Chain of Iron

“Not to worry,” Magnus said, “you will not be without my radiance for long. I should be back in a fortnight. And then we celebrate.”

Matthew held up a hand. “I demand to also be invited to dinner with Magnus. I will not be scorned.”

“Speaking of scorning,” murmured Lucie. Out of nowhere had appeared Ariadne Bridgestock, looking quite lovely in a rose-colored dress with gold passementerie braiding.

“There you are,” Ariadne said. “James, Cordelia. Congratulations.” Then, without pause, she turned to Anna. “Would you take a turn about the room with me, Miss Lightwood?”

Cordelia exchanged a look of interest with Matthew, who gave a tiny shrug. His ears had perked up, though, like a cat’s.

Anna’s posture changed; she had been lounging with her hands in her pockets, but now she straightened up. “No one else is wandering about the ballroom, Ariadne.”

Ariadne worried at a fold of her dress with her fingers. “We could talk,” she said. “It might be nice.”

Cordelia tensed; Ariadne was opening herself up to a cutting riposte. But instead Anna only said, “I don’t think so,” her tone very flat, and walked off without a word.

“She’s a more complicated person than she pretends,” Magnus offered to Ariadne.

Ariadne didn’t seem to welcome the sympathy. Her eyes flashed. “I know that better than almost anyone.” She nodded stiffly at James and at Cordelia. “Again, I wish you all the happiness in the world.”

Cordelia felt an odd urge to wish her luck in battle, but there was no time: she had departed, her head held high in the air.

“Well,” Magnus said, toying idly with the gold flower tucked into his buttonhole. A peony, Cordelia noted, dipped in gold. “It’s hard not to admire her spirit.”

“She is very determined,” said Lucie. “She approaches Anna at every dance and party, always with some sort of request.”

“Has Anna been responsive?”

“Not judging by her social calendar,” James said. “Every time I see her, she’s squiring some new lady about the town.”

“She and Ariadne certainly have a history,” said Thomas. “We just don’t quite know what it was.”

Cordelia thought of Anna kneeling by Ariadne’s sickbed, murmuring softly, Please don’t die. She had never mentioned the moment to anyone. Anna, she felt, would not like her to do so.

Magnus didn’t comment; his attention had been caught by something else. “Ah,” he said. “Mr. Carstairs.”

It was Alastair, determinedly approaching Cordelia and James. Magnus, as if sensing the advent of an awkward situation, excused himself and slipped away smoothly into the crowd.

Cordelia regarded Alastair worriedly—did he really feel obligated to brave the den of Merry Thieves to offer his congratulations? It appeared that he did: spinning toward his sister with a near-military precision, he said sharply, “I’m here to offer my felicitations to both of you.”

James regarded him. “I suppose you at least have enough social grace to know the right things to say,” he said quietly, “even if you can’t bring yourself to sound like you mean them.”

Alastair’s mouth set in a hard line. “No credit for the attempt, then?”

Stop, Cordelia thought. She knew Alastair was not always like this—she knew he could be kind, sweet, vulnerable even. She knew her father had broken his son’s heart a dozen different ways, and Alastair was doing the best he could with the pieces. But it didn’t help for Alastair to behave like this, to retreat behind a cold facade as cutting as glass.

The way James retreated behind the Mask.

“We are brothers now, Alastair,” James said, “and you are welcome in our house. I will be civil to you and I hope you will be civil to me, for Cordelia’s sake.”

Alastair looked a little relieved. “Of course.”

“But you had best be good to her,” James said, still in an even, calm tone. “Because my hospitality lasts exactly as long as Cordelia finds your presence pleasing.”

“Of course,” Alastair said again. “I would expect nothing else.” He turned to Thomas, who had been staring fixedly down at his plate. “Tom,” he said carefully. “If I could talk to you for a moment—”

Thomas stood up, almost knocking over the table. Cordelia looked at him in astonishment.

“I told you before that if you spoke to me again, I would throw you into the Thames,” said Thomas. His normally open, friendly face was twisted into an expression of fury. “You might at least have chosen a warmer day to take your plunge.”

“Stop.” Cordelia threw down her napkin. “Alastair is my brother, and I love him. And this is my wedding day. No one will be throwing my family members into the Thames.”

“Honestly, Thomas,” said Lucie, looking at her friend with disappointment. Thomas clenched his fists at his sides.

“Now,” said Cordelia. “Will someone tell me what this is all about?”

There was an awkward silence. Even Alastair didn’t look at her. He made an odd sort of sound, in the back of his throat. “This is—unbearable,” he said. “It is not to be endured.”

“It is what you deserve,” said Matthew, his eyes flashing; James held out a hand toward his parabatai, as if to calm him—just as a loud crash came from the far end of the room.

Without another word, Alastair broke into a run. Knowing what that meant, Cordelia pushed back her chair and dashed after him. Her heavy velvet skirts hampered her, and she reached her parents some moments after Alastair. Her father was on the floor by his chair, clutching his knee and moaning in pain.

Sona was struggling to rise from her chair. “Elias—Elias, are you—”

Her father’s face was beet red, and he seemed to have worked himself up into something of a lather. “I tell you, I should have been my daughter’s suggenes,” Elias snapped. “To be cut out of the ceremony as if I were a shameful secret, well, I can only imagine she was persuaded, but it is an outrage—a deliberate humiliation, and you cannot convince me otherwise!”

He slammed his hand against the floor.

Cordelia’s heart sank into her brocaded boots. She glanced at Alastair, already trying to help Elias to his feet. Quickly, she moved to block the scene from the wedding guests—the ones near enough to see the messy goings-on were staring. Fury went through Cordelia like a lance. How dare her father suggest that he had not had enough of a role in her wedding—they’d had no idea he’d even be attending until his arrival this very morning.

“I’m here,” said a voice at her shoulder. It was James. He touched Cordelia’s arm lightly, then knelt down beside Alastair and seized Elias’s other arm, raising him to his feet.

Elias glared at James. “I do not require your help.”

“As you say,” said James equably. Sona had her face in her hands; Cordelia stopped to touch her mother’s shoulder lightly before glancing after James and Alastair, who were walking Elias away as fast as their feet could take them.

“Father, I think you need a bit of a rest,” Alastair was saying. He spoke evenly, his expression matter-of-fact and calm. This is how he’s managed all these years, she thought.