Authors: Cassandra Clare
Chain of Gold (43 page)
He peeled himself away from the pillar he'd been leaning against and regarded his offspring with a thoughtful indulgence. Elias had always been their weapons master, the one who had trained them in the physical arts of Shadowhunting since they had been small.
He was the one who had turned the ballroom at Cirenworth into a training area. He had bought the great house from mundanes and
seemed to take pleasure in removing evidence of their mundanity. He tore out the parquet floors and put down softer wood from trees in Idris, better for cushioning falls. Chandeliers were replaced with hooks to hang weapons from, and the walls were painted saffron yellow, the color of victory.
Elias had lived in Beijing for many years and favored the weapons and fighting styles of Nephilim there, from the
zhaËn maË da¯o
to the double-edged
jià n
to the long-handled
qia¯ng
. He taught his children
shua¯ngda¯o
, the art of wielding two swords at the same time. He hung rope darts and chain whips from the rafters and built a
lei tai
, a raised fighting platform, at the west end of the room. Alastair and Cordelia stood on the
lei tai
now, glaring at each other.
“Cordelia,” said Elias, clasping his hands behind his back. “Why, exactly, do you want Cortana?”
Cordelia paused a moment. She was thirteen, and she rarely bothered to try to get in between Alastair and the things he wanted. There was no one in the world more stubborn or fussy than her brother, in her opinion. But Cortana was different. She'd been dreaming of wielding Cortana since she was a little girlâthe heft of its golden hilt, the arc of its blade through the air.
And Alastair, she knew, had never dreamed about that: he was a good fighter, but largely disinterested. He preferred following Shadowhunter politics and scheming to actual demon chasing.
“Cortana was made by Wayland the Smith,” she said. “He made swords for all the greatest heroes. Excalibur for Arthur. Durendal for Roland and Hector. Sigurd, who slew the dragon Fafnir, bore a sword named Balmung made by Waylandâ”
“Cordelia, we know all this,” said Alastair crossly. “No need for a history lesson.”
Cordelia glared.
“So you want to be a hero,” said Elias, with a gleam of interest.
Cordelia considered. “Cortana has one sharp edge and one dull
one,” she said. “Because of that, it has often been called a sword of mercy. I want to be a merciful hero.”
Elias nodded and turned to his son. “And you?”
Alastair flushed. “It's a Carstairs sword,” he said shortly. “I'm Alastair Carstairs and I always will be. When Cordelia gets married and has a passel of brats, one of them will end up with Cortanaâand they won't be a Carstairs.”
Cordelia made an indignant sound, but Elias held up a silencing hand. “He's right,” he said. “Cordelia, let your brother keep the sword.”
Alastair smirked, twirled the sword in his hand, and headed for the edge of the
lei tai
. Cordelia stood where she was, rage and indignation prickling up her spine. She thought of all the times she'd come into the training room to gaze at Cortana in its crystal box, the words etched on its blade the first thing she'd learned to read:
I am Cortana, of the same steel and temper as Joyeuse and Durendal.
She thought of the way she'd always gently tapped the box, barely brushing it with her fingers, as if to reassure the sword that someday it would be taken out and wielded again. And when Elias had finally opened the box, declaring that today was the day he would choose Cortana's owner, her heart had soared.
She couldn't bear it. “But Cortana is mine!” she burst out as her brother reached the edge of the platform. “I know it is!”
Alastair opened his mouth to deliver a retortâbut only gasped as the sword wrenched itself out of his grasp and flew across the room toward his sister. Cordelia held out a hand as if to ward it off, startled, and the hilt smacked into her palm. She closed her hand around it reflexively and felt a jolt go up her arm.
Cortana.
Alastair looked as if he wanted to sputter, but didn't. He was too clever and too self-conscious to be a sputterer. “Father,” he said instead. “Is this some sort of trick?”
Elias only smiled as if he'd known what was going to happen. “Sometimes the sword chooses the bearer,” he said. “Cortana will be Cordelia's. Now, Alastairâ”
But Alastair had stalked from the room.
Elias turned to his daughter. “Cordelia,” he said. “A blade of Wayland the Smith is a great gift, but it is also a great responsibility. One that may one day cause you sorrow.”
Cordelia nodded. She was sure her father was right, in some distant way that adults were sometimes. Still, gazing down at Cortana's golden blade, she couldn't imagine ever being anything but happy with it in her hand.
T
HE
H
OLLOW
S
EA
“Oh whence do you come, my dear friend, to me,
With your golden hair all fallen below your knee,
And your face as white as snowdrops on the lea,
And your voice as hollow as the hollow sea?”
“From the other world I come back to you:
My locks are uncurled with dripping drenching dew.
You know the old, whilst I know the new:
But to-morrow you shall know this too.”
âChristina Rossetti, “The Poor Ghost”
“So,” said Will Herondale, a
dark edge to his voice, “for some reason, you thought it was a good idea to take on a Mandikhor demon all by yourselves?”
Lucie's eyes fluttered open. For a moment she thought her father was talking to her, and considered flight. She discarded the idea immediatelyâher body was pinned down by heavy sheets and blankets. She blinked at her familiar surroundings; somehow she had been tucked into her own bed at home. The room smelled comfortingly of tea and of her father's cologne. Not surprisingly, as he
was seated in a chair next to the bed. Her mother had her hand on Will's shoulder, and James leaned against a wall nearby. He clearly hadn't changed clothes since the fight on the bridge, though his hands and face had been cleaned of blood and ichor and a new healing rune gleamed against his throat.
Someone had laid the golden blade of Cortana across Lucie's vanity table. She supposed there had been no chance to return it to Cordelia after her recovery from the river.
“Christopher was using one of his new devices,” James lied. “It's meant to pick up the traces of dark magic. We didn't think it would really come to anything. That is why we didn't summon you.”
Will's eyebrows flew up. “All six of you showed up to Tower Bridge in gear, despite thinking it wouldn't come to anything?”
Lucie squeezed her eyes half-shut. Better by far that they think she was asleep. James could definitely handle this on his own: as he never tired of reminding her, he was older.
“We thought it best to be prepared,” said James. “Besides, I know you did much more risky things when you were my age.”
“It's dreadful the way you keep throwing that in my face,” said Will.
“Well, I think they did very well,” said Tessa. “A Mandikhor demon is not easy to defeat.”
“And we did not defeat it,” James said grimly. “There will continue to be attacks. The Nephilim are still in danger.”
“Darling, the responsibility does not lie on you to fix all this,” said Tessa, her voice gentle. “Just to know the demon is in fact a Mandikhor will help a great deal.”
“Yes, and you should tell Christopher that the Clave wishes to use this new device of hisâit seems as if it could be very useful,” said Will.
“Ah,” said James. “Tragically, the device was eaten by the demon.”
Unable to help herself, Lucie giggled.
“You're awake!” Tessa rushed to the bed and hugged her daughter furiously. “Oh, Lucie!”
Will rose and hugged her as well. For a moment Lucie let herself enjoy being surrounded by the love and attention of her parents, even as she could hear Will scolding her for running out onto the riverbank alone.
“But I did it for Cordelia!” she exclaimed, as her parents drew back, her mother seating herself on the bed beside Lucie, where she could hold her hand. “You would have done it for Jem, Papa, when you were
parabatai
.”
Will leaned back against a post of the bed. “You aren't
parabatai
with Cordelia yet.”
“It isn't just for boys to risk their lives for each other,” Lucie said fiercely. “I had to call for helpâ”
“Yes, and thank the Angel one of the passing boatmen saw Cordelia and brought her to shore,” said Tessa. “You did help save her, Lucie.”
Lucie glanced at James. She knew he had not seen the ghosts who had taken Cordelia from the waterâeven Magnus had been too far away to glimpse them. Nevertheless, he looked thoughtful.
“Cordelia was quite all right once she coughed up the river water,” he said reassuringly. “Matthew, Christopher, and Thomas took her home in a hansom cab.”
“But Cortana is still here,” Lucie said, indicating the shining blade. “Daisy will be miserable without it. It's more than just a sword to her.” She started to struggle upright. “I must bring it to her immediately.”
“Lucie, no,” said Tessa. “You need to restâ”
“I will bring it to Kensington,” said James. There was a distant look in his eyes. “I wish to check on Cordelia and make sure she is recovering from the river.”
Tessa still looked worried. “Take the carriage, James, please,” she said. “It will be safer.”
Nephilim carriages were reinforced with demon-repelling electrum and runes cleverly woven throughout the wood. James sighed and nodded.
“And take Bridget and her massive spear,” said Will, doing a poor job at hiding a smile. “And perhaps change out of your gear first? It never hurts to look your best for a social call.”
If only there were a rune for drying clothes, Cordelia thought mournfully. She felt as if she were definitely squelching. She was pressed up against Matthew in the back of the hansom cab on a bench seat that faced Thomas and Christopher. Matthew had kindly thrown his gear jacket over her shoulders since her own was wet; he was in shirtsleeves, one arm around her, holding her steady. It was an odd but not unpleasant feeling.
It was still all something of a blurâshe recalled the force with which the demon's paw had struck her, the feeling of weightlessness as her feet left the bridge. The moon turning upside down and the river rushing up with horrifying speed. Bitter black water, the smell of damp and rot, the struggle to free herself from what she thought now might have been river weeds. Her first clear memory was of James leaning down over her with a stele in one hand and Cortana in the other. She had been choking and gasping, her body convulsing as her lungs emptied of water. James had drawn
iratze
after
iratze
onto her arm as the Merry Thieves crowded around.
At some point Matthew had arrived to take over while James hurried to Lucie, who had fainted on the riverbank. Magnus was there too, reassuring them that Lucie was fine and suffering from nothing more than shock. The shining bridge Magnus had summoned had vanished, and traffic had resumed over the real Tower
Bridge, so it had been easy for him to get hold of two hansom cabs and firmly separate the group: Lucie and James to go to the Institute, and the remaining Merry Thieves to accompany Cordelia to Kensington.
He had also told James, in no uncertain terms, that if James didn't pass on the information to Will and Tessa that the demon responsible for the attacks was a Mandikhor, he would do it himself.
Cordelia had managed to squeeze Lucie's hand once before she and James had been bundled into their hansom and driven away. Cordelia found herself on her way home, shivering with cold, her damp hair clammy with river water.
“Are you sure you're all right?” Thomas inquired, not for the first time. He sat opposite Cordelia, his knees knocking into hers. People Thomas's size were not made for ordinary hansom cabs.
“I'm fine,” Cordelia insisted. “Utterly fine.”
“It was amazing the way you charged at that demon, absolutely capital,” said Christopher. “I really thought you had him in your sights, until you fell into the river, that is.”
Cordelia felt Matthew's shoulder shake with silent laughter.
“Yes,” said Cordelia. “I was under the same misapprehension myself.”
“What happened, exactly?” Thomas said. “How did Lucie get you out of the water?”
Startled, Cordelia furrowed her brow. “I don't know,” she said slowly. “I don't understand it. I did hear Lucie callingâcalling my nameâand then I just woke up on the bank, coughing.”
“The current could just have brought her ashore,” said Christopher. “Thames currents can be quite strong.”
Matthew looked at her curiously. “When we were on the bridge, when James was fighting the Mandikhor, it looked as if the demon was speaking to him. Did you hear it?”
Cordelia hesitated.
Come with me, child of demons, to where you
will be honored. You see the same world I do. You see the world as it really is. I know who your mother is, and who your grandfather is.
Come with me.
“No,” she said. “Just sort of a growling noise. Not any words.”
The cab came to a stop; they had arrived at the Kensington house, gleaming white in the moonlight. The street was quiet and peaceful, a low wind rustling the tops of the plane trees.
Cordelia wasn't exactly sure how it happened, but Thomas and Christopher wound up waiting in the cab as Matthew escorted her to her front door, past the black-and-gold railing that circled the gardens.
“Will your mother be angry?” Matthew said.
“Have you heard of the death of a thousand cuts?” Cordelia replied.
“I always preferred the death of a thousand cats, in which one is buried under kittens,” said Matthew.
Cordelia laughed. They had reached the glossy black front door. She began to remove Matthew's jacket to return it to him; he held up a slender hand, scarred as all Shadowhunters' hands were scarred. She could see his
parabatai
rune, printed darkly on the inside of his wrist. “Keep it,” he said. “I have at least seventeen, and this is the plainest.”
Seventeen coats. He was ridiculous. He was also rich, Cordelia realized. Of course he was. His mother had been Consul longer than they had been alive. His clothes were always a bit outrageous, but they were also expensive-looking and finely made. There was a silk flower, dyed green and secured in the buttonhole of his shirt. She touched the petal lightly with a fingertip.
“What does this mean?”
“The green carnation symbolizes a love of art and artifice, since a green carnation has to be created rather than appearing in nature.” Matthew hesitated. “It also celebrates loving anyone you choose, whether that is a man or a woman.”
A man or a woman. She looked at Matthew in surprise for a moment: Was he like Alastair? But no, she thoughtâit seemed to her that Alastair preferred only men romantically, as he had said he would never deceive a woman by pretending he loved her. Matthew was clearly saying he liked women and men both.
Matthew was looking at her hesitantly, as if he could not puzzle out her response or perhaps thought she might be angry. She thought of the hurt look in Alastair's eyes when he'd realized she had spied on him. She thought of the secrets people kept and the way they were like scars or wounds beneath the skin. You could not always see them, but if you touched on them in the wrong way, you could cause great pain.
“I like that,” she said. “And I am sure anyone you chose to be in your life, whether it was a man or a woman, would be a good person who I would like very much.”
“I wouldn't be so sure of me, Cordelia,” Matthew said, “or my choices.”
“Matthew,” she said. “What could you ever have done that would be so bad?”
He set one hand on the doorframe, above her head, and gazed down at her. The faint glow from the streetlamps illuminated the high arches of Matthew's cheekbones and the soft, disarranged fall of his hair. “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”
“I believe James would not have chosen you as a
parabatai
if there was anything so terrible about you.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he felt a flash of pain. When he opened them, he was smiling, though it did not reach his eyes. “You have been quite a surprise since you came into our lives,” he said, and she knew by “our” he meant the five of them, the Merry Thieves and Lucie. “I did not feel that our little group was missing anything before you arrived, but now that you are here, I cannot imagine it without you.”
Before Cordelia could respond, the door opened and Risa was there. She took one astonished look at Cordelia, then called over her shoulder for Sona. Cordelia's mother appeared, wrapped in a silk robe de chambre. She looked from Matthew to Cordelia, dripping water on the front steps, and her dark eyes widened. “Oh,” she said, her voice carrying that mixture of disapproval and concern that only a mother's could. “Oh, Layla. What happened?”
If Cordelia had expected her mother to be angry, she was pleasantly surprised. Like a master artisan of falsehoods, Matthew spun a story for Sona of bravery, intrigue, danger, and hinted romance. Cordelia had been at the Institute, he claimed, and would have remained loyally by James's sideâfor he was suffering the loss of Barbara with great sorrowâbut knew her mother would worry if she did not return home. Matthew had offered to escort her, but they had been set upon by demons on the Thames footpath. Cordelia had fought bravely but was knocked into the river. It had all been very dramatic.
Sona forced a bar of Fry's Chocolate Cream and a thick scarf on Matthew before he was able to make his escape. She then went for Cordelia with an icy will, making sure she stripped off her wet clothes and that Risa drew a hot bath for her. No sooner had Cordelia exited the bath and put on a nightgown and slippers than she found herself reclining on the couch in the library in front of a roaring fire. A cozy dressing gown was wrapped around her shoulders, and Risa placed a fresh cup of tea in her hands while shaking her head with a disapproving air.
Cordelia had never been so hot in her life.
Sona perched on the arm of the sofa. Cordelia watched her mother warily over the edge of her teacup, fairly sure that Sona was settling in for a lengthy scold. Instead her dark eyes were worried. “Cordelia,” she said. “Where is Cortana?”
Cordelia started. She knew when she had last seen Cortanaâin James's hand, by the riverbank. But in the ensuing chaos, she had forgotten to take it back from him before she climbed into the carriage Magnus had summoned.