“You don’t think so? Cordelia, he’s breaking his heart over you. He’s so miserable—”
“Well, I suppose it could cause discord,” Cordelia said coldly, “if you take a side. I know you adore your brother. I also know you’re aware that he’s been in love with Grace Blackthorn until last week. And this is exactly the kind of conversation we should not be having. I don’t want to hurt James, but I don’t want to be hurt myself, either, and James only feels guilty—”
“It’s not just guilt,” Lucie protested. “I know the difference—”
“Did you know the difference when you chose to secretly befriend Grace behind my back, and never tell me about it at all?”
It was most likely the harshest thing Cordelia had ever said to her best friend. Lucie looked shocked.
“I did it to save Jesse,” Lucie said in a whisper.
“I know what it’s like to be in love,” said Cordelia. “You think I wouldn’t have understood? You didn’t trust me.”
“What I was doing,” Lucie fumbled, “it was so forbidden, so dreadful, I didn’t want to pull you into any of the trouble I’d be in if I was found out.”
“Nonsense,” Cordelia said. “You wanted to do what you were doing and not have me fuss at you about Grace.” Some part of her seemed to have detached itself and was watching in horror as she struck at Lucie with words like knives, intended to slice and cut. Part of her felt a sort of desperate relief that as much as she had been hurt, she no longer had to hold it in—she could say: You hurt me. You never thought about me at all, and that hurts the most.
“Parabatai are supposed to tell each other everything,” Cordelia said. “When I was in the worst trouble of my life, finding I was sworn to Lilith, I told you.”
“No, you didn’t,” said Lucie. “I found out when you did. You couldn’t have hidden it.”
“I told you the whole story—”
“Oh, really?” Lucie’s blue eyes filled with tears. Cordelia had hardly ever seen her cry, but she was crying now, and yet she sounded furious. “We’re supposed to tell each other everything? Well, I have a few questions for you about the fact that the moment my brother came looking for me in Cornwall, you ran off to Paris with his best friend! You never said anything to me about Matthew—”
“That,” said Cordelia in a voice as cold as the snow outside, “is not exactly the order of events as they took place. And your brother is not blameless, but I will leave it to him to tell you how that night unfolded.”
“I don’t know what you think he did,” said Lucie, dashing her tears away with her hands. “But I know how he looks. Like he wants to die without you. And you expect me to believe you ran off with Matthew in a purely friendly way, and nothing romantic passed between you?”
“And you would blame me if it did?” Cordelia felt a white fire of rage and pain blaze up under her ribs, nearly choking off her breath. “Do you know what it’s like to be in a marriage that’s a lie, where you’re the only person who feels anything? James never felt a thing for me—he never looked at me the way Matthew has—he was too busy looking at Grace, your new best friend. Why don’t you ask him if he kissed Grace while we were married? Better, why don’t you ask him how many times he kissed Grace while we were married?”
“You’re still married.” Lucie was shaking her head. “And—I don’t believe you.”
“Then you’re calling me a liar. And perhaps that is the distance between us. It is the same as the distance between myself and James. It has a name: Grace Blackthorn.”
“I didn’t know how much my working with her would hurt you,” Lucie said. “I doubt James knew either. You never let on that you felt anything for him. You—you’re so proud, Cordelia.”
Cordelia raised her chin. “Maybe I am. What does it matter? We aren’t going to be parabatai after all, so we don’t need to know each other’s secrets. That’s not in our future.”
Lucie caught her breath. “You don’t know that. Or are you saying you don’t want to be parabatai with me, even if you break your bond with Lilith?”
“Oh, Lucie,” Cordelia said in despair. “It’s like you don’t live in the real world. You live in a world of stories. The beautiful Cordelia, who can do anything she likes. But in the real world, we don’t get everything we want. Maybe—we shouldn’t.”
In that moment, Cordelia saw Lucie’s heart break. Her whole face crumpled, and she turned away, as if she could hide her reaction from Cordelia, but it was in every line of her shaking shoulders, her arms wrapping around herself as if she could hold in the hurt.
“Luce.” Cordelia’s voice shook. “I didn’t—”
But Lucie had darted to the window. She threw it open and practically hurled herself outside. Cordelia cried out and jumped to her feet, racing to follow her—Lucie should not be climbing about on icy rooftops, not in the state she was in—but when she reached the window, she saw only darkness outside, and the swirling snow.
* * *
Lucie had cried enough on her way back to the Institute that when she had finally crept back inside, and upstairs to her room, she found her hair frozen to her cheeks by crystalline tracks of salt.
She had cleaned herself up as best she could, put on a clean nightgown, and sat down at her desk. Her tears were spent; she felt only an awful hollowness, a terrible missing of Cordelia and a knowledge of her own guilt. She had concealed her relationship—friendship, whatever it was—with Grace; she had concealed Jesse’s whole existence.
But. Cordelia had hidden things too. How she felt about James, for one thing—which normally wouldn’t have been Lucie’s business, but now, she felt, very much was. She loved her brother. Every time Cordelia turned away from him, and the anguish on his face was clear, Lucie wanted to jump up and down and scream.
In the past, she would have poured out her feelings with her pen, but since Jesse’s return she hadn’t been able to write a word. And now it was worse: she kept hearing Cordelia’s voice in her head. It’s like you don’t live in the real world. You live in a world of stories. As if that were a terrible thing.
She slumped back in her chair. “I don’t know what to do,” she said aloud, to no one. “I just don’t.”
“You could command the dead to solve your problems,” said a familiar, waspish voice. Jessamine, the Institute’s resident ghost, was seated atop Lucie’s wardrobe, her long skirts trailing off into indistinct translucence. “It’s what you always do, isn’t it?”
Lucie sighed. “I’ve already apologized to you, Jessamine.” This was true. When Lucie had first returned to her room after getting back from Cornwall, she had delivered an extensive and sincere apology for having controlled the dead against their will. There had been quite a lot of rustling, and she was sure Jessamine had heard her.
Jessamine folded her transparent arms. “Your power is much too dangerous, Lucie. Even in the hands of someone sensible, it would cause trouble, and you are the least sensible person I know.”