The scent of his clothes and hair—smoky, like tobacco—was familiar too. Or was there a sweet rot underneath? Was she smelling alcohol on him or imagining things?

Elias held her at arm’s length. “I appreciate the welcome, my dear.” He looked her up and down and, with a twinkle in his eye, added, “Though you didn’t need to dress up so much just for me.”

Cordelia laughed and thought, My father is back. He will be at my wedding. That is what matters. “It’s my wedding dress,” she started to say, just as Elias interrupted her with a smile.

“I know, child. It’s why I returned today. I wouldn’t have dreamed of missing your wedding.”

“Then why didn’t you return when the Basilias released you?” They all turned to see Alastair, who had just emerged from his room. He had clearly been in the process of getting dressed for the ceremony—his cuffs were unfastened and he was jacketless. He wore a black waistcoat, traced with golden runes for Love, Joy, and Unity, but his expression was anything but celebratory. “We know they let you out a week ago, Father. Had you returned earlier, it would have eased Mother’s mind. Layla’s, too.”

Elias looked at his son. He did not hold out his arms, as he had to Cordelia, but his voice was thick with emotion when he spoke. “Come and greet me, Esfandiyār,” he said.

It was Alastair’s middle name. Esfandiyār had been a great hero from the Shahnameh, a Persian book of ancient mythical kings who could bind any demon with an enchanted chain. Alastair had loved to hear stories from the Shahnameh when he was small; he and Cordelia would curl up by the fire with Elias while he read.

But that had been a long time ago. Now Alastair didn’t move, and Elias began to frown.

“Yes, they did release me some days ago,” he said. “But before I returned, I went into the wilds in France, west of Idris.”

“To do penance?” Alastair’s voice was sharp-edged.

“To fetch Cordelia’s wedding gift,” said Elias. “Risa!” he called down the stairs.

“Oh, no, we can exchange gifts later,” protested Cordelia. She could feel the tension rising, her mother looking anxiously back and forth between her son and husband. “When I open them with James.”

“Risa,” Elias called down the stairs again, “can you retrieve that oblong wooden box from my things? And nonsense,” he said to Cordelia. “It’s not a gift for your household. It’s a gift for you.”

Risa soon appeared with the box balanced on her shoulder, a thunderous look on her face. Ignoring her scowl, Elias took it from her and spun to present it to Cordelia. She looked at Alastair, leaning against the wall. She raised her eyebrows as if to ask him what he thought she should do. He only shrugged. She wanted to shake him a little: Would it hurt to pretend to be happy?

She turned back to her father, who held the box as she unsnapped the brass latches and swung it open.

She gasped.

Laid on a bed of bright blue velvet was a scabbard—one of the most beautiful scabbards Cordelia had ever seen, worthy of being displayed in a museum. It was forged of fine steel, as bright as silver, its surface elaborately inlaid with gilt and etched with delicate patterns of birds, leaves, and vines. As she looked closer, she could glimpse tiny runes like butterflies among the leaves.

“The only gift worthy of my daughter,” Elias said, “is the gift worthy of the sword that has chosen her.”

“Where did it come from?” Cordelia asked. She couldn’t help but be moved. What Alastair had told her about the many times he had needed to rescue their father—and himself and Cordelia and their mother—from the consequences of his drinking … it had—she had been angry. How could her father be so selfish, so indifferent to his family’s needs?

But he had also been there for her, many times, helping her to climb trees, to train, teaching her the significance of Cortana and the responsibility conferred on the one who wielded it. And he had come to her today, her wedding day, and brought this gift. Would it be so wrong to think he meant well?

“The faerie folk of northern France are famed for their exquisite workmanship,” said Elias. “It is said this scabbard was made by Melusine herself. I knew it had to be yours. I hope you will accept it as a token of my love, child, and—as a promise to do better.”

Sona smiled tremulously. Elias set the box carefully down on the hall table. “Thank you, Father,” Cordelia said, putting her arms around him. As he hugged her tightly, she caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of her eye, and glanced up to see Alastair head back to his room without a word.

The bloody bracelet was still on his wrist, James thought, as he paced up and down the carpet in his bedroom. He had been meaning to remove it for days. In fact, he was fairly sure he had tried to remove it, but the fastening had been stuck.

He was halfway to his desk in search of a letter opener he could use to poke at the latch when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He stopped to make sure everything was in place; for Cordelia’s sake, he had to look his best.

He smoothed down his hair—hopeless, as it sprang up again immediately—and did up the last button on the gold brocade frock coat made for him by his father’s tailor, an ancient man named Lemuel Sykes.

He thought of his father’s excitement when he’d presented James to Lemuel: “My boy’s getting married!” Sykes had angrily muttered his congratulations. Given his amount of ear hair, James put it at even odds that he was a werewolf, but he thought it impolite to ask. In any event, Will turned out to have been right to overlook Sykes’s off-putting manner and the constant fear that he would drop dead of old age right in front of them. James felt he wasn’t the best judge of his own appearance, but even he was taken by the way his suit, rich gold coat and all, made him look serious. Like a young man with intent, who knew what he was doing. Given the situation, he could use even the illusion of confidence.

He had just started toward the desk again when there was a knock on his door. James opened it to find his parents, elegant in their own formal attire. Like James, Will was dressed in a frock coat and black trousers, but his coat was cut from ebony wool. Tessa wore a simple dress of blush-colored velvet, adorned with tiny seed pearls. They both looked grave.

James’s stomach dropped. “Is something wrong?”

They’ve found out, he thought. About my burning down Blackthorn Manor—Cordelia stepping in to protect me—the sham of this marriage, meant to save us both.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Will said soothingly. “There’s a bit of news.”

Tessa sighed. “Will, you’re terrifying the poor boy,” she said. “He probably thinks Cordelia’s broken off the engagement. She hasn’t,” she added. “Nothing like that. Only—her father’s come back.”

“Elias is home?” James stepped out of the way, letting his parents into the room; the halls were full of maids and footmen rushing about getting the place ready, and this seemed the sort of discussion better had in private. “When did he return?”

“Just this morning, apparently,” said Will. There were three chairs arranged near the window. James joined his parents there. Outside the glass, ice-laced tree branches shimmered in the winter wind. Pale sunlight streamed onto the carpet. “As you know, the Basilias let him out some time ago, but apparently he claims he went to get Cordelia a wedding present. Thus his delayed arrival.”