The sound Alastair made was half pain, half exhaustion. “And you can have whatever you wish, Charles. You just cannot also have me. I wish to live my life, not to hide in the shadows as you engage yourself to a series of women in an attempt to conceal who you really are. If you choose that for yourself, it is your choice, but you cannot choose for me.”

“That is all you have to say to me, then? After these years? Surely that cannot be all,” Charles said, and in that moment he was not ridiculous, as he had been when he was toasting himself. There was genuine grief in his eyes, Cordelia thought. In his way, he loved Alastair.

But it was not enough. Some kinds of love weren’t.

“Good luck, Charles,” Alastair said. His dark eyes shone. “I am sure you will have a very successful life.”

He walked away. Cordelia, left suddenly and awkwardly alone with Charles, hastened to follow her brother.

“You must not know what to make of that conversation,” Charles said, his voice stiff and overbright, as she turned to go.

She hesitated, not looking at him. “I know you hurt my brother,” she said at last. “I know you will not do it again.”

“I will not,” Charles said very quietly. He said nothing more as she made her escape.

* * *

James stood on the balcony outside the ballroom. It was a long stone affair, with chest-high railings; it had not existed when his father was a young man but had been added during the refurbishments to the Institute. Both his parents had a fondness for balconies.

It was almost like being up on the roof and far away, but being outside was not having its usual calming effect on him. The air tasted like London, as it always did, and he could see, in the distance, the shapes of houses rising up against the gap of the Thames. He thought of its deep brown-black waters, the color of the smoke in Belial’s realm. His stiff white shirtfront scratched against the stone of the balcony as he leaned forward, wishing he could ease the pressure on his chest.

It was not that he was dreading marrying Cordelia. He was not dreading it, and he wondered if he ought to be. When he thought of marriage to her, he imagined a warm room, a fire in the grate, a chessboard or a pack of cards laid out. Fog pressing against the windows, but the light inside the room gleaming off rows of books in English and Persian. He thought of her soft voice as he fell asleep, reading to him in a language he did not yet know.

He told himself he was being a fool. It would be awkward and strange, a peculiar dance they would do for each other’s sakes to last out the year until they would be free. Still, when he closed his eyes—

“James.”

He knew who she was before he turned around; he always knew her voice. Grace stood behind him, half in shadow, the French doors closing behind her. Through them he could see golden banners and hear music.

“Magnus Bane has got the piano working somehow,” Grace said in her low voice, “and people are dancing.”

James gripped the stone railing of the balcony, staring out toward the city. He had not seen Grace since the Enclave meeting, nor had he sent her any kind of message. It would have felt disloyal to Cordelia. “It is probably better if we don’t speak to each other, you know.”

“This may be our only chance to speak alone again,” Grace said. When he did not reply, she said, with a catch in her voice, “It seems the Angel does not want us to be together, doesn’t it? First I could not break things off with Charles because of my mother. Then, the moment I was free of her, you became engaged to Cordelia.”

“Do not say her name,” James said, startling even himself with his vehemence. He bowed his head, tasting rain and metal. “She is the kindest person—”

“I know what she did for you, James,” said Grace quietly. “I know you weren’t with her that night. You were in Idris, burning down Blackthorn Manor. I know she told that lie to shield you. I wouldn’t have thought she had such cunning in her, really.”

“It is not cunning. It is generosity,” said James. “A waste of a year of her life on a marriage she cannot want, just to protect me.”

“A year?” said Grace. “Is that the arrangement between you?”

“I will not discuss this with you,” James said. His chest hurt as if it were being compressed. He could barely get enough air.

“You must hate me,” Grace said, “if all this is to protect you from the consequences of what I asked you to do.”

“I do not blame you, Grace. But we cannot be friends. It will make it harder than it already is.”

There was a pause. She was in shadow, but he had seen her in the ballroom, in her green dress with emeralds in her ears. He had recognized the earrings. They had been Charlotte’s. She must have given them to Charles as a gift for Grace.

“I am glad you will have Cordelia,” Grace said.

“I wish I could say the same to you about Charles,” said James. “Cordelia deserves better than this; I will do everything I can in this next year to make her happy. I hope Charles does the same for you.”

“I could be with you in a year,” she said, her voice almost a whisper. “A long engagement with Charles, you divorce Cordelia—it could be done.”

James said nothing. The tightness in his chest had become pain. He felt as if he were being torn in two, brutally and literally.

“James?” Grace said.

He fought back the words: Yes, wait for me, I will wait for you. Grace. I remember the forest, the shadows, your ivory dress.

Grace.

He could taste blood in his mouth. He was gripping the railing so hard he thought his fingers might break.

A moment later James heard the soft click of the French door opening and closing. He held himself still for a long minute, and then another. When he turned at last, he was alone on the balcony. There was no sign of Grace.

Instead, through the glass, he saw Cordelia. She was dancing with Matthew. Her glorious hair was spilling free of its bandeau, defying all attempts to confine it. They were both laughing.

* * *

Expertly skirting the couples on the dance floor, Anna sighed: she wanted to be enjoying herself much more than she was. Though she had long ago given up believing in romantic love, she still enjoyed an engagement party, especially when she liked the people who were getting engaged, which admittedly didn’t happen all that often.

Tonight was different. Many of her favorite people in the Enclave were here: the Merry Thieves, various aunts and uncles and extended family members, and—like an especially gaudy bonbon atop an already gilded cake—Magnus Bane. He had been very helpful in setting up wards around her family’s house the day Christopher had been attacked. She owed him a favor, but she didn’t mind that: she was sure it would be very entertaining when he came to collect. Still, there were two things nagging at her. Although James was one of her favorite cousins, and she very much liked Cordelia, there was something suspicious about this sudden engagement.

Anna had known since the ball welcoming the Carstairs family to London that Cordelia was hopelessly in love with James, and James was hopelessly in love with Grace Blackthorn. She had observed it, noted it, and determined that she would invite Cordelia to tea. Hopeless love was a dreadful state. Perhaps she could talk the girl out of it.

She had realized soon enough that Cordelia was tough and stubborn—and that she, Anna, liked her very much. Enough to fervently wish that James would wake up and see what was standing right in front of him. She had thought the dresses might help—and been quite gratified by the stunned look on James’s face when he’d seen Cordelia dance at the Hell Ruelle. In fact, Anna might almost have believed James had realized Cordelia was the girl for him—after all, Grace had become engaged to Charles, so that was off the table—had it not been for Cordelia’s sudden announcement at the Enclave meeting.

There were many things Anna knew she excelled at, and one of them was being a judge of character. Cordelia Carstairs, who blushed at the sight of a seductive gown, was not going to spend the night with a man she was not married to, even if he was the love of her life. Nor would James compromise an unmarried girl. Anna would bet her flat on Percy Street on it.

As she slipped through the door at the end of the room, Anna glanced back to see Matthew and Cordelia dancing together. Cordelia looked amused, which was not surprising: Matthew made everyone laugh. She could not see Matthew’s face, though there was something in the way he leaned over Cordelia that unsettled Anna. She could not have put a name to it.

Will had come out onto the dance floor; everyone was all smiles as he cut in to dance with Cordelia. Poor Cordelia, Anna thought: it was a Shadowhunter tradition to dance with a prospective bride for good luck. Cordelia wouldn’t get a moment to herself. She looked happy enough to be dancing with her future father-in-law, at least, as Matthew went off to talk to Thomas.

Matthew had also seemed happy as he’d danced, Anna thought, making her way down the hall to the games room. Hopefully he was coming out of the years-long funk he’d been in—she had been worried. The Merry Thieves were like little brothers to her, and Matthew had always been her companion in scrapes and adventures.

The games room was in shadow. Anna liked it here: it was an unfussy room, without ribbons or rosettes or gilt. The chess set her father had given Will gleamed in the moonlight streaming through the window. It spilled like pale fire over the polished floor and the young woman standing in the middle of the room.

Ariadne Bridgestock.

Ariadne was the second thing that had been nagging at Anna all night. A dozen times now, she had wanted to ask Ariadne if she was well, if she had recovered, and a dozen times she had held herself back. If beauty were a measure of wellness, Ariadne would be the healthiest person at the party. Her dark hair gleamed, her soft brown skin looked like silk, and her lips were full and red. The first lips Anna had ever kissed. The first she had loved.

“I am sorry,” Anna said, with a slight, formal bow. “I didn’t realize you were here.”

She turned to go, but Ariadne hastened across the room to her, holding out a hand. “Anna, please. I want to talk to you.”