“Gathering in the library,” Cordelia said. “James has something to tell everyone. Come—I’ll show you where the rooms are, and you can join me and the others once you’re settled in.”
* * *
“You don’t mind, do you?” Cordelia said, her hand on James’s shoulder. “If Alastair’s there?”
James was sitting in a chair at the head of one of the long library tables. They were alone for now; everyone else was on their way. Everyone but Charles, of course. Charles had arrived just after Will and Tessa had gone, greeted no one, stalked up to Will’s office, and shut himself in there. At some point Cordelia had caught sight of Bridget bringing him some tea; even she had a puckered expression, as if she didn’t relish the task.
James laid his hand over hers. “He’s your brother. Family. I can’t imagine how he thinks I’ve treated you, at that. He should know.”
Matthew came in first. And if Cordelia had wondered whether the others would be able to tell something had changed in her relationship with James, she knew immediately that Matthew could and did. She doubted he knew exactly what, of course, but he sat down with a wary look, his shoulders curled in slightly, as if he were awaiting bad news.
We must find a chance to speak with him alone, she thought. We must. But it would not be before James told his story; it was too late for that. Everyone was arriving—Anna and Ari, Jesse and Lucie （who looked at James with immense worry, before sitting down at his right hand）， Thomas and Christopher, and finally, Alastair, who Thomas clearly had not been expecting. Thomas sat down with a rather sudden thump （he was a bit too big for the library chairs, and his long legs stuck out at all angles） but otherwise restrained himself. Alastair sat beside him with studied nonchalance.
Cordelia tried to catch Christopher’s eye across the table. She was not entirely sure why he’d convinced Grace to confess to her, but she was endlessly grateful that he had. He smiled at her, but only in his ordinary, affable, lemon-tarts Christopher way, not in a manner that indicated he knew he’d done something special. She resolved to thank him as soon as she could.
“Well, do tell us what this is about, James,” said Matthew, once everyone was seated. “This feels like one of those scenes in a Wilkie Collins novel where the will gets read out, and then the lights go out and someone turns up dead.”
“Oh, I love those,” said Lucie. “Not,” she added hastily, “that I want anyone to turn up dead. James, what’s going on? Has something happened?”
James was very pale. He folded his hands together, intertwining his fingers tightly. “Something did happen,” he said, “though—not today. This is something that happened a long time ago. Something I only became aware of recently myself.”
And he told them. Speaking in a monotone, he told it all: from his first meeting with Grace at Blackthorn Manor in Idris, to her arrival in London, to the shattering of the bracelet, to the realization that his mind was being altered against his will. His voice was calm and steady, but Cordelia could hear the anger beneath it, like a river running beneath city streets.
Those present who already knew the story—Cordelia herself, Christopher, Jesse—remained expressionless, watching the reactions of the others. Cordelia, in particular, watched Matthew. This would change so much for him, she thought. Perhaps it would help. Raziel knew, she hoped it would help.
He grew more and more still as the story progressed, and more white around the mouth. Lucie looked sick. Thomas began to rock his chair back and forth violently until Alastair laid a hand over his. Anna’s eyes snapped like blue fire.
When James was done with the story, there was a long silence. Cordelia yearned to say something, to break the silence, but she knew she could not. James had feared the response of his friends, his family. It had to be one of them who spoke first.
It was Lucie. She had trembled as James spoke, and she burst out now, “Oh—Jamie—I am so sorry I ever worked with her, was kind to her—”
“It’s all right, Luce,” James said gently. “You didn’t know. Nobody knew, not even Jesse.”
Lucie looked shocked, as if the idea of Jesse having known had never occurred to her. She turned to him. “The last time you went to the Silent City,” she said, “you came back upset. Had she told you then?”
Jesse nodded. “It was the first I ever knew of any of it.” He looked as ashen as he had when Belial possessed him, Cordelia thought. The usual calm light had gone out of his eyes. “I have always loved Grace. Always taken care of her. She is my little sister. But when she told me—I walked out of the cell. I have not spoken to her since.”
Christopher cleared his throat. “What Grace did was unforgivable. But we must remember she was a child when she was given this task. And she was terrified of what her mother would do if she refused.”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Thomas. His hazel eyes blazed with a rare fury. “If I murdered someone, and then said it was because I was afraid, would that make me not a murderer?”
“It isn’t murder, Thomas—”
“It’s just as bad,” said Matthew. He held one of the flasks Christopher had given him, but he was not drinking from it. He was running his fingers over the engravings, again and again. “She took the things about James that we know so well, his loving kindness, and his trust, and his idealism, and she turned them against him like knives. Like a faerie curse.”
James tried to catch Matthew’s eye—Cordelia could see it—but however horrified Matthew seemed to be on James’s behalf, he could not meet his parabatai’s gaze. He sat with his hand wrapped around the cheap flask as if it were a talisman.
“She stole his choices,” Ari said. She, too, looked sick. “I lived with her in my house and I never guessed that she had something like that on her conscience.”
“But James is all right,” Christopher said gently. “It’s come out all right in the end. Things usually do.”
“Because he fought back,” Matthew snapped. “Because he loved Cordelia enough to crack that foul bracelet in half.” Seeming a little surprised at his own outburst, he looked, finally, at James. “You really do love her,” he said. “Like you said.”
“Matthew,” said Lucie, looking scandalized.
But James only looked back at Matthew with a steady gaze. “I do,” he said. “I always have.”
“And Grace?” Thomas said softly.
“I hate her,” James said. Christopher flinched; Jesse looked away. “At least—she came to me, at the last, when she was fleeing her mother. Tried to seduce me one last time. She didn’t realize the bracelet was broken. It was strange to see her try this game that must have worked every time she’d attempted it in the past. It was as if I were standing outside myself, realizing that every time I’d encountered her before, I had lost myself. That my whole life had been a lie, and she had made it so. I told her I despised her, that I would never forgive her, that there was nothing she could do to make up for her crimes. She is in the Silent City now because I demanded she turn herself in.” He sounded a little wondering, as if surprised at his own capacity for anger, for revenge. “I put her there.” He looked at Jesse. “You knew that.”