Perhaps sensing Cordelia’s growing disquiet, Magnus trailed off. He watched her face carefully. “This journey must be taking its toll on you, Cordelia,” he said kindly. “How are you feeling?”

“I am fine,” Cordelia lied. “I only hope that we find Lucie soon.”

“As do I. But surely you must be missing home,” Magnus prompted.

James, who had been staring despondently out into the darkness, turned his head almost imperceptibly.

Cordelia thought for a few moments. Then she said quietly, “It is hard to miss home when I am not entirely sure where home is.”

Will turned to stare at her, too. His blue eyes, as they had been for weeks, were full of a deep, unrelenting sadness.

Magnus settled back in his seat, adjusting the sleeves of his jacket. “In my experience,” he said mildly, “home is not so much a place as it is the concept of simply being with the people that we love.”

Do you love me, Daisy?

Cordelia said nothing in reply. Her mind was racing, thoughts about Matthew suddenly inescapable. James’ gaze burrowing into her, Cordelia turned away and stared forcefully out of the window, wishing that she could open the door and let the rain and encroaching evening swallow her whole.

 

That night, perhaps out of concern for Cordelia, Will had them stop early to rest in a worn-down inn. Cordelia had protested, arguing that they needed to keep going, that they were so close to their next destination. But Will had been firm, claiming that the horses were in need of sleep and somewhere to wait out the storm. Still, as Cordelia lifted her sodden skirts and climbed the stairs to the room in which she would be staying, she could feel Will’s concerned gaze following her until she was out of sight.

Though she felt utterly miserable and exhausted, Cordelia could not sleep. Instead, she tossed and turned on the rickety bed, listening to the creek of the slats, missing the sound of Matthew’s gentle, rhythmic breathing and the warmth of his arms around her.

Finally giving up, Cordelia laid on her side and gazed blearily out of the mouldy window. The rain splattering the grimy panes reminded her of a night not long after she and Matthew had married.

It had been early evening and the weather had been much the same as it was today: unending rain accompanied by chilling winds. They had been on their way home from another dreary, overly-long Enclave meeting when the wheel of their carriage had slipped loose. The coach drive, soaked through, had apologised profusely, promising that he would send word for a replacement. But with the weather as sorrowful as it was, most of London had decided to travel by carriage. The streets had been crammed with horses and people, so much so that it would have been impossible for another coach to wend its way through the traffic.

Cordelia had been agitated all evening. Despite her marriage to Matthew, rumours of her supposed affair with James had been rife at the meeting. As usual, she had been the subject of gossip, forced to endure snide comments, sidelong glances. Now, stuck in the carriage, facing what could have been hours of waiting, the need to move had come over Cordelia strongly. She had been buzzing with sudden, frantic energy that she had needed to expel.

Then the idea had come to her. Staring out of the window, Cordelia had realised that they had broken down only a few streets away from their home. She had turned to Matthew, alight with sudden mischief. With no warning, she had declared, “First person through the front door wins,” before clambering out of the carriage door and hurtling down the street.

Her feet had pounded against the pavement, splashing through puddles, sending waves of water splattering onto her trousers. She had still been in her gear, glamoured to look like regular clothes, having finished patrol not long before the meeting. It had made it easier to run, easier to bound over animals and rubbish piled on the ground, easier to dodge around the crowds of mundanes who had leapt aside as if Cordelia were an escaped animal.

Behind her, almost lost to the wind and rain, Cordelia had heard a sudden whoop of laughter, the sound of the carriage door flying open. Then, within moments, a second pair of footsteps had thundered in the distance, rapidly closing the gap between them.

It had been so difficult to see through the heavy raindrops that Cordelia had almost missed the turning onto the next street. Skidding to a stop, she had swivelled rapidly and sprinted down the road.

But her momentary distraction had cost her. Matthew had caught up. He had been breathing hard, his face drenched with rain and alive with emotion. He had made no effort to overtake. Instead, he had wrenched his jacket off of his shoulders and tossed it to her. Cordelia had caught it in one hand and opened it over her head like an umbrella. The jacket had been as soaked as she had been, but it had provided some cover from the rain.

Lost in the moment, Cordelia had stopped caring about how she must look to the terrified bystanders. Letting out a frenzied cry, Cordelia had worked her legs as hard as she could, charging into the distance, the jacket trailing overhead like a flag. Matthew had laughed so loudly that she had heard it clearly, even over the howling wind.

It had taken them about five minutes at full speed to reach their driveway. Cordelia had been in the lead for the entire journey, Matthew always a few feet behind. She had started to suspect that he was letting her win. That he had a plan in mind.

Her fears had been confirmed as she had closed in on the steps. The front doors had been open, the servants waiting for them as usual. Victory within sight, she had pumped her legs harder. But, as if he had caught a second wind, Matthew had sped up. His arms had wrapped around Cordelia, one under her legs, one around her back. With a sudden shout, Cordelia had been lifted completely from the ground. She had stared in horror at Matthew’s face above her, beaming with triumph.

But Matthew had miscalculated. He had been running too fast for a sudden change in momentum – even as a trained Shadowhunter. His foot had tripped on the front step. Cordelia had flown once again through the air, free from Matthew’s grip. Mustering her years of training, Cordelia had tucked in her arms and rolled through the open doors.

Adrenaline pounding through her, Cordelia had laid on the floor, catching her breath. Her hair had come completely loose. It had clung, sodden, to her forehead, like a tangle of weeds. The floor had been hard and cold against her back, the weapons in her belt digging uncomfortably into her skin.

Cordelia had turned her head to the side. Matthew, exhausted, had crawled his way through the doorway. He had sat back on his knees, head tilted upwards, breathing harder than Cordelia had ever seen him breathe.

Matthew had looked down at her, sprawled inelegantly on the floor. Cordelia had stared back at his dirt-covered clothes. His dripping face. His hair, now so wet that it lay flat against his head.

“I win,” Cordelia had panted.

And then they had both collapsed in hysterics. Cordelia had laughed and laughed and laughed, so hard that her stomach had ached. Next to her, Matthew had howled with laughter, barely able to breathe.

Now, staring out of the smeared window of the inn bedroom and picturing Matthew’s face lit with joy, Cordelia’s stomach once again ached.

The room felt suddenly too hot. Too small. Cordelia clambered out of bed. She stumbled blindly down the stairs, flung open the back door of the inn, and ran out into the freezing night.

For minutes, she stood there, letting the rain seep through her clothes, through her skin. The water ran down her face, washing away the tears that soaked her cheeks.

How could she have broken Matthew’s heart so thoroughly? For months, he had been the one true source of happiness in her life. The one who had made her laugh. The one who had supported her when she had been unable to support herself. The one who had loved her so unconditionally that it should have been impossible not to love him back.

“Why?” Cordelia was in despair. “Why can I not understand my own feelings?”

“Cordelia?”

Cordelia’s head jolted sharply forwards. Someone stood in the shadows of the stables opposite. Her hands reached instinctively for a Cortana that was not there. She had foolishly left it in her room. She swore loudly.

But, to her surprise, it was Will who stepped out into the moonlight. His hands were raised placatingly, one of them holding a brush.

“What are you doing out here at this time of night?” he called over the rain. What little that Cordelia could see of his face was concerned. “You should be resting ahead of tomorrow.”

Cordelia felt suddenly conscious of how she must look, dressed in a soaked nightgown, her hair tangled in her face. Voice choked with tears, she could not reply.

Will seemed to understand. He beckoned Cordelia closer and placed two low-down stools side by side. Brushing the sawdust from one of them, he patted it amicably.

Cordelia sat down. She did not know quite what to say in a situation as unusual as this. As Will stared out into the rain, Cordelia stared down at her hands. She was suddenly a child again, about to be scolded by her father for doing something silly and reckless.

Seeming content with the silence, Will did not speak for several minutes. He ran his hand gently over the brush, lost in thought.

Finally, he turned to Cordelia and asked, “Did I ever tell you about the moment that I realised how deeply in love I was with Tessa?”

Cordelia was caught off-guard. What a strange choice of conversation, she thought.

Still, she replied dutifully, “You did share many stories at the bonfire the night before my wedding.”

Will smiled softly. “I do have a habit of talking rather a lot where my wife is concerned. Nevertheless, this particular story is one that I do not tend to share very often.”

Cordelia watched as Will moved the brush to his other hand and absentmindedly trailed his fingers over the engravings.

“I was at an inn rather like this one. Tessa had just been taken, you see, and I had mounted what I had hoped was an heroic rescue to save her.” He paused. “It was the moment that I felt my parabatai rune sting with a blinding pain.”

Cordelia drew in a breath. With her and Lucie soon to be parabatai, she had done her research on the nature of the connection. To feel such pain through the rune could only mean one thing...

“I realised that Jem was finally dying.” Will looked pained. “I realised that I had left him behind to die on his own, when I had sworn an oath to be by his side when he needed me. After everything that he had done to support me over the years, I was not there for him in what I thought were to be his final moments.”

Will fell silent. Cordelia did not interrupt. She was hardly breathing.

“But in that moment, through the pain in my chest, I was finally able to make peace with my decision. It had been Jem who had encouraged me to leave in the first place, you see. Although I wished with all of my heart that I could have been there with him, I could feel that there was nothing that I could do for him anymore. And on the other side of the country was the person who needed me most. The person whom I could still save.

“And I finally understood, crouched in that courtyard, that I was completely in love with Tessa. Of course, I had loved her before then, but perhaps I had not quite realised the depth of my affection. Because when you love someone that much, you come to understand that they will always come first in your mind, even over those whom you have loved for far longer.” Will laughed quietly. “Love truly is a strange and powerful force.”

“But what if I do not know if I love him enough?” Cordelia asked shakily.

The rain outside had vanished. She felt as though she and Will were alone in the world, and she could do nothing but wait for his response, the judgement that would seal her fate.

But Will simply shook his head. “I cannot give you an answer. But if there is one thing to take away from my self-indulgent story, it is that when you are in love with someone, they become the most important person in your life. No matter what you are thinking, your mind will always drift back to them. They become the one person with whom you want to be more than anyone else in the world. Even over your own parabatai – or soon-to-be parabatai,” he added with a knowing smile.

Cordelia’s mind was racing. A part of her felt tremendously guilty that Will had noticed her distraction. She was supposed to be focused on finding Lucie, on saving her best friend’s life. Cordelia was not sure if she was worthy of becoming Lucie’s parabatai if she was not even prioritising Lucie’s safety over her own troubles.

And yet, something in Will’s words had struck a chord. Even after their fight, even after she had asked him for distance, even after she had been unable to give him the answer that he had craved, Cordelia wanted desperately to be with Matthew. So many days, she went to sleep with her head full of thoughts that she wished to share with him. So many nights, she rolled over, instinctively seeking his warmth. She thought about him constantly, to the extent that she was forced to distract herself so that she would not break down at the thought of him all alone in their deserted house. Or, perhaps even worse, at the thought of him finding comfort in the arms of another.

Was this what it meant to be in love?

Lightning flashed in the sky. The rumble of thunder shook the ground. Cordelia was pulled back to the present, to the damp and rotting stable. She looked at Will. Pictured a young version of him, bent over in pain in the exact spot in which he now sat, tears streaming from his face as he realised that there was nothing that he could do for Jem.

But Cordelia was not in that position. She could still save them both.

Suddenly driven with purpose, Cordelia rose to her feet. Her dress was soaked through, her hair a dripping mess. Yet her whole body was alive with purpose.

“Thank you for sharing your story, Mr Herondale,” she said. “But my circumstances are not quite the same as yours were. I will save Lucie, and then I will return to London and fix that which I have broken. I will not make a choice.”

Despite the freezing rain and the grim atmosphere, Will burst out laughing. “Spoken like a true Carstairs!” he cried. “How glad I am that Lucie has a friend like you upon whom she can rely. If only you had fallen in love with James instead of Matthew. I shall just have to hold out hope that there is another mysterious Carstairs woman out there for him!”

Cordelia’s eyes were wide. She had not spoken of anything that had happened between her, James, and Matthew – least of all to James’ father. And she most certainly had not used Matthew’s name.

But Will did not elaborate further. Instead, he grinned and said, “You have inspired me, Cordelia. I have a feeling that our luck will turn tomorrow. You had best get yourself off to bed. You will need to be well-rested for your triumphant reuniting with Lucie in the morning.”

Taking this as her cue that she was dismissed, Cordelia stepped back out into the rain. She hurried across the soaked earth to the back door. As she reached for the handle, movement above caught her eye. Cordelia squinted through the falling raindrops, just in time to see a window close and a pair of golden eyes disappear from view.

Perhaps she had not been entirely correct. She did still have a choice to make. A difficult one. One that would leave someone about whom she cared deeply broken-hearted.

And yet, as she opened the door and stepped into the warmth, Cordelia realised that the choice was growing easier by the day.

 

As it turned out, Will’s feeling had been correct. The morning had dawned brighter and clearer than the day before. Spirits bolstered, Cordelia, James, Will and Magnus had set off mid-morning in the carriage. They had been travelling barely an hour when they had arrived at an impressive house on the edge of an imposing cliff. Though it was not as large as the one in which she lived with Matthew, Cordelia was still overwhelmed by its size, by its ability to stay standing despite the stone crumbling beneath it. Yet, in spite of its bizarre appearance, Cordelia thought, there was something rather charming about it. As if it were a house that held many secrets, many stories of adventures.

Magnus seemed less taken with it. He was on edge, blue fire sparking around his fingertips as he scanned the air. “There are traces of magic here,” he said darkly. “We may be in luck. But we should still approach with caution.”

Will, however, had had enough of caution. Striding towards the white-painted front door, he knocked loudly. Rolling his eyes, Magnus followed, James and Cordelia close behind. Cordelia braced herself, one hand hovering close to Cortana.

But she could not have prepared herself for who answered the door. Standing in the doorway, dressed in clean clothes, hair neatly groomed, was Jesse Blackthorn.

Instinctively, Cordelia made to draw Cortana. Then she froze. What if she became frenzied again, as she had last time? If it was still Belial stood in front of her, would she be able to stop herself from running her sword through one of her friends?

James did not have the same reservations. He had drawn a seraph blade from his belt.

“Belial,” he growled.

“James, wait,” Magnus interrupted. “I do not detect any ‘Prince of Hell’ in him.”

Jesse raised his hands. His eyes were wide with alarm. He swallowed nervously.

And then Lucie was at his side. She wrapped an arm protectively around his back. Her horrified eyes found Cordelia.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, mortified.

Cordelia was dumbstruck. “We came to save you,” she replied numbly.

But Lucie, it seemed, had not needed saving. She and Jesse led the four of them into the house, where she then spent the next several hours explaining the story beseechingly to a thunderstruck Will, who seemed to be deciding whether to yell in frustration or sob in relief. How she had met Jesse in the forest in Idris years ago, when she was a child. How she had gradually fallen in love with him. How he had used his last breath to save James and she had become determined to save him in turn. Although Cordelia had heard the story before, she could not help but feel saddened. She had spent weeks helping Lucie to find a solution. Why had Lucie not asked for her aid at the final step?

Her misery must have been clear on her face. As Will took Jesse aside – seeming to have finally settled on sobbing with relief and declaring Jesse as the newest addition to his household – Lucie sat down next to Cordelia and tucked their arms together.

“Forgive me for not bringing you along, Daisy,” Lucie whispered. “But after what happened with Cortana and Belial... I could not risk anything happening to Jesse. I am truly sorry.”

Lucie’s words made sense. Yet Cordelia could not help but feel upset. First she had failed Matthew. Now she had failed Lucie.

Some paladin I am turning out to be, Cordelia thought bitterly.

Lucie’s face scrunched in concern. She cast her eyes around, searching desperately for something else to say. “Where is Matthew?” she asked conversationally.

Cordelia’s heart sank. From the moment that she had seen Lucie, Cordelia’s thoughts had been distracted. But now, at Lucie’s prompting, visions of Matthew filled her head – so rapidly that she could not push them away, hard as she tried.

“I do not know,” Cordelia answered quietly. “I wish that I knew.” She paused. Swallowed hard. “I broke his heart.”

Lucie looked alarmed. “What happened, Daisy?”

Cordelia wanted to speak. She wanted to open up to Lucie, to break down in her arms, to cry as she had wanted to the second that she had stepped out of the salon. As she had wanted to every moment since. She knew that if she did, Lucie would hold her, would comfort her, would reassure her that everything would work itself out.

But, Cordelia realised suddenly, it was not Lucie whom she wanted to comfort her. The only person whom she wanted to hold her was currently hundreds of miles away in the city that she had come to call home.

“I think that I am in love with him, Lucie.”

Lucie’s mouth gaped in shock. She was at a complete loss for her words. Unable to speak, she tightened the arm that was tucked into Cordelia’s in a silent showing of support.

They sat together, not saying a word, for almost an hour. Cordelia rested her head on Lucie’s shoulder and bit back the tears welling behind her eyes. From outside, she could hear the sound of the waves gently lapping against the cliff and the distant cries of the gulls flying freely through the sky.

She was so close to understanding. So close to knowing, for sure, how she felt about Matthew.

But one obstacle remained in the way. One person whose face lingered at the edges of her thoughts.

“Daisy.”

Cordelia and Lucie jumped and swivelled their heads around. As if he had heard Cordelia’s thoughts, James stood behind them. He had approached so quietly that Cordelia had not even noticed.

“Forgive me,” James said quickly. “I did not mean to startle you. Could I talk to you in private for a moment?”

Cordelia and Lucie shared a quick glance before Cordelia stood up from the sofa. Her heart thumping in her chest, she followed James into a separate drawing room. The room clearly did not see much use. Strips of torn wallpaper hung limply from the walls. The stench of rotting wood clung to the air.

James turned around to face her. He drew in a deep breath.

Then, without preamble, he spoke.

“I overheard you and Matthew talking.”

Cordelia’s heart skipped a beat. Her throat was suddenly dry. How much had he overheard?

“I know that I should not have listened. But I could not help myself. I suppose that we have all done things of which we are not proud recently.”

James laughed shakily, running a hand through his hair. “I know that you have figured out the truth of the bracelet. Of my feelings for Grace. I never loved her, Daisy. I was only made to think that I did. I should have fought the influence harder. I should have been stronger. Like you were, on the night that you freed me.”

He had heard everything, then. Her furious accusations. Matthew’s desperate pleading.

Which meant that he must have heard...

James was staring at Cordelia more intently than he ever had before. “I should not ask this. I swore that I would not. But I have to know, Daisy. Do you have feelings towards me?”

Cordelia could not speak. She could no longer feel her body. Numbly, she nodded.

An enormous weight of guilt settled in her chest. If Matthew could see her now, he would be destroyed.

When you are in love with someone, they become the most important person in your life.

James released the breath that he had been holding. His gaze had trapped Cordelia’s. “Daisy... What a fool I have been. I cannot stop thinking about what our life would have been like, if not for that damned bracelet. I would have realised far sooner, for one, that I am in love with you. That I have always been in love with you.”

Cordelia could not look away. She was drowning in his golden eyes.

“I should have asked you to marry me.” James was stepping closer. His breathing was unsteady. His body was trembling. “When I was with you, the bracelet’s influence dimmed. I would have been free of it in a matter of weeks. Every day would have been like that evening in the Whispering Room.”

The Whispering Room. Cordelia could picture it clearly. She could see James leaning over her, her back pushed against the desk, desire written on every line of his face, reflected in his golden eyes. She could feel his mouth move frantically against hers, her hands tangled in his hair. She could hear his groans and gasps against her skin.

And then the picture changed. Suddenly, she was laying on soft cushions, her hands gliding up a smooth back. Soft lips trailed down her neck, whispering her name deliriously. Her fingers ran through soft curls. She stared longingly into deep green eyes, so beautiful that her self-control abandoned her.

No matter what you are thinking, your mind will always drift back to them.

James watched her eyes flicker. He looked almost defeated.

“You love him,” he said quietly. It was not a question.

Cordelia did not need to ask of whom he was speaking. She nodded imperceptibly once again.

James was now only a few inches away from her. She could hardly breathe.

“Then kiss me,” he murmured softly. “Kiss me and know for sure.”

Cordelia stood up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.

It was far softer than their last kiss had been, far lighter. Their lips were barely touching. Tentatively, James rested his hands on Cordelia’s sides, almost as if he were steadying himself.

For so long, this had been all that Cordelia had wanted. For so many years, she had dreamed of the day that James would tell her that he loved her. That he had always loved her. The day that he would take her in his arms and kiss her as if she were the one thing anchoring him to reality.

But as she stepped back, James’ hands falling from her waist, Cordelia realised that those years were long gone. That the Cordelia who had pined for James was gone.

She had changed. She had grown. All because Matthew had been at her side.

They become the one with whom you want to be more than anyone else in the world.

“And now you know.” James smiled sadly.

Her mind was suddenly achingly clear. How could she have been confused when her feelings were staring her in the face, so blindingly obvious that it hurt?

“Thank you,” Cordelia whispered.

Then, without a moment’s hesitation, she tore from the room.

 

It took surprisingly little time to return to London. Cordelia had rushed out of the drawing room to find that Malcolm Fade had arrived, and that he had had the good sense to look ashamed at Will’s scolding. So distracted were they in the heat of an argument that they had not seen Cordelia and James’ absence.

Magnus, however, had noticed Cordelia’s arrival immediately. He had been watching the argument unfold in amusement. But the second that he had locked eyes with Cordelia, the second that he had seen the expression on her face, he had seemed suddenly immensely pleased.

“I can have the Portal set up for you within the hour,” he had declared proudly. “Just give me the word.”

In the end, it took less than half of that time before Cordelia was standing on the driveway outside of her home. They had been at Malcolm Fade’s house for so long that a hazy evening had settled in. The stench of London smog hung heavy on the air, more noticeable as a result of her time away. Heart pounding, Cordelia tore across the gravel and up the steps.

It was only as she reached for the door handle that she realised how dark it was.

Peering around at the windows, Cordelia realised that only a few were lit by feebly flickering lights. Apart from the presence of a few servants, it looked as though the place was thoroughly deserted.

Cordelia opened the door and stared into the entrance hall. Usually, even when they were asleep, the servants lit candles to guide their way. Now, however, the entire hall was swallowed in a deep, lonely darkness.

One of the housekeepers came rushing into the hall. She must have heard the sound of the door opening. Her hair was askew, her face panicked, as if she had not been expecting anyone that evening.

“Welcome home, Mrs Fairchild,” she said respectfully, bowing low. “I apologise for my delay.”

A disquieting feeling was creeping up Cordelia’s chest. “Where is Matthew?”

The housekeeper looked uncomfortable. “We were not expecting him home this evening, my lady,” she explained tentatively.

“Where is he?” Cordelia repeated. Her voice was growing more insistent.

The housekeeper’s eyes darted around as if searching for an escape. Seeing none, she answered, “I believe that he is at the Hell Ruelle.”

Cordelia’s heart was sinking. “And how long has he been at the Hell Ruelle?”

A long pause. Then, “For the last five days, my lady.”

Cordelia turned around and hurtled back down the steps. A few moments later, she cursed as she realised that Matthew must have taken the carriage with him. The Portal had already sparkled out of existence, leaving her alone on the darkened driveway.

There was no time to waste with messengers. As fast as she could, Cordelia sprinted into the street. Given the late hour, the traffic had thinned considerably. Few hansom cabs lined the street, and most of those that remained were occupied. Panting, she ran down the pavement, searching desperately for an empty carriage to take her to Matthew.

Finally, Cordelia spotted one, halfway down the street. But she must have looked quite the state – unglamoured, a sword strapped to her back, tearing down the road in the middle of the night – because upon spotting her, the driver urged his horses forwards.

Cordelia was not to be deterred. Remembering how Matthew had all but thrown himself in front of a carriage following her meeting with Wayland the Smith, Cordelia forced herself to run faster and faster. Her chest ached with the effort. Her feet screamed in her boots, not made for running.

But she was gaining on the carriage. Her paladin strength was urging her onwards.

Only a few more feet. She tucked her head low and took the longest strides that she could.

She was side by side with the carriage.

The driver let out a shout of surprise as she grabbed the door handle and swung herself onto the steps. Abruptly, he brought the carriage to a halt. Cordelia was almost thrown off.

Face dripping with sweat, she opened the door and clambered inside.

“Take me to Soho,” she ordered. The driver seemed too shocked to argue.

It took a frustratingly long time to reach her destination, despite the empty roads. The driver was moving the carriage as quickly as he dared, desperate to be rid of her. Cordelia’s mind was spiralling. She tried over and over to think of reasons why Matthew would not return home for so long. But she could think only of the worst case scenarios. Matthew, rotting in a mundane prison. Matthew, lying badly injured in an alleyway. The city felt suddenly claustrophobic, the streetlamps blinding. She craved the open air, the starry skies under which she had travelled for months.

Before the carriage had even ground to a halt, Cordelia leapt out. She had no money with which to pay the driver, but he did not seem concerned. The second that her feet touched the cobblestones, the carriage took off down the road, as fast as it could.

The streets of Soho were littered with drunks stumbling between pubs. Cordelia wended her way through the crowds and the overbearing smells, her feet carrying her towards the Hell Ruelle. Strangely, the doorman did not even try to stop her from entering. The inside had been decorated like a winter wonderland. The temperature was uncomfortably cold. Icicles dangled threateningly from the ceiling. The plush carpet was an unwelcoming blue.

Cordelia ran into the centre of the room. She did not care that she looked a state, Cortana still strapped menacingly to her back. Her eyes scanned the room, ignoring the stares that she received from other guests.

She could not see him.

Frantic, she clambered aboard the stage where the musicians were droning through a slow, sorrowful tune. She searched the room again, from the bar to the tables where guests sat, staring up at her.

Still, she could not see him.

But Hypatia Vex had seen her. Stalking up to the stage, she hissed, “Get down from there, Shadowhunter, before I have you thrown out.”

Cordelia turned to answer. And then she saw him. Staggering out of the back door behind Hypatia was a man with golden curls.

Leaping off of the stage, Cordelia hurried through the room, dodging a waiter serving frozen drinks. She flew through the back door and out into the crowded street. Just as they had been when she had arrived, the pavements were packed with people, several of whom turned to stare at her in alarm.

Cordelia looked left and right, as far as she could through the throng of people. But the man had disappeared. Cursing, Cordelia turned right and hastened up the street. She would just have to hope that she had chosen correctly.

She pushed past stumbling drunkards. Shielded her eyes from the glare of the streetlamps. Blocked out the shouting and laughter, trying desperately to hear Matthew’s voice, as unlikely as that would be. She must have been walking for several hundred yards before she came to a reluctant stop. Surely, Matthew – if it really was him – would not have come this far. Once again, she had lost him.

Defeated, Cordelia had just turned to walk back towards the Hell Ruelle when she spotted him. He was crouched over a gutter only a little ways to her left, golden hair shining in the moonlight, facing away. As far as she could tell, he had yet to notice her.

“Matthew?” she called anxiously.

The man swung around sharply. Cordelia gasped.

It was Matthew, but it was not the Matthew that she had left behind.

He looked utterly exhausted. His hair was messy and unclean, his face covered in bruises and scratches. Dark bags hung under his eyes. His clothes, usually so neat and carefully selected, were torn and dirtied.

But, worst of all, Cordelia could smell a sweet, cloying scent wafting from him.

Matthew squinted up at her uncertainly. “Daisy?”

“Yes,” Cordelia whispered.

Matthew seemed lost in confusion. Then he looked around her and asked, “Where is James?”

“He is not here.”

Matthew looked suddenly alarmed. He scrambled to his feet with some difficulty.

“Did something happen to him? Why are you alone?”

Why are you alone? Cordelia’s chest ached. Did Matthew expect her to be with James? Did he think that she had chosen James over him?

Cordelia shook her head. “Nothing has happened to him. I came to find you.”

Matthew stared down at her. His eyes were wide, shocked. He swayed slightly where he stood.

Then, all of a sudden, he slumped.

“Another hallucination, then,” he murmured.

Cordelia was confused. “Why do you think that?”

Matthew waved his hand airily. He was already turning away. “Because Daisy does not love me. She made that quite clear.” Matthew's voice cracked. “Now, be gone. Leave me to wallow in my misery and self-pity.”

He was stumbling down a side street away from her. Hesitating only a moment, Cordelia picked up her pace. She overtook Matthew in seconds and stood in front of him, blocking his path. Though she was far shorter than him, she glared up at him with such force that Matthew took a step backwards, alarmed.

“No,” she said firmly. “I will not leave you again. I will not make the same mistake twice.”

“But you are not real,” Matthew whispered uncertainly.

Cordelia took a step forwards. Placed her hands on his cheeks, grimy with dirt. Matthew’s green eyes stared at her in sudden, intense longing.

“Are you real?”

Cordelia pulled Matthew towards her and kissed him.

Matthew was frozen at first. Then, seeming finally to accept that Cordelia was really there, he groaned and pulled her closer. Her hands remained on his cheeks, but Matthew’s moved wildly. One tangled in her hair. The other moved up and down her back, as if he were reassuring himself that she was not a hallucination. With a sinking feeling, Cordelia realised that his hands were shaking again. Then she noticed the taste of his lips. Cherry.

Cordelia stepped back. For a second, Matthew’s hands lingered in her hair and on her waist, as if he wanted to hold her for longer. Then he released her, his eyes flickering between hers. Cordelia’s hands fell from his cheeks. She slipped one of them into his. His palm was warm and coated in sweat.

“I am taking you home,” Cordelia said firmly. “We are going to get you cleaned up.”

She had expected some sort of quip in return, Matthew’s usual dry, self-deprecating sense of humour. But he said nothing, only stared at her as if he were at a loss for words.

Holding Matthew’s hand tightly, Cordelia led them back out onto the street. It took significantly less time and effort to hail a hansom cab than it had earlier. Perhaps the drivers who frequented these parts were used to the kind of clientele that she and Matthew resembled. At any rate, this was rather fortunate: Cordelia did not feel up to the task of tracking down the Fairchild carriage at this time of night, accompanied by a stumbling Matthew.

The carriage was far smaller than those in which Cordelia usually rode. Clambering in first, she helped an unsteady Matthew into the seat opposite. Their legs clashed uncomfortably, so much so that Matthew was forced to all but stand, hunched over. Frustrated, Cordelia rose and instead sank down into the seat next to him. Matthew’s body was rigid, tense, as if he were fighting the urge to touch her.

As the carriage set off, Cordelia realised that she had finally gotten what she had wanted all evening. She was sat next to Matthew, on their way back home together. Though he was in an awful state, he was alive – far better than many of the scenarios that Cordelia had envisioned.

And yet now, as she sat squeezed in next to him, Cordelia found herself suddenly at a loss for words. What was one supposed to say when they found the person that they loved in such a terrible condition? Even on her darkest nights, laying in creaky inn beds and imagining Matthew in the arms of another, Cordelia had never once believed that he would turn back to the drink.

How could she have been so naïve?

It was Matthew who spoke first.

“So, I assume that you found Lucie?”

Cordelia nodded. “Yes. She is safe.” She paused. “And she managed to bring Jesse back to life.”

Matthew’s eyes widened. “How in the name of the Angel did she manage that?”

“I am not entirely sure,” Cordelia replied. Then, remembering Will’s words, she added, “Love is a strange and powerful force.”

“Indeed it is.”

Matthew was staring at her so intensely that Cordelia’s mind had gone blank. Her whole body felt unbearably hot.

“Why did you come back, Daisy?” he whispered.

“I told you.” Her voice was raspy. “I came to find you.”

“But why did you come to find me?” Matthew pressed.

Cordelia knew what he wanted to hear. She longed to say it herself, to have Matthew pull her into his arms and kiss her until she lost all rational thought.

But looking at Matthew now, at his messy clothes and sallow skin, Cordelia could not say it. They had fought a long and hard battle to free Matthew from this particular demon, and yet he had turned straight back to it the second that she had left. Was this how it would always be?

Cordelia did not answer Matthew’s question. Instead, she asked softly, “Why did you start drinking again?”

Matthew smiled dejectedly. He looked away. “I did not see any reason to hold back when faced with a life without you.”

Dependence. Matthew had told Cordelia, the morning that he had held her despairingly in Regent’s Park, that he was dependent on her. She had thought that she understood. She was dependent on him, too. She had relied on his strength and had offered hers in return.

But, for the first time, Cordelia realised just how dependent Matthew had become.

“Was I the only reason that you stopped drinking?”

Matthew was silent for a few moments. Then he said, “I made you a promise that I would stop.”

She had guessed correctly. It had not been for his sake, but for hers. Despite his promises that he would no longer be so self-deprecating, it was clear that Matthew still despised himself. That he saw no purpose to his life beyond providing support to Cordelia.

All this time at his side, Cordelia had thought that she was helping Matthew to escape his dependence. Now, she realised that she may have been helping him create a new one.

Cordelia turned her entire body towards Matthew. It was a struggle in the cramped space. “You told me once that it is not a mark of failure to rely on others. And you were right. We need others to support us. But it is a problem to become dependent on someone else. What would you do if I were to die tomorrow? We are Shadowhunters. We live dangerous lives. To us, death is not a distant prospect, but a very real possibility.”

Matthew swallowed hard. He would not meet her eye. “I could not live without you, Daisy. I cannot stand myself.”

Cordelia shook her head in frustration. “That is the problem right there, Math. You cannot live entirely for other people. If I had to enter every battle knowing that you would give up on life if I were to be killed, then I could never fight again. You mean far too much to me. I need to know that you could live with yourself long after I am gone. You need to learn to love yourself as much as I do.”

Matthew drew in a breath. Cordelia realised too late what she had said.

But she did not try to take back her words. She had meant them.

“Do you love me, Daisy?” Matthew asked again quietly. He could not look away from her.

The time had come. Finally, Cordelia felt no uncertainty.

“Yes.”

Matthew swallowed hard. “You truly love someone as reprehensible as me?”

“Yes.”

“You want to tie yourself to someone like me?”

“Yes.”

“Even if I may cause you problems for the rest of your life?”

“Yes.”

“Even if you must spend every day fishing me out of gutters, fool that I am?”

“Yes. Yes to everything, Math.”

Matthew paused. “Then would you kiss me again?”

Cordelia leaned over and kissed him softly. For just a brief moment, she held her lips against his, before pulling away.

Matthew let out a long, shaky sigh. Then he buried his face in his hands.

“Raziel help me. What have I done, Daisy?”

Gently, Cordelia laid her hand on his dirt-covered back. She ran it in soothing circles.

“Nothing that cannot be undone,” she replied firmly, “just as it was before. Only this time, you will do it for your sake. Not for mine.” Suddenly remembering something, Cordelia added, “And besides, you swore to me when we married that I would spend at least part of our marriage concerned for your safety. It was about time that you made good on that promise.”

Matthew laughed tearfully.

They sat as they were for some time, Cordelia stroking Matthew’s back, Matthew with his head in his hands. Though he still looked exhausted, his clothes still torn and rumpled, he seemed more relaxed than Cordelia had seen him that night. In contrast, she was still on edge, worried about Matthew’s condition. But as Matthew repositioned himself to lay his head on her shoulder, Cordelia, too, felt herself relaxing.

Finally, they were reunited. Finally, she was no longer facing the world alone.

More tired than she had realised, Cordelia drifted in and out of sleep, awaking only when the driver tapped violently on the side of the carriage. Dazed, she allowed a trembling Matthew to help her out. But, to her surprise, he climbed back in immediately.

At Cordelia’s confusion, Matthew smiled and said, “I am taking myself to the Silent City. Interring myself, so to speak. When next you see me, I will be a changed man. Consider that a promise, though I have made no end of them since marrying you.”

As Matthew made to close the door, Cordelia spoke.

“Just to be certain that there are no misunderstandings between us, I am in love with you, Matthew Fairchild. Consider that my thought for the evening.”

Matthew turned. His eyes blazed with a determination stronger than any that Cordelia had seen in them before. Her heart swelled with sudden pride.

Carefully, Matthew placed one final, gentle kiss on Cordelia’s lips. It felt like a kiss goodbye.

“Driver,” Matthew called, “please take me away from here, before I follow my wife inside and do things with her that I will most surely regret come morning.”

Cordelia smiled sadly. She stepped back, her gaze holding Matthew’s for as long as she could. Then she watched the carriage in silence as it moved farther and farther away, taking Matthew away from her, moments after they had been reunited. She turned away only when he and the carriage had disappeared completely from view.

Back in the house, Cordelia felt suddenly very lonely. Though the servants had clearly rushed to make the house habitable again, it felt strangely empty without the other person with whom she had occupied it. Cordelia climbed the stairs slowly, her body lethargic. Lacking the energy to bathe, she changed into her nightdress and climbed exhaustedly into bed.

It was only once she had tucked herself under the covers that she finally allowed herself to cry, alone, in the way that she had wanted to break down in Matthew’s arms for months. And when she finally fell into an uneasy sleep, she dreamed of Matthew, alone in the Silent City prisons, crying her name as she stood there, unmoving, unable to help.

Chapter 10

Summary:

Matthew had been wrong. His friends had gone out of their way to support him. To seek him out in his darkest hours. To offer their unconditional affection. He understood now, his arms around Cordelia, that this was not something that a person did for someone that they did not truly, completely love.

And then there was Cordelia. He had told her his most shameful truth months ago and she had stood by him. Had supported him. Had even fallen in love with him.

Perhaps he was not unlovable. Perhaps no one was.

Perhaps, finally, it was time to forgive himself.

~~~

Down in the depths of the Silent City, Matthew struggles to overcome his dependency and self-loathing, receiving help from the strangest of places. But when he is confronted with the consequences of his actions, Matthew must finally learn to face up to his past, or risk losing everyone that he loves...

Cordelia was in love with him.

Matthew was not quite sure what had happened to change her mind, but he did not care. Only one day before, he had been lost in the Hell Ruelle, intent on drinking his life away, unable to bear the thought of watching the woman that he loved so deeply choose his best friend. Now, Cordelia had assured him over and over that she loved him. That she wanted to be with him. That she had chosen him.

His mind floating on air, Matthew was not even afraid of the difficult challenge ahead of him. He did not feel fear as he arrived at the Silent City and explained his situation to Brother Enoch, who listened patiently. He did not feel fear as he was led to the room – down in the prisons, but certainly more comfortable than the cells that surrounded it – where he would be staying, door unlocked, for at least the next few days. He did not feel fear as he changed out of his torn and stinking clothes and clambered exhaustedly into bed.

The memory of Cordelia kissing him, holding his hand, whispering that she loved him carried Matthew into a peaceful sleep. For the first time in weeks, he was not plagued by terrible, haunting nightmares.

Really, this would not be so bad, Matthew thought as he awoke the next morning. Aside from a splitting headache and the dank atmosphere of the Silent City, his spirits did not feel too low. Of course, he missed Cordelia terribly. He wished that he could have returned home with her the night before, kissed her as he had wanted to for a long time.

Brother Enoch stopped by to inform him that Cordelia had arrived to visit. Matthew longed to see her, but her words still lingered in his mind. He could not afford to be dependent on her any longer – it was not fair on her to have to care for someone who could not take care of themselves. So he turned her away, hoping against hope that she understood his reasons, as she always seemed to.

He could hold out without seeing her for a couple of weeks. He had waited this long, after all. What was a few more days in the grand scheme of their blossoming romance?

As the day wore on, Matthew’s headache grew worse. The cold of the Silent City seeped into his body. He climbed back into bed and tucked the covers around him, drinking as much tea as he could and distracting himself with the small collection of books tucked on the shelves.

By night, his head hurt so badly that he could hardly think. Now too hot, Matthew threw the covers on the floor and lay shivering on the bare mattress. He tried to focus on the thought of Cordelia. What it had felt like to lay his head on her shoulder. The scent of her jasmine soap. But even those memories were fading, disappearing faster than he could cling to them. Without these thoughts, his dreams morphed into nightmares, full of visions of Cordelia and James and Christopher and Thomas losing battles against demons while he stood rooted to the spot, unable to cry out.

As the second morning crept in, Matthew’s conviction was fading. He wished despairingly that Cordelia was with him, as she had been every time before. But, remembering his promise to become more independent, Matthew scolded himself. And when Brother Enoch stopped by again to tell him that Cordelia had come to the Silent City, he turned her away once more, albeit with much more difficulty than the day before.

He could not tell when night arrived. There were no windows this deep under the ground. No clocks to mark the slow passage of time. Instead, Matthew crawled into bed when he could no longer stand to be awake and whiled away the hours in a fitful sleep, hating himself more than he ever had before.

He could tell, however, when morning had arrived, as yet another Silent Brother stopped by with a message. This time, it was Jem, with the expected news that Cordelia had come. Matthew’s resolve was now so weak that it took all of his willpower to turn her away.

“Please,” he whispered desperately, “please tell her that I love her very much, and that that is precisely why I cannot see her right now.”

Jem seemed to understand. He left to pass on Matthew’s wishes. And the next morning, Cordelia did not come.

To Matthew’s great surprise, however, on the fourth day, visitors arrived whom he could not turn away. Clutching bags of food and blankets, James, Christopher and Thomas let themselves into the room. They were chattering casually between them, although Matthew could not help but feel that this was forced for his sake, performative. Still, his heart swelled at the sight of his friends and at the thought that they were making such an effort for him.

Christopher laid out a plaid blanket on the cold stone floor, almost as if he were setting up a picnic. He and Thomas laid out a spread of delicious looking food that looked strangely out of place in the dreary room.

“Oh!” Christopher rummaged in his comically large bag. “Before I forget, I brought you some more of these.”

From the depths of the bag, he pulled out a handful of flasks. Matthew recognised the contents instantly.

“I can bring you plenty more, so please take them as you need.”

“Thank you, Kit.” Matthew took one of the flasks. Christopher lined the others up neatly on the desk.

Matthew stared down at the sloshing liquid, turning the flask over and over in his hands. “I had thought that I was free of this vile drink. That I was free of all of this, really.”

“Now, now,” Thomas said sternly, “there is no shame in falling down. All that matters is that you are getting yourself back on your feet.”

“Hear, hear!” Christopher cheered.

Matthew’s heart was suddenly warm.

They settled down on the blanket and dished out the food, although Matthew did not feel very hungry. Christopher kept up a steady stream of conversation as they ate, updating Matthew excitedly on his progress with the fire messages. It seemed that – for the time being, at least – the Fairchild manor remained blissfully intact. By the sounds of it, however, there had been many close calls.

“I rather made a mess of your mother’s carpet,” Christopher admitted, his mouth crammed with lemon tart. “I had had the sudden thought that perhaps it was my fireplace down in the basement that was causing the issues, so I tried to send a message from her fireplace, you see. But I miscalculated the amount of gunpowder that I would need.”

“I would hope that the correct amount would have been none,” James said, alarmed.

“That was Mrs Fairchild’s thoughts, as well,” Christopher said sadly. “Especially when she saw the charred spots on her rug. She was furious even after I sewed up the holes with patches from the hallway carpet.”

Although he was suddenly aching for home, Matthew laughed. He felt oddly nostalgic at the thought of his mother scolding Christopher.

Tentatively, Matthew asked, “And how is Cordelia doing? The other Mrs Fairchild, if you will.”

James smiled softly. Matthew thought that he looked rather lonely. “She is the one who sent us here today. We ran into her at the Institute, collecting Alastair as we picked up Thomas.”

For a second, Matthew was confused. Then he jolted. How could he have forgotten about Thomas, locked up in the Sanctuary, facing a lifetime in prison and the prospect of being stripped of his marks?

Guiltily, he looked up at Thomas. But Thomas, expecting this, raised a hand placatingly.

“You had enough on your mind without worrying about me,” he said firmly.

“And besides,” Christopher piped up, “from what he has told me, Thomas was having a grand old time with Alastair—Ouch!”

Christopher rubbed his head ruefully as the apple that had smacked against his forehead fell to the floor.

“In any case,” Thomas said, giving Christopher a warning look, “the only thing that you missed was Cordelia’s mother giving Inquisitor Bridgestock a good talking-to. It was very satisfying to see that man get taken down a peg or two.”

Matthew wanted to laugh at the thought of a red-faced Sona scolding an abashed Bridgestock, but he could only feel tremendously ashamed. While he had been wallowing in self-pity, drinking himself into the gutters, his friends had been going through their own battles. When he needed them most, they were here for him. But when they had needed him, he had not been there for them.

Matthew buried his face in his hands. “Forgive me, all of you. I truly am a terrible person.”

Unseen by Matthew, his three friends shared a knowing look. They had prepared for this.

“Cordelia warned us that you might say something like that,” James said, “so we came up with a plan.”

Matthew looked up. Christopher was once again rummaging in his bag, his arm submerged up to the elbow. Triumphantly, he pulled out a stack of very crumpled paper and a few well-chewed pens. As Christopher distributed these to everyone on the blanket, James explained, “We are each going to write a list of reasons why we love you. You included.”

Matthew took the paper and pen blankly. He stared down at them uncertainly. “What if I cannot think of anything to write?”

“We should also mention,” Thomas added pointedly, “that we are under direct orders from Cordelia to kick you if you say anything self-deprecating.”

Sighing dramatically, Matthew uncapped the pen. “Very well. Then I shall just have to search in the deepest recesses of my mind.”

For almost half an hour, they sat in silence, the only sound the scratching of their pens against paper. On occasion, Matthew looked up and watched his friends. James was writing constantly, barely pausing to think. Christopher, in contrast, chewed his pen, lost in thought. Thomas was struggling to write, squinting down at the page in the gloomy light, the paper squashed against his bent knee.

Matthew smiled to himself. He turned back to his paper and wrote: I have the best friends that any man could hope to have.

Checking his watch, James finally capped his pen. “Right, then. Shall we run through our lists?” He nodded at Matthew. “You first, Math.”

Matthew’s list was very short. In fact, it contained only the one answer. Dutifully, he read it out.

But James frowned. “That answer is about us, not you.”

I suppose that it is, Matthew thought, rereading it.

“Why, then, do you think that you have friends like us?”

Matthew laughed humourlessly. “You would have to tell me. I cannot fathom why you would tolerate my antics.”

He quickly moved his leg to dodge Thomas’ kick.

James stared down at his own list. Even though he could only see the ink leaking through to the back side of the paper, Matthew could tell that it was incredibly long. Then, with a frustrated sigh, James folded up the list and tucked it into his pocket.

“We will continue this tomorrow,” he said, rising from the blanket. “Your homework is to think of more reasons to add to the list.”

“‘Homework?’” Matthew and Christopher echoed.

“Yes,” James answered firmly. He began throwing food back into Christopher’s bag, suddenly angry. “Homework.”

With a brief, awkward goodbye, the rest of the Merry Thieves departed. With nothing to distract him, Matthew’s headache grew a thousand times more painful. Holding his head, he sank down onto the hard wooden chair at the desk, squinting down at his sorry list in the dim candlelight. But it was no use. Nothing was coming to him. No reason why he was not a wretched, unlovable being. Exhausted, Matthew gave up, climbed into bed and shivered his way through the night, trying to trick his mind into thinking that Cordelia lay asleep next to him. In his dreams, he imagined that he could Christopher’s voice, distantly talking to a woman not far from where he slept.

 

The next day – or so he supposed – Matthew sat back down at the desk. Body shivering, he forced down one of Christopher’s concoctions. The liquid burned his throat. Then he flattened out the paper and started to write. The ideas that came to him, he felt, were superficial, but he wrote them down anyway, in need of something. I dress well. I have a good sense of humour. I am handy with a set of chalikars.

True to his word, his friends arrived a few hours later and settled in a cramped line on the uncomfortable bed. James’ list seemed to have grown longer overnight – as had Christopher’s, for that matter. Matthew stared down at his own short list and swallowed hard.

Thomas, sat in the middle, glanced over both James’ and Christopher’s lists. “Hang on.” He frowned. “You have both added to your lists.”

“Of course,” Christopher replied, confused. “It was homework.”

“Not for us, Kit.”

“I could not take the risk.” Christopher shook his head. “I have never missed a piece of homework before. I was always a model student.”

“You set off an explosion at the Academy,” Matthew pointed out.

“I was mostly a model student,” Christopher corrected.

They spent the afternoon running through their answers. This time, Thomas started. He had about ten points in total, ranging from Matthew’s well-timed jokes to the fact that he was always there to support his friends.

“...except when I was in prison,” Thomas finished. Then, seeing Matthew’s crestfallen face, he quickly added, “That was a joke.”

Christopher peered owlishly over at Thomas’ list. “Is that all?” he asked, disappointed. “My list is about three times the size of yours.”

Thomas scrunched up his list and thrust it into his pocket. “Quality over quantity,” he grumbled.

Embarrassed, Matthew looked down at his own list. “In truth, you have given all of the points that I had on mine.”

James looked sadly at Matthew.

“Very well, then,” Christopher said bracingly, “I shall read mine next!”

As it turned out, Christopher’s list was three times the length because he had included every time that Matthew had helped him to hide the results of experiments gone wrong.

“There was the time that you bought new pillows to hide the ones that I shrunk. Then there was the time that you pretended that it was you who had smashed those heirloom plates—”

“—for which my mother has never forgiven me—”

“—and the time that you came up with that genius idea to simply replace the curtains that I had burned instead of fixing them with runes.” Christopher squinted at his list. “And that is it,” he finished lamely.

“Wow,” Matthew said sarcastically, grinning at James. “That was quite the response, Kit.”

But James did not grin back. He was frowning again.

“Did you really only write a few reasons, Math?”

“See for yourself.” Matthew handed the list, now scrunched from how tightly he had been holding it, over to James.

James unfolded the paper. He read over the list, his eyes narrowing. Then he handed it back to Matthew and stood up.

“We will try again tomorrow, then. Once again, your homework is to write more reasons. This time, think properly about why each of us chose to be friends with you.”

Dumbstruck, Matthew watched as his friends filtered out of the room. He continued to sit at the desk for several more minutes before dragging himself into bed, even though he did not feel tired in the least. His mind was racing.

Think properly about why each of us chose to be friends with you.

Why had they chosen to be friends with him? Had he somehow tricked them, fooled them with his charming personality? Or was it simply a natural consequence of their families being close, of their proximity to one another in London?

He could not think clearly. Though he had downed another of Christopher’s flasks, his body still ached all over. Desperate to sleep away the pain, Matthew closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, listening once again to the unusual sound of Christopher’s voice drifting along the corridor.

At some point, he must have dozed off, because several hours later, Matthew awoke with a jolt. His whole body felt as though it were screaming. The covers were tangled around his legs. Reaching up to touch his forehead, Matthew realised that he was soaked with sweat. He must have been having another round of night terrors. This time, however, there was no Cordelia to hold him, to watch over him, to promise him that they would get through this together.

He missed her most terribly. Why had he turned her away? Why had he not called her in, collapsed in her arms, relied on her strength as he always had before?

No, Matthew thought. I swore to do this on my own.

Mustering his strength, Matthew dragged himself upright. He stretched his hand out, blindly searching on his bedside table. His fingers brushed his stele. He gripped it numbly and pulled it to his arm. With as much concentration as he could gather, he drew iratze after iratze on his skin.

Though the healing runes helped somewhat, Matthew could not draw them fast enough. His blood was on fire, burning through his veins. He reached up to wipe more sweat from his cheeks and realised that he was crying. Dimly, he could hear terrible shouting, without realising that it was his own.

And then, after an agonising few minutes, the pain finally started to subside. Panting, utterly exhausted, Matthew rested his back against the headboard. The stele fell from his palm. Hit the ground with a dull thunk. He did not have the energy to pick it up.

Matthew sat there, unable to move, frozen in place, for what felt like an eternity. And then, from somewhere down the corridor, he heard someone speak.

“You have a good heart.”

Matthew’s head jerked sharply upwards. “Who is there?”

The voice did not answer for a few seconds. Then it said, “They love you because you have a good heart. Because you are a good friend. They would not come here for you otherwise.”

It took Matthew a few seconds to place the person speaking. It was a woman’s voice. High-pitched. Dangerously familiar. He had heard it many times before, including in the past few days. But where?

And then he realised. It was the voice that had commanded James. That had enthralled his brother. That had led to his marriage with Cordelia in the first place.

“Grace?” he called in disbelief.

Grace did not respond. The sudden silence was uncomfortable. The sound of his breathing became too loud for his ears.

Of course she was in here. James had called for the Silent Brothers, had arranged her arrest. From what Matthew had heard, she had gone willingly, seeming almost relieved to be travelling to a place deep underground, away from the rest of the world.

And yet, why had she spoken now? Why had she called out? Why was she helping him?

“If you are trying to get on my good side for an escape, then I am afraid that you are fighting for a lost cause,” Matthew called, breathing hard.

He had not forgotten what Grace had done to James. How she had ruined his life. How she had been the one who had driven a heartbreaking wedge between him and Cordelia – even if the results had turned out to be in Matthew’s favour.

Finally, Grace replied. “I do not want to leave,” she said, her voice quiet. “I deserve to be in here.”

The corridor fell back into silence. Matthew was not sure why, but he could sense that Grace had left, had returned to whatever she had been doing when he had undoubtedly disturbed her with his screaming. Staring numbly up at the crumbling ceiling, Matthew steadied his breathing. Then, carefully, he climbed off of the bed, returned to the desk, and flattened out the paper once more.

As Matthew added “good heart” to his list, the uncomfortable feeling that he and Grace had more in common than he would have liked lingered in his head like a bad dream.

 

The next day, shortly before his friends arrived, Jem came to the door carrying a bouquet of daisies.

“For me?” Matthew grinned tiredly. “I did not know that you felt that way, Jem.”

He could hear Jem’s quiet chuckle in his head. These came from Cordelia, he explained, handing them over delicately to Matthew.

Carefully, Matthew placed them in his room and admired their quiet beauty. As he did, he noticed a small card tucked between the stems. It read:

“To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.” - Daisy

Matthew blinked back tears. He held the card close to his face, breathing in the lingering scent of jasmine. Then he tucked it carefully into his breast pocket, making sure that it was secure, that he had no risk of losing it.

His friends returned later that day. This time, Matthew was prepared. On his list, he had written such sentences as I can cheer up my friends when they are feeling down and I can become friends with anyone.

Listening to Matthew read these aloud, James nodded. His chin rested on his hand. “You are getting closer. But think on what I said,” he prompted. “Remember the Academy. I was insistent that I did not want to be friends with you. Why did I change my mind?”

“Let me guess,” Matthew said, eyebrow raised, “this is my homework?”

James smiled guiltily. “It is. We will be back tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Thomas interrupted. “We have the party at the Institute tomorrow.”

This was news to Matthew. “A party?”

“My father is holding one to officially welcome Jesse to the Enclave.” James frowned. “But the party is not until the evening. We can still visit during the day.”

Thomas looked suddenly very uncomfortable. He fidgeted on the wooden chair, far too small for him. “Actually, I have plans during the day. I am meeting with someone.”

Grinning broadly, Matthew said, “A romantic tryst? How very unlike you, Thomas!”

Thomas rolled his eyes. He was bright red.

The smile fell from Matthew’s face as a thought crossed his mind. If this was a party to welcome a new Shadowhunter, then it would be expected that the entire Enclave attend. If he was not there – and, even worse, if Cordelia had to attend on her own – then rumours would fly. People would discover that he was drying out in a rotten cell in the Silent City. Cordelia’s reputation would sink once more.

“I should go,” Matthew said quietly.

James shook his head. “I know what you are thinking, but it is too risky. There will be drinks at the party, Math.”

But Matthew had made up his mind. “I promised Daisy that I would help to rebuild her reputation. And though I have made no end of promises since getting married, this is one that I intend to keep.”

James looked as though he wanted to argue the point, but he said nothing further. He even agreed to run a few errands on Matthew’s behalf in advance of the party. Before he followed a happily chatting Christopher and Thomas out of the door, James slipped off his watch and placed it on the bedside table.

“Thank you, Jamie,” Matthew said quietly, “and not just for the watch.”

James paused for a moment. Then he rested his hand on Matthew’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly, before stepping out of the room and disappearing into the darkness.

 

Matthew did not sleep well that night. Anxious not to oversleep, he dozed lightly, waking up every hour to squint at James’ watch. Eventually, as the hour hand passed five, Matthew found that he could sleep no longer. He felt suddenly on-edge. His mind was buzzing at the thought of seeing Cordelia again.

Slowly waking up, Matthew stared around at the room. The walls were made of chipped stone that looked as though it would crumble at the lightest of touches. The front wall was made of bars, the metal door left slightly ajar to indicate that Matthew was not a prisoner, even if he felt like one. The shadows creeping across the floor seemed to move in the flickering candlelight.

Was this what Elias Carstairs had seen as he had dried out in the Silent City? What a terrible place to be unable to leave, Matthew thought guiltily. Then, he realised suddenly that Elias was not the only person who had been held in these cells against their will in recent times.

Not entirely sure why he bothered, Matthew called out, “Why did you do it?”

No reply.

It is five o’clock in the morning, he thought. Of course she would not be awake.

Sighing at his own foolishness, Matthew stretched his tired limbs and sat up. As he patted down his messy hair, he heard Grace’s quiet voice.

“Because I am a fool.”

“We are all fools,” Matthew replied, recalling Cordelia’s words. “It is part of being human.”

“No,” Grace said, so quietly that Matthew had to strain to hear her. “I am a terrible, terrible person, and I have gotten what I deserve.”

Matthew did not reply immediately. He stood up, legs a little wobbly, and walked over to the pail of water in the corner. Though there was no bath in the tiny, cramped cell, he was determined to be as clean as possible for his reunion with Cordelia later that day.

Carefully washing the thick layer of grime from his skin, he asked, “Why did you really do it? Beyond foolishness. What made you partner with Belial?”

“I did not partner with him,” Grace responded immediately. She sounded suddenly angry, her voice louder. “I would never work with him willingly. He used me. My mother used me.”

“Then why did you not fight back?”

Grace was silent. Now as clean as he was going to get, Matthew headed over to the pile of clothes in the corner and carefully selected the least dirtied item to wear.

“It was the only way that I could stay with my brother.”

Matthew paused, his hands hovering over his shirt buttons. Jesse had been dead but, from what Matthew had gathered, Lucie had spoken to him somehow, had grown closer with him. Was Grace able to see him as a ghost, too?

“Has he been to visit since he was brought back to life?” Matthew asked.

“No,” Grace replied. “I did not know that he had returned until Jem told me. I suspect that he knows about the bracelet.” Grace sounded suddenly very small. “I would not blame him if he never spoke to me again.”

Self-hatred. Matthew’s biggest demon. The one that he knew best. The one that had ruined his life over and over. The one that hovered menacingly over his shoulder whenever he was with friends, that laughed in triumph whenever he did something wrong.

Is that how I sound when I speak? Matthew wondered. So full of self-loathing?

“Well, at least you are free from your mother now,” he said aloud.

“Oh no,” Grace said sadly. “I know now that I will never be free of her. She will always find me.” She paused. “I cannot escape my past.”

I deserve to be in here.

Matthew picked up his hairbrush. Ran his hands over the bristles. He pictured Grace in her cell, unclean and in tattered clothes, curled up in a damp corner, having lost everything in a fight to bring back a brother who did not even come to visit.

Pushing aside the thought, Matthew finished changing. He did not want to pity Grace. She had put James through hell. Had all but handed him over to Belial. Had led Cordelia to despair and heartbreak. Grace deserved to hate herself violently, to shut herself away from the world.

But when James showed up later that day with Matthew’s weapons belt, another, more appropriate change of clothes and cologne, Matthew could not help but wonder what it must have been like to have grown up alone in a crumbling house, with only a deranged mother and a dead brother for company.

And he could not help but wonder if anyone deserved to hate themselves that much.

 

The carriage ride back to his estate lasted an eternity. Dressed now in a dark red waistcoat with golden trousers, sprayed in cologne to hide the pervasive stench of the Silent City, Matthew felt that he at least looked the part of his former self. Even if he did not feel it.

The estate, too, felt unfamiliar as the carriage ground to a halt on its driveway. It had only been a couple of weeks, but already he felt like a stranger, imposing himself on another person’s life. Would Cordelia think the same when she saw him?

But the second he opened the carriage door, the front doors swung open. Cordelia – wearing a red dress of deep velvet that he had ordered months ago as a gift and had asked James to deliver today – came hurtling down the steps. Seeing her sudden desperation, Matthew jumped to the ground and ran to meet her.

He had worried that it would be awkward. That he would not know what to say. That Cordelia would be horrified at the sight of him. But all of those thoughts flew from his mind as Cordelia flung herself at him. Wrapped her arms around him. Buried her head in his chest.

Matthew tucked his face into her hair. His memories had not done her beauty justice. And how could he have forgotten her scent – the scent that accompanied all but a few of his greatest memories? Dizzy, aware that his hands were still shaking slightly, Matthew held onto Cordelia as if he had not seen her for a lifetime.

After a few moments, Cordelia stepped back and looked up at him. Her eyes were shining.

“It is so good to see you again.” She paused. “You look well.”

Matthew smiled softly. “You need not lie for my sake, Daisy. I look terrible. I only hope that—”

He stopped himself. He had been about to say, I only hope that I will not be a great source of embarrassment for you, as usual. But, remembering his promise to be less self-deprecating, he instead said, “I look forward to spending an evening with you.”

Cordelia beamed and allowed Matthew to help her into the carriage. He followed her in and settled in the seat opposite, suddenly wishing that they were back in the cramped hansom cab, squeezed in side by side. Cordelia seemed to think the same. She leaned across the seats and clasped Matthew’s hands tightly.

“How are you faring?” she asked nervously.

Matthew gave her hands a squeeze. “I am coping. The initial withdrawals are starting to pass, at least. Of course, it will be a long, uphill battle. But this is one fight that I have no intention of losing.”

They lapsed into easy conversation. Cordelia filled Matthew in on what she had been up to in his absence. How she and Lucie had been helping Jesse, known now as Jeremy, to settle in at the Institute. How they had taken him and Oscar for walks around the various sights of London. How Alastair and Thomas had joined them one afternoon, seeming unusually happy in one another’s company.

The thought of Alastair reminded Matthew of something. “Is it true that your mother scolded the Inquisitor?”

Cordelia groaned good-naturedly. “It was terribly embarrassing. My mother is about a foot shorter than Bridgestock, but you could hardly tell. He was cowering so low that I feared he would be stuck hunched over forever.”

Matthew laughed loudly. His heart was lighter than it had been in a long time.

He remained in a cheerful mood as they arrived at the party. As they shook hands with many different guests, Matthew doing his best to conceal his trembling. As he drank a glass of water and carefully avoided looking at the drinks table, at the wine glasses clutched in people’s hands. As he swept Cordelia on to the floor for their first dance of the evening.

As they spun, Cordelia looked up at Matthew in concern. “How are you feeling now?”

“I am fine.” His smile was strained. “It is difficult, but as ever, infinitely easier with you by my side.”

Cordelia squeezed their linked hands. “You can always rely on me, you know,” she murmured softly. “Though you should change for your own sake, I am always here, if you need me.”

Matthew stared at her flaming red hair, flowing gracefully with their movements. At the rose necklace that he had given her, resting against her soft skin. At the deep red dress that perfectly followed the lines of her curves.

He swallowed hard. “You look beautiful, Daisy.”

Cordelia stopped dancing. Her eyes looked suddenly intense.

“I missed you terribly,” she whispered.

Not caring about what those around them might think, Matthew placed his hands on her waist and pulled her closer.

“I missed you, too, Daisy. More than I can ever put into words.” He paused. “How much of a faux pas do you think it would be if I were to take you into that corner over there and kiss you until I could no longer think?”

Cordelia laughed softly. “Probably not as much of a faux pas as this.”

Resting her hands on his cheeks, Cordelia pulled Matthew towards her. Matthew leaned down, desperate longing burning inside of him.

A scream tore through the air. Cordelia and Matthew leapt apart. Matthew’s eyes searched the room wildly. He followed the stares of the people around him.

His heart sank to the floor.

Up on the stage stood Tatiana Blackthorn, holding a wailing Alexander, a knife to his throat.

No one knew quite what to do. Cecily was screaming, held back by a trembling Gabriel. Will, hands in the air, was trying hopelessly to negotiate. Matthew withdrew one of his chalikar from his belt. Around him, he saw several other Shadowhunters do the same. But there were too many people on the floor, all packed tightly together. There would be little chance of throwing his chalikar without injuring someone.

Perhaps thinking the same, Cordelia grasped Matthew’s hand and led him across the room. Dazed, he followed, his attention still focused on the stage. Tatiana had spotted Jesse. She was screaming, spit flying from her mouth. In her arms, Alexander bawled, flailing his tiny feet in a desperate attempt to escape.

They reached the edges of the room. Dimly, Matthew noticed that Cordelia had led them towards Alastair and Thomas, who had both drawn their weapons, as well. Panicked, Matthew scanned the crowd for James and Christopher. But there were so many people. He could not see them.

As subtly as they could, the four of them edged their way along the outside of the room, closing in on the stage. They pushed past dumbstruck people. Everyone was staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at Tatiana, who was now screeching profanities at Will and Tessa. Still, Matthew could not see his parabatai.

An entire room full of Shadowhunters, Matthew thought angrily, and not one of us can stop a single crazed woman.

Moving a few steps forwards, Matthew suddenly spotted James. He was stood near the front on the other side of the room, almost blocked from view by a pale-faced Gabriel. James’ face was completely bloodless. Sensing Matthew through their bond, he turned to look at him. They shared a meaningful look.

Then, just as Matthew was about to move towards him, Augustus Pounceby leapt. Tatiana Blackthorn screamed. Yanked up the skirt of her dress.

A black cloud of demons flew out.

All at once, the ballroom descended into chaos. Shadowhunters who had gone for years without proper training were suddenly in the thick of battle once more. The cries of seraph blades being named rang through the room. Behind him, Matthew heard Cordelia unsheathing Cortana.

The demons shot into the crowd. Matthew ducked as a swarm of them passed over his head. Now close to the front, he was mostly out of the line of fire.

Up on the stage, Tatiana’s mouth was moving, but her words were lost to the screams of the crowd, to the sound of metal clashing against demon. She still held Alexander tightly in her arms. She was so distracted that the knife bobbled menacingly close to his neck.

Matthew charged towards the stage. He did not want to leave Cordelia, but everyone else around them was trapped in the heat of battle. He had to take this chance to move. To reach Alexander.

On the other side of the room, James had had the same idea. Matthew could see him running, could feel it through his rune. Right next to his own pounding heart, James’ beat rapidly.

At almost the exact same moment, they reached the stage and clambered atop it. But the weeks of drinking had taken their toll on his body: Matthew’s limbs felt sluggish, unresponsive to his commands. Struggling to his feet, Matthew watched despairingly as James hurtled towards Tatiana, eyes focused.

Tatiana had not noticed him. She was lost in her shouting, lost in the thrill of watching her demon army tear through the crowd of Shadowhunters. James tackled Tatiana. With a cry of surprise that Matthew could not hear, she tumbled to the floor. The knife and Alexander flew from her grip.

Matthew did not hesitate. Forcing his legs to move, he tore across the stage and snatched up Alexander. Alexander was howling, his face bright red and soaked with tears. Next to Matthew, James had pinned Tatiana to the floor. She was reaching up with clawed hands, desperately trying to run them down his face.

Panting hard, Alexander in his arms, Matthew stared out at the crowd. It was almost impossible to make out individual shapes – to make out anything beyond bright flashes of seraph blades and black splashes of ichor. The number of beings in the room had doubled. Almost every Shadowhunter was locked in a one-on-one battle.

Almost every Shadowhunter. His heart skipping a beat, Matthew spotted a river of bright red hair, a glowing, golden sword. He realised in horror that Cordelia was fighting off three demons at once. She was battling admirably, blocking and weaving with more speed than should have been humanly possible. But her movements were jerky, ungraceful, as if something was controlling her like a puppet.

Just like she had been during the fight with Belial.

Hastily lowering Alexander to the floor and pulling him in tight to his leg, Matthew raised his chalikar. It was dangerous to throw it into a crowd as thick as the one below. But he would have to take the risk. He could not allow anything to happen to Cordelia.

His head pounding, Matthew carefully lined up his weapon. Then, with all of the force that he could muster, he threw it into the crowd.

It hit one of the demons square in the head. It tumbled to the ground and disappeared in a cloud of ash.

Cordelia did not stop to look up. Matthew was not entirely sure that she could. As if nothing had happened, she continued to fight, her body working against her. One of the demons lashed out with a claw. It came dangerously close to Cordelia’s back. She jerked forwards as if something had pushed her out of the way.

Swearing, Matthew unsheathed and raised his second chalikar. He would have to make this throw count, too. But his hands were shaking so terribly from withdrawal that he could hardly hold them steady. His head, as it had for days, throbbed in agony. The cravings raced through his body so powerfully that he could hardly breathe.

As carefully as he could, Matthew lined up the shot and threw his chalikar into the crowd.

Cortana yanked Cordelia hard, slashing itself through one of the demons. Cordelia swung around ungracefully. Her body was pulled to the side.

Matthew watched in horror as the chalikar collided with Cordelia and she crumbled to the ground.

He was screaming and screaming. Forgetting Alexander, forgetting Tatiana, forgetting even that they were in the middle of battle, Matthew tumbled from the stage and charged into the crowd. He pushed past demons and Shadowhunters alike, not reaching for a weapon, his mind terribly and horribly blank.

Mercifully, Cordelia had fallen close to the stage. The demons were standing over her, fangs bared in awful grins. One of them raised a clawed hand high.

Skidding to his knees, Matthew threw himself over Cordelia just as the first strike landed.

He cried out as a terrible pain ran down his back. He fumbled in his belt for a seraph blade. Withdrew it just as the second scratch landed. Spinning around, head aching, Matthew yelled, “Ithuriel!” and thrust the blade into one of the demons.

It stumbled backwards, yanking the blade out of Matthew’s hands. With a yelp of pain, it burst into ash.

Now without a weapon, Matthew watched in despair as the final demon beared down on him. He covered Cordelia as best as he could with his body. Closed his eyes tightly.

But no blow came. Opening his eyes tentatively, Matthew saw that the demon had lifted its head. It seemed to be listening to something that Matthew could not hear. Confused, Matthew watched as the other demons did the same, heads tilting around in bizarre, jerky movements. Then, without warning, the demon in front of him screeched in terror and disappeared. Rather than turning to ash, it seemed to melt into the floor and evaporate like a viscous liquid.

One by one, the other demons did the same. Their faces, from what little Matthew could see of them, were alight with terror.

But Matthew could not make out much. His head and back were throbbing blindingly. Darkness was closing in around the edges of his vision. With his last ounce of strength, Matthew turned back around to Cordelia. Rested his hand on top of her. Felt the rise and fall of her chest.

With a sigh of relief, Matthew closed his eyes again and finally allowed the darkness to claim him.

 

He must have been unconscious for only a few minutes. When Matthew opened his eyes blearily, he could see an ichor-soaked James scratching a rune hastily on his arm. Behind him, he was vaguely aware of Lucie doing the same to Cordelia. It took a few moments for the iratze to work its way through him, for Matthew to feel his legs again. As soon as he could, he crawled over to Cordelia. Felt for her breathing once more.

She was still alive. But she was not waking up.

Between the three of them, they lifted Cordelia and carried her towards the door. A dust-covered Will was shepherding people out of the room, in the direction of the infirmary. When he spotted Lucie and James, he cried out with relief.

The number of injured became staggeringly clear once they reached the infirmary. No beds were free. Many Shadowhunters sat hunched over on the floor – whether asleep or unconscious, Matthew could not tell. Tessa, tending to the sick, directed them down the corridor. They had started moving people to the many bedrooms, she explained.

Together, Matthew, James and Lucie helped Cordelia into one of the empty rooms and settled her gently on the bed. Seeing Cordelia lying there, flaming red hair splayed limply on the pillow, Matthew could hardly breathe.

They sat there for almost an hour, Matthew moving only occasionally to draw an iratze on Cordelia’s arm as James drew more on his. But the runes did not seem to be working on either of them. Matthew’s head still ached horribly. Cordelia still would not awaken.

While James and Matthew looked away, Lucie hesitantly checked Cordelia’s wound. Despairingly, she informed them that the gash had all but sealed itself. Whatever was preventing Cordelia from awakening was not the injury on her chest.

After some time, Will poked his head through the door. His face was grim.

“James. Lucie. We need your help in the infirmary.”

All three of them stood up. James shook his head.

“You stay here, Math,” he said firmly. “Be with her when she wakes up.”

James and Lucie followed their father quietly out of the room, shutting the door gently as if the noise of it would somehow startle Cordelia.

As the night wore on, the atmosphere in the Institute seemed to reach an uneasy calm. James stopped by to inform Matthew that all of the injured had been moved to the infirmary or to the bedrooms for treatment, and that those who had died had been moved to the Silent City. Though it made him feel guilty, Matthew was immensely relieved when James told him that none of their friends had been injured and that Alexander was safe.

Exhausted from the events of the evening, Matthew dozed in and out of sleep. Even in his dreams, he could not escape the memory of Cordelia collapsing on the floor, of his chalikar disappearing somewhere into the crowd. Awakening with a start, the dawning light of morning did nothing to lift his spirits. Cordelia still had not roused. His thoughts spiralling downwards, Matthew hunched over in his seat.

How had he failed Cordelia so badly? It had taken him months and months of hard work, but he had quit the drink. He had been stronger, both physically and mentally. His fighting had improved tremendously. It should have been an easy throw. It would have been an easy throw to the Matthew of a few months earlier.

Gently, Matthew took Cordelia’s hand in both of his. It was still warm with life. He stared down at her palm, rough with calluses and yet smooth in his. He remembered the feeling of her palms sliding up his back. Resting against his chest as he slept. Tangled in his hair as he kissed her throat, as she gasped in pleasure. It all felt distant, as if these were memories that had happened to another person, in another life.

He had slowly been becoming the kind of man worthy to stand at Cordelia’s side. Now, in his current state, he was the kind of man that Cordelia did not deserve to have tied to her.

“You are thinking negative thoughts again.”

Matthew’s head jerked upwards. Cordelia was awake, head turned to the side, eyes blearily watching him. She looked exhausted.

“Daisy,” Matthew cried. Overwhelmed with emotions, he reached out to check her temperature, her pulse. “Daisy, how are you feeling?”

“I feel fine,” Cordelia replied. “I know what you are thinking. It was not your fault.”

“I almost killed you,” Matthew whispered. “Of course it was my fault.”

“No, it was not. It was an accident. And in any case, you did the right thing. I was not in control of myself.”

Matthew remembered Cordelia’s jerky movements, as if Cortana had been controlling her. He tightened his hand around hers.

Cordelia swallowed hard. Her voice was scratchy as she whispered, “I made a terrible mistake.”

Her eyes were shining. Tears ran down her cheeks.

“What is it? What happened?”

Cordelia replied, voice choked with emotion, “I should never have become a paladin. You were right, Math. I saw her. I have doomed everyone.”

“Oh, my Daisy,” Matthew murmured consolingly. It bothered him that he was not sure to whom Cordelia was referring. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Cordelia shook her head tearfully.

“Then would you like me to hold you?”

Cordelia nodded. Taking care not to knock her, Matthew moved onto the bed. Cordelia shifted to give him room. Though it was uncomfortable and cramped, Matthew did not care. He pulled Cordelia to his chest as she cried, running his hand through her hair comfortingly.

“What have I done?” she sobbed.

“Nothing that cannot be undone, I am sure,” Matthew replied soothingly. He recalled Cordelia speaking the same words, only a few days before.

Nothing that cannot be undone, just as it was before.

“You do not understand. I thought that I was finally strong enough to save everyone that I love. But I am now the biggest threat. Far bigger than Belial. I am the danger.” She buried her face further in Matthew’s chest. “You should have killed me.”

Matthew was alarmed. It scared him to hear Cordelia speak about herself that way. To hear her place no value on her own life, when it had come to be far more important to Matthew than his own.

I would not blame him if he never spoke to me again.

As he had at Grace’s words that morning, Matthew frowned. Was this how Cordelia felt each time that he was self-deprecating? Each time that he made light of his life? Each time that he joked about giving up, about courting death?

“I cannot do anything right,” Cordelia murmured.

Matthew hated it. Hated hearing Cordelia think about herself in the way that he had thought about himself for years.

And in that moment, Matthew finally understood.

It hurts, he thought. It hurts to hear the people that you love more than anything love themselves so little.

That was it. That was why his friends had been pushing him to forgive himself. For so long, he had thought himself unlovable. That somehow he had tricked his friends into caring for him – or, worse, that they merely tolerated him, kept him around for his dark sense of humour.

But he had been wrong. They had gone out of their way to support him. To seek him out in his darkest hours. To offer their unconditional affection. He understood now, his arms around Cordelia, that this was not something that a person did for someone that they did not truly, completely love.

And then there was Cordelia. He had told her his most shameful truth months ago and she had stood by him. Had supported him. Had even fallen in love with him.

Perhaps he was not unlovable. Perhaps no one was.

Perhaps, finally, it was time to forgive himself.

They laid in silence, Cordelia’s breathing evening out. Matthew stroked her hair gently, lost in thought, grateful beyond words that she was still alive.

“You should stay away from me,” Cordelia whispered suddenly.

“I will do no such thing.” Matthew lightly kissed the top of her head.

“You saw me fight with Cortana. I could kill you.”

Matthew laughed softly. His breath made Cordelia’s hair flutter. “Only one week ago, you were telling me not to be so self-deprecating. Besides, if last night was anything to go by, it is far more likely that I will kill you than the inverse.”

Cordelia said nothing in response. They lapsed back into silence, listening to the flapping of the curtains blowing in the gentle morning breeze and the distant sounds of people stirring in the Institute. Only a few months ago, this sort of morning had been their norm. Now, it felt strangely nostalgic. If their relationship had been anything other than the strange arrangement that they had devised, it could have been their norm forever.

Perhaps it would be again, if Matthew continued down the path that had suddenly appeared before him.

At his side, Cordelia was terribly quiet. Matthew could feel her lonely sadness in his own heart. He ached at the thought of her suffering, when she had done so much to free him from his. But he knew her better now than to push for information. If she did not wish to talk, then he would have to alleviate her worries by means of distraction, if only for the time being.

Sighing loudly, Matthew said, “How I wish that I could have met you under better circumstances, Daisy.”

“How so?” Cordelia replied, lifting her head to look at him. Her eyes were still red, but she was no longer crying.

“Well, for one, you would not have been madly in love with my best friend.” Cordelia narrowed her eyes. Matthew grinned. “And for another, I would not have confessed my love by breaking down in tears and forcefully kissing you. I would have won your heart with my charm and endless gifts.”

“That is almost exactly how you won me over this time,” Cordelia pointed out.

Matthew sighed dramatically. “That is my point. If Belial had not intervened, I could have wooed you in our first month of acquaintanceship. If only I could have a second chance, to do it right this time.”

Cordelia moved to sit upright. She turned to face him, sudden mischief sparkling in her eyes.

“Very well, then. Consider this your second chance. Our fresh start.”

Matthew laughed. His plan had worked. “You have lost me. If this is your elaborate way of asking for a divorce, then I hope that you will at least have the courtesy to allow me to pack my things first.”

“Divorce?” she asked. “But why would we divorce when we have just met?” Cordelia cleared her throat and held out her hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Cordelia Carstairs.”

Understanding the game, Matthew grinned. He took her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the back.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Carstairs,” he replied, playing along. “Matthew Fairchild, at your service.”

His heart swelling, Matthew leaned it to place a kiss on Cordelia’s forehead. But she pushed him away, a playful look on her face.

“What on earth was that about, Mr Fairchild?” she asked, scandalised.

Matthew thought quickly. “I was simply going to kiss your cheek. It is how we greet one another in Paris.”

“But you do not sound very French.”

“My nanny was English.”

Cordelia shivered. “Frenchmen scare me. My husband bought our house from a French businessman, you see. I live in fear of the day that he will return to stake a claim on our home.”

“Your husband?” Matthew raised an eyebrow. “You are married, Miss Carstairs?”

“Oh.” Cordelia flushed. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for an excuse. “Yes. You would not know him. He is a respected and feared entrepreneur in London.”

“If he is so well-known, would I not have heard of him?”

“You make a fair point...”

Once again, Cordelia hunted desperately for a reply.

“In that case, tell me his name,” Matthew prompted. “Tell me whose heart I must break to steal away a woman such as yourself, who comes around only once in a century.”

Cordelia thought for a few moments. Then she answered, “Christopher Lightwood.”

Matthew could not help it. He threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“Christopher Lightwood!”

“Do not laugh at my husband!” Cordelia slapped his arm lightly. “He is a wonderful man. He always looks out for those around him. He is always there for me when I need him, ready with a smile or a joke.” Her face turned suddenly serious. “He is the best man that I have ever met. I only wish that he could see that himself.”

Matthew was not laughing anymore. His throat was dry. “When you put it like that,” he croaked, “I almost want to take him for myself.”

“Well, you cannot have him,” Cordelia replied, putting her hands on Matthew’s face. “Because I love him very, very much and he is all mine.”

Cordelia leaned up to kiss him. But Matthew pulled back. Cordelia’s hands dropped onto the bed, her face confused.

“Please do not misunderstand, Daisy,” he explained hastily, “but I would like to hold off on kissing you for the time being. Believe me, I want to kiss you, with every fibre of my being. Yet I cannot escape the fact that I almost killed you last night, all because I had turned back to the drink.” He drew in a deep breath. “I am so close to changing, Daisy. I can feel it. And when I have become the man that you deserve – that I deserve to be – I would be honoured if you would let me stand at your side as your husband.”

For a brief moment, Matthew was worried that he may have hurt Cordelia even more than he already had with his chalikar. But Cordelia’s face was bright. She was beaming.

“Of course,” she said. “I am so proud of you, Math.”

Matthew gave Cordelia’s shoulder a squeeze before climbing reluctantly out of the bed. Settling back into the chair, he added, “You know, on second thought, perhaps it was for the best that we fell in love as we did. You really are dreadful at flirting, Mrs Fairchild.”

Cordelia laughed. “You knew that I had a woeful history of romance going into the marriage. You only have yourself to blame.”

“And yet I was not aware that you were already madly in love with Christopher.” Matthew shook his head. “Really, Daisy. You think that you know someone and then they surprise you with something like that.”

As Cordelia continued to giggle, laying back down on the bed, Matthew smiled at her warmly and took her hand again. And when the usual demon of self-hatred in his head spoke up, reminding him that it was his fault that she was in this bed in the first place, he pushed it away.

It was time to look forwards. To learn to live with himself.

You cannot escape the past, Grace had said. And perhaps she had had a point. The past had made him who he was. Had shaped the people around him. Had led to his marriage to Cordelia and his partnership with James.

But, Matthew thought, perhaps life was not about escaping the past. Perhaps it was about embracing it. About forgiving yourself, taking on the experience, and moving onwards.

And with Belial bearing down on London, it was about time that he focused not on who he had been, but on who he would become.

 

That afternoon, to clear space for others, Cordelia and Matthew returned home. Matthew decided to return to their estate for the time being, to keep an eye on Cordelia’s condition, to be around if she needed him. Cordelia was insistent that she would be fine by herself. But, reminding her of what she had said about the difference between dependence and relying on others, Cordelia had relented and allowed a shaky Matthew to help her up the stairs and into their bedroom.

After promising Cordelia that he would be close by should she need him, Matthew sat down at his desk. He pulled out a fresh piece of paper and a pen. At the top of the page, he wrote: Learning to forgive myself. Then, heart hammering, Matthew started to write a new list, very unlike the one that he had written before. Once finished, he stared down at it, a quiet sort of determination settling over him.

The next day, after repeated insistences from Cordelia that she would be fine, Matthew returned to the Institute. It did not take long to find James, still working away in the infirmary. As soon as James spotted him, he excused himself and followed Matthew into the hallway. Without preamble, Matthew handed him the new list.

“It is perhaps not quite what you were after,” Matthew declared, “but it is my list nonetheless.”

James read it carefully. He nodded slowly. “This is good, Math. But why the sudden change of heart?”

Matthew thought back to Grace, suffering from her endless mistakes, abandoned to the paralysing darkness of the Silent City after years of isolation and abuse. He thought back to Cordelia, crying in his arms, saying that she deserved to be dead, alone, all because she had made one mistake. A mistake that she had yet to fully explain to him.

He had made one mistake, just like Cordelia. That mistake had led to years of them, just like Grace. But finally, Matthew realised that no mistake, no matter how terrible, could not be forgiven.

“Because I know now that no one deserves to hate themselves as deeply as I do. That sort of hatred does nothing but destroy you and the people around you. I cannot change what I have done. But I can control what I will do.”

James looked immensely pleased. “Did you ever find the answer as to why I became your friend?”

Matthew shook his head. He had tried for hours, bent over his desk, racking his brain. But no answer had come to him.

“I hated you at the Academy because I hated myself,” James finally explained. “Because I saw you so full of confidence that I was jealous. I wished that I could have loved myself like I thought that you did. I thought that I was unlovable.

“But then you found out about my powers and you loved me anyway. You did not stop pestering me, in fact.” James grinned. “I learned to value myself because of your endless affection, Math. Because you have always had a gift to love those who cannot love themselves. There is no doubt in my mind that you can love yourself again.”

Tears welling in his eyes, Matthew embraced his parabatai. James held him back tightly. On his chest, Matthew’s parabatai rune felt as if it were burning, blazing with resolve.

“Train with me,” Matthew whispered in James’ ear. Against his shoulder, James nodded.

For the rest of the afternoon, Matthew practiced his throwing, his aim. Though his body still trembled from withdrawal, his hands felt steadier than they had in a long time, calmed by his new sense of purpose. No longer would he try to escape his past, as Grace had. No longer would he force Cordelia to prop him up, to give him a reason to wake up sober each morning.

And when Cordelia felt ready to share what had happened to her in her dream, he would be ready to provide support. And when the time came to face Belial, he would stand proudly next to Cordelia and James, body and mind steady, aim accurate. And when they had defeated the Prince of Hell once and for all, he would kiss Cordelia with every ounce of passion that he could muster.

I am going to change, Daisy, he had said.

But if Matthew could see himself now, throwing chalikar after chalikar at his target, his mind overflowing with love for those around him and even a little for himself, he would have realised that he already was.

Chapter 11

Summary:

In that moment, Cordelia understood exactly what Matthew was thinking. She had, after all, come to understand him better than anyone over the past few months.

Matthew had grown stronger. Had pushed himself harder and harder, training relentlessly for this very moment. Had readied himself to protect those whom he loved, even at the cost of his own life - a life that he had finally come to value.

Matthew’s face was anguished. Cordelia felt his pain burning within her own chest. Felt an agonising ache that would only grow. Grow until it had consumed every last inch of her heart.

Because she knew that Matthew was about to do something dangerous. Something that he could not take back. Something that would make him a hero.

And Cordelia hated him for it.

~~~

Faced with Belial's imminent return, Cordelia knows that she must take steps to free herself from her pact with Lilith, or find herself unable to protect those whom she loves. But with the fight at the party leaving few Shadowhunters prepared to square off against the Prince of Hell, time may be running out for Cordelia and Matthew to find a solution...

What was it that made someone a hero?

Cordelia had been asking herself this question for a long time. In her mind, it was someone strong. Someone who dedicated themselves to standing up against evil. Someone who did not hesitate to put their life on the line to save those who could not protect themselves.

Finally, after years of hard work, Cordelia had thought that she had reached her goal – or at least, that she was mere moments away. Her whole life, she had focused on her Shadowhunter training. On squaring off against demons, Princes of Hell or otherwise. She did not hesitate when it came to putting her life on the line for her friends, or for the mundanes who went about their lives, blissfully unaware of the dangers that lurked on the horizon. And then, by becoming a paladin, she had gained the power of the angels.

She had thought that she had become a hero. That she could save her friends. Save London. Save Matthew and James.

But she had been wrong.

Blinded by her own desperation and hubris, Cordelia had made a pact with a demon. With Lilith.

When she had fallen unconscious at the party, knocked out by Matthew’s throw, she had been transported to somewhere unknown. Lilith had stood above her, snakes slithering menacingly from her eyes, a chilling smile plastered across her face. She had ordered Cordelia to stop resisting her control. To follow her commands whenever she held a weapon in the heat of battle. Then, with barely a flick of her wrist, she had sent Belial’s demons scattering, terrified, from the ballroom.

Once, Cordelia had thought that she could stand against that sort of power. The kind that made even other demons cower in fear.

But now that she had seen it with her own eyes, she feared that no one could.

How could she have thought that she could help her friends? That she could offer them advice, when she had fallen for such an obvious trap? Why would she have thought that an angel would have chosen her, a lone, unproven Shadowhunter, to become a paladin?

It did not matter anymore. None of it mattered. If it was to be her fate that any weapon she wield be controlled by Lilith, then Cordelia would just have to take steps to ensure that she never wielded one again.

Including, if it came to it, giving up on the idea of heroism.

Still, Cordelia was determined not to voice these thoughts aloud. Particularly not to Matthew. Not when, finally, he was taking steps to escape his self-hatred. When he was not at the Institute, training tirelessly with James, or sat a few rooms over from hers, writing at his desk, he was meeting with the Silent Brothers, facing his demons instead of running from them. Already, Cordelia could see that his strength was returning. Life was coming back into his eyes. One evening, when she rested her head on his lap, the hands that ran through her hair barely shook.

“I am so proud of you,” Cordelia said once again. “That is my thought for the day.”

She meant it, with all of her heart. It made her feel stronger to see the man that she loved finally moving forwards.

Smiling warmly, Matthew loosened a hand from her hair and gently stroked her cheek. Cordelia shivered. “Mine is that I hope that you will tell me, whenever you feel ready, about what happened while you were unconscious.”

Cordelia had expected this. This had been Matthew’s thought for days now. Though he did his best not to show it, Cordelia could tell that he was deeply worried about her, about her silence. She understood. They had grown used to sharing all of their thoughts with one another. To opening up about their worries. It must have concerned Matthew to see her be so reticent for once.

But, with Matthew improving so rapidly, Cordelia was anxious to avoid placing more of a burden on him.

“I will tell you soon,” she promised, sitting upright. She turned to face him. “For now, though, please focus on your own journey. Once I have organised my thoughts properly, I will share them.”

In keeping with the promise that he had made at the Institute, Matthew leaned forwards and placed a light kiss on Cordelia’s forehead. Nothing more.

“I understand,” he murmured. “Just know that I am always here for you if you need me.”

“I know,” Cordelia replied. Then, without thinking, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. “How could I ever forget?”

As Matthew pulled her closer and held her tightly, Cordelia’s mind spun. She had given him so much advice since returning to London. About loving himself. About forgiving himself. About learning to avoid self-deprecation and self-hatred.

But, as she sighed softly into the collar of his shirt, Cordelia could not help but think about how hollow her advice truly was.

 

Despite her silence, Cordelia was determined to help Matthew in any way that she could. With that thought in mind, one drizzly Tuesday morning, she accompanied him to the Silent City to collect the belongings that he had left behind on the night of the party. She had been meaning to pay the Silent City a visit: she had received a summons from Brother Enoch. Word of her collapse and subsequent time unconscious had spread like wildfire throughout the Enclave. It had only been a matter of time, Cordelia had thought, before someone would decide to interrogate her.

The thought of holding the Mortal Sword – of having secrets that she had dared not share pulled free – terrified Cordelia. What sorts of unrevealed information would come to light? The truth about her marriage to Matthew? About what James had done to Blackthorn Manor? About Lucie and her resurrection of Jesse?

So many people were relying on her to resist the Sword. It made Cordelia feel sick to her stomach.

Upon their arrival at the Silent City, however, Cordelia found herself distracted. As they followed Brother Enoch, gliding ahead, into the main, cavernous chamber, Cordelia saw row upon row of Shadowhunter bodies. They had been arranged neatly, side by side, wrapped respectfully in white cloth.

Noticing Cordelia’s distraction, Brother Enoch spoke. Many were lost during the battle at the Institute. Unusually, Cordelia detected a trace of sadness in his voice. We have not yet had the opportunity to lay them to rest.

“Have the funerals been arranged?” Matthew asked.

Yes. The date has been set for next week. Many Shadowhunters and Silent Brothers alike will be in attendance.

Cordelia’s stomach swooped uncomfortably. “How many will be gone?”

For a moment, Brother Enoch scrutinised her. Then he answered, Most. But a few will remain to guard the Institute. William Herondale and Gabriel Lightwood, for instance.

Cordelia said nothing more. She nodded and, together with Matthew, followed Brother Enoch deeper into the swallowing darkness of the Silent City.

But as they walked, she could not forget the way in which Brother Enoch had stared blindly at her. Or the growing fear that this had been Belial’s plan all along.

Or the unwelcome thought that, if she were a Prince of Hell, she would view the funeral as the ideal time to strike.

 

To Cordelia’s immense relief, she had not, in fact, been summoned for an interrogation. Instead, Brother Enoch led them both to the dank infirmary, where Jem was waiting. At the sight of her cousin, Cordelia relaxed. Over the past year and a half, she had come to view Jem as a steady, trustworthy figure. Someone upon whom she could rely.

Almost, she thought, as if they really had become family.

Brother Enoch offered to lead Matthew to the prison. But Matthew refused. Instead, giving Cordelia’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, he sat down on the bed opposite the one on which she perched. Cordelia was grateful. There was something about the oppressing darkness of the Silent City – of Brother Enoch, settled in the corner like a visage of death – that made Matthew’s sunny presence feel even warmer.

If you would permit it, I would like to examine your wound. Jem sounded apologetic. Lifting his robed hand, he gestured loosely at Cordelia’s chest.

“Of course,” Cordelia said. Carefully, she slipped off the top half of her dress. This was made more difficult by Cortana, strapped to her back.

Cordelia knew that she could not wield a weapon, lest she summon Lilith. And yet she carried the sword anyway. Felt its warmth against her back. Let its light guide her path. It was a silent reminder that she had to be better. That, for her sake and the sake of those whom she loved, she could not afford to give up.

Gently, Jem touched the sealed wound on her chest. Cordelia was suddenly embarrassed. When she noticed that Matthew had turned to face away, her embarrassment only grew.

“You need not look away, you know,” she said pointedly. “You are my husband.”

“I am,” Matthew replied. His face was still firmly turned away. “A fact for which I thank God every day. But we have yet to cross that final boundary. Lord knows that when I am free of this curse that he has deigned to place on me, it will be my life’s greatest pleasure to take that last step with you. Until then, however, I will show you all of the courtesy and privacy that you deserve and resist all temptation to look at you.”

“That is very noble of you,” Cordelia said amusedly.

“I always am, Daisy.”

“Except that you have already seen this part of me.”

“Yes.”

“And touched it.”

Matthew swallowed hard. “Indeed I have.”

Cordelia studied what little of Matthew’s face that she could see. He looked far paler than he had when they had arrived. He had been making great strides in facing up to his past over the last few weeks. But perhaps being back here in the Silent City, where he had spent days fighting the initial withdrawals, was proving too much for him.

“If you would like, you can collect your things now,” Cordelia offered. “I suspect that this will not take long. I can meet with you afterwards.”

“Are you sure?” Matthew asked, concerned. “I am quite happy to stay here with you.”

In spite of his words, Cordelia could see the sweat beading on his forehead.

“I will be fine,” she insisted. “I am in good hands, after all.”

The side of Matthew’s face split in an apologetic smile. He jumped down from the bed. Then, still looking away as best as he could, he leaned awkwardly around Jem and placed a light kiss on Cordelia’s forehead.

“Hopefully not too good,” Matthew joked as he followed Brother Enoch to the door. “I would never forgive you, Jem, if you were to steal my wife away in my absence.”

Cordelia could hear Jem’s quiet laughter in her mind as her gaze followed Matthew’s retreating back out of the door. Without his presence, she felt suddenly colder, the room darker. Shivering, she distracted herself by looking around at the clean, white beds and the shiny instruments that rested on the metal tray next to her.

She shivered again.

Perhaps sensing her discomfort, Jem spoke. You and Matthew seem closer than ever.

“We are,” Cordelia agreed. “He is, without a doubt, the most important person in my life.”

Though Jem could not smile, Cordelia could feel the ghost of one playing in the back of her mind.

It is nice to see. As it is nice to see Matthew finally take steps towards forgiveness. He has punished himself for far too long.

Punished. Jem’s choice of wording was far too specific to be a coincidence.

“Do you know?” she asked softly.

Jem did not reply immediately. Finished with Cordelia’s wound, he rose noiselessly and turned away, giving her some privacy to redress. Finally, he answered, I do. Although I advised him to be open with his parents, to avoid such self-resentment, Matthew chose instead to live with the guilt.

His parents. They were, of course, the most significant obstacle in Matthew’s path towards self-acceptance.

“I hope that he will tell them soon,” Cordelia said quietly. She finished with the buttons on the front of her dress, grateful that she had chosen something simple to wear that day. Carefully, she repositioned her scabbard. “If they love him as much as I do, then I have no doubt that they will forgive him.”

Accepting Jem’s hand, she climbed down. As they headed towards the door, Cordelia tried her best to ignore the empty beds. They were painful reminders of the bodies that lay only a few hallways away.

Stepping out of the room, Jem spoke again. I am glad that Matthew has you in his life, Cordelia. You are a very special woman.

Cordelia looked down at her hands. Remembered what it had felt like to lose control of them. To be pulled across the battlefield like a puppet on strings.

“I am not so sure that you are right,” she said quietly. “Brother Enoch certainly did not seem to think so.”

My fellow Silent Brothers are worried. It has been a long time since we have faced a threat such as this.

Cordelia’s heart sank. “And they think that I am responsible?”

Jem did not reply for a moment. Then, They are suspicious of that which they cannot completely understand. It is natural for those of us who base our existence on knowledge.

A lump had formed in Cordelia’s throat. “And you? Do you think the same?”

I do not. Jem’s voice was mild. I know that you keep secrets. Ones that I hope that you will tell to those who love you. But I do not share my Brothers’ sentiments. I have faith that, when it comes to it, you will make the right decision.

Not even the chill of the Silent City or the weight of her own regrets could dampen the warmth in Cordelia’s heart at Jem’s words.

But, as they reached the prison corridor, Cordelia paused, chest constricting. At the end of the hallway, she could see Matthew, staring into one of the rooms, deep in conversation. His face looked drawn, serious. Under one arm, he held a messy pile of dirtied clothes.

Cordelia could not see the person to whom he was talking. But the voice – a woman’s voice – was startlingly familiar. It took Cordelia a moment to place. Then, her stomach dropping, she recognised it.

Grace.

“You do not understand,” Grace was saying. She sounded almost desperate. “I deserve to be in here.”

Matthew shook his head. “No one deserves to punish themselves forever. I now realise that. I hope that you will, too.”

“No. Your situation is different from mine. You are not a bad person. I am.”

“For years, I had thought that I was,” Matthew said simply. “But the world is not quite so black and white as we would like it to be.”

Grace’s voice was thoroughly miserable as she said, “You know firsthand the dangers that I pose. That my powers pose. It is safer for everyone if I stay locked up in here.”

Powers? Cordelia thought. What did she mean?

But Matthew did not respond. He had noticed Cordelia and Jem at the end of the corridor. A smile spreading across his face, he jogged over to them and slipped his free hand into Cordelia’s.

“How is your wound?” he asked. “And am I safe to presume that Jem has not stolen your heart away?”

Cordelia nodded numbly. She allowed Matthew to lead her away from the prisons. Away from Grace.

But she could not escape the unwelcome feeling that had settled in her chest like a dirty secret.

 

Lost in thought, Cordelia did not speak much over dinner that evening. Matthew, as usual, tried his best to keep up a steady stream of light conversation. He wondered aloud about how many times his recovered clothes would have to be cleaned until the stench of the Silent City washed out. Cordelia gave him a small smile as he spoke, her mind spinning around and around. Recalling the sight of Matthew and Grace talking.

As usual, they gathered in the salon after dinner. Cordelia, her mind still reeling, laid down on one of the sofas and closed her eyes. Matthew, his face scrunched in concern, pulled a poetry anthology off of one of the shelves, settled in an armchair, and read aloud the poems. Normally, his soothing voice relaxed Cordelia. Today, however, she felt only frustrated, her foot tapping restlessly against the arm of the sofa.

Sighing, Matthew closed the book with a gentle snap. “Please, Daisy,” he begged. “Tell me what you are thinking. I cannot bear to see you so glum.”

Cordelia opened her eyes and turned her head to face Matthew. He looked incredibly sad. It hurt her to think that she had made him feel this way.

But how was she to phrase her concerns, unfounded as they were?

Slowly sitting upright, Cordelia said tentatively, “I overheard you speaking with Grace...”

Matthew nodded. “She was, in a strange sort of way, my companion down there. While we spoke only a couple of times, it was she who helped me to realise that I needed to leave the self-hatred behind.”

His companion. Cordelia could not meet Matthew’s steady gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him frown, his face drawn in confusion.

Then, all of a sudden, his expression cleared. A broad grin spread across his face.

“Cordelia Fairchild, are you perhaps jealous?”

Cordelia’s gaze jerked up to meet his. Her stomach jolted.

Matthew was right. She had felt this way before, on their drive through the English countryside, when the barmaid had shown such a clear interest in Matthew.

Smiling guiltily, Cordelia admitted, “I think that I may be.”

Carefully, Matthew placed his book on the table beside him. Then, just as he had all of those months ago, when he had asked for Cordelia’s hand in marriage, he sank to a knee in front of her and took her hands in his.

“I promise you,” he said, voice solemn and face suddenly serious, “that you need never feel jealous. My heart is completely and utterly yours. It has been yours from the moment that I watched you stand up at the Enclave meeting and defend my dearest friend at the cost of your own reputation. Rather, it has been yours from the moment that I met you.”

Gently, Matthew lifted one of her hands and kissed her palm. Cordelia shivered.

“I am yours, Daisy,” he murmured into her skin. “I am yours eternally. No woman could ever compare to you. And though I will do my best every day to resist the dependence, I fear that it will forever be my most ardent wish to live for you. To drown in you.”

Matthew looked up. His green eyes were full of a deep, desperate longing. In that moment, all Cordelia wanted was to embrace him. To collapse into his arms. To feel his mouth and skin in every place that she had felt him before and in places of which she had only dreamed.

But she would not forget the promise that they had made, important as it was to Matthew.

So instead, Cordelia let out a long sigh and looked away. The spell broken, Matthew laughed softly and moved to sit next to her. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, he pulled Cordelia close. Cordelia tucked her legs back and rested her head against his chest.

“I must admit,” Matthew murmured, his voice a rumble through her body, “that it does please me in a depraved sort of way to hear that you are jealous. Especially since I am the one who must regularly fight off an army of suitors who seek your hand.”

“You have nothing to worry about, either,” Cordelia replied, closing her eyes again, breathing in Matthew’s cologne. “I may not have your way with words, but I can say for certain that I love you and only you.”

Suddenly, Cordelia paused. Opened one eye. “And what exactly did you mean by ‘no woman could ever compare’? Do you mean to say that there is a man out there with whom I must fight for your affection?”

Matthew grinned. “Well, I have heard about quite the catch. An entrepreneur in London or so the rumours would have you believe. I am told that his name is Christopher Lightwood.”

Groaning, Cordelia buried her face deeper in Matthew’s neck. His laughter shook her whole body.

But as they lay together, Matthew gently stroking her hair, Cordelia swallowed down the rest of what she had wanted to say. What had Grace meant by her ‘powers’? And what had she meant when she had said that Matthew had firsthand experience with them?

So many questions. But only one person, in truth, who could answer them. And so, as they headed upstairs to bed, Cordelia resolved in her mind that she would take the first chance that appeared to ask these questions to Grace.

 

As luck would have it, an opportunity arose the very next morning. Cordelia, upholding her end of the promise, had slept separately from Matthew. When she had awoken, she had dressed quickly and hurried downstairs to breakfast. To her surprise, however, there had been no sign of Matthew in the dining room. Deciding that he must have overslept, Cordelia had returned upstairs to wake him.

But when she had raised her hand to knock on the door, she had paused. Inside, she could hear the sounds of drawers being banged and a stream of unintelligible cursing.

“Matthew?” she had called out.

The noise had stopped. There was a pause. “Daisy? Just a moment.”

A drawer slamming noisily shut. Footsteps. Then the door had flown open. A red-faced Matthew had stood on the other side, half-dressed, his golden curls sticking out at odd angles.

“Forgive me, did I wake you?” Matthew had asked anxiously, brushing his hair from his eyes.

Cordelia had peered over his shoulder. The room had been in a state of disarray. Drawers and clothes had littered the floor. The bedcovers had been twisted, as though Matthew had tangled with them. The curtains had been thrown haphazardly open, one dangling half off of its fittings.

“I was already awake,” Cordelia had replied. “What happened in here, Math? Are you alright?”

“Yes, I am fine,” Matthew had said distractedly. Then, “Well, to be perfectly honest, no. I have lost my stele. And James’ watch. He lent it to me while I was in the Silent City. It would be a poor showing not to return it to him now.”

If he had left it in the Silent City, then he would need to return there to retrieve it. But the thought of Matthew’s face the day before, pale and lightly coated in sweat, had drifted into Cordelia’s mind.

“I can find them for you, if you would like,” she had offered.

“No, no. Do not trouble yourself. I can return there later today.”

“I need to visit, anyway,” Cordelia had lied. “Jem wanted to examine my wound again. Besides, you made plans to train with James today, did you not?”

Matthew had looked guilty as he had said, “If it is not too much trouble, I would be tremendously grateful. I will owe you a thousand favours. We are making good progress with my throwing. I would quite like to keep practising ahead of Belial’s imminent return.”

“Think nothing of it. Just promise to show me your throwing sometime in the near future.”

That was how Cordelia found herself once again in the bowels of the Silent City. Accompanied by Brother Enoch, she quickly found James’ watch, resting on the bedside table. Matthew’s stele, however, was nowhere to be found.

While Cordelia searched through the drawers of the desk, Brother Enoch received a silent message, requested that she remain in the prison until he returned, and drifted off down the corridor. This was the opportunity for which Cordelia had been waiting. Grasping James’ watch like a lifeline, she made her way carefully down the hallway, searching each room for signs of life.

They were all empty. All except for one. At first, Cordelia had almost walked straight past it, thinking it unoccupied. But then, as her eyes adjusted to the poor light, she noticed a white-robed figure curled up on the bed.

“Grace?” she called tentatively.

The figure started. Uncurled rapidly. Repositioned itself on the bed and stared out through the bars.

“Cordelia?”

There was no doubt that the voice belonged to Grace. But if she had not spoken, Cordelia would not have recognised her.

Grace’s white hair, usually well-brushed, was tangled and matted around her head. Her robes were clean but rumpled, as if she did not bother changing before sleeping. Her skin was deathly pale, drained even more of colour by the dimly flickering candle sputtering out on the floor. Cordelia was reminded uncomfortably of how James had looked while under the bracelet’s control.

“Why are you here?” Grace’s high-pitched voice was rough, scratchy from disuse.

Numbly, Cordelia held up the watch. Grace’s eyes fixed on it.

“That belongs to James,” she croaked.

“Yes. He lent it to Matthew. I came to find it.”

Grace was staring at the watch as though she could not look away. Cordelia lowered it to her side. As if she were coming out of a trance, Grace blinked several times and turned her face to the wall.

In a quiet voice, she asked, “What time is it?”

Cordelia checked the watch. “One o’clock.”

“Morning or afternoon?”

“Afternoon.”

“I see.” Grace sat as still as a statue. “How long have I been in here?”

Cordelia swallowed hard. “I could not say for certain. At least two months.”

“I see,” Grace repeated. Then, as if she had grown exhausted from their brief conversation, she laid back on the bed, pulling her legs to her chest.

Cordelia stepped towards the bars. Sensing that she was losing Grace’s attention, she threw caution to the wind and asked, “What did you mean yesterday when you talked about having powers?”

Grace did not answer. Cordelia was not sure if her words had even reached her. But she had run out of time: she could see Brother Enoch’s ghostly form gliding into view.

Regretting her rashness, Cordelia turned to leave. At the last moment, however, she leaned down impulsively and gently placed James’ watch on Grace’s side of the bars. Then she walked off down the darkened corridor towards Brother Enoch, unable to escape the memory of Grace’s emaciated figure.

It was only once their carriage had turned onto the streets of London that the realisation of what Cordelia had done set in. The realisation that not only had she left the watch behind, but she had forgotten about the stele entirely.

 

When Cordelia told Matthew guiltily about what had happened during their evening in the salon, however, he did not seem upset. He simply took her hand and clasped it tightly.

“You are a good person,” he said warmly, “and you did something incredibly kind for Grace. I can make my excuses to James. Raziel knows that he has enough watches as it is.”

“But I do not understand,” Cordelia said, frustrated. “Why would you care about Grace? About showing her kindness? After everything that she did to James.”

Matthew paused, considering his words. Perhaps even asking himself the same question.

Then, he answered, “It is not that I care for her. It is that I can see myself in her. She despises herself. She sees her mistakes as unforgiveable, much the same as I did until very recently. And at first, I agreed with her. I felt that she deserved to hate herself. That it was her punishment, after what she had done to James. But now, it only makes me sad to think that anyone could feel about themselves in the way that I felt about myself. It is a fate that I would not inflict on my worst enemies. Except perhaps Belial.”

Matthew grinned. Cordelia did not laugh.

“Holding onto that sort of hatred does nothing but destroy you, Daisy,” he said softly. “Believe me, I would know.”

Wishing that she had not mentioned Grace, Cordelia allowed Matthew to change the topic of conversation to his and James’ training session that day. But as she pretended to listen, her mind otherwise occupied, Cordelia could not help but marvel at how quickly Matthew had changed. How quickly he had learned to forgive himself and others.

And she wondered, chest aching, what it said about her that she could not forgive as easily.

 

The next day, under the guise of retrieving the stele, Cordelia returned once more to the Silent City. After searching thoroughly, she eventually found the stele, rolled under Matthew’s bed. Holding it tightly in her hand, Cordelia walked over to Grace’s room.

This time, she found Grace sat up on the bed. Her hair was still a mess, her robes still crumpled. In her hands, she was turning something over and over, deep in thought.

James’ watch.

“He always wore this on his wrist,” Grace said quietly.

Though it was not a question, Cordelia replied, “Yes.”

“On the one that did not wear the bracelet.”

Cordelia said nothing.

Grace continued to stare at the watch as she moved it around and around, almost as if she were hypnotising herself.

“I presume that he has told you about the bracelet.”

Again, it was not a question. But still, Cordelia answered, “In a manner of speaking.”

Are you going to tell her about the bracelet?

Grace nodded slowly. Some of her long, white hair tumbled over her shoulder.

“Then why are you here?” she whispered, so softly that Cordelia could barely hear her. “You must hate me.”

Indeed, a quiet anger burned within Cordelia at the thought of James’ suffering. Of Grace’s involvement.

And yet, something in Grace’s broken voice gave her pause.

“I do not wish to hate you,” Cordelia said finally. “I wish to understand.”

At long last, Grace looked away from the watch. Turned to stare at Cordelia. Her eyes blazed with such rage that Cordelia involuntarily took a step backwards.

“You should hate me!” Grace cried. “I kept James from you! I am the one who put that bracelet on his wrist! And if I had not, he would have been there for Matthew when he needed him. And he would have confessed his feelings to you. And if he had told you how he felt, you would have fallen in love with him. And if you had fallen in love, then you could have been happy together.”

Grace was crying. Tears dripped down her face. Smeared the grime on her cheeks.

Cordelia thought back to what Matthew had said the night before. About hatred being all-consuming. About no one deserving to suffer to that extent.

Before, Cordelia had wondered if she had the capacity within her to forgive Grace. But now, as she stared at Grace’s helpless face through the bars, Cordelia wondered if she had ever really hated her at all.

Firmly, Cordelia said, “I could spend my whole life asking myself a never-ending chain of ‘and if’ questions. Perhaps I would have fallen in love with James, as you say. Perhaps in another life, we would have married and spent our lives together. Had children. Grown old in each other’s arms. But the fact of the matter is that he did wear the bracelet. And I fell in love with Matthew. And, all things considered, I am very happy with the way that my life has turned out.

“Matthew is learning, day by day, to forgive himself. He and James have reconciled and are moving forwards together. The only person still unable to escape their past is you.” Cordelia was breathing hard. “So why do you continue to punish yourself? What is stopping you from moving on?”

Grace’s tears had stalled, but her whole body trembled, as if it might collapse in on itself at any moment. She seemed to be warring within herself, deciding whether to answer.

Finally, with a great effort, she whispered, “My mother.”

“Your mother?” Cordelia was confused. “Is she threatening you?”

Grace shook her head. She looked as though she might faint. “I fear that if I leave this place, I will continue to commit terrible crimes. That I will hurt so many people.” She blinked away tears. “That I will turn out like her.”

Cordelia’s anger deflated. As much as she did not want to admit it, she understood that feeling better than most. Even now, she was afraid to touch Cortana, to wield it, in case someone that she loved ended up falling victim.

Perhaps Grace was just another person who had fallen into Belial’s clutches. Perhaps she was exactly the sort of person that a hero should protect.

Silently, Cordelia sat down on the floor. Grace looked at her, eyes wide, as if she thought Cordelia mad.

“Then tell me,” Cordelia said simply. “Tell me about your past and we will see what we can do to avoid that outcome.”

For a moment, Cordelia thought that Grace was going to turn away. She clutched the watch tightly in her trembling hands. She eyed Cordelia as if she were sizing her up. As if she were making the biggest decision that she had ever made.

Finally, carefully, Grace lowered herself to the floor opposite Cordelia. Out of habit, she smoothed the front of her creased dress. Folded her shaking hands in front of her, burying the watch underneath them.

Then, as if she had crossed some invisible line at long last, Grace opened up. And, for what Cordelia suspected was the first time in Grace’s life, she listened.

 

The next day, though she no longer had an excuse, Cordelia returned to the Silent City. When she arrived, she found that Grace was sat on the floor, waiting for her. As she had yesterday, Cordelia sat down on the other side of the bars. For minutes, they sat in silence, neither quite sure what to say. Then, finally, Grace spoke.

“I am surprised that you returned today.”

“I promised that I would,” Cordelia replied.

Indeed, she had. Needing time to process everything that Grace had shared, Cordelia had left the Silent City in the early evening, Matthew’s stele in hand. She had not wanted Grace to see her cry at the thought of a little girl lost in a desolate manor, forgotten and failed by the Shadowhunter community.

“Still,” Grace said, “I did not think that you meant it. I thought that you would change your mind the moment that you left.”

Grace had a point. That morning, Cordelia had been tempted to stay away. To pretend that they had never spoken. To move on with her life.

But, in what felt like another lifetime, Cordelia had wanted to be a hero. And though her dream may have been destroyed, that did not mean that she had to give up on saving those who could not save themselves.

“In my marriage,” Cordelia said simply, “we abide by our promises.”

They lapsed back into silence. Cordelia’s mind, as it had been doing since the day before, went over again and again what Grace had told her. How her powers had been forced on her by Belial. How Tatiana had manipulated her into using them for her own gain. How, desperate to escape, Grace had enthralled first James and then Charles to do her bidding.

“What was it like?” Cordelia asked suddenly. “Being controlled by Belial.”

Grace paused to think. “He did not control me, per se. It was more that my mother told me what to do and I followed her commands. It was not forced, though. Not in the way that, I suspect, the bracelet was.”

Cordelia fell silent. Grace’s power, it seemed, was different to the way in which Lilith controlled her. She was disappointed. A part of her had hoped that Grace might understand. That she might have had a solution.

For a few more minutes, they sat in silence. Cordelia felt the damp chill of the Silent City wash over her, the echoes of long-dead Silent Brothers like ghosts in the air.

She was not sure why she spoke. She had not even told Matthew her secret. And yet, there was something about the haggard calm of the Silent City that made it feel as though any secret shared would remain within these hallowed halls.

“I made a pact with Lilith.”

Grace had been running a broken fingernail along the grooves of the floor. At Cordelia’s words, her hand stalled. She looked up, eyes wide, mouth gaping. “Why did you do that?”

“I had thought that I was swearing myself to an angel. That I was becoming their paladin.” Cordelia laughed humourlessly. “In other words, because I was a fool.”

Not meeting Grace’s eyes, Cordelia stared down at her hands. As she had the other day, she remembered what it had felt like to lose control of them. To watch them slash through demons and almost tear into friends, while she had been utterly powerless to stop them.

Cordelia waited for Grace to speak. But Grace said nothing. Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Cordelia looked up. She had expected to see Grace’s horrified face – eyes wide, mouth open. But instead, to her surprise, Grace seemed lost in thought. Almost as if she were thinking through the problem logically.

In that moment, Cordelia thought, Grace reminded her startlingly of Christopher.

“There must be some way to break the pact,” Grace said thoughtfully. “Assuming, that is, that you wish to break it.”

“I do,” Cordelia said quickly. “And if you have any suggestions, I will gladly listen.”

“Well, you could try swearing yourself to another,” Grace suggested. “A second pact may override the first.”

“Or double my problems. I cannot take the risk.” Cordelia shook her head. “How did you break free of your pact with Belial?”

“I did not break free. I doubt that I will ever be able to break free. I am his secret weapon, after all.” Then Grace added hastily, “But my circumstances are different from yours. You may still have chance to escape.”

Cordelia’s heart ached at Grace’s words. In many ways, they reminded her of the advice that she had given to Matthew. Always optimistic when it came to his odds. Always pessimistic when it came to hers.

Unexpectedly, Grace smiled. It was a sad, lonely look, full of suffering. Yet, as Cordelia stared at her face, she realised that it was the first time in her life that she had ever seen Grace smile.

“You pity me,” Grace said.

Pity. Yes, that was it, Cordelia thought. Even after everything that Grace had done to her, to James, Cordelia did not hate her. Because, in the end, Grace was just another victim of Belial. Another name to add to the long list of people who deserved vengeance.

“Perhaps I do,” Cordelia said. “But pity is not such a terrible thing. It is a sign that someone cares about you enough to worry for you. My marriage is the result of pity, after all.”

“Do you care about me, Cordelia?” Grace asked softly.

“I suppose that I do,” Cordelia replied quietly.

Grace’s face was troubled. She looked as though she was struggling to speak. Then, as if the words were pulled from her by the Mortal Sword, she blurted out, “I kissed Matthew.”

Cordelia’s eyes widened, an incredulous look on her face. “Why did you do that?”

“I did not want him to tell James of my other engagements. When James was still under the bracelet’s influence.”

“So you kissed my husband to ensure that he would not tell his parabatai about your kissing other men?”

Silently, Cordelia scrutinised Grace. She supposed that she should have been angry, both for James’ and Matthew’s sake. And yet, there was something oddly funny about the way in which Grace had confessed. Almost as if, of all of the terrible truths that had come to light over the past two days, this was the one that had haunted Grace most of all.

Slowly, Cordelia said, “I kissed James.”

Now, Grace looked dumbstruck. “And why did you do that?”

“To figure out how I truly felt about Matthew.”

“So you kissed another man to decide whether you loved your own husband?”

They stared at each other. Both knelt on the uncomfortable stone floor. Both facing each other across a grim line of rusted metal bars.

“What a pair we make,” Grace whispered.

Cordelia could not hold it in any longer. She burst out laughing. A second later, Grace’s face split in a true grin. She, too, started laughing. As if they had never heard anything funnier in their lives, Cordelia and Grace bent double in hysterics.

And for the first time in perhaps hundreds of years, the sound of raucous laughter echoed loudly through the vast, empty corridors of the Silent City.

 

That evening, Cordelia finally told Matthew about Lilith. She felt that it would be rather unfair of her to open up to Grace, but not to Matthew, when he had done so much to support her over the past few months. As she spoke, Matthew’s face turned from horror to resignation. Finally, it settled on a grim determination.

“I saw her,” he said roughly. “I saw her that night. In that strange forge. I told myself that it was an illusion. I should have known better.” Sighing in frustration, Matthew ran a hand agitatedly through his hair. “Forgive me, Daisy. I should have told you about what I saw.”

Cordelia shook her head. “It is my fault. I was so desperate to be a hero that I did not consider why an angel would want to choose me in the first place.”

“Oh, Daisy,” Matthew whispered. He looked as though he was fighting the urge to pull Cordelia into his arms.

But, for once, Cordelia did not feel like crying. After her talk with Grace earlier that day, the threat posed by Lilith suddenly did not seem so insurmountable. They had found solutions. Impractical ones, to be sure. But solutions nonetheless. And just the thought that there were people out there who were helping her search for an escape made Cordelia feel stronger.

Perhaps Matthew had had a point. Perhaps Grace did make for a good companion, strange as she may be.

“I am not giving up,” Cordelia said firmly. “I will not give Belial or Lilith the satisfaction. I will fight them until the end. Until either they have perished or I have. Even if I must give up on the idea of becoming a hero.”

Matthew had a strange smile on his face as he gently kissed the top of Cordelia’s head.

“That is where you are wrong,” he murmured softly against her hair. “You saved my life. You already are a hero.”

 

The next morning, Cordelia awoke early, eager to revisit Grace. But, when she made her way down to the dining room, she found Matthew already there. He was squinting down at a letter, frowning.

Noticing Cordelia’s arrival, he waved the paper airily.

“We have been summoned to the Institute,” he explained. “It seems that James’ father wants to gather all of the Shadowhunters left in London under one roof until the funerals are over. Easier to coordinate if Belial should attack, I suppose.”

The funerals. Distracted by her time with Grace, Cordelia had forgotten about them entirely.

After a hasty breakfast, they hurried upstairs to change into their gear and prepare for a few nights away. Though the servants would be bringing most of their clothes and other necessities, Cordelia packed her weapons, carefully selecting the ones that she would need.

Just in case, she told herself firmly. It would be foolish to arrive unarmed.

As she slipped the last seraph blade into her belt, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. Picking it up, Cordelia realised that it was the map of Belial’s murders that she had spent most of the last few months putting together. After a moment’s pause, she folded it and tucked it into her jacket.

Just in case, she thought again.

On the carriage ride over, Matthew surprised Cordelia with a gift. Rummaging in his pocket, he pulled out the handkerchief that he had given her all of those months ago. The one that she had left behind.

“I promised that I would return it to you,” Matthew proclaimed. Cordelia took the handkerchief from his outstretched hand, feeling the smooth silk run through her fingers. “It may have taken longer than initially planned, but I have kept my word.”

Cordelia lifted the handkerchief to her face. It smelled like Matthew’s cologne, having absorbed his scent from its time in his pocket. As she breathed in the smell, Cordelia could not escape the sudden feeling that something terrible was going to happen. That Matthew returning this handkerchief was a sign – a premonition that something dreadful awaited them in the near future.

“Thank you,” Cordelia said quietly. She tucked the handkerchief back into its usual spot in the chest pocket of her jacket. Then, impulsively, Cordelia slipped off the rose necklace that she had taken to wearing every day. She held it out.

“I know that it is not a useful as a handkerchief, but it would make me happy to know that you had it. Something of mine to look after, in turn.”

Silently, Matthew held out his palm. Cordelia dropped the bracelet onto it. Holding it tightly, Matthew dangled the chain in front of his face, a strange, wistful look in his eyes.

“You would entrust this to me?” he asked, staring at the bracelet as it swung back and forth. “I rarely see you without it.”

“I would. I trust you to take good care of it. It is very important to me. As you are.”

Matthew smiled softly and tucked it into his pocket. The same pocket into which Cordelia had placed the handkerchief. Then, he rested his hand over it, right over his heart.

“I will protect it with my life,” he promised solemnly. “And when all of this business with Belial is over, I will return it you. I give you my word.”

Cordelia’s heart fluttered. She reached out to grasp Matthew’s hands. And as they rode the rest of the way to the Institute in silence, Cordelia tried her best to quieten the voice in her mind that warned her that this may be the last time that they would be together alone like this for quite some time.

 

It turned out that Matthew had been correct: Will had indeed wanted to gather the Shadowhunters in an effort to be better prepared for any attacks. After they had moved their belongings to an empty bedroom, Cordelia and Matthew had returned to the drawing room, where Will had filled them in on his plan. While the Consul and the Inquisitor were away, he was the highest ranking Enclave member in the city. For that reason, he had organised patrols that would start and end at the Institute. No Shadowhunter was to step out alone. They were to be constantly vigilant.

For once, Gabriel Lightwood, sat at the table, did not argue. Next to him, Cecily looked unusually grim, her mouth drawn in a straight line. Cordelia realised with a sinking feeling that there was no sign of Sophie or Gideon Lightwood. Indeed, as she looked around the room, she realised that the number of adult Shadowhunters left in London was depressingly low. Most of the room was taken up by their friends. Anna and Ariadne perched by the window, deep in conversation. Lucie sat next to Jesse on one of the sofas, her head resting on his shoulder. Alastair paced by the wall, watched by a stern-looking Thomas.

There was also, Cordelia realised with another drop of her stomach, no sign of Christopher.

As the day wore on, Cordelia’s legs ached from pacing. Patrols filtered in and out on a regular basis. Each group reported the same news: there was an unusually high amount of demonic activity. Always smaller demons, always easily dispatched, but spread wide across the city, as if they had been carefully placed to keep the Shadowhunters scattered.

Finally, the sun dipped low. Day turned to night. But no one went to bed. They were too exhausted, too strained to ever consider the idea.

“This makes no sense,” Gabriel suddenly blurted out. He had been sat at the table since he had returned from his patrol, ichor-soaked boot tapping anxiously against the floor. “If this Prince of Hell is truly going to launch an attack, then why has he not made a move yet?”

The room fell silent. Everyone was trying to think of an answer.

“Perhaps he does not yet have all of the pieces in place,” Anna suggested from the corner. “Perhaps he is still preparing.”

“But what could he be missing?” Alastair asked. He had finally stopped pacing and had sunk down onto the floor next to Thomas.

“I am not sure,” Anna replied, shaking her head. “Some sort of entrance? Or a weapon?”

A weapon. Why did those words mean something to Cordelia? Of course, the thought that she could not wield one had been playing on her mind all day.

But that was not it. There was something more to it. A memory in the back of her mind that she could not quite recall.

And then she remembered. Remembered cold stone beneath her knees. Bright blue eyes staring out at her through metal bars.

I am his secret weapon, after all.

“Grace,” Cordelia said numbly.

All eyes in the room turned to stare at her.

“Grace?” James echoed, confused.

“He has gone to the Silent City.” Cordelia met Matthew’s gaze. “He is going to find Grace.”

Matthew’s face fell. His eyes widened. Immediately, he understood what Cordelia was saying.

“We need to go there now,” he said urgently, rising to his feet.

But Gabriel had also stood up. “We cannot afford to be chasing whims at this time, or to be leaving the Institute unguarded. We already have a plan. This is far too dangerous.”

Cordelia ignored him. She turned to face Will. Met his gaze beseechingly. Remembered their conversation, trapped under the crumbling stable as the rain poured down around them.

“Please,” she begged. “There is someone who needs me. Someone who can still be saved.”

Will stared back. He wore a strange look on his face. For several long seconds, there was a strained silence in the room.

Finally, Will said, “You stay in a group. You go nowhere other than the Silent City. You send word by the Silent Brothers when you have arrived. Do you understand?”

Cordelia nodded solemnly.

But as they packed their weapons and readied to leave, Will approached her once more. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder. “Remember, Cordelia,” he said quietly, so that only she could hear, “that Jem was dying. I had nothing to lose. But you have a great deal of people who still need you alive.”

 

On the ride over to the Silent City, Cordelia was tense. She could hardly breathe. Even the flickering streetlamps and the hush of London traffic seemed unnatural, unreal. The only thing anchoring her to reality, keeping her steady, was Matthew’s hand tucked in hers.

As their line of carriages ground to a halt as close to the entrance to the Silent City as they could, Cordelia knew that she had thought right. Streams of white-robed figures were pouring out of the gates. They marched in an odd line, faces turned downwards, as if they were ghosts drifting through purgatory. Jumping out of the carriage, Cordelia fought the urge to reach for a weapon. Around her, her friends drew theirs.

James. Matthew. Thomas. Alastair. Lucie. Jesse. Anna. Ariadne. All armed. All ready to fight.

But the figures paid them no attention. Almost as if they were in a trance, they continued down the road in the direction that Cordelia and her friends had come.

Swallowing down her fear, Cordelia sprinted across the park, giving the figures a wide berth. Quickly, however, she realised that they would need to get closer to them. The figures were coming out of the entrance one by one. The narrow corridors within would undoubtedly be full of them.

As carefully as she could, Cordelia edged past the figures and stepped into the Silent City. She pressed herself tightly to the wall. Trying her best not to brush shoulders with the robed men, she shuffled her way down the stairs. From a distance, she could hear thudding sounds, as if something wooden was landing hard against skin. Occasionally, her hand brushed Matthew’s on the cold stone wall. Each time, warmth would shoot up her arm like an iratze.

Still, the robed figures paid them no heed. Cordelia was not sure whether or not she would have preferred a fight. The staircase was cramped and narrow. It would have made a terrible place for combat. But at least in a fight, she would understand for sure what was happening. Would know for sure that these figures posed a threat.

At the bottom of the stairs, however, Cordelia found the answer that she sought. In a strange, silent tapestry, she watched as a crowd of black-robed Silent Brothers fought off white-robed counterparts. There was something oddly hypnotising about the way in which the Silent Brothers moved. Staffs raised high. Feet barely making a sound.

Though their fighting style was incredible, they were severely outnumbered. They were fighting a losing battle.

Without hesitation, Cordelia’s friends charged into battle. The silent spell settled over the corridor dissipated. As he ran, James yelled, “Jophiel!” The seraph blade in his hand lit up like a beacon. Next to him, Matthew clutched his chalikars tightly, unable to throw them safely in the cramped, crowded corridor.

Out of habit, Cordelia’s hand reached for Cortana. Frustrated, she dropped it limply to her side.

What use was she? She could not fight. She could not protect her friends. Why had she even bothered to come?

Cordelia Fairchild.

Startled, Cordelia recognised Brother Enoch’s strange voice.

Cordelia Fairchild. Is this your doing?

A sudden fury blazed inside of Cordelia. “No!” she shouted into the crowd. She did not even know if he could hear her. “I am not with him! I am here to stop him!”

Brother Enoch was silent. Cordelia could not tell which one of the Silent Brothers was him. She watched as one of the Brothers fell, impaled on a staff. Cordelia’s chest hurt as if she had been the one injured.

Finally, Brother Enoch spoke. Then go. There is no time. You know the way.

Cordelia swallowed hard. Even though she knew that he could not see her, she nodded. Then, as fast as her feet could carry her, she ran into the melee. Leapt over Anna’s whip, slashing at the legs of one of the figures. Ducked under Lucie’s wide swing of a seraph blade. Sidestepped a jab of Alastair’s spear.

As if he could sense her coming, Matthew turned, pulling his chalikar free from where it had tangled in a billowing robe. James, too, turned his head. With a quick nod at them both, Cordelia tore down the corridor, her legs carrying her instinctively towards the prisons. Behind her, two other pairs of footsteps reminded her that she was not alone.

Right. Left. Right. Left.  She had walked this route many times in the past few days. Now, however, the corridors seemed narrower. The lights more dimmed. As if the walls might close in around them at any second, trapping them forever in an endless darkness.

From somewhere far away, Cordelia could hear voices. At first, she thought it was her imagination. Then, she wondered if they were the voices of long-dead Silent Brothers, calling out from the beyond.

But, as they turned the corner and found herself in the prison corridor, she realised that it was Christopher.

“Please,” Christopher was saying. He was walking backwards slowly. One hand clutched a dagger; the other was pushing something – someone – behind him. Next to him stood Jem, a staff outstretched in his hands. In front of them, back turned to Cordelia, was a woman surrounded by robed figures. “This is not necessary. You can move on.”

“Be quiet, Herondale spawn,” the woman hissed.

Tatiana Blackthorn. Cordelia, Matthew and James approached as silently as they could.

“Mother, please,” Grace begged.

It was she whom Christopher had been protecting. Had been pushing behind him. But now, Grace stepped out of his shadow. Faced her mother. Though her eyes were wide, she was not trembling as she had been the day before. Her voice sounded remarkably steady.

“The Herondales are not as terrible as you think. It is time to forget the past. It is time to move forwards.”

Tatiana still had not noticed Cordelia. Tatiana’s whole body was shaking with rage.

“You are a disgrace,” she spat. “Utterly worthless. Pathetic. I gave you everything. All of the power that you could ever need to make men fall at your feet. And yet you throw it back in my face. You side against me.”

“There is no side!” Grace cried desperately. “There is only Belial! He will destroy the world. He will destroy you!”

“BE QUIET!” Tatiana sounded completely mad. “You are no daughter of mine! I should have left you to rot! If the Herondales mean so much to you, then you can die alongside them. KILL HER!”

It happened so fast that Cordelia could barely react. One of the white-robed men pulled out a dagger and threw it across the corridor. Christopher stepped forwards, thrusting Grace behind him. He held his weapon limply in his hand.

Cordelia could not breathe. Beside her, James drew in a breath.

But something flew past Cordelia’s head. Her eyes followed it, entranced.

A chalikar.

It sailed through the air. Brushed past Tatiana’s hair. Closed in on the dagger.

With a sound like grinding metal, the two weapons collided in midair. They clattered to the floor.

For a few moments, no one moved. Everyone’s eyes travelled from the dagger, inches from Christopher’s feet, to Christopher’s dumbstruck, wide-eyed stare.

And then all hell broke loose.

Unsheathing his other chalikar, Matthew leapt into battle, James at his side. Though she could not use a weapon, Cordelia followed. Tatiana Blackthorn turned, finally noticing their arrival. She pressed herself up against the wall, screeching like a frenzied animal. The white-robed men reached into their cloaks and pulled out more daggers, clutched in bony, skeletal hands.

Cordelia ducked low. Forcing all of her strength into her legs, she tackled one of the figures. Not expecting an attack from below, it stumbled backwards. Knocked down two other figures as it tumbled to the floor.

At the end of the hall, Cordelia could see Christopher fighting. He was breathing hard, his dagger startlingly small in comparison to the long weapons wielded by the robed men. Jem was battling two figures at once, his movements as smooth as water. Beside them, Grace had picked up the fallen dagger. She grasped it tightly, hands trembling, face shining with nerves.

Drawing in a deep breath, Cordelia stormed through the battle. Pushed past the enemy. On either side, Matthew and James followed, fighting furiously. Her sword and shield.

Tatiana’s screaming ringing in her ears, Cordelia reached Christopher, Jem and Grace. Without hesitating, she grabbed Grace’s wrist. Pulled her forcefully down the hallway.

They were vastly outnumbered. They needed to retreat. Regroup with their friends. Form a plan.

“We need to go!” Cordelia yelled.

Although her words were drowned out by Tatiana’s bellows, the others seemed to understand. Bodies tense, their strange group took off down the corridor. Mercifully, although the robed men were numerous, they were slow. Within moments, Tatiana’s voice was nothing but a distant echo down the empty corridor.

They had left in a different direction from the one in which they had arrived. Cordelia did not know where they were headed. But, fortunately, Jem had overtaken her. Carefully signalling each turn, he led their group through the twisting labyrinth of the Silent City. Past empty cells. Around dizzyingly tall columns. Through imposing archways.

As they passed under one particularly tall arch, something fell free from Cordelia’s inside pocket. At first, she thought, panicked, that it was the handkerchief. But, as she turned hurriedly to pick it up, she realised that it was the map. Before she could reach down to grab it, Grace had retrieved it from the floor. Then they were running again, the sound of their footsteps bouncing off of the stone walls.

Thoroughly lost, Cordelia did not notice, at first, that they had doubled back on themselves. It was only as they arrived at the bottom of the stairs that she recognised where they were. No white-robed men remained. No sign of their friends. Her brother. The floor was littered with bodies, men in black and white robes alike. Dazed, Cordelia stepped over them carefully and followed Jem towards the steps.

Here, Jem paused. Gestured to Cordelia and the others to go first. Numbly, Cordelia realised that she was still grasping Grace’s wrist tightly. She also noticed, for the first time, that Grace was wearing James’ watch. Finally letting go, Cordelia sprinted up the steps, heart pounding in her throat.

Something warm brushed her hand. Startled, Cordelia yanked her hand away before realising that it was Matthew. She let her hand fall again. Matthew’s hand slipped into hers.

Focusing on Matthew’s warmth, his strength, Cordelia led them out of the Silent City.

Out in the dirty night air of London, Cordelia drew in the first real breath that she had taken in the past few minutes. There was still no sign of their friends. Making space for the others to exit, she and Matthew moved to one side. Matthew’s hand was still in hers.

Cordelia squeezed her hand. Matthew squeezed his back.

It took the others a few minutes to arrive. Cordelia had not realised how far ahead that they had gotten. Christopher was the next to step out, his glasses askew on his face.

“They found us,” he panted. “Jem is holding them off.”

Right behind Christopher, James stepped out. His gear was soaked in ichor. Though he did not speak, his eyes met Matthew’s. A dark look passed between them.

Grace came next. Her robes, too, were splashed with black ichor. Her hair was tangled around her head. In her hand, she still clutched Cordelia’s map, crumpled in her tight grip. Christopher reached out a hand to help her out.

 This time, as far back as she stood from the entrance, Cordelia did not even see the dagger. All she saw was James’ head turn. His eyes widen. His body move as he shoved Grace out of the way.

As a dagger flew through the doors of the Silent City and buried itself to the hilt in his back.

Cordelia’s hand fell from Matthew’s. She was screaming. Sprinting across the grass.

Her head was spinning. The ground was shaking.

She could barely see. Could barely think.

At the exact same moment, she and Matthew sank down on either side of James. Desperately, Matthew pulled out his stele. Started drawing iratze after iratze on James’ arm.

Dimly, Cordelia was aware that Tatiana Blackthorn had emerged from the tree line. She was laughing wildly, her face demonic. Cordelia could not even bring herself to care about how Tatiana had made it there before them. What sort of magic she had used.

Unsteadily, Cordelia rose to her feat. Unsheathed Cortana. The sword thrummed to live in her hands, desperate to tear through Lilith’s enemies.

She did not care that she had sworn not to wield a weapon. James was dying on the ground because of her failures.

She was not going to hold herself back any longer.

Shaking, Cordelia stumbled towards Tatiana. Tatiana’s face did not change. She grinned at Cordelia in such a way that she was reminded forcefully of Belial’s horrific smile.

Cordelia raised Cortana high.

She would wipe that look off of Tatiana’s face. She would end her.

But Cortana had another idea. With a violent movement, it swung her around, back towards James. Cordelia swore loudly. Fought with all of her might.

On the ground, she realised numbly, James was convulsing. He looked as he had the night that she had destroyed the bracelet. When he had been tied to the bed, fighting desperately against Belial’s control.

Involuntarily, Cordelia’s legs moved towards James. Too late, she realised what was happening.

Cordelia tried with all of her might to drop Cortana. But it was welded to her hands, its heat blazing through her palms.

“No!” she screamed.

But she could not stop herself any more than one could stop time from flowing. Could stop the world from spinning.

Matthew was yelling, James’ shaking body clutched against his chest. Jem, now stood in the entranceway, was frozen stiff.

Cortana swung downwards. Her heart stopped.

A small, weak force tackled Cordelia’s waist. Disrupted, Cortana swung wide. Landed with a thud in the grass. Raised itself again.

Cordelia forced her head to look down. Below her, she could see a shock of white hair. Could feel bony arms wrapped around her waist.

Together, with what little control they had, she and Grace were fighting back against Lilith.

Jem moved to James’ other side. Alongside Matthew, he fought to hold James steady. To stop the convulsions. At the same time, Cordelia and Grace stumbled backwards inch by inch. Away from James. Away from Matthew.

Matthew’s golden curls were shaking. He held James in his trembling arms. But his green eyes were fixed on Cordelia. His mouth moved in words of encouragement that she could not hear.

Finally, with one great push, Cordelia’s hands broke free of Cortana. Exhausted, she and Grace tumbled to the floor in a heap. Only a few feet away, Tatiana was still laughing.

James’ body gave one final heave. Then it stilled. For one terrible, horrifying moment, Cordelia feared that her recklessness had led to his death.

But then James’ eyes opened. His mouth split in a snarl. And Cordelia wished, for his sake, that he had died.

“Tatiana,” he hissed.

Her breath catching in her throat, Cordelia recognised Belial’s voice. Next to James’ possessed body, Matthew and Jem had turned as still as statues. Cordelia could see Matthew’s face scrunched in concentration as he fought despairingly to free himself from Belial’s control.

“Tatiana,” Belial repeated. “I ordered you to capture my grandson. Not to mortally wound him.”

Tatiana had stopped laughing. Her breathing was unsteady as she replied, “You promised me revenge against the Herondales.”

Belial snarled, “I ordered you to leave James alone. You knew that I needed his body. And still you chose to disobey.”

Tatiana’s voice was frantic. “He is a Herondale! He must be punished! You made me a promise!”

Belial raised James’ wrist. And, just like Lilith had in the ballroom of the Institute, he flicked it casually.

Tatiana burst into flames.

Stumbling blindly backwards, Tatiana screamed once more – a horrible, drawn-out sound. Tangled in Cordelia’s arms, Grace, too, was screaming. Desperately, she scrambled to stand. To reach for her mother. Hands still burning, Cordelia grabbed Grace’s wrist. She held on tightly, even as Grace writhed to free herself. Just as Grace had held her.

With one final, terrible cry of pain, Tatiana burst into ash. The embers fell softly onto Cordelia’s shoulders. Settled in Grace’s pale white hair.

Grace was sobbing. “You killed her!” she screamed. “You killed her!”

“I did not kill her.” Belial sounded annoyed, as if Grace’s despair was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “I have unfinished business with her yet.”

Shakily, Belial rose to his feet. He turned to face away from Cordelia, towards London, sprawled out beneath them like a painting. The dagger was still buried in his back.

“This city will be mine,” he said calmly. “Everyone in it will be mine. The only obstacle in my path is you.”

Cordelia knew that he was speaking to her. To Cortana, now lying unassumingly on the ground.

Belial turned. James’ golden eyes sparked with hatred.

“I will be back for you, Cordelia Fairchild,” he sneered. “And when I return, you and Lilith will finally fall.”

Raising his arm again, Belial turned away. Cordelia’s gaze met Matthew’s. He had wrenched himself partially free of the spell. Had crawled to the ground close to Belial’s feet. Even with the distance between them, Cordelia could see the determination in his eyes.

In that moment, she understood exactly what Matthew was thinking. She had, after all, come to understand him better than anyone over the past few months.

Matthew had grown stronger. Had pushed himself harder and harder, training relentlessly for this very moment. Had readied himself to protect those whom he loved, even at the cost of his own life - a life that he had finally come to value.

Matthew’s face was anguished. Cordelia felt his pain burning within her own chest. Felt an agonising ache that would only grow. Grow until it had consumed every last inch of her heart.

Because she knew that Matthew was about to do something dangerous. Something that he could not take back. Something that would make him a hero.

And Cordelia hated him for it.

Tears falling from his eyes, Matthew mouthed something to her. But Cordelia did not understand.

Please, Matthew, she begged. Please do not go.

But Matthew stretched out his arm. Grasped James’ ankle.

And, with one final cry of surprise from Belial, the two of them disappeared into a cloud of nothing.

The night was suddenly excruciatingly quiet. No noise of London traffic reached them. The only sounds that Cordelia could hear were Grace’s unrestrained sobs and Christopher’s feet pounding across the grass to comfort her.

Even Cordelia’s heart had fallen silent. Gone from her chest. Lost somewhere in another realm, forever at Matthew’s side.

 

The ride back to the Institute lasted an eternity. It was a strange group in their carriage. A hunched, defeated Jem. A tear-stained, ichor-coated Grace. A messy Christopher, clothes torn. And Cordelia, Cortana strapped to her back, hot enough to burn a hole through her gear and the back of her seat.

No one dared speak. The quiet from the Silent City had followed them. To talk was to break the eerily comforting calm that it brought with it.

But the anguish of the carriage ride was nothing compared to what awaited them upon their arrival at the Institute. Standing on the steps was Will, wearing his gear, weapons, and a frantic expression. Behind him stood their friends, covered in ichor and flanked by a handful of Silent Brothers. There was something oddly unsettling about seeing such a large number of them out of the Silent City. It was almost as though they were creatures from another realm that had stepped, unwelcome, into theirs.

As soon as he spotted Jem, Will tore down the steps. Came to an abrupt halt. Jem, Cordelia realised, was speaking in his head.

For a second, Will did not move. His eyes flickered. Then, with shaky steps, he walked towards Jem. Jem approached him, arms outstretched, more human than Cordelia had ever seen him.

Jem’s arms wrapped around Will. Will buried his head on Jem’s shoulder. And together, they crumpled to the floor.

 

Back in the drawing room, Cordelia lacked the energy to pace. She was exhausted beyond words. Her memories were haunted by visions of Matthew lying on the ground, mouthing words that she could not understand.

It had been her fault. She had suggested that they go. If James were to die, then she would be the one who had brought about his death.

Head buried in her hands, Cordelia did not notice, at first, that someone stood in front of her. Lifting her head, she realised that it was Grace. Though Grace had not yet changed – her face was still soaked with grime and tears, her clothes still torn – she looked somehow more put-together than Cordelia had ever seen her.

Hesitantly, Grace unfolded the paper that she was holding. The map.

“I think that I have a plan,” she said quietly, “to save them all.”

Grace had just left the prison in which she had been locked for months. Had just fought in what may very well have been her first battle. Had just watched her mother burn to ashes.

And yet, she seemed stronger than she ever had before.

Grace was standing up against Belial, who had controlled her, had ruined her life. She was taking steps to save James, Matthew and her mother, trapped as they were in one of the many realms of hell.

When Cordelia had discovered the truth of her pact with Lilith, she had given up on being a hero. What use was a hero who could not wield a weapon? Who could not tear through armies of demons on the battlefield, clad in glinting armour?

But, staring up at Grace, Cordelia finally understood.

There was more than one way to be a hero.

And, no matter what it took, she was going to save Matthew.

She was going to save everyone.

Chapter 12

Summary:

Resting his head back against the wall, Matthew sobbed.

He had failed James. He had failed Cordelia. He would never see either of them again. Would never speak to them. Would never pull Cordelia into his arms and hold her tightly, would never spin her around and around the dance floor until they were both so dizzy that they could hardly breathe, would never walk arm in arm with her through the moonlit streets of Paris, would never tangle with her in blankets, mouth pressed against hers, finally joined together as one...

A sudden blaze of pain shot across his chest. With a cry of agony, Matthew grabbed at his skin and scratched hard, as if he could somehow tear out the ache.

At first, he thought it was the feeling of his heart finally shattering beyond repair.

A second later, however, he realised that it was his parabatai rune.

~~~

The moment that they have been preparing for has finally come: Belial has launched his invasion of London. But with Matthew trapped in Edom and Cordelia left behind to fight, they must rely on the strength of their bonds with their friends and each other to lead them back together...

Matthew had thought that he had known hopelessness.

He had felt it on the evening that they had freed James from the bracelet. He had felt it at the moment when he had confessed his love to Cordelia and received silence in reply. He had felt it down in the depths of the Silent City, stele clutched in his hand, a voice whispering in his head that he would not survive the night.

Each time, he had felt a profound sense of loss. A feeling that he had failed those whom he loved.

But now, crouched in a dusty courtyard in hell, James’ shivering, dying body in his arms, Matthew realised that he had never known true hopelessness.

Because never before had he felt as hopeless as this.

He did not know for how long they had been stuck in this realm. It could have been the equivalent of days in London. It could have been mere hours. The sun was dipping low in the sky, casting gloomy shadows across the courtyard. Matthew’s throat was parched in the dry heat. The back of it was scratched so painfully that no amount of coughing cleared it. His legs were numb from the weight of James’ limp figure.

Only moments after their arrival, Belial had stepped out of James’ body. Cursing, he had warned them that he would return, before spreading great black, skeletal wings and soaring upwards into the sky. Matthew had not stopped to watch his silhouette grow smaller and smaller. He had been too concerned about the James that Belial had left behind.

The moment that the Prince of Hell had disappeared, Matthew had pulled out his stele. Firmly, he had grasped James’ arm and lowered the tip to his skin.

But James had jerked. Had yanked his arm away.

Frustrated, Matthew had tried again, holding James’ arm so tightly that his nails dug into his skin.

Once again, James pulled away.

“No, Math,” he croaked.

His voice was rough and scratchy, his face pale and bloodless.

“Do not be ridiculous,” Matthew replied, his own voice catching in his sore throat.

He tried again. This time, however, James was faster. He latched onto Matthew’s outstretched arm with what little power remained in his body.

“Please,” he begged. “Let me die.”

“No.”

Matthew tried to pull his arm free. But James was holding on with surprising strength.

“Belial will use me. He will use my body to commit atrocities across London. Across the world. Please, Math. I am begging you.”

“Am I just supposed to watch you die?” Matthew’s voice was barely audible.

“He will use me to hurt Daisy,” James whispered.

Matthew, horrified, did not reply. James’ head fell limply onto Matthew’s lap. His hand slipped to the floor, releasing Matthew’s arm. Left on Matthew’s skin were small, semi-circular impressions.

As his eyes slid closed, all James could mumble was, “Promise me.”

Though every part of him ached to disagree, Matthew murmured, “I promise.”

And so, mind racing, Matthew had sat down. He had rested one hand on James’ chest to feel it rise and fall. He had hovered the other over James’ mouth, letting his parabatai’s breath lightly brush his fingertips.

As he stared up at the moonless sky, Matthew learned for the first time what true hopelessness was. It was sitting, back against a wall, in the courtyards of hell, holding your best friend in your arms and fearing that you had abandoned the love of your life to die alone in another realm.

 

“We can turn his own plan against him.”

Grace had spread the map that Cordelia had made across the drawing room table. It displayed everything, from the locations of Belial’s murders of Shadowhunters through to the most frequent places in which his demons had been spotted around the city. Though it had been unpleasant to document, Cordelia had felt a grim satisfaction at its creation. Through this map, she had made a stand against Belial, even when he had been killing across London.

Now, however, as Cordelia stared down at the spots in which Belial’s victims had been found, she could not help but think of Matthew. Could not help but wonder if he, too, had ended up like her father.

I would know if he was dead, Cordelia thought. I would feel it.

But would she? Without thinking, Cordelia lifted her hand to her chest. Right here, over her fluttering heartbeat, should have been her second marriage rune. By Shadowhunter tradition, she and Matthew should have drawn it on each other within the first few weeks of their marriage. But, of course, there had been nothing traditional about her marriage to Matthew.

Before, the rune had not seemed important – simply a symbol that they could apply to each other’s skin at any time. The feelings that they had come to share were far stronger than any rune could ever be.

However, as she stared down at the map and tried to push away thoughts of Matthew, lying dead in the realms of hell, Cordelia felt suddenly bare without it.

It was strange how something so small could become so significant when faced with the biggest threat that London had ever seen.

I need to concentrate, Cordelia told herself firmly. I cannot afford to become distracted.

Shaking her head to clear her head, Cordelia turned her attention back to Grace. On Grace’s other side stood Lucie, a frown on her face. Across from her was Christopher, hand on his chin, staring thoughtfully down at the map.

The four of them were the only ones who had gathered at the table. In a rare stroke of good luck, none of their friends had been lost in the battle at the Silent City. However, those who had survived, Shadowhunters and Silent Brothers alike, were exhausted. Many had left to wash off the ichor and seek a couple of hours of restless sleep. Others, like Will and Jem, had sunk down on sofas and chairs, unable to bring themselves to speak. On Will’s other side sat Tessa, followed by Magnus Bane, who had arrived during their time in the Silent City. They, too, sat in complete silence, their bodies tense. The only sound in the room was Grace’s soft voice.

Cordelia supposed that she, too, should have been tired. But she had never felt more awake in her life. Anxiety buzzed through her body like a drink of coffee.

“I see,” Christopher said slowly. Guiltily, Cordelia realised that she had not been paying attention. “You are suggesting that we trap Belial somehow?”

Grace pointed to the marks scattered across the map, indicating the places in which Belial had murdered Shadowhunters and stripped their runes. “Do you see the pattern that these runes make?”

Cordelia followed Grace’s trailing finger. Indeed, the marks seemed to come together to form a rune of their own – a pattern that swirled around and around, eventually settling at—

“—Blackthorn Manor,” Cordelia said.

Grace nodded. “Your map confirms what I had suspected for a while. Blackthorn Manor is where,” she lowered her voice, “where Belial possessed my brother. Belial prepared this pattern carefully. I believe that the magic that he created in doing so should still exist at the house. If we could recreate this layout, we could force him to appear.”

Lucie looked doubtful. “How would we go about summoning him, let alone trapping him? He is a Prince of Hell. Surely he can resist being pulled into a summoning circle.”

“Though I may not be his paladin, I am still in a pact of sorts with him,” Grace said. “He will come when I call him. Especially if Cordelia is there, as well.”

Still, Lucie did not seem convinced. “But can a summoning circle hold a Prince of Hell?”

“Belial may be a Prince of Hell, but he is still a demon,” Grace said darkly. “And he will fall like any other.”

The room fell silent. Then, “You know, that just might work.”

Cordelia looked up. They had not been as quiet as she had thought. Magnus, still sat next to Tessa, was staring across at them.

“It is, of course, a ludicrous plan. Not to mention incredibly dangerous. But ludicrous and dangerous may be just what we need at this moment in time.”

The five of them exchanged meaningful looks.

This was it. With no other solutions in sight, this was their plan. Their one chance to save James and Matthew.

They could not afford to fail.

“We had best prepare to leave,” Cordelia said as Grace started to fold up the map. “There is no time to waste.”

Quietly, Grace handed the map over to Cordelia. She took it. It felt strangely heavier than it had before – weighted down by the pressure of lives in the balance.

As quickly as they could, Cordelia and Grace rounded the table and headed for the door.

“No.”

Cordelia froze. Turned around slowly.

Will Herondale had lifted his head from his hands. His eyes were emptier than Cordelia had ever seen them.

“No,” he repeated.

“Will bach...” Tessa rested her hand on Will’s back. But Will’s body was as still as a statue.

“It is too dangerous. I forbid any of you from leaving.”

“You cannot forbid us,” Cordelia said quietly. She did not like where this conversation was headed. “We are Shadowhunters.”

Unsteadily, Will stood up. He seemed suddenly to tower over them. All signs of his usual cheerful temperament had disappeared. Distantly, Cordelia remembered what Matthew had said about Will’s fury.

“The Consul and Inquisitor left me in charge.” Will was breathing heavily. “I most certainly can.”

Seconds passed in strained silence. Jesse, who had risen from his seat in the corner to join Lucie at the door, stopped moving. Jem’s hooded face gazed, unreadable, up at Will. Cordelia and Will stared at each other, eyes locked in a furious battle.

Then, knowing that it made her seem petulant and childish, Cordelia turned away and opened the door.

“Cordelia Carstairs,” Will growled. “Do not leave this room.”

“Fairchild,” Cordelia whispered before stepping over the threshold.

Will crossed the room in moments. His body trembling, he overtook her. Blocked her path.

Cordelia stared up at his face. She expected him to be red with fury, eyes blazing.

But instead, Will looked utterly defeated.

“I have already lost my son today.” His voice cracked. “I will not lose anyone else.”

Cordelia understood that feeling better than anyone else. She had lost Matthew. Had lost James. Even now, her heart felt as though it were torn in two, its pieces scattered across the realms of hell, seeking the man whom she loved.

She wanted to scream. Wanted to cry. Wanted to break down and let someone else handle Belial for once.

But, even so, that was no reason to give up.

“He is not dead,” Cordelia said firmly.

Will shook his head. “You do not know that.”

Pushing past them with a hasty apology, Jesse hurried up the stairs and disappeared from sight.

“Belial needs him,” Cordelia explained. “Needs both his body and soul. He would not kill him. We can still save him.”

Will faltered. His eyes twitched. His forehead creased. For a moment, Cordelia thought that her words had gotten through to him.

But then he shook his head again. “No.”

Cordelia opened her mouth, ready to argue. But, before she could speak, Magnus stepped out of the room behind her. He, too, looked drawn and serious.

“There is no use in fighting now,” he scolded them. “You are tired. I will see to it that Cordelia and the others are taken to their rooms to rest.”

Will and Magnus stared at each other. Sized each other up. Then, perhaps too tired to argue, Will relented. He nodded.

Furious, Cordelia had no choice but to follow Magnus’ gestures towards the staircase.

This is ridiculous, she thought angrily. We know how to save them.

Halfway up the stairs, Cordelia paused. In one last desperate attempt, she cried, “Where is the Will Herondale who travelled the length of the country to save the woman whom he loved?”

But Will said nothing. Only briefly did Cordelia catch the anguish on his face as he stepped back into the drawing room, closing the door firmly behind him.

 

If the heat of the day had been barely manageable, then the cold nights of hell turned out to be unendurable.

Shivering, Matthew drew James closer to him. James, to Matthew’s great concern, was not shivering. Matthew would have thought him dead, were it not for the fact that his numb fingers still detected the slightest of breaths from James’ lips. With his free hand, Matthew brushed James’ dark hair from his eyes. James’ forehead was hot, sticky with sweat.

How had he ended up in this situation? His parabatai, tucked under one arm, was dying, while his other hand clutched the means to save him. As Shadowhunters, a wound from a dagger should have been easy to solve. It should never have come to this.

Matthew tilted his head back to look up at the sky. It was littered with dark grey clouds that scudded along in the chill winds. If there was a moon up there, it was blocked by their shadowy embrace.

More importantly, there was no sign of any life. No stars. No birds.

No Princes of Hell.

Swallowing hard, Matthew looked back down at James.

He had promised. And a promise sworn between parabatai was sacred.

But then his eyes travelled over the bloodstain on the back of James’ torn white shirt. Over James’ bloodlessly pale skin. Over his sweat-soaked face.

James would hate him. Would curse him. Would blame him for the rest of his days.

But Matthew did not care. Because at least that would mean that James was alive.

Lightly, Matthew took hold of James’ arm and shook it. James did not respond. Drawing in a deep breath, Matthew placed the tip of his stele to James’ skin and drew an iratze. Then he drew another. And another. And another.

Already, James’ body slumped over his legs, Matthew could see the wound sealing itself. He could feel, through his parabatai rune, that James’ strength was returning.

As he lifted the stele, Matthew paused. Considered his actions.

Had he made a terrible decision?

It did not matter. It had already been made.

He would just have to deal with the consequences when they arrived.

 

Cordelia had expected Magnus to lead them to the bedrooms. To her confusion, he instead led their group on a strange loop of the Institute. Along empty corridors. Down a different flight of stairs. Back, silently, through the entrance hall. Down into the basement.

Perhaps Tatiana is not the only one amongst us who has gone mad, Cordelia thought dully.

Magnus’ intentions, however, became clear from the moment that he opened the door to the old laboratory. Inside stood Anna, Ariadne, Jesse, Thomas and Alastair, all looking as though they had just awoken from a deep sleep. Unusually, Alastair’s hair was a mess, his shirt rumpled and untucked. Cordelia felt a sudden rush of affection towards him.

Jesse stepped forwards, moving to Lucie’s side. “I did as you instructed,” he said, his eyes on Magnus. “Care to explain why I had to gather everyone?”

Magnus clapped his hands. He wore a look of forced cheerfulness. “Because we are setting off.”

“To where?”

“To wherever Miss Blackthorn directs us.”

Everyone turned to look at Grace. Unaccustomed as she was to being the focus of so many gazes, Grace was startled.

But Cordelia was looking elsewhere. Magnus, with a complicated hand gesture, was making something circular and magical sparkle into existence. It looked almost like...

“A Portal?”

Magnus’ smile was strained. “It will be far quicker than trying to traverse the city on foot. Particularly with any remaining demons patrolling the streets.”

“Why are you helping us?” Cordelia asked bluntly. “Mr Herondale ordered us to remain in the Institute.”

“As much as I have tried repeatedly not to entangle myself with Shadowhunters, I have grown rather fond of Will,” Magnus admitted. “He is a good man. But he is grieving, and in my experience, grieving men do not often make the wisest of choices.”

With another gesture from Magnus, the Portal winked into existence. Satisfied, Magnus stood back to admire his handiwork.

“Besides, I have rather a soft spot for Tessa. If she thinks that we would be wise to follow Miss Blackthorn’s plan, then I will endeavour to see it to fruition. Even if she will not publicly disagree with her husband.”

Cordelia stepped towards the Portal. She could feel the magic sparking off of it like embers, warming the hole in her heart left behind by Matthew.

Magnus moved to her side. The light of the Portal cast a strange orange-blue glow across his striking features.

“It needs to be you,” he said softly, turning to look at Cordelia. He nodded towards Cortana. “You must land the final blow.”

Silently, Cordelia nodded. Cortana was indeed the only weapon that could bring about Belial’s demise. But in her current state, tied as she was to Lilith, would she even be able to wield it at the deciding moment?

Magnus stared into Cordelia’s eyes as if he could read her thoughts. Cordelia stared defiantly back.

It did not matter. Even if Cortana were to burn through her, setting her aflame with demonic fire, she would not let go. She would burn to ashes before allowing anything more to happen to those whom she loved.

Slowly, a smile spread across Magnus’ face. Then, with one final flick of his wrist, an image appeared in the Portal: a tiny inn, nestled amongst houses, facing the Thames.

“Then let us make haste,” Magnus declared. “We have some murders to recreate, after all.”

 

James would not awaken.

Matthew was certain that the healing runes had worked. Many times, he had run his hand lightly over the sealed wound on James’ back, his fingertips brushing over nothing but faded scars. On occasion, Matthew had shaken James as hard as he had dared, desperation bubbling over in his chest. Yet James continued to sleep, his face pale, his eyelids completely still.

In the back of his mind, Matthew recalled another, similar time. Recalled Cordelia, unconscious, her soul trapped with Lilith in another realm.

Was James’ soul also trapped – separated from his body? Or was Matthew simply too late?

He bit his lip to hold in the tears. He had to be strong – strong, as James would have been for him.

But it was no use. His mind was now overflowing with thoughts of both James’ and Cordelia’s suffering. As long as he lived, Matthew would never forget Cordelia’s face as she had realised what he had been about to do. Her resignation. Her heartbreak.

Resting his head back against the wall, Matthew sobbed.

He had failed James. He had failed Cordelia. He would never see either of them again. Would never speak to them. Would never pull Cordelia into his arms and hold her tightly, would never spin her around and around the dance floor until they were both so dizzy that they could hardly breathe, would never walk arm in arm with her through the moonlit streets of Paris, would never tangle with her in blankets, mouth pressed against hers, finally joined together as one...

A sudden blaze of pain shot across his chest. With a cry of agony, Matthew grabbed at his skin and scratched hard, as if he could somehow tear out the ache.

At first, he thought it was the feeling of his heart finally shattering beyond repair.

A second later, however, he realised that it was his parabatai rune.

Looking down, Matthew swore loudly. The rune was ablaze. Flickers of flame ran down the lines that had been traced there by James’ stele all those years ago.

But his chest no longer hurt. The warmth of the fire was suddenly strengthening, invigorating. Below him, Matthew could see a faint outline burning through James’ shirt.

James was calling out to him. Matthew was not sure how he knew it, but he was certain.

As quickly as he could, Matthew rolled James over onto his back. Laid him gently against on the ground. His fingers fumbling, he undid the buttons on James’ shirt, slipping it down until his parabatai rune shone freely in the dim light.

The flames were feeble. But they were alight.

Leaning down, Matthew placed the tip of his stele to James’ chest, right next to the rune. Allowing the heavens to guide him, Matthew traced one last iratze.

For several agonising seconds, he did not think that it had worked. James lay still, his face turned up to the sky, the blazing rune sputtering out on his chest. Then, as the last flame faded away, he stirred. It was the faintest movement, so small that anyone who did not know James as well as Matthew might have missed it.

But he had seen it, plain as day. James’ eyelids had quivered.

He was alive.

Matthew sat back on his knees. Turned his face to the sky. Let out the longest sigh of his life.

Perhaps the situation was not as hopeless as it had seemed. Perhaps he would see Cordelia yet again. Perhaps the angels really were granting him a second chance.

Matthew lowered his head to look at James. His heart stopped.

James’ eyes were open. He was staring up at Matthew.

A hideous grin stretched across his face.

 

In total, it took them four hours to prepare the trap that Belial had originally created.

At first, they had travelled as one group. Christopher and Grace had drawn the runes on the ground with remarkable precision whilst the others had patrolled, eyes scanning the dark night for any sign of the white-robed men. However, with the deadline of James’ wound pressing down on them, they had split into two groups. Cordelia was immensely grateful for Magnus, who had set about creating Portals between each destination. She did not know how they would have managed without him.

When she had expressed this thought aloud, Magnus had simply winked, his fingers glittering with blue fire. “You know, it is very refreshing to have a Shadowhunter who thanks me for a job well done. You can hire my services any time, Cordelia. At the usual rate, I am afraid.”

After a long night of travelling, Cordelia finally stepped out of the Portal at the last destination: a darkened alleyway between two rundown shops. Grace, as carefully as she could with the stele that she had borrowed from Cordelia, started tracing a rune along the cobbled street and up the crumbling walls.

As ever, Cordelia and Lucie had opted to group together, which had meant that Jesse, still inexperienced, had joined them. But Jesse had not been pleased. Even now, he stood with his back to Grace, arms crossed, facing towards the empty street.

“He still has not spoken with her,” Lucie said sadly.

“I hope that his anger fades with time,” Cordelia said. “Everything that she did, she did for him.”

Lucie nodded fervently. “That is exactly what I said! It is not as though I, too, did not do foolish things in my attempts to resurrect him.”

“Such as running away to Cornwall and leaving me behind?”

Lucie smiled guiltily. It was the first time that night that Cordelia had seen her look anything other than haggard.

Cordelia had cared deeply for James. But Lucie was his sister. By default, James was her oldest friend, from the moment that she had been born.

And yet, Lucie was trying her best to be optimistic. It broke Cordelia’s heart.

Stepping closer, Cordelia wrapped her arms around Lucie. A second later, she felt Lucie hold onto her gear jacket.

“We will save them,” Cordelia whispered.

“We will,” Lucie agreed.

They held each other for several minutes in silence, the only sound that of the stele scratching against the ground. Finally, Cordelia leaned back. Lucie’s arms fell limply to her side.

“Do you think that Cortana will obey you this time?” Lucie asked quietly.

Strapped to Cordelia’s back, Cortana pulsed with energy. It had been burning through her skin since her fight with Belial earlier that evening. Cordelia supposed that it was a form of punishment from Lilith.

But she did not care. She rather liked it. The pain was distracting. Freeing.

“I do not know,” Cordelia admitted. “I may be about to face down a Prince of Hell completely unarmed.”

Lucie said firmly, “You are not unarmed. You have us. We are all ready to fight. Let us be your weapons.”

Let us be your weapons.

Cordelia did not want to put her friends in danger. She had trained her whole life so that she could be the one who risked herself for others. It was true, however, that she could not wield Cortana, lest she be wielded herself. And even if Cortana was not under Lilith’s control, it was a sword that swung only for the worthy. In her current state, Cordelia was not sure if she would meet its approval.

And yet, over the past few months, she had come to know many people who would.

A plan forming in her mind, Cordelia hugged Lucie again.

She had felt alone since losing Matthew – her heart empty. But she had forgotten the most important lesson that she had learned since coming to London.

With her friends at her side, she was never truly alone.

 

“Are we all set?”

They had reunited at Blackthorn Manor, under the moonlight. The house looked much the same as it had the last time that Cordelia had seen it. The driveway stood empty, largely untouched, as though carriages had not rolled through the gates in a long time. The stench of abandonment wafted from the rotten walls and mould-stained glass panes of the greenhouse. The lawn was overgrown, tall weeds tickling their legs.

“We are,” Christopher confirmed. “The runes have all been drawn. And I must say, that is a jolly good plan that you have thought up, Cordelia.”

Indeed, Cordelia had spent much of the last five minutes laying out her idea for defeating Belial. She had worried that she was putting too much pressure on her friends’ shoulders. That they would reject her plan.

But she had done them a disservice by doubting them. Just as they always had, her friends had come through.

Everyone was prepared. Christopher was properly armed this time: seraph blades dangled from his belt, alongside strange, round devices. Cordelia rather hoped that they were not explosives. By Christopher’s side was Thomas, bolas in one hand, a lit seraph blade in the other.

“Layla, are you certain about this?” Alastair asked. His face was creased in concern, his spear planted firmly into the ground next to him. “This plan will place you in great danger.”

Cordelia shook her head. “It will place all of you in far greater danger. I am truly sorry.”

Thomas scoffed half-heartedly. His eyes were tired, yet clear and focused. “We always place ourselves in danger. It is what we do best. With a plan like this, no one could doubt that you have become one of us.”

Cordelia’s heart swelled.

How desperately she had wanted to be a part of this group. To join the Merry Thieves in light-hearted banter. To be invited to parties and gatherings at Anna’s flat. To tell stories over the fire late into the night in the room over the Devil’s Tavern.

Cordelia’s time in London had not gone at all the way that she had envisioned. She had not won James’ heart, as she had dreamed of doing for so long. She had not freed her father and restored her family name. She had not become a hero, respected amongst Shadowhunters.

Instead, she had won an entirely different heart. Had taken on a new family name. Had become a hero to Matthew, the man whom she had come to love more than anyone else in the world.

As she moved into position, Cordelia realised that she would not change a single moment of her life before today. With a nod towards Grace, Cordelia unsheathed Cortana, letting its fire burn through her hands.

If she were to die here today having only been a hero to the man whom she loved, then she would have achieved her lifelong purpose.

 

“You did a very good job.”

Matthew had risen to his feet. With no other weapon in his belt, he clutched his stele like a dagger.

“For a moment, I really thought that you were going to let him die.” Belial, in James’ body, was grinning, an air of triumph about him. “What a poor parabatai you would have been.”

Forgive me, James, Matthew thought desperately. I should have kept my promise. I should have let you die.

Slowly, Belial stepped forwards. He stretched out his arms, rolled his neck, as if he were testing his new limbs. Then he drew in a deep breath.

“You could never understand how long I have waited,” he sighed. “It was agonising.”

Belial caught Matthew’s gaze with his own. James’ golden eyes, usually so passive and full of love, shone with a dark, deep-rooted hatred.

“Do you know what I am going to do now, Matthew Fairchild?” Belial spoke softly, almost tenderly. “I am going to kill you. Then I am going to take your body back to your realm, where I will present it to your wife. And when I have finally savoured every moment of anguish on her face, I will end her, too.”

Belial was alight with malice. Legs now steady, he was striding towards Matthew.

I failed you, Daisy. Forgive me. Please, forgive me.

With all of the force that he could muster, Matthew swung. Inhumanly fast, Belial knocked aside Matthew’s fist as if it were nothing more than a fly.

The stele clattered to the ground. Belial’s hands closed around Matthew’s neck.

As Matthew’s mind spun, he could picture clearly Cordelia’s face in the moment that she had confessed her love.

I would have realised far sooner, for one, that I am in love with you. That I have always been in love with you.

Oh, Daisy. If only we had realised sooner. If only we had had more time together.

“I am going to kill you slowly, Matthew Fairchild,” Belial murmured in his ear, “and I am going to make my grandson watch every second of it.”

James.

James was watching

James was still alive.

Matthew needed to struggle. Needed to fight. Needed to reach his parabatai.

But the strength had left his body. His vision was clouding. The last thing that he would see before dying was James’ face, twisted horribly into something demonic.

Suddenly, however, Belial’s grip loosened. Matthew gasped. Air filled his lungs.

Belial was staring upwards. A long, furious snarl tore from his throat.

For a second, Matthew watched him. Wondered why he had been released.

And then a moment later, he collapsed into darkness.

 

Grace’s plan had worked.

It had seemed impossible to summon a Prince of Hell. It had been one last attempt to grasp at straws. To feel as though they were doing something.

But, by some miracle, it had worked.

One moment, they had been staring at the circle of runes drawn on the lawn, no one daring to breath. A second later, the runes had leaked like ink in rain, the ground had split, and a figure had emerged.

James.

Cordelia’s hands, not yet welded to Cortana, were suddenly slippery with sweat. She had known that there was a chance. She had seen Belial possess James with her own eyes.

But, at seeing him stood before her, teeth bared in fury, something cracked inside of her chest.

Fighting to conceal her trembling, Cordelia’s eyes dropped to Belial’s feet.

Whatever had cracked within her broke into a thousand pieces.

Matthew lay there, unmoving. Unconscious or dead, she could not tell.

Belial turned to survey the circle. To survey the crowd of Shadowhunters, weapons drawn, who faced him.

“Very good, Cordelia Fairchild,” he sneered. “A summoning circle. How quaint. For how long do you think that you can hold me?”

Trembling, Grace stepped closer to the circle. Her bright white hair was dyed black in the lights of hell.

“For longer than you think,” she said.

Belial turned to Grace. “What a pleasant surprise,” he hissed, sounding anything but pleased. “You intend to hold me here, do you? While your mother burns in the fires of Edom?”

In the moonlight, Grace was a ghost, haunting the lawns of the house where she had once lived.

But when she spoke, she sounded completely human.

“My mother must pay for what she has done. As must I. Everyone must eventually face up to their past to move forwards. Even angels. Even demons. You would know that better than most.”

Belial smiled a terrible, unearthly smile. It split James face like a gash. “Indeed they must. But I have already spent centuries paying from my past mistakes. And now, as you say, it is time to move forwards. If you are so eager to burn in the fires of hell, then so be it. This is the end. For all of you.”

Just as Lilith had, Belial raised his wrist. In Cordelia’s hands, Cortana began to shake furiously, charging with energy.

Belial flicked his wrist. All around him, the ground tore apart.

It was now or never.

Let us be your weapons.

“Lucie!” Cordelia cried. With all of the strength in her arms, she threw her sword to her friend.

Cortana flew through the air, a golden glint in the moonlight. Lucie’s hand stretched out. Her feet pounded across the grass. Crying out, she leaped into the air. Her hand closed around the handle.

With one final heave, the lawn gave way. The armies of hell sprung forth from the earth.

And Cordelia ran.

As rapidly as she could, she sprinted across the lawn towards the desolate house. Behind her, snarls ripping through the air, the demons tore after her.

Cordelia’s lungs ached. Her head throbbed. But still, she did not stop.

“NO!” Belial was screaming. “GET THE SWORD!”

The demons ground to a halt. Cordelia, now by the porch, turned to watch. Confused, demons of all varieties spun around stupidly, searching for Cortana. One of them screeched and pointed.

All at once, the demons charged in the direction of Lucie, who now stood near the greenhouse, holding Cortana uncertainly. Her eyes darted around.

Then, as the demons approached, she pulled back her arm, cried, “Jesse!” and threw Cortana with all of her might.

At the exact same moment, Thomas yelled, “Alastair!” and threw his lit seraph blade.

Two streaks of golden light shot across the air. The weapons crossed each other in midair, an impression left painted on the sky as they fell to the ground. At once, Alastair and Jesse charged. Snatched up the weapons.

The demons, running at full pelt, could not keep up. Those closest to Jesse turned, fangs bared, as he moved Cortana into the position that he had practiced. But the other demons had not seen where Cortana had landed. They stared around, confused, seeking orders from amidst Belial’s frenzied screams.

All around Cordelia came the cries of angels and the lights of heaven. Then, just as they had planned, her friends threw.

It was utter chaos. Seraph blade after seraph blade hurtled through the air until the sky was ablaze with angelic fire. Demons and Shadowhunters alike stampeded across the lawn in all directions, shoving past one another. Cordelia watched Anna slash her whip through a distracted demon that had turned towards Alastair. Saw Jesse slice the Blackthorn sword through a demon that had slipped in an effort to turn sharply, its eyes following Thomas’ throw.

Through it all, Cordelia’s gaze tracked Cortana. It flew to Ariadne, who pierced it through a demon’s head before throwing it to Christopher, who jabbed it into a demon’s side before tossing it to Alastair, who swung it, with the mastery of a Carstairs, through three demons at once.

Unnoticed, Cordelia lowered her head and navigated her way through the melee. She needed to get into the circle while the army was distracted. If she could approach Belial, she could reclaim Cortana. Could use it to end Belial before it had a chance to fight against her control.

Cordelia was closing in.

To her left, a demon staggered backwards, impaled on Lucie’s seraph blade. Dodging to the side, Cordelia stumbled, righted herself and continued onwards.

She could see Belial’s enraged face clearly.

Instinctively, Cordelia ducked her head to avoid a wide swing of Anna’s whip. It sliced through the demon straight in front of her.

She was so close that she could see each of Matthew’s golden curls, tumbling over his forehead, his closed eyes.

Belial had not noticed her. He was still screaming orders that were lost to the mayhem.

With one final leap, Cordelia jumped for the summoning circle.

Her body collided with a solid surface.

Gasping in pain, Cordelia crashed to the floor. An invisible wall had pushed her back. She shook her throbbing head. Staggered to her feet.

But Belial had finally seen her. James’ beautiful eyes burned with hatred.

“Did you mean to kill me?” Belial laughed. It was an inhuman grating sound. “Think again, Cordelia. You have trapped me in here. But you also cannot reach me.”

Across the lawn, Grace had caught Cortana. With surprising courage, she forced a demon to leap backwards, right into the path of Alastair’s spear. As she watched it crumble to ash, Grace spotted Cordelia. Their eyes met.

“A double-edged sword. You must release me, Cordelia Fairchild. Or you can never kill me.”

Grace had not seen Cordelia’s tumble. She did not know that Cordelia could not enter the circle.

Pulling back her arm, Grace readied to throw.

“No!” Cordelia cried.

It was too late. As planned, Grace threw Cortana. Cordelia watched in horror as her sword flew through the air towards her. Slipped through her outstretched hands. Smashed into the invisible wall. Tumbled to the ground. Slid down the hill.

Chased by Belial’s hideous laughter, Cordelia sprinted across the lawn. She was forced to dodge around her friends’ swings and the lashes of demons, to watch in horror as Cortana skidded farther and farther away. It skittered across the driveway. Hit the metal gate with a deafening clang.

Panting, Cordelia pounded onto the driveway. The gravel crunched under her feet as she raced towards her sword.

But as she approached, a hand wrapped around Cortana’s hilt and lifted it from the ground.

Cordelia looked up.

There, holding Cortana, looking every bit the hero that she had always heard him to be, stood Will Herondale.

Cortana outstretched, Will marched towards Cordelia. For a split second, she thought that he was about to impale her. At the last moment, however, he thrust Cortana over her shoulder. The demon that Cordelia had not even heard approach crumbled to ash with a terrified screech.

Towering over her, Will looked down. His eyes were thunderous.

“He is here,” Cordelia said quietly.

Will looked up. Scanned the crowd. Spotted the summoning circle. Saw Belial in James’ body and Matthew on the ground.

Cordelia watched the Adam’s apple in Will’s throat bob as he swallowed hard. Then he looked down again. Nodded once. Held out Cortana’s hilt.

Cordelia shook her head. She could not wield it now. She would lose control. She would hurt someone whom she loved.

But Will simply moved the sword closer to her hands. “He needs you, Cordelia,” he murmured.

Cordelia reached up. Closed her hand around Cortana. Felt its heat blaze through her fingertips.

And when she turned around, sword held high, Cortana did not fight her control – did not fight to control her.

For the first time in her life, Cordelia felt every bit the hero that she had always wanted to be.

With Will at her side, Cordelia fought her way through the army. Slashed through demon after demon as Will stabbed with his seraph blade. Behind them, dimly, she was aware of others joining the fray. The swish of a cloak as a Silent Brother swung his staff. The crackle of blue fire as Magnus sent off spell after spell. The arcs of seraph blades as Gabriel and Cecily, armed to the teeth, carved a path forwards.

Finally united in purpose, Cordelia and Cortana moved like water through the chaos. Completely focused, she did not even notice as Jem moved to her other side, fighting in sync with Will.

Just as she had always dreamed, Cordelia was fighting like a true paladin. Demon after demon fell to her strikes as the three of them glided across the battlefield.

Belial had spotted her. Pale with fear, he watched as Cordelia charged towards him, never once looking away. He stumbled backwards to the edge of the invisible wall.

Cordelia had reached the circle. Will and Jem, caught in the throng of the battle, parted from her side.

For a moment, she met Belial’s gaze. James’ soft golden eyes were wide with fear.

Then Cordelia lifted Cortana high and swung it down with the force of an angel.

With a crack like thunder, the wall smashed. Black ichor rained down in a dome. Without pausing, Cordelia stepped through it, feeling the droplets run down her shoulders, soak into her gear.

Belial held out his hand. Threw a dagger.

Cordelia dodged effortlessly. She kept walking.

Belial took a step backwards. He froze. Frantically, his hands felt along an invisible surface behind him.

He was still trapped.

In that moment, though James normally towered over her, Cordelia felt ten feet tall. She was the chosen of the angels, bearing down on a prince, about to cast him into hell for an eternity.

Tears dripped down her cheeks. James’ face, so inhuman in expression, stared back at her.

Forgive me, James. I wish that I could have saved you.

She lifted Cortana high.

“DAISY, STOP!”

Cordelia froze. Stumbled. Jerked around.

On the ground, struggling to rise, was Matthew. His curls, soaked in the ichor rain, pressed limply against his head.

“He is still alive, Daisy! He is in there!”

Cordelia could not think. Could not breathe. Could not process what Matthew was saying.

Matthew was alive. He was alive.

 

 

As if she had forgotten about Belial altogether, Cordelia stumbled blindly to Matthew’s side. Gripped his arm tightly. Helped him to his feet.

Matthew could feel his entire body trembling. His legs wobbled dangerously. But he did not care. His head still fighting off the darkness, he stared down at Cordelia, glowing in the moonlight, Cortana in her hand.

She was the most beautiful sight that he had ever seen.

“ENOUGH!”

With a force like torrential wind, Cordelia was thrown backwards. Unable to slow herself, she crashed to the ground outside of the circle.

Yelling, Matthew stumbled after her. But he did not make it far. Within seconds, a monstrously strong force gripped his chest. The cold of sharp metal pressed against his throat.

“Enough,” Belial repeated, his voice right by Matthew’s ear. He was breathing hard.

Outside of the circle, Cordelia staggered to her feet. Her shaking hands gripped Cortana tightly.

“This was a pathetic display, Nephilim. You most of all, Cordelia Fairchild. What an embarrassment you are to Lilith.”

Matthew dared not moved. Once, he would have struggled until the bitter end, his own life nothing more to him than something to be thrown away. Now, he wanted desperately to live. To move onwards. To spend his life with Cordelia.

“Let him go.” Cordelia’s voice was harsh. Tears of frustration still ran down her cheeks.

“I will not,” Belial said maliciously. “I will kill him here. Where you can watch the life drain from his eyes.”

No, Matthew thought. He would not die here. Not where Cordelia could see. Not where he would become a memory with which she would torture herself for the rest of her life, in the way that he had tortured himself until the day that she had freed him.

Cordelia’s body had gone stiff.

Matthew watched her carefully. He knew very well the look in her eyes. She was thinking. Calculating. Planning.

Then, unexpectedly, Cordelia threw Cortana onto the ground.

“Swear that you will not hurt him,” she called clearly, “and I will become your paladin.”

Against Matthew’s back, Belial froze. Matthew, too, could not breathe.

“Daisy, no,” he whispered.

“You would become my paladin?” Belial said quietly. “You would serve me for all eternity?”

“So long as you swear not to hurt Matthew. Or anyone else here.”

Belial paused. His head tilted to the side as he considered Cordelia’s words. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Matthew saw James’ features twist in another cruel grin.

“Very well,” Belial breathed. “I accept your terms.”

Slowly, Cordelia sank to her knee. Lowered her head. All around her, demons and Shadowhunters watched with bated breath.

“I swear myself to your service, Belial, Prince of Hell. Rightful ruler of Edom.”

Belial was panting. His chest rose and fell rapidly in excitement.

“I accept your fealty, Cordelia Fairchild. For the rest of your existence. And in return, I will not harm your friends or your husband.”

Heavily, the weight of her sin on her shoulders, Cordelia rose. Suddenly free of Belial’s grip, Matthew stumbled forwards. He felt completely numb.

“Pick up your sword,” Belial ordered.

Cordelia leaned down and grasped Cortana.

“Come to me,” Belial whispered breathlessly.

Cordelia stepped into the circle. Approached Belial.

For a split second, her eyes darted to the side. Met Matthew’s. Her fingers twitched almost imperceptibly on Cortana’s hilt.

Belial was staring down at Cordelia as if she were a prize beyond his wildest imaginings. As if he had never seen anything as beautiful and perfect as she.

“Finally,” Belial sighed. “Finally.”

As if mesmerised, he leaned down towards Cordelia. Then he whispered, in a voice so quiet that Matthew was certain that his words did not travel beyond the circle, “I swore to you that I would not hurt your friends. But I am going to make you kill every last one of them.”

Cordelia flinched.

Belial flicked his fingers. Like a puppet on strings, Cordelia turned towards Matthew. Raised Cortana.

Matthew’s heart was racing.

I do not understand, Daisy. What are you thinking?

Cordelia stepped towards him. Her movements were jerky. Her face was drawn in concentration.

Daisy. Tell me what to do.

Cordelia moved her hands down. Angled Cortana for an upwards swing.

Matthew could not move. His legs were frozen. He wanted desperately to step back, to stop Cordelia from having the weight of his death on her conscience forever.

His eyes locked on Cordelia’s. Her gaze was the same as it had been the night that she had stood in front of him in the alleyway and kissed him as though they had not seen each other in a lifetime.

I will not make the same mistake twice, she had said.

Finally, Matthew understood.

“Cordelia Fairchild,” Belial commanded, “I order you—”

One last time, Cordelia threw Cortana with all of her might. His arm sluggish, Matthew reached up and caught it.

And, with a final sob of goodbye, he thrust the sword into James’ chest.

 

As if a match had been struck, James and Matthew caught on fire.

The flames were so bright and powerful that Cordelia was forced backwards. Crying out, she fought desperately through the blaze. She needed to reach them. To reach the two people whom she loved more than life itself.

Matthew was ablaze. His golden curls shone like an inferno. His deep green eyes had turned a shocking red.

Belial was screaming. His hands reached up, trying furiously to scrabble at Matthew's face. Too late, he realised his mistake.

I will not harm your friends or your husband.

Belial's hand wrapped around Cortana’s blade. Tried to loosen it from his chest.

But Matthew had plunged it straight through James’ parabatai rune. Drawn in by the sheer force of their bond, Belial could not pull it free. The strength leaving his body, he sank to his knees.

For what felt like an eternity, Matthew and Belial stared at each other. James’ golden eyes met Matthew’s burning red stare.

Belial drew in a breath as if he meant to speak. The scream died in his throat.

With one final shudder, James’ body collapsed on the ground. A second later, Matthew gasped and tumbled over him.

As quickly as they had lit, the flames died out.

But neither of them were moving.

Without hesitation, Cordelia ran to Matthew’s side. Threw Cortana to the floor. Grabbed his limp body.

Her mind blank, she lifted him off of James. Pulled him into her arms. Gripped him tightly and shook him.

Voices sang around her, muffled by the blood pounding in her ears.

“Matthew!”

The world was ending. She was a fallen angel, disgraced from heaven, tumbling into hell, cursed to spend forever suffering and alone.

“Matthew, please!”

We are Shadowhunters. We live dangerous lives. To us, death is not a distant prospect, but a very real possibility.

Cordelia had warned Matthew over and over and over about the possibility of her death. About the possibility that he would have to live without her.

But she had never once considered the possibility of living without him.

“I love you,” she sobbed. “I love you so much that I cannot lose you. I cannot be without you. I am a liar. A hypocrite. Please.”

Cordelia could no longer see Matthew’s golden curls through her tears. Desperately, she ran her fingers through them, feeling their softness brush against her skin.

“What did we say about self-deprecation?”

Cordelia gasped. Hastily cleared her vision.

Matthew’s eyes were open. He was smiling softly up at her.

A second later, Cordelia gasped again. Laying on the floor next to them, James, too, had opened his eyes.

A cracking sound. Another blast of ichor rain. Footsteps charging across the ground. Will Herondale, sinking to the floor next to his son. Pulling him into his arms. Embracing him.

“You did it,” Matthew whispered softly.

Cordelia looked back down at him. She could not speak. Her lips would not open.

Shakily, Matthew moved himself upright. Lifted a hand. Brushed a lock of flaming red hair from Cordelia’s eyes.

“What are you thinking, Daisy?”

Cordelia stared at Matthew. Memorised every inch of his face. His deep green eyes. The lines of his smile. The ichor splashes against his rosy skin. They had only been parted for hours, but it felt like an eternity.

Still, she could not speak.

Slowly, hesitantly, Cordelia wrapped her arms around Matthew’s neck. He wrapped his own around her waist.

He leaned in close.

Finally, Cordelia managed to speak. “The promise...”

“Oh, blow the promise,” Matthew groaned.

And at long last, soaked in ichor and sweat, Matthew pulled Cordelia to him and kissed her in the way that she had wanted to kiss him for as long as she could remember. Without caring what the others may think, without caring that they had just vanquished a Prince of Hell, without caring that her whole body was shaking with exhaustion, Cordelia kissed him back.  

For as long as they dared, they sat there on the ground, wrapped in each other’s arms, mouths pressed together. And for the first time since the fateful Enclave meeting that had led to their engagement, Cordelia’s heart stitched itself completely back together, leaving space only for Matthew’s to settle beside it.

Chapter 13

Summary:

Cordelia had realised something in that fight. Once upon a time, becoming a hero had been her life’s greatest dream. The highest peak that she could have ever hoped to reach.

And yet, if she were to write down all of her greatest memories since marrying Matthew, the fight at Blackthorn Manor would not even make the list. Without a doubt, the moments that had meant the most to her over the past few months had involved morning walks, evenings poring over books, and nights with a strong arm wrapped around her chest.

~~~

Belial is finally defeated. Cordelia, Matthew and their friends are alive and well. But, with a whole crowd of Shadowhunters having witnessed her pact with a demon, Cordelia must overcome one last trial that could spell the end of her time as a hero...

“Once again, Miss Blackthorn, could you repeat your story?”

At the front of the chamber, up on the dais, Grace’s hands tightened on the Mortal Sword. Though Cordelia could not see her face from so far back, she could tell that Grace’s body was trembling with the force of having secrets pulled free. At Inquisitor Bridgestock’s command, she drew in a deep breath.

“My mother arranged for Belial to place a spell on me,” she recited, voice flat. “The spell gave me the ability to command any man. My mother ordered that I use the spell on James Herondale. It did not work. Belial gave my mother a bracelet to use instead. I asked James to steal the bracelet. I put it on his wrist. James wore the bracelet for years. I made him think that he loved me. I ordered him to commit crimes on behalf of Belial and myself. Cordelia Fairchild broke the bracelet. I was arrested. I spent several months in the Silent City. I used the spell to summon Belial so that Cordelia could kill him.”

From where she sat in one of the rows of seats facing the front of the room, Cordelia buried her head in her hands.

This was the sixth time that Grace had repeated the same story. Although it was impossible for her to lie when under the influence of the Mortal Sword, the Inquisitor had not been satisfied at her answer. For whatever reason, he seemed determined to find evidence with which he could have Grace locked away.

Perhaps it was due to the embarrassing debacle that he had faced when tracking down Tatiana Blackthorn. Perhaps it was just that he wanted to show off his power in front of the entire Enclave.

Either way, Cordelia was glad that no one else in the room seemed to share his sentiment.

Most of the Enclave had returned from Idris to find that Belial had already been defeated, London already saved. While some had expressed disappointment or concern that they had missed out, the majority had been relieved to find that the situation had been resolved in their absence. What was more, despite the record number of demons that Belial had summoned, there had been startlingly little loss of life during the battle at Blackthorn Manor. Given that it was Grace’s plan that had led to Belial’s defeat and London’s freedom, most Shadowhunters were in agreement that she should be shown leniency.

Indeed, Cordelia had been more certain that she would be the one facing judgement. She had, after all, sworn an oath to Belial in front of an entire crowd of Shadowhunters, Silent Brothers and high-ranking Enclave members amongst them. Even if it had been with the ultimate intention of defeating the Prince of Hell, her plan could have led to the deaths of many – the destruction of London. It was only natural that she should face trial.

But Cordelia did not care. She did not care what rumours were flying around about her ties to Belial. She did not care that she was to be interrogated that afternoon by the Inquisitor and Consul. She did not care that there was a strong possibility that she would be disgraced, stripped of her runes and forbidden from ever serving as a Shadowhunter again.

Because Matthew was alive. James was alive. And that was all that mattered.

Weary, Grace sat back in her seat. Though she was trying her best to hide her exhaustion, she was breathing very rapidly.

“Let me get this straight,” Bridgestock sneered, rising from his seat. “You claim that you can control any man through this...power. Why is it then that you could not control James Herondale?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, Maurice,” Charlotte Fairchild burst out crossly, “how many times do you intend to ask her the same questions?”

As Consul, Charlotte was sat at the front, facing out towards the gathered Shadowhunters, in a seat next to the one from which Bridgestock had just risen. She was composed, her back rigid. But her face made it quite clear that she, along with many others in the room, believed this trial to be a waste of time.

Pompously, Bridgestock replied, “I am the Inquisitor. It is my duty, as representative of the Shadowhunter community, to interrogate those suspected of making deals with demons.”

Someone at the front of the room snorted loudly. Bridgestock turned his head.

“Is there something that you would like to say, Mr Herondale?”

“I do not think that any person in this room shares your suspicions.” Will’s voice echoed through the vast room, quieter than Bridgestock’s but oddly more powerful. “Miss Blackthorn has already explained the nature of her connection to Belial. Do not forget that she was the one who risked her life to bring about his demise. I know of a few older Shadowhunters who could do with following her example.”

Cordelia’s heart swelled. In the three weeks since the battle, Will and Grace had become, if not close, then amicable towards each other. It must have been difficult for the Herondales to discover the truth of James’ bracelet and of their blindness towards his suffering. But, above all, Will and Tessa had been relieved that James had returned to them alive. And, considering that Grace had played an instrumental part in James’ survival, Will had seemed largely content with making peace.

Jesse, on the other hand, had not been quite so accommodating. Even now, as far as Cordelia knew, he still had not spoken with Grace. It made her sad to see a wedge be driven between two people who had once relied on each other so heavily.

But Cordelia had come to understand over the past year that forgiveness took time. One day, she hoped, Jesse, too, would find it within himself to move on.

Bridgestock was not impressed by Will’s words. “I would remind you, Mr Herondale,” he seethed, “that this an official Enclave trial. You do not have the authority to voice such opinions. I would ask that you keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“I have the authority to run the Enclave during a demon invasion, but not the authority to note when you are making a royal arse of yourself?”

Ignoring this comment, Bridgestock turned back towards Grace. Slowly, he started to pace back and forth in front of the dais, one hand tucked behind his back, the other resting under his chin.

“All I am saying,” he said, “is that if Miss Blackthorn speaks the truth—”

“—of course she does, Maurice,” Charlotte said wearily. “She is holding the Mortal Sword.”

“If Miss Blackthorn speaks the truth,” Bridgestock went on, as if he had not been interrupted, “then her words cast into doubt the testimony given by Cordelia Carstairs last year.”

“Fairchild,” Cordelia muttered under her breath. To her right, she heard Matthew’s soft laugh.

But Cordelia did not feel like laughing. With the truth of the bracelet now revealed, she had been waiting for someone to bring into question her lies of the past year. Indeed, in the five hours that this trial had been lasting, she was surprised that her deception had not been discussed sooner.

“Cordelia Fairchild,” Charlotte said pointedly, “has a separate hearing arranged for this afternoon, which should have started an hour ago. If this inquiry is to go on for any longer, it may end up lasting into the night.”

The hearing. Although Cordelia was relieved above all else that Matthew was alive, although she no longer cared what others thought of her, her stomach jolted. Perhaps she was more nervous than she had originally thought.

If she was to be stripped of her runes, then so be it. But the thought of never seeing her family and friends again...

Matthew’s hand slipped into hers. A silent showing of support. His warmth travelled up Cordelia’s arm to her heart. Gently, Cordelia squeezed her hand. Matthew squeezed his back.

“Very well,” Bridgestock said roughly. “I can see that I am outnumbered. I will ask you one final question, Miss Blackthorn. Where is Tatiana?”

Grace gasped as the Mortal Sword yanked her forwards.

“I left her to burn. In Edom. Forever.”

There was a prolonged silence in the room.

“You left your own mother to die?” Bridgestock pushed.

“That is more than one question,” Will pointed out indignantly.

But Grace was already answering. “I had to make a choice. My mother was a terrible person. I chose to save James instead.”

More silence. Subtly, Cordelia turned to look at James, sat on Matthew’s other side. He, too, had taken hold of Matthew’s hand. Together, the three of them were connected in a chain. A team.

Bridgestock had stopped pacing. He was staring at Grace, his back turned to Cordelia.

Then, slowly, slyly, he asked, “Speaking of fire, did you order James Herondale to burn down Blackthorn Manor?”

Will rose to his feet. “That is completely inappropriate!” he cried, as Charlotte shouted, “Maurice!”

But it was too late. Up on the dais, Grace’s body jerked. Her hands tightened on the hilt of the Mortal Sword. She gasped.

Then she croaked, voice strained, “I am responsible for the burning of Blackthorn Manor.”

Bridgestock shook his head. “That does not answer my question. Did you or did you not ask James Herondale to travel to Idris and burn Blackthorn Manor to the ground?”

Grace was shaking. Her body lifted almost entirely off of the chair. It was clear that she was fighting the Mortal Sword with all of the strength in her body.

“This is utterly ridiculous!”

Without thinking, Cordelia had leaped to her feet. Her hand remained linked with Matthew’s, their arms dangling strangely.

All eyes in the room turned to gawp at her. From the end of the chamber, Cordelia saw Bridgestock squint and Will’s pained face.

Recognising her, Bridgestock hissed, “Mrs Fairchild, you will have your chance to speak later. Sit down.”

“I believe that I would have had my chance to speak an hour ago, were it not for your unnecessary questioning.”

Will’s eyes were wide. Charlotte’s face was stony. Bridgestock looked thunderous.

But Matthew’s hand was warm and strong.

“Grace was failed repeatedly by her fellow Shadowhunters,” Cordelia called. “She was left in the care of Tatiana Blackthorn for years, when it was well known that she had a history of cruelty and hatred. She was abandoned. Forced under the control of a Prince of Hell. And still, no one thought to visit, to see if she was safe and protected. She was scared and alone and despite that, she still showed far more courage than most would have in her situation. She stood against Belial. Risked her life. Were it not for her, London would be gone. This realm would be gone. Every single person in this room owes their life to Grace Blackthorn.”

In front of Cordelia, Jesse had turned around. He was staring up at her.

Matthew’s hand had tightened so hard around hers that it hurt. Cordelia did not ever want to let go.

“What Miss Blackthorn did or did not do in regards to Belial is irrelevant,” Bridgestock spat. “I am asking her about Blackthorn Manor.”

“It is far from irrelevant.” Anger was coursing through Cordelia’s body. “This trial is to determine Grace’s responsibility in relation to her connection to Belial. It is not to determine who was responsible in the matter of Blackthorn Manor, which has already been resolved. In any case, the house that burned belonged to Grace, yet she does not seem too concerned about the damage.”

“I am glad that it burned,” Grace said, her voice barely audible. Her fingers twitched around the Mortal Sword. “I am glad that it is gone.”

Bridgestock did not seem to have heard her. His face was red, swelling with fury.

“You are not the law, Cordelia Fairchild. The law is very clear on arson and collusion with demons.”

“And what does the law say about interrogating someone for far longer than is necessary? Because if the law is in favour of it,” Cordelia added coldly, “then the law needs to change.”

Across the chamber, she and Bridgestock locked eyes. For a few seconds, no one dared speak.

Then, “Bloody brilliant, Cordelia!” Christopher’s voice rang loudly through the room. “Very well said!”

The tension dissipated almost instantly. Cordelia, as if she had awoken abruptly from a dream, sat back down, light-headed. She turned to Matthew, their hands still clasped, expecting him to look stressed or worried.

But his face was shining with pride.

As if he were suddenly eager to bring the matter to a close, Bridgestock finally relented. An exhausted Charlotte summoned him over to discuss the verdict with the gathered Silent Brother representatives. Bursts of conversation broke out across the room.

Drained, Cordelia moved closer to Matthew. He leaned down and placed a kiss on the top of her head. Comfortable as they were in each other’s company, neither of them felt the need to speak.

In less than ten minutes, a decision was reached. Charlotte, satisfied with Brother Enoch’s testimonies that Grace had served a suitable sentence in the Silent City, declared that Grace would not be locked up again.

“However,” she added, with an annoyed glance at Bridgestock, “until we can fully understand the nature of her powers, Grace it not to use them, nor is she to wield a weapon. To ensure that she keeps to these instructions, she will be placed under observation for the time being.”

It was unclear whether or not Grace approved of this punishment. She had slumped back against the chair, the Mortal Sword finally lifted from her hands. When Brother Enoch glided forwards to guide her out of the room, she said nothing. She simply rose from her seat and followed him sluggishly towards the door.

But as she passed Cordelia, she turned her head ever so slightly and gave her a small smile.

Cordelia wanted to smile back - wanted to reassure Grace that the inquiry had gone about as well as she could have hoped.

But she could not. With her own hearing mere minutes away, the weight of what she had done was pressing down on her like lead.

 

“You know, you really do have quite the talent for dramatic speeches at Enclave meetings. I will have to increase my theatrics in order to keep my reputation as the overdramatic one in our relationship.”

Cordelia snorted and sat down, as close to Matthew as she could, desperate to feel his reassuring warmth. “You are far from overdramatic. Except for last week, when the bookseller had sold out of first-edition Frankenstein novels.”

“I reserved a copy months in advance,” Matthew said indignantly, wrapping an arm around Cordelia and pulling her to his side. “It was poor business practice and I made sure that he knew it.”

“And that his neighbours knew it, too.”

With Grace’s inquiry finally finished, Cordelia had been ordered to wait in the Institute’s drawing room until she was called for her own. Her nerves bubbling over, she had spent the last twenty minutes pacing the room, trying to think of all of the secrets that the Mortal Sword may try to pull forth from her lips and how she might prevent them from escaping. Never leaving her side, Matthew had sat down on one of the sofas and watched in silence until Cordelia had burned off all of her anxiety.

Until today, Cordelia had felt assured in her decisions and her actions. But now, with her fate and future hanging in the balance, she suddenly did not feel so certain.

Matthew looked down at Cordelia. Some of what she was feeling must have been reflected on her face, because he said kindly, “I tease, but it was very noble of you to stand up for Grace. Heroic, I would say.”

A hero. Three weeks ago, stood on the lawns of Blackthorn Manor, Cordelia had become one, if only temporarily. Even now, the memory of the fight, of holding Cortana high and slashing a path to Matthew, sent shivers down her spine.

But Cordelia had realised something in that fight. Once upon a time, becoming a hero had been her life’s greatest dream. The highest peak that she could have ever hoped to reach.

And yet, if she were to write down all of her greatest memories since marrying Matthew, the fight at Blackthorn Manor would not even make the list. Without a doubt, the moments that had meant the most to her over the past few months had involved morning walks, evenings poring over books, and nights with a strong arm wrapped around her chest.

Gently, Cordelia leaned up and kissed Matthew’s cheek. Matthew looked down at her, smiling.

“What will we do if I am stripped of my runes?” Cordelia whispered.

Matthew’s smile did not falter. “We could travel the world. Take strolls along the Seine. Sample the delicious foods of the Mediterranean. Finally see why Magnus Bane talks so highly of New York. Together, the possibilities are endless.” He paused, playing idly with a lock of Cordelia’s hair. “Or we could stay at home. Shut ourselves away from the world. Spend the rest of our days reading books to one another and enjoying each other’s company.”

“Are those our only two options?”

Laughing, Matthew said, “We can do anything that you want. Just say the word and I will find a way to make it happen. Your wish is my command.”

Cordelia rested her head on Matthew’s shoulder. She considered his words. “In that case, my wish it to visit Paris with you.”

Matthew’s face lit up in delight. “Absolutely! We can make it a late honeymoon of sorts. That is,” he added guiltily, “if you would be willing to wait for a few more months. My journey to escape the drink is almost over. Once it is finished, it would bring me no end of joy to take the love of my life to my favourite city in the world.”

“You waited for me,” Cordelia said simply. “I will wait for you as long as you need.”

They lapsed into an easy silence, Matthew’s hand stroking her hair comfortingly, Cordelia’s head resting wearily on his shoulder. In the quiet, Cordelia listened to the gentle ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. The thudding of heavy footsteps on the floors above.

And Matthew’s soft breathing.

Cordelia closed her eyes. Under the terms of the promise, they had been sleeping in separate rooms.

But how she had missed falling asleep to that sound.

Only a few more months, Cordelia told herself, as she had many times over the past three weeks. Only a few more months...

 

When Cordelia opened her eyes, she saw that Matthew was checking his watch. Distantly, she noticed that the footsteps had grown louder. Angry voices were shouting in the entrance hall.

“They really should have come by now,” Matthew muttered.

Blinking away sleep, Cordelia replied blearily, “Grace’s trial finished late. They are most likely still preparing.”

“But it has been almost two hours.” Matthew frowned. “Surely they must be adequately prepared by now.”

Cordelia closed her eyes again. She did not want to think about what the delay could mean. She wanted to enjoy, if only for a few more minutes, the joy of falling asleep in Matthew’s arms.

With a bang, the door to the drawing room crashed open. Startled, Cordelia jolted upright, her hand moving instinctively for a weapon. Next to her, Matthew swore loudly.

In the doorway stood Bridgestock, his face even redder than it had been in the chamber. He was breathing hard, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.

“WHERE DID YOU PUT IT?”

Confused, Cordelia shared a quick glance with Matthew. He, too, looked nonplussed.

“Maurice!” From behind Bridgestock, Charlotte came hurrying into the room. She looked angrier than Cordelia had ever seen her before. “What in the name of the Angel do you think that you are doing?”

“She hid it!” Bridgestock roared. Spit flew from his mouth. “She hid the Sword!”

Matthew rose to his feet. His face matched his mother’s expression. “We do not have the slightest idea what you are saying. Cordelia has been in this room the entire time. I can attest to that.”

“And we are just to take you at your word?”

“The sword will be found.” Will stepped into the room, Brother Enoch’s ghostly shape at his side. “We have no reason to suspect that Cordelia would have taken it. It is just...an unfortunate coincidence.”

“The Mortal Sword goes missing minutes before her hearing,” Bridgestock growled, “and you say that there is no reason to suspect her?”

“Stranger coincidences have happened recently. For example, funerals being planned on the eve of a demonic invasion.”

Will and the Inquisitor glared at each other, eye to eye. Rigid with fury, Charlotte looked between them and Cordelia, who had risen to her feet uncertainly. Pinching the bridge of her nose, Charlotte sighed.

“It is late. It has been a long day. I see no reason to delay this hearing any longer.” Her sharp eyes turned on Cordelia. “Cordelia Fairchild, did you make a pact with the demon Belial?”

Choosing her words carefully, Cordelia answered, “I did. It was the only way to end him.”

“And what would you have done,” Bridgestock spat, “if you had not ended him?”

“We would all have been dead regardless,” Cordelia said firmly, “so I could not say.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Everyone stared at each other, caught in a six-way duel.

Then, finally, Charlotte said, “Very well. I am satisfied. Do you have anything more to ask, Will?”

Will shook his head. “Cordelia saved my son’s life. Saved all of London. I owe her a debt that I can never repay, as do we all. As far as I am concerned, she should be applauded, not interrogated.”

Charlotte nodded. “And the Silent Brothers?”

His face hooded, Brother Enoch scrutinised Cordelia. Then, after a long moment, he said, We have no reason to suspect Cordelia Fairchild of any wrongdoing.

“Then let us consider the matter closed.” Charlotte turned to Cordelia and Matthew, a tight-lipped smile on her face. “I apologise for the delay. You may both go.”

Hastily, Cordelia and Matthew set about picking up their weapons and jackets. Bridgestock, speechless with rage, stomped out of the room. With Matthew’s hand on her waist, Cordelia hurried for the exit, not daring to look at any of the three remaining figures by the door, for fear that they may mistake her relief for guilt.

But as she edged past them, Cordelia overheard Charlotte mutter, “Do be sure to return the Mortal Sword to the Silent City tomorrow, Will.”

 

Cordelia supposed that she should have felt free.

As she and Matthew travelled back home in the carriage, too shocked to speak, Cordelia’s heart raced. She had been dismissed. Pardoned. Neither Charlotte, nor Will, nor Brother Enoch had been suspicious of her. Under the pink, cloudless, blissfully demon-free evening skies of London, she should have been ecstatic.

But Cordelia could not escape the feeling that she was forgetting something.

What that something was became apparent as soon as their carriage ground to a halt outside of their estate. As usual, Matthew jumped down first. But the hand that he normally raised to help Cordelia out did not come.

Still in the carriage, Cordelia peered over his shoulder. Her heart stopped.

It is not possible, she thought numbly. We killed him.

Around Matthew’s frozen body, Cordelia climbed awkwardly out of the carriage. Then, hand hovering over Cortana’s hilt, she approached the steps.

Sat on the bottom one, a pleasant smile on his face, looking for all the world as though he had simply stopped by to visit, was Belial.

Gracefully, he stood up. Brushed the dust from his trousers.

“You did keep me waiting, Cordelia,” he said conversationally. “I rather thought that your hearing would have finished hours ago.”

Cordelia’s throat was dry. Her voice scratchy, she croaked, “How are you here?”

“I walked,” Belial said cheerfully. “London really is a charming city. I can see why my predecessor was so enamoured.”

“You should be dead,” Cordelia whispered.

Belial frowned. “As I just explained, you killed my predecessor. But a Prince of Hell can never truly die.”

Mind racing, Cordelia swallowed hard. What did this mean? Was Belial fated to resurrect eternally, always threatening London, always threatening the people whom she loved?

And did this mean that their pact was still in place?

Belial understood exactly what Cordelia was thinking. Pleasantly, he said, “What an interesting idea it was to pact yourself to a second demon. You have certainly made Lilith rage down in the realms of hell. To lose the bearer of Cortana to the person whom she loathes most!” Belial paused. “Of course, I cannot say for certain whether your pact still holds. But would it not be intriguing if it did?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Cordelia saw Matthew move to her side. His chalikars were drawn, glinting in the evening light. His golden hair was shining, the same colour as the setting sun.

She remembered him lying on the ground, his eyes closed. She remembered his anguish when she had been about to strike down Belial in James’ body. She remembered the flames burning through him as he had clutched Cortana, stabbed through James’ chest.

And she remembered the way in which she had kissed him, collapsed on the ground, joy and relief pounding through her veins.

Finally, they were reunited. They had found each other. They had the chance at a future together.

She would never again allow someone to take that away from them.

Her courage building, Cordelia turned back towards Belial. She stared at his face, shadowed in the evening sun.

“You can hold me to the pact,” she called clearly. “I cannot stop you from doing so. I swore an oath, after all.

“But what I can do is resist you, just as I did your predecessor. Again. And again. And again. I will kill you as many times as is necessary. And every time that you find a way to stop me, I will find a new way to fight back.”

Cordelia was breathing hard. Carefully, Belial studied her face. Then, with a movement that startled Cordelia and Matthew, he clapped his hands.

“Very impressive, Cordelia Fairchild!” he said delightedly. “I can certainly see why my predecessor was so very fascinated by you. But your threats will not be necessary. I do not intend to make the same mistakes that he made.”

Belial flicked his wrist. Cordelia felt a sensation like water pouring over her. By the steps, the shadows underneath Belial seemed to grow, seeping up his legs like liquid.

“Consider the pact broken. You are a paladin no more!” A dark grin spread across his face. “But I will be back for you someday, Cordelia Fairchild, bearer of Cortana. Be certain of that.”

And, as if he had been consumed by the darkness, Belial faded into nothing.

Numb, her legs barely working, Cordelia allowed Matthew to guide her up the steps, into their home. Allowed him to slip the jacket from her shoulders. To take her hands in his.

For a moment, she stared into his deep green eyes, sparkling in the light filtering through the open doorway.

Then, as Matthew wrapped his arms around her, lifted her into the air and spun her around and around and around, whooping with laughter, Cordelia finally realised what had happened.

They had done it. They had broken her pact.

She was finally free.

 

“What is it that you plan to do with your newfound freedom?”

From where his head rested on her lap, Matthew looked up at Cordelia.

It was a brilliantly sunny day, the sky as cheerful as Cordelia felt inside. At the request of Lucie, who had been utterly delighted to learn of Cordelia’s freedom, they had gathered with their friends, two days after the hearings, in Regent’s Park. A gentle breeze wafted through the air, bringing with it the scent of freshly cut grass and new beginnings. The blanket beneath her was a merry blue – the same colour as Matthew’s jacket, which he had discarded as the sun had settled in the sky.

In the distance, Cordelia could see her friends scattered across the park. Christopher was crouched by the lake, pointing excitedly to different plants and explaining them to Grace, who knelt next to him, hair tied back, interest captured by whatever Christopher was saying. A few feet away, Thomas and Alastair were walking by, deep in conversation. One blanket to the right of Cordelia and Matthew, Lucie and Jesse were sat together. Jesse, fascinated, was angling his arm to catch the rays of sunlight on his skin.

Running her hand softly through Matthew’s curls, Cordelia said, “You promised to take me to Paris.”

“And I will most certainly keep that promise.” Matthew’s eyes had closed, content. “But I mean in the more immediate future.”

“I will sit here with you. Then, when we are finished, I will stand up.”

Matthew opened one eye. He was grinning. “This evening, then. If I said to you that we could do anything that you liked, what would you choose?”

“I would choose to go home with you,” Cordelia answered promptly, “read our books together and fall asleep in the salon.”

“But we did that last night,” Matthew protested. “I meant something special. To celebrate your freedom.”

Quietly, Cordelia said, “But that is special. It is very special to me.”

This time, Matthew opened both of his eyes. He gazed longingly up at her.

“I love you, Daisy,” he whispered.

“I love you, too.”

For a long while, they did not move. Matthew dozed in and out of sleep. Cordelia, gently caressing his hair, stayed awake to watch her friends enjoy the beautiful day, her chest warm at the thought of how lucky she was to have such wonderful people in her life.

Then, all of a sudden, Grace let out a cry of surprise. It seemed that Christopher had found something. Alastair and Thomas, walking close to them, turned to look with interest. As he did, Alastair spotted Cordelia. With a wave, he gestured that she and Matthew should come and see.

Lightly, Cordelia shook Matthew awake. Half-asleep, he sat up, his curls tousled from where she been stroking them. Cordelia’s heart jumped at the sight.

“I think that Alastair wants our attention.”

Matthew gazed blearily around at their friends. Then, standing up, he offered a hand to Cordelia. She took it, letting him pull her up. His grip was firm, supportive, encouraging – just as it had been all of those months ago.

“I am glad to see that the two of you are getting along.” Cordelia smiled, nodding in Alastair’s direction.

Matthew glanced between Cordelia and her brother. For a moment, she thought that he was about to crack a joke – something self-deprecating or humourless.

But then he turned back to Cordelia and smiled softly. “As am I.”

Hand in hand, they crossed the grass towards the shining blue lake, the ground soft under their shoes. But, halfway across, Cordelia noticed a lone figure standing by the water’s edge, gazing down into the depths.

“I will join you in a moment,” she said, distracted.

Matthew followed her gaze. Then, with one final squeeze of his hand, he nodded.

Cordelia slipped her hand free and walked down the hill towards the lake. As she drew closer, she could make out clearly James’ black, tumbling hair. Moving to his side, Cordelia gazed at his reflection in the water. At his shimmering features. At the glow of his golden eyes, sparkling in the sunlight.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

James did not turn. He was deep in thought, his gaze lost to the lake. Cordelia, too, stared down. At the endless depths. At the fish swimming lazily across it, undeterred by the fathomless bottom.

Finally, James spoke. “I was alive in there. Inside of my body. But I could not resist him. I watched him almost kill Matthew. Almost kill you. And I could feel his emotions when you made that pact.”

James shuddered. Cordelia did not speak. Even though she and James were not as close as they once had been, she would always recognise when he was gathering his thoughts in silence.

“Then I was burning. We were both burning. It was as though our souls were on fire.” James paused to take a breath. “But then I saw him. Matthew, reaching down to me. It was as though, in that moment, I knew that I was safe. That he was going to save us both.”

Over James’ shoulder, Cordelia could see Matthew, standing with their friends. As she watched, something long and slippery shot out of Christopher’s hands and smacked Thomas in the chest. Jesse, who had joined the crowd, put an arm protectively and instinctively around Grace. Matthew doubled over laughing, his face bright and open and unburdened.

“He is an amazing person,” Cordelia said.

“He is,” James agreed solemnly. “Which is why I am so glad that you found him, Daisy.”

Cordelia stared into James’ golden eyes, so full of emotion. Wistfulness. Weariness.

But, for once, not sadness.

“Goodbye, James,” Cordelia whispered, leaning up to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Goodbye, Cordelia,” James murmured, standing remarkably still.

Then Cordelia moved. Focused her gaze on a set of golden curls, glinting in the sunlight. Stepped around James. Walked along the water’s edge.

And, head held high, she followed the path that she had chosen.

Back to Matthew.

 

There was only one matter left to resolve.

Two weeks later, Cordelia had been waking up slowly, gazing up at the yellow ceiling above her bed, when someone had knocked on her door. She had hurried to open it, not bothering to slip on a cardigan over her nightgown, and had found Matthew standing on the other side. One look at the steady, set look on his face and Cordelia had understood exactly why he had come.

He was ready.

Following a hasty breakfast, they clambered into their carriage and rode to the Fairchild estate, hand in hand. To Cordelia’s great surprise, it was Grace who met them at the door.

Christopher, hurrying up the stairs from the laboratory, explained excitedly that Charlotte had taken charge of Grace’s observation.

“...so Grace will be spending time here with us!” Christopher’s face shone earnestly. “And I must say, she has a most excellent mind. She will make for a fantastic partner!”

Turning to follow Christopher back downstairs, Grace flushed. And yet, Cordelia could not help but notice the bright smile on her face.

It seemed that Grace, too, was finally moving forwards.

As it turned out, Charlotte and Henry had stepped out on urgent Enclave business. Cordelia worried for a moment that this would deter Matthew. But, to her delight, he led them determinedly towards the study, where they settled on chairs just outside of the door.

For a while, they sat in silence, listening to the birdsong drifting lazily through the open window.

Then, once more, Cordelia said, “I am so proud of you.”

Matthew turned to her. She stared into his eyes. Where once there had been nothing but contempt for himself reflected in his gaze, Cordelia could see, finally, the beginnings of forgiveness. And when Matthew leaned down and pressed his lips against hers, Cordelia could feel the strength of his resolution charging through her body.

Pulling back, resting his forehead against hers, Matthew breathed bashfully, “I am rather terrible at keeping my promises.”

“We can stand to bend one every now and again,” Cordelia murmured. “You have kept plenty of them, after all. For example, you promised me a whirlwind, adventure of a marriage. And what an adventure it has been.”

“I also promised you that it would be temporary.”

“Then would you like to end it?”

Grinning, Matthew kissed her again. “Never.”

Distantly, they heard the sound of the front door opening. Reluctantly, Matthew pulled back. Then, his face firm with resolve, he rose to his feet.

“I will be right out here, if you have need of me,” Cordelia said as Charlotte and Henry rounded the corner. “I am always here for you, Math.”

Cordelia watched as Matthew approached his parents, who were surprised at their sudden arrival. Watched as he said firmly that he had something to tell them. Watched as Charlotte and Henry, confused, stepped into the study. As Matthew made to follow.

At the doorway, Matthew paused. He turned once more to look at Cordelia. Even with the weight of what he was about to do on his shoulders, he looked steadier than she had ever seen him.

Her heart swelling with pride, Cordelia smiled. Matthew smiled back.

And then, with one final sigh, Matthew stepped into the study, finally ready to put the past to rest.

Finally ready to forgive himself.

Chapter 14: Epilogue

Six months later...

Something was shaking Cordelia gently.

She did not want to wake up. She had been having the most wonderful dream – a memory of her and Matthew, dancing at Lucie’s engagement party, her head against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around her, the lights swirling as they spun around and around and around...

“Daisy, we have arrived.”

Cordelia tried to ignore it, but the shaking was insistent. With a groan, she opened her eyes blearily and lifted her head from where it had fallen onto Matthew’s shoulder. Blinking to clear her blurry vision, she stared out of the train window.

Her heart jolting, she realised that the scenery was no longer moving.

Cordelia leapt to her feet. Matthew, still sitting down, laughed brightly.

Cordelia did not think that he had slept once in their entire day-long journey. And yet, he did not look tired in the least. His face shone with excitement.

“Welcome to Paris,” he grinned.

With Cordelia still half-asleep, Matthew took the lead. Slipping his hand into hers, he guided her out of their carriage. Through the crowded corridors. Eagerly, he jumped out onto the platform. Then, bouncing with excitement, he reached up a hand to help her out.

Cordelia had a momentary glimpse of a crowd, of people rushing to and fro carrying large bags of luggage, of steam clouds settling like fog between the quaint little benches, before Matthew leaned down and kissed her.

Taken aback, it took Cordelia a moment to realise what was happening. Then, heart racing, she reached for Matthew. Tangled her hands in his hair. Kissed him so deeply that she could hardly breathe. Matthew’s hands grabbed at her travelling coat, at her hair, pulling her closer, closer, closer. They had not kissed like this in months – not since the fight with Belial, when she had been overcome with relief at his survival.

But now, there were no tears. No demons. Nothing to stop them...

Someone coughed loudly.

With an enormous effort, Matthew tore himself away from Cordelia. He turned, almost dreamily, to see who it was. “Excusez-moi,” he apologised cheerfully. Then, before Cordelia could react, he lifted her easily and moved them both several paces away from the train door.

Breathless, Cordelia panted, “That was quite the welcome.”

Matthew beamed down at her. His joy was infectious. “You have waited for me for months. It would have been unsporting of me to keep you waiting for a moment longer.”

Not caring what anyone around them might think, Cordelia kissed Matthew again. The scent of his cologne, the warmth of his mouth filled her senses.

But, to Cordelia’s dismay, Matthew pulled back. Grinned roguishly.

“Where would you like to go first? The entire city is open to us.”

Cordelia’s heart was pounding. Suddenly, on a smoggy platform in Paris, the possibilities seemed endless. So many places to go. So many people to meet.

But there was only one place in which she wanted to be, and only one person whom she wanted to be there with her.

“I would like to go to the hotel.”

Matthew looked concerned. “Of course. You must be tired after the journey.”

Cordelia shook her head. “Not at all.”

 

The hotel room – which, it turned out, was more like rooms – was a vast, comfortable space. At once, Cordelia could see from where Matthew had gotten his inspiration for their home. The sofas and chairs were covered in cushions and blankets of all colours, positioned carefully to look like a mess. The walls were coated in a gaudy wallpaper, covered in a pattern not too dissimilar to the one stitched on Matthew’s waistcoat. Underneath their feet, the carpet was soft, fluffy and inviting.

The beds, too, are also rather inviting, Cordelia thought as she lay back against one, Matthew leaning over her, his lips travelling down her neck. Gasping, Cordelia tangled her hand in Matthew’s hair and moved him towards her face. She kissed him softly, lightly. Longingly, Matthew trailed kisses around her cheeks, her jaw, her throat.

But as his mouth moved lower, he paused. Pulled back. Sat upright.

Dazed, Cordelia looked up at him. Matthew was frowning.

“I want to do this right,” he said suddenly. “I want the moment to be special.”

Cordelia groaned. Her whole body was aching. Right now, she did not care about special.

All she cared about was Matthew.

Still, respecting his wishes, she moved away. Straightened the top of her dress. Took deep breaths to slow her racing heartbeat.

“Forgive me, Daisy,” Matthew said sheepishly. “I will find the perfect time and ensure that the moment is magical. You have my word.”

“Take all the time that you need,” Cordelia said, with more conviction than she felt.

 

That evening, to distract themselves, she and Matthew went for a long walk around the neighbourhood. Matthew, it seemed, had stayed in this quarter many times before. As they walked, he eagerly pointed out the sights. Explained the history of the architecture, the buildings. Though there was a lot to take in, Cordelia listened in earnest, pleased to see Matthew enjoying himself so thoroughly.

Exhausted as they were, they retired early that evening after a delicious meal in the hotel restaurant. For the first time in months, they slept together, Matthew’s head nuzzled in Cordelia’s hair, his arm tucked around her body. And for the first time in months, Cordelia slept deeply.

Hundreds of miles from London, wrapped in Matthew’s arms, she finally felt at home.

 

The next day, Matthew took Cordelia on a tour of his favourite cafés and bistros. They ate a breakfast of croissants and fresh fruit in a crowded café on the Champs-Élysées. Lunch was a picnic of small sandwiches in the Tuileries Garden. Afternoon tea was in a small, pokey café located down a twisting side road. Though Cordelia was full to bursting at this point, she tried a forkful of each cake that Matthew had ordered. Matthew’s eyes shone as he watched her face light up with each bite.

Dinner was in a restaurant bordering the Seine, on a small table overlooking the river. Sleepily, Cordelia watched the boats move lazily up the water. She felt utterly content. Across the table, she could see that Matthew felt the same.

“Today has been wonderful,” Cordelia said, smiling warmly.

“Every day with you is wonderful, my Daisy,” Matthew replied, clasping her hands tightly. “But today was a dream come true.”

The mood could not have been more perfect – or so Cordelia thought. But when they returned to the hotel, Matthew’s kiss goodnight as they climbed into bed was light and gentle.

 

On the third day, Matthew took Cordelia shopping in the morning. Though she maintained that she did not need any more clothes, Matthew was insistent. After a long, playful argument, Cordelia finally relented. Then, regretfully, she spent the next several hours trying on dress after dress. She felt rather like a mannequin, being pushed and pulled, prodded and poked.

“You are enduring well, my love,” Matthew called, overhearing Cordelia’s yelp of pain at a stray needle. “How I wish that I could be in there with you, shielding you from all of the deadly blows that you are undoubtedly receiving.”

“You cannot see it,” Cordelia called back, “but I am rolling my eyes.”

Matthew laughed loudly.

“Is there a particular reason why I need a new dress?” Cordelia asked.

Matthew’s voice was mysterious as he answered, “Perhaps there is. You will just have to wait and see.”

 

That afternoon, they walked around a number of galleries and museums. Though the tour guides were sharing interesting information, Cordelia found Matthew to be a far more entertaining chaperone.

“Do you see this bust?” Matthew pointed at the marble head of a man who looked very displeased, his face scrunched in a frown. “Did you know that they based the expression on Ragnor Fell’s face whenever he spotted Christopher Lightwood? And that painting over there,” he gestured to a tapestry that depicted a party in which the guests were brawling with one another, “has been mislabelled. It is actually a very accurate depiction of the Academy on the day that Christopher set it on fire.”

Cordelia could not stop laughing, earning her several angry stares that did not bother her in the least.

Surely tonight, Cordelia thought as they stepped back into their hotel room, hearts light and stomachs weighed down by the mountain of food that they had eaten at the restaurant next door. But though Matthew leaned down and kissed her deeply, he was quick to pull away.

“I am still devising a plan,” he apologised. Then, hastily, he added, “Please do not think that I do not want to do this. I do, more than anything in the world. But after I have kept you waiting for so long, I owe it to you to ensure that the moment is undeniably right.”

And so, after one last drink, they retired to bed, where Cordelia fell asleep restlessly to the sound of Matthew’s rhythmic breathing.

 

On the next morning, Matthew took Cordelia to see an opera. Though she found quickly that she did not care for it, she enjoyed seeing the delight in Matthew’s eyes – enjoyed watching his feet tap along to the music. Indeed, though Cordelia was trying not to show it, Matthew was quickly becoming all that she could think about on this trip.

She did, however, find the evening’s entertainment to be far more to her liking. The reason that Matthew had ordered her a new, striking red dress, patterned with red roses, became apparent from the moment that they stepped out of the carriage in Montmartre. Taking her hand, Matthew led Cordelia into a crowded bar and helped her to settle onto a plush sofa that matched her dress.

The evening passed in a swirl of colour and lights, in a flurry of dancing and songs. Performers twirled about the room, illuminated by the brightness of the stage. With Matthew’s arm around her shoulders, Cordelia laughed and cheered, feeling a great rush of affection and appreciation for her life at that exact moment in time.

And, more than anything, for the fact that they were surrounded by drinks and yet Matthew did not seem in the slightest bit concerned.

As they walked home through the crowded streets, Cordelia could not stop gushing. Her arm tucked in Matthew’s, she enthused animatedly about the entertainment, the food, the atmosphere. Though Matthew did not say much, he nodded along enthusiastically, his face bright in the moonlight.

When Cordelia had finished, he said warmly, “I am so glad that you enjoyed it. We can go as many times as you would like. We have our whole lives to travel, after all.”

“We do,” Cordelia agreed. She paused, then added, “You did very well in resisting the drink tonight.”

Matthew smiled. “It is not always so easy. I suspect that I will be resisting the urge to drink for the rest of my life. But it grows easier each day. And tonight, I did not feel any urge. I was drunk on you, Cordelia Fairchild.” He lifted Cordelia’s hand to his lips. Placed a soft kiss on her palm. “And that was enough.”

Cordelia could not stop herself. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around Matthew’s neck and leaned up to kiss him.

At first, they kissed lightly. Then deeper. And a moment later, without knowing quite how it had happened, Cordelia felt the brick wall of a building press firmly against her back. Matthew’s hands clung eagerly to her waist. He groaned softly, mouth strong against hers.

And then he pulled back, gasping. Cordelia’s entire body felt as though it were on fire. When Matthew met her gaze, she saw the same desperate longing in his eyes.

“I do not know how to make it special,” he admitted guiltily. “I have made you wait for so long and yet I cannot make it worthwhile.”

Firmly, her arms still around Matthew’s neck, Cordelia replied, “You are already worth the wait. And however it happens, the moment will be perfect, because we will be together.”

Breathing hard, Matthew looked down at her dress. At the roses spilling out across the floor in a river of red.

“Give me one hour,” he urged suddenly.

 

Upon their return to the hotel, Cordelia, as instructed, waited in the restaurant. She ordered coffee after coffee, her heart racing, her thoughts full of Matthew. When she could take it no longer, she rose from her chair. Then, fighting against the unwieldy dress, she made her way back to their room.

Inside, the lights were turned off. Squinting through the darkness, Cordelia called warily, “Matthew?”

“In here,” came the reply from the bedroom.

Taking care not to bump into any of the furniture, Cordelia navigated her way through the living room and nervously opened the bedroom door.

Her eyes widened.

The inside of the room smelled heavily of perfumed incense. On every surface were flickering candles. They cast a warm glow across the bedcovers, which were dotted with rose petals, artfully scattered.

And, sprawled across the bed, as if he had been waiting for her, was Matthew.

Cordelia could not help it. The situation was so dramatic – so unexpected – that she started to laugh.

Abashed, Matthew sat up on the bed. He grinned. “Is this perhaps too overly romantic and poetic?”

Cordelia shook her head. “It is very you, Math. I love it.”

Her whole body was suddenly tingling with excitement. As she stepped into the room, Matthew patted the bed next to him.

“Care to join me, Mrs Fairchild?”

She did. Of course, she did. But, looking sheepish, Cordelia gestured hopelessly at her dress.

“Ah, of course.”

Gingerly, Matthew climbed off of the bed. Hardly daring to breathe, Cordelia turned to face away from him. Closed her eyes. She could feel Matthew’s warmth at her back as he approached. As he tucked her hair over her shoulder. As his fingers moved to the buttons. As he deftly worked his way down the dress, his fingertips lightly brushing her skin.

Cordelia had been without a dress in front of Matthew many times. They shared a bed, after all.

But never before had Matthew been the one to take it off.

The dress pooled on the floor at her feet. Taking care not to tread on the material, Cordelia stepped out of it. Felt the chill air brush against her skin. Slowly, she turned around. Looked up at Matthew. Saw the hungry look in his eyes. The pulse beating in his throat.

How she longed to lean up and kiss it.

As if he were coming out of a trance, Matthew shook his head slightly. Then, dizzily, he reached for something that he had placed carefully on the bedside table.

Her necklace.

“I promised to return this when all of that business was over.” Matthew’s voice was breathless. “I may have held onto it for slightly longer than intended, but I am finally keeping to my word.”

Cordelia could not speak. Her throat was suddenly very dry. She turned around. Moved her hair aside once more.

Understanding, Matthew stepped forwards. As gently as he possibly could, he laid the necklace against her collarbone and tied it behind her neck.

Then, smoothly, he leaned down and placed a kiss beneath it.

Gasping, Cordelia spun around. Within moments, her arms were around Matthew. With a groan of longing, he pulled her in closer. Together, they tumbled onto the bed.

I fear that it will forever be my most ardent wish to live for you. To drown in you.

In that moment, Cordelia finally understood what Matthew had meant. Frenzied, she kissed him deeply as his hands moved to his shirt. As he struggled with the buttons. As he threw it across the room. As he pulled her down over him.

And then Matthew’s mouth moved, kissing every part of Cordelia that he could find. Mind blissfully blank, Cordelia ran her hands up his chest.

Then, staring down at him, she suddenly leaned back.

“The rune,” she murmured thickly.

Matthew’s eyes were fever bright as he stared up at her. His hands glided up and down her back. “The rune?” he asked with a great effort.

“The marriage rune,” Cordelia clarified. Her hand moved to rest on Matthew’s chest, right next to his parabatai rune.

His vision blurry with desire, Matthew’s eyes followed Cordelia’s arm. Then, suddenly understanding, he nodded. In a rather awkward position, he stretched out his hand and fumbled blindly on the nightstand for his stele. Finally grabbing it, he held it out to Cordelia.

Hands shaking, Cordelia grasped it. “Where would you like it?”

Matthew took Cordelia’s hand in his own. Moved it a few inches to the left. Right next to his parabatai rune.

“The two most important people in my life,” he whispered, “side by side.”

Leaning down, Cordelia swallowed hard. Then, steadying herself as best as she could, she drew the rune on Matthew’s skin. When she had finished, she leaned back. Stared down, unmoving, at her handiwork.

Gently, Matthew prised the stele from Cordelia’s numb fingers. Then, carefully, he flipped her onto her back. Positioned himself over her. Between her.

“Where would you like it?”

Barely able to breathe, Cordelia placed her hand over the same exact spot on her body, right next to her brand new parabatai rune. With a nod, Matthew lowered the stele. And, with far more steady movements than she would have expected, he drew.

The stinging of the rune made Cordelia gasp. Her whole body was aflame, just as Matthew’s had been all of those months ago.

In that moment, all that she could see, all that she could feel, all that she could think about was Matthew.

Lifting the stele, Matthew placed a soft kiss over the finished rune.

Cordelia was not sure how, in her entire life, she had ever thought about anything other than him.

Slowly, Matthew raised his head. His dark green eyes had gone completely black.

“I want you, Daisy,” he whispered.

Cordelia said nothing. She simply held her arms wide, inviting him closer. Then, when Matthew leaned down into her embrace, she tangled her hands in his hair, kissed his soft curls.

And finally, as she had dreamed for so long, Cordelia and Matthew joined as one. Arms wrapped tightly around him, Cordelia held on with all of her strength as Matthew’s lips, buried next to her ear, whispered her name over and over in a promise of the bright future that lay ahead of them.

 

When she awoke the next morning, Cordelia was surprised to see that the sun was already high in the sky. Light streamed through the curtains, painted on the tangled bed sheets. She supposed that she should have expected it: the night before had lasted far longer than she had anticipated. She was exhausted beyond words.

And yet the memory of what she and Matthew had shared made Cordelia’s entire body feel as light as air.

Careful not to wake Matthew, still fast asleep next to her, Cordelia snuck out of bed. On her way to the bathroom, she hastily picked up her nightdress off of the floor. Then, following a quick wash and change, she stepped out onto the sun-drenched balcony.

Below her, the city of Paris was sprawled out like a moving painting. People went about their day, eating at cafés, travelling to work, talking with friends. All of these lives continued on because of their sacrifices, their successes.

This was what it truly meant to be a hero.

Behind her, Cordelia heard the sound of the doors creaking open. Felt a pair of arms wrap around her waist. She smiled.

“Good morning, Mrs Fairchild,” Matthew yawned. “I am almost jealous that these people had the chance to see you before I did.”

“I did not take you for the jealous type, Mr Fairchild,” she teased.

“Oh, I am.” Matthew buried his face in her hair. “That is precisely why I brought you to Paris. I had to get you away from that Christopher Lightwood after your heart.”

Throwing back her head, Cordelia laughed uproariously.

And if the people on the street below could hear her, she did not care. And if anyone looked up and thought it strange that two people were wrapped in each other’s arms on a sunlit balcony, she did not mind. And if anyone thought her to be an immoral woman, if rumours flew about her escapades with Matthew, it did not matter. They no longer bothered Cordelia in the least.

And when Matthew kissed her neck and slipped back through the doors, a playful smile on his face, Cordelia paused only a moment to savour the fresh, liberating air of Paris before she turned around and follow him inside.

Notes:

Thank you for reading all the way to the end! I hope you enjoyed reading this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it.

I wanted to say a huge thank you to everyone who commented and left kudos. Your endlessly kind words are the reason that I managed to finish this fic. :)

I always read comments, so feel free to leave any thoughts at any time - I would very much appreciate them. Thank you once again!