“It is here,” Matthew said, drawing the letter from his inside jacket pocket and holding it up. “As to how we got hold of it, Ari found it. That is why she left home. The letter is clearly meant for you. There is absolutely no doubt as to what is going on.”
Charles’s face had gone sallow. “Then why did you not speak to me about this before?”
“The letter did not make it clear what he wanted you to do,” said Thomas. “After your performance at the meeting yesterday, we know. You spoke out against Will and Tessa, against your own family, because he threatened you, and you were too afraid to tell him no.”
Charles said, with a ghastly sort of smile, “And what do you think you can do to fix it?”
“Stiffen your spine,” said Matthew. “So Bridgestock plans to tell everyone you love men. So what? Some will understand; those who don’t are not worth your knowing.”
“You don’t understand.” Charles put his head in his hands. “If I want to do good in this world, if I want to rise to a position of authority in the Clave… I cannot—” He hesitated. “I cannot be like you, Matthew. You’ve no ambition, and so you can be whomever you want. You can dance with anyone you wish, man, woman, or other, at your salons and your clubs and your orgies.”
“You attend orgies?” Thomas said to Matthew.
“Don’t I wish,” murmured Matthew. “Charles, you’re a pillock, but you’ve always been a decent pillock. Don’t throw that away because of bloody Maurice Bridgestock.”
“And how, exactly,” said Charles, “are you proposing to help? If I reverse my opinion on the Herondales, it will only mean I am condemned with them.”
“We will vouch for you,” Thomas said. “We will testify that you are being blackmailed and that you were coerced into supporting Bridgestock.”
“There is no way to do that,” said Charles, “without revealing the blackmail letter and its contents. You understand he is not just threatening to tell people I love men, but that I love—that I loved Alastair. It is Alastair, too, whom I am protecting.”
The door burst open. Alastair stalked inside, his black eyes snapping. He looked furious, and also rather—in Thomas’s view—glorious. Proud and strong as the Persian kings of old. “Then stop,” he said to Charles. “I don’t need your protection, not where this is concerned. I’d rather everyone know than that you let a dozen good people be dragged down by lies, just because you fear Bridgestock.”
Charles’s face appeared to crumple. “None of you can possibly understand what it is like to hold on to this kind of secret—”
“We all understand,” Thomas said forcefully. “Myself as well. I’m like you, you idiot. I always have been. And Charles, you’re right, it isn’t as easy as it is for Matthew, who has never cared what anyone thought. Most of us do care. And the secret is your own business, and it is disgusting of Bridgestock to have used it against you like this. But neither can Will and Tessa, and all our parents, pay such a terrible price for his criminality.”
“They will be vindicated by the Mortal Sword,” Charles said hoarsely. “Then this will all be over.”
“Charles,” said Alastair. “Don’t you know how blackmail works? It’s never over. It’ll never be enough for Bridgestock. He’ll hold your secret over you for as long as he’s able. You think he won’t want other things in the future? That he’ll simply give up his leverage? He will bleed you dry.”
Charles looked back and forth between Alastair and Matthew, his expression anguished. Thomas felt for him; Charles was being a coward, but he knew well how difficult bravery could be in such a situation. “If we seek to bring down Bridgestock,” Thomas said, “will you help? Even if you cannot disclose the… the contents of the blackmail?”
Charles looked at them helplessly. “It would depend on what was being done, and what its consequences might be—” he began.
Matthew shook his head, his fair hair flying. “Charles, you are being a milksop and a blockhead. Let the record show that I tried. I tried, despite how little you deserve it.”
With that, he stalked out of the room.
Charles looked at Alastair, as if there was no one else in the room. No one else in the world. “Alastair, I… you know I can’t.”
“You can, Charles,” Alastair said tiredly. “And there are people in the world like us who don’t have what you do. A family that will never abandon you. Money. Safety. People who could lose their lives for confessing such a thing. All you will lose is prestige. And still you will not do the right thing.”
There seemed nothing more to say. Charles seemed visibly shrunken, but he was still shaking his head, as if denial could ward off the truth. Alastair turned on his heel and left; after a moment, Thomas followed.
He found himself alone in the corridor with Alastair. Matthew was already long gone. Alastair was leaning back against the wall, breathing hard. “Ahmag,” he snarled, which Thomas was fairly sure meant idiot; he was also fairly sure Alastair didn’t mean him.
“Alastair,” he said, meaning to say something vague and kind, something about how none of this was Alastair’s fault, but Alastair caught hold of Thomas and pulled him close, his fingers cupping the back of Thomas’s neck. His eyes were wide, black, feverish. “I need to get out of here,” he said. “Come for a carriage ride with me. I have to breathe.” He leaned his forehead against Thomas’s. “Come with me, please. I need you.”
* * *
“Daisy, you summoned a demon? All by yourself?” Lucie exclaimed. “How enterprising and brave and—also a terrible idea,” she added hastily, catching James’s dark expression. “A very bad idea. But also, enterprising.”
“Well, it was certainly interesting,” Cordelia said. She was perched on the edge of a table, nibbling the corner of a piece of shortbread. “I wouldn’t do it again, though. Unless I had to.”
“Which you will not,” James said. He gave Cordelia a mock-stern look, and she smiled at him, and the stern part of the look melted away. Now they were gazing soppily at each other.
Lucie could not help but be delighted. It was as if James had been going around with something missing, some small piece taken out of his soul, and now it was put back. He was not perfectly happy, of course; being in love did not mean one did not notice anything else going on in the world. She knew he was worried about Matthew—who was currently lounging in one of the window seats, reading a book and not eating—and about their parents; about Tatiana and Belial and what was happening in Idris. But now, at least, she thought, he could face these things with his whole self intact.
They were all gathered in the library, where Bridget had set out sandwiches, game pies, tea, and pastries for them, since, as she loudly complained, she did not have time to put together a real supper for so many people on short notice. （Besides, she had added, the brewing storm was giving her the worriments, and she could not concentrate enough to cook.）
Everyone except Thomas and Alastair—who had, according to Matthew, rather inexplicably gone on some sort of errand in an Institute carriage—had gathered around the food. Even Charles had turned up briefly, taken a game pie, and stormed out, leaving them to an inevitable discussion of Belial’s plans.