Chain of Iron Read online

  “No,” Grace said dully. It was the truth. One did not lightly anger such a powerful demon. “But if you—and your patron—wished to prevent this wedding, you should have acted earlier than this.”

  Tatiana sneered. “I trusted you would act on your own. It seems that was foolishness. You have known how to contact me, with the adamas, but you have never bothered. As always you disappoint.”

  “I was afraid,” Grace said. “The Bridgestocks—he’s the Inquisitor, Mama.”

  “It was your choice to live in that lions’ den. As for the wedding, it hardly matters. Making Herondale betray his vows is a delicious prospect. He will hate himself even the more for what our power has wrought.” Tatiana’s face split into a rictus grin; it was terrifying, wrong, somehow, as if the human face she had borrowed were about to come apart at the seams. “I am your mother,” she said. “There is no one in this world who knows you as I do.” Jesse, Grace thought, but she said nothing. “I saw the look on your face, downstairs. You intended to release him again, didn’t you? You intended to confess?”

  “There is no point to all this,” Grace said. “The magic is not strong enough. I cannot bind him forever. He will see through it, you know, through the falsity.”

  “Nonsense.” Tatiana made a dismissive gesture, the housemaid’s wrist flopping bonelessly as she moved. “You understand nothing of the greater plan, girl. James Herondale is a piece on a chessboard. Your duty is to keep him in place, not tell him secrets he has no business knowing.”

  “But he will not do as I say—”

  “He will do what we need him to, if you bend your will to it. It matters only that you do as you are told.” Her shoulders twitched, violently; Grace was reminded of stories she had heard about animals, still alive, writhing inside the bodies of snakes who had swallowed them. “And should you think of disobeying, our patron is prepared to cut you off from any access to Jesse. His body will be taken to where you can never see him again.”

  Terror went through Grace like a knife. The demon could not know, could he, what she had been planning, hoping to do to help her brother? “You cannot,” she whispered. “You cannot let him, Mama—I am so close to helping Jesse—you would not separate us—”

  Tatiana laughed; just then the door rattled in its frame. The housemaid’s face contorted; she gave a violent shudder and collapsed to the ground. Her broom and dustpan went flying. Grace raced to her side as the door flew open and someone said, “Miss Blackthorn! Miss Blackthorn, what happened?”

  It was Christopher Lightwood, of all people. Grace knew him mainly as James’s friend; he seemed the least alarming of the three. “I don’t know,” she said frantically. “She had only just come in when she collapsed in front of me.”

  “James sent me to tell you to return to the Long Hall.” Christopher knelt and put two fingers to the maid’s wrist, taking her pulse. A faint line of concern appeared between his brows. He scrambled back to his feet. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Grace could only stare at the limp housemaid—she seemed to be breathing at least, thankfully—and wait. In a moment or so Christopher returned, along with the Herondales’ cook, Bridget, and two footmen.

  Bridget, wearing a musty black frock and a hat with an artificial yellow flower tilted sideways on her head, knelt down and turned the maid’s head to examine her. “She’s breathing normally. And her color is good.” She gave Grace a wry look. “Malingering, maybe, to get out of all the work this wedding has brought.”

  “I believe her right wrist is broken, probably hurt in her fall,” Christopher said. “I do not think she is pretending.”

  “Humph,” said Bridget. “Well, we’ll help Edith—don’t you worry. You two get back to the chapel. The ceremony’s about to start, and the young master will want you there.”

  Christopher laid a hand on Grace’s arm and began to steer her from the room. Normally Grace heartily disliked being steered, but Christopher did it in a kindly, not a domineering, sort of way. “Are you all right?” he said as they reached the staircase.

  “I was startled,” Grace said, which she supposed was truthful enough.

  “Is there a message you wished me to give to James?” Christopher asked. “He said you had wanted to speak with him, but that there was not time.”

  Ah, the irony, Grace thought. James, loyal and dutiful James, had decided not to meet her alone in the drawing room anyway. It had all been for nothing.

  “I only wanted to wish him a happy day,” she said. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she added more quietly, “And to tell him to look after his bride well. Love is a rarity in this world, and true friendship, too. That was all.”

  4 A GOOD NAME

  May this marriage be a sign of compassion,

  a seal of happiness here and hereafter.

  May this marriage have a fair face and a good name,

  an omen as welcome

  as the moon in a clear blue sky.

  —Rumi, “This Marriage”

  James stood at the altar, looking out over the gathered crowd. He felt a little dizzy to see the pews so completely filled with wedding guests—the Wentworths and Bridgestocks, the Townsends and Baybrooks sat alongside people he barely knew. Then there were his parents in the front pew, their hands tightly clasped. Cordelia’s family—Sona in ivory silk with gold and silver embroidery; Elias looking tired, and years older than James remembered. Alastair, his face haughty and unreadable as ever. James’s aunts and uncles, clustered together. Henry, a broad grin on his face, his Bath chair drawn up beside the pew where Charles sat. Thomas and Anna, smiling encouragingly.

  Everywhere were pale flowers from Idris, garlanding the aisles and spilling over the altar, their delicate scent filling the chapel. The room glimmered in the soft golden haze of the candlelight. James had walked the flower-strewn aisle with Matthew’s hand steady on his arm. Matthew had murmured to him—light, funny comments about the guests and a few harsh words for Mrs. Bridgestock’s hat—and James had thought how lucky he was, to have a parabatai who was always there for him. He could never truly fall with Matthew to hold him up.

  The chapel doors opened a crack—everyone looked up, but it was not Cordelia; it was Grace, escorted by Christopher. She made her way quickly to Charles’s pew and slid in beside him, while Kit hurried to join Thomas and Anna.

  James felt Matthew’s grip tighten on his arm. “Well done, Kit,” he murmured.

  James had to agree. He had made a vow to himself that he would not spend time with Grace alone, and his wedding day seemed hardly the time to break it. Once she had left the Long Hall, he could no longer imagine what had induced him to say yes to meeting her.

  Matthew had said not to worry, he would send Christopher to let Grace know the meeting was off. Feeling a little guilty, James had thrown himself into greeting guests—chatting with Anna and Thomas, welcoming Ariadne, introducing Matthew to Filomena and watching their flirting with amusement. Eventually Bridget had appeared, slightly grim-faced, and demanded that the last of the guests be ushered into the chapel. It was time for the ceremony.

  James knew that at mundane ceremonies there was often music, and it was the case at Shadowhunter weddings as well sometimes, but it was dead silent now. One could have heard a pin drop. The palms of his hands itched with nervousness.

  The doors opened, thrown wide this time. The candles flared up; the guests turned to stare. A soft exhale went round the room.

  The bride was here.

  Matthew moved closer to James, their shoulders touching. James knew Matthew was staring too; they were all staring, and yet he felt as if he were alone in the room, the only one watching as Cordelia entered, Lucie at her side.

  Daisy. She seemed to blaze like a torch. James had always known she was beautiful—had he always known? Had there been a moment he had realized it?—but still the sight of her hit him like a blow. She was all fire, all heat and light, from the gold silk roses woven into her dark red hair to the ribbons a
nd beads on her golden dress. The hilt of Cortana was visible over her left shoulder; the straps that secured it had been fashioned from thick gold ribbons.

  “By the Angel, she is brave,” he heard Matthew murmur, and he could not help but agree: technically, this wedding existed to correct a terrible social violation. Cordelia was a compromised bride, and to some it would seem quite daring that she went to her wedding in full gold, a Shadowhunter bride in all her glory, her sword at her back, her head held high.

  If there were ever to be an expression of disapproval from the more ancient and pigheaded of the Enclave, it would be now. But there was nothing—only little gasps of appreciation, and the delighted look on Sona’s face as Cordelia took her first step onto the aisle, the froth and gold of her dress parting for a moment to reveal a gold-and-ivory brocade boot.

  Something chimed in James’s ear. At first he thought he was hearing the sound of the wind in the icy branches outside. But he saw Lucie smile and glance behind her—it was indeed music, growing closer, rising in volume. A sound delicate and crystalline as winter, touched with an almost melancholy sweetness.

  The sound of a violin, audible even through the thick stone walls. The guests looked about them, startled. James looked at Matthew. “Jem?”

  Matthew nodded and indicated James’s parents: Will and Tessa were both smiling. James thought there were tears in his mother’s eyes, but it was natural to cry at weddings. “Your parents asked him if he would play. He’s outside in the courtyard. He wouldn’t come in—said Silent Brothers had no place at weddings.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true,” James murmured, but he recognized it for what it was: a gift from the man who had always been like an uncle to him. The music rose, as exquisite as Cordelia, as pure and proud as the look on her face as she stepped up to join him at the altar.

  * * *

  Cordelia had not expected to feel as odd as she did: both extraordinarily present and distant, as if she were watching the proceedings from a faraway place. She saw her family, saw Alastair glance at her and then over at the front pew, saw the look on her mother’s face. She had not expected the scent of the flowers, or the music, which seemed like a carpet unrolling before her, urging her down the aisle, lifting her to the altar.

  And she had not expected James. She had not expected that his eyes would fix on her the moment she entered the room, watching her and nothing else. He was beautiful enough to take her breath away, his dark gold coat the same color as his eyes, his hair wild and crow’s-wing black. He looked dazed, a little stunned as she joined him at the altar, as if the breath had been knocked out of him.

  She could not blame him. They had both known this day was coming, but the reality of it was staggering.

  The violin music softened as the Consul rose to join them. Charlotte Fairchild took her place behind the altar. She smiled warmly, and Cordelia stepped away from Lucie; James took her hands, and they faced each other. His grasp was warm and hard, his fingers calloused. He had bent his head; all she could see was the fall of his curling black hair against his sharp cheekbone.

  “Welcome, all.” Charlotte’s commanding voice filled the room. Lucie was vibrating with excitement, fairly bouncing up and down on her toes. Matthew’s gaze wandered the crowd, a small ironic smile pulling at his mouth. “Twenty-three years ago, I married Will and Tessa Herondale in this very chapel. How proud and grateful I am to be here now to marry their son, James, to a woman whose family is also close to my heart. Cordelia Carstairs.”

  Charlotte turned her steady gaze on Cordelia, who felt immediately uneasy. Surely Charlotte of all people would see through them. But she only smiled again and said, “We come together, Clave and Enclave, children of the Angel and the ones they love”—she dropped a wink and Cordelia realized, with some surprise, that Magnus Bane had joined Will and Tessa among the guests—“to celebrate the joining together of lives under Raziel’s auspices. We walk a lonely road and a high one, we Nephilim. The burden Raziel has laid upon us is a heavy one, as we have had recent cause to remember.” Her gaze moved for a moment to Gideon and Sophie. “But he has given us many gifts to balance our responsibilities,” Charlotte went on, and now her gaze rested tenderly on her husband, Henry. “He has given us a tremendous capacity to love. To give of our hearts, to let them be filled and filled again with the love that consecrates us all. To love one another is to come as close as we ever can to being angels ourselves.”

  Cordelia felt a light squeeze to her hand. James had raised his head; he was looking at her with a level gaze and an encouraging smile. Steady on, he mouthed soundlessly, and she couldn’t help but smile back.

  “James Morgan Henry Herondale,” said Charlotte. “Hast thou gone among the streets of the city and the watchmen there, and found the one thy soul loves?”

  Cordelia heard Lucie catch her breath. She didn’t release it until James responded in a firm, clear voice that echoed through the chapel.

  “I have,” he said, then seemed slightly startled, as if surprised at the strength of his own conviction. “And I will not let her go.”

  “Cordelia Katayoun Carstairs,” said Charlotte. “Hast thou gone among the streets of the city and the watchmen there, and found the one thy soul loves?”

  Cordelia hesitated. James’s hands were firm and gentle on hers; she knew he would always be this way, gentle and determined, kind and thoughtful. Her heart beat hard and treacherous inside her chest. He had not been gentle in the Whispering Room. Not gentle with his hands on her body and his lips on hers. That had been the James she wanted, her one glimpse at the James she could not have.

  She had told herself she could get through this time easily, that at least she would be close to James, be beside him, see him sleeping and waking. But she knew now, looking at his face—the curves of his mouth, the arch of his eyelashes, sweeping down to hide his thoughts—that she would not walk away at the end of this year unscathed. She was agreeing to have her heart broken.

  “Yes,” said Cordelia. “And I will not let him go.”

  There was a flourish of violin music. Charlotte beamed. “It is time for the exchange of the first runes, and the second vows,” she said. Shadowhunters generally placed two runes upon each other when they were married: a rune upon the arm, given during the public ceremony, and a rune over the heart—done later, in private. One rune for the community, and one for the privacy of marriage, Sona had always said.

  Matthew and Lucie turned to the altar, returning with two golden steles. “Set me as a seal upon thy heart, as a seal upon thy arm,” said Lucie, handing the first stele to Cordelia with an encouraging smile. The ritual words were ancient, freighted with the gravity of years. Sometimes they were spoken by the bride and groom, sometimes by their suggenes. In this instance, James and Cordelia had wanted Matthew and Lucie to speak.

  “For love is strong as death,” said Matthew, placing the second stele in James’s hand. His tone was uncharacteristically somber. “And jealousy cruel as the grave.”

  James pushed up the left sleeve of his jacket and shirt, revealing more of the runes placed on his arms earlier that day. Runes for Love, Luck, and Joy. Cordelia leaned in to place the marriage rune on his upper arm—a few quick, fluid strokes. She had to steady his arm with her free hand to do it, and she shivered a little at the contact: the hard muscle of his bicep under her fingers, the smoothness of his skin.

  Then it was James’s turn; he was gentle and quick, placing the first of the marriage runes on her forearm, just below the lace edging of her sleeve.

  Charlotte bent her head. “Now will you each repeat after me: ‘For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor demons, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us.’ ”

  “For I am persuaded,” Cordelia whispered, and as she spoke the words aloud after Charlotte, she glanced sideways at James. His profile was sharp, the curve of his lips det
ermined as he said the words after she did: “Neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor demons, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come…”

  Cordelia thought, It’s happening. It’s really happening. And yet, for all that, she was unprepared for what came next. The words spoken, she and James looked at each other in relief. But it was short-lived.

  “You may now kiss,” said Charlotte cheerfully.

  Cordelia stared at James, openmouthed. He looked just as surprised; it seemed they had both forgotten that this would be part of the ceremony.

  I can’t do it, Cordelia thought, half panicking. She could not press an unwanted kiss upon James, and certainly not in public. But he was already drawing her into his arms. His hand cupped her cheek, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth. “We’ve come this far,” he whispered. “Don’t back out on me now.”

  She raised her chin, her lips grazing his. He was smiling. “I would never,” she began indignantly, but he was already kissing her. She felt the kiss, and the smile it carried, all the way down through her body and her bones. Helplessly, she caught at him, holding his shoulders. Though he kept his mouth decorously closed, his lips were incredibly soft, so soft and so warm against hers that she had to bite back a soft moan.

  He drew back, and Cordelia smoothed down her dress with shaking hands. Almost before they were finished, a cheer went up from the congregation, applause punctuated with a few whistles and the stamping of feet.

  The cheering continued as they linked hands and began to make their way down from the altar. Cordelia saw Lucie smile at her—and then Matthew’s face, grim and set. His expression jolted her. He must be worried about James, she realized. She couldn’t blame him. No amount of preparing for this day could have readied her for the real thing.

  She was married.