Good, don’t show him you’re worried, Anna thought. He’ll only dig his heels in like a stubborn pony.
But Ariadne had been well trained by her mother in etiquette. She could probably carry on a conversation about the weather with someone whose head was on fire. “I understand, Matthew,” she said, accepting a cup of Earl Grey, “that you have your own flat. That you, like Anna, prefer to live on your own. Is that true?”
“I’m not sure it was down to preference, but rather necessity,” said Matthew. “But I do like where I am living,” he added, “and you might like it as well; the flats are serviced, and I am fairly sure I could battle a demon in the lobby and the porter would be too polite to have any questions.” He glanced at Anna. “Is that why you asked me here? Advice over flats?”
Anna said nothing; the thought of Ariadne leaving unsettled her in a way she could not define. Surely she wished her privacy back, she thought, the calm and comfort of her flat, the refuge it provided, uninhabited by anyone but herself.…
Ariadne set her teacup down. “Not at all. We wanted your advice on something I found.”
Matthew raised his eyebrows, clearly curious now. Ariadne fetched the letter from atop the mantelpiece and passed it over. Matthew unfolded it and read it quickly, eyes widening.
“Where did you find this?” he asked when he was done. Anna was pleased to see that he seemed sharper, more focused.
“My father’s office,” Ariadne said. “And it’s obviously his. His handwriting, his signature.”
“But he didn’t send it,” said Matthew. “So either your father is blackmailing someone, or he is planning to blackmail someone but didn’t get around to it before he left for the Adamant Citadel. Did he notice it missing?”
Ariadne bit her lip. “I—don’t know. I think he meant to burn it—I found it in the fireplace, so I wouldn’t think he’d be looking for it. But we haven’t spoken since he got back.”
“The question,” said Anna, “is who the Inquisitor would want to blackmail, and over what.”
“I can’t imagine,” said Ariadne. “He’s already in such a position of power. Why would he need to hold something over someone? If a Shadowhunter was violating the Law, he would have every authority to confront them directly.”
Matthew was silent for a moment. “Is this letter why you feel you must move away?” he asked finally. “Why it is a… necessity for you to go?”
“I’ve always been raised to be a model Shadowhunter,” Ariadne said softly. “I’m the daughter of the Inquisitor. It is my father’s job to hold all the Nephilim to the impossibly high standard of Raziel’s Law, and he holds his family to no less a standard. I was raised to be an obedient daughter, in training to become an obedient wife. I would do what they said, marry who they wanted—”
“Charles, for instance,” Matthew said.
“Yes. But it was all rubbish in the end, wasn’t it? My father apparently doesn’t hold himself to his high-minded standards.” She shook her head and looked out the window. “It was the hypocrisy that was the last straw, I suppose.” She looked directly at Matthew, and as she spoke Anna felt, against her will, a surge of pride in Ariadne. “I told my mother that I would not marry whatever man they chose for me. That, in fact, I would not marry any man at all. That I did not love men, but women.”
Matthew wound a curl of his fair hair around his forefinger, a nervous gesture left over from childhood. “Did you know,” he said slowly, “that you were saying something she did not want to hear? Something you thought might cause her to cut you off? Even to—hate you?”
“I knew,” Ariadne said. “Yet I would do it again. I am sure my mother is mourning the daughter that she never had. But if she loves me—and I believe she does—I think she must love the reality of me.”
“What about your father?”
“He was in shock when he came back from Iceland,” Ariadne said. “I did not hear from him for nearly a day, and then it was a letter—clearly he knew I have been staying with Anna—saying that I could come home if I apologized to my mother and took back what I had said.”
“Which you will not do,” said Matthew.
“Which I will not do,” Ariadne agreed. Her smile was sad. “It may be hard for you to understand. Your parents are so remarkably kind.”
Matthew seemed to flinch. Anna thought with a pang of the time when the Fairchilds had been one of the closest families she knew, before Charles had grown so cold, before Matthew had become so sad.
“Well, they certainly aren’t blackmailing anyone,” Matthew said. “I noted something here in the letter: ‘Your family has benefited from the spoils of—giant ink blot—but it could all be lost if your house is not in order.’ What if it means ‘spoils’ quite literally?”
Ariadne frowned. “But it has been illegal to take spoils from Downworlders since the Accords were first signed.”
Anna shuddered. Spoils. It was an ugly word, an ugly concept. Spoils had been the practice of confiscating possessions from innocent Downworlders: common before the historic peace treaty between Downworlders and Shadowhunters that was now called the Accords. Common, and usually unpunished. Many old Shadowhunter families had enriched themselves that way.
“It may not refer to crimes being committed now. When the Accords were signed in 1872,” Anna said, “Shadowhunters were meant to return the spoils they had taken. But many did not. The Baybrooks and the Pouncebys, for instance. Their wealth came from spoils originally. Everyone knows it.”
“Which is dreadful,” Ariadne said, “but not an excuse for blackmail.”
“I doubt the blackmail springs from moral outrage,” said Matthew. “More convenience. He wishes to blackmail this person, and has found an excuse to do so.” He rubbed at his eyes. “It could be anyone he seeks to control. It could be Charles.”
Ariadne looked startled. “But my father and Charles have always been on good terms. Even after our engagement ended, they righted things quickly. Charles has always wanted to be just the sort of politician that my father is.”
“What do you think it is Charles has done that could render him vulnerable to blackmail?” Anna said.
Matthew shook his head. His hair, dry now, was beginning to fall into his eyes. “Nothing. Just an idea. I wondered if the spoils could be considered the spoils of political power, but I agree—let’s look into Baybrook and Pounceby first.” He turned to Ariadne. “Would you mind lending me the letter? I’ll confront Thoby—I know him best. And he has never been good at standing up to interrogation. Once he pilfered someone else’s food hamper at the Academy but folded like cheap paper under questioning.”
“Of course,” Ariadne said. “And I’m friendly with Eunice. I think she’ll be open to meeting with me, and she won’t even notice she’s being questioned. She’s too self-absorbed.”
Matthew rose to his feet, a soldier bracing for a return to the field. “I ought to go,” he said. “Oscar will be howling for my return.”