Cordelia cleared her throat. “Yes, that—that does seem most secure.”
His glanced over at her, his hair ruffled. “What was the trouble with Cortana?”
“It had not felt quite right in my hand since we fought Belial,” Cordelia admitted; that much was the truth. “I think that his blood might have affected it somehow.” Which Wayland himself explained to me, but I cannot tell you that.
“Belial.” James took the rope, carefully looping it around and around his left wrist and binding himself to the bedpost. His head was down; Cordelia watched the muscles in his arms flexing and relaxing as he secured himself. Though it had been months since the summer, there was still a visible line where his skin was browner, then whiter, below the sleeves and collar of his shirt. “That is why I wanted you in the room with me.” His voice was low, almost rough. “The others know Belial is a Prince of Hell, but only you and I have seen him. Only we know what it means to confront him.”
Finished with the knot, he sat back against the stacked pillows. His hair was very black against their whiteness. For a moment, Cordelia saw again that blasted place where they had fought for their lives: the sand flaming into glass, stark trees like skeletons, and Belial, with all his beauty, and every bit of humanity burned from him.
“You don’t believe the others would be willing to stop you if it meant harming you,” she said. “But you think I would be.”
James gave the ghost of a smile. “I have faith in you, Daisy. And there is one more thing I must tell you.” He squared his jaw, as if he were steeling himself for something. “I kissed Grace today.”
* * *
The night lay before James in all its possible horrors, yet at this moment, his whole world seemed to have narrowed down to Cordelia. He knew he was staring at her, and could not stop himself. He did not know what he had expected—she did not love him, that he knew, but he had broken their agreement, his promise to respect her dignity.
In a way it would be easier if she did love him, if he had broken a romantic agreement. He could throw himself at her feet, beg and apologize. She could weep and make demands. But this was Daisy; she would never do either of those things. She said nothing now, only her eyes seemed to have gotten a little bigger in her face.
“She came here,” he said finally, unable to bear the silence. “I did not invite her. You must believe me; I would not have done that. She came unexpectedly, and she was upset about the murders, and—I kissed her. I don’t know why,” he added, because he could not explain to Cordelia what he could not explain to himself, “but I will make no stupid excuses.”
“I noticed there was a crack,” Cordelia said, in a low, expressionless voice, “in the metal of your bracelet.”
The rope looped James’s right wrist, partially concealing the bracelet. Glancing down, he saw Cordelia was right: a hairline crack ran along the metal. “I may have punched the bookcase, after she left,” he admitted. His hand still ached from the impact. “It may have split the metal.”
“May have?” she said, in the same low voice. “And why are you telling me this now? You could have waited. Told me tomorrow.”
“If you are to watch over me all night, you should know who you’re watching,” said James. “I let you down. As a friend. As a husband. I didn’t want to compound that by keeping secrets from you.”
She gave him a long look. A considering look.
“If you wish to leave,” he said, “you can—”
“I am not going to leave you.” Her voice was measured, even. “On the other hand, you have broken our agreement. I would like something in exchange.”
“As if I had lost at chess?” She never failed to surprise him. He almost smiled. “You might want to ask me at a different time, when I am not tied to a bed. The services I can render you at the moment are limited.”
She stood up, leaning Cortana against the wall. The red tea gown she wore was loose but of clinging silk material, with bands of black velvet ribbon at the hem and sleeves. Her hair was a shade darker than the silk, her eyes the same color as the velvet, and fixed on his as she climbed onto the bed. “Adequate to what I need, I think,” she said. “I want you to kiss me.”
His blood seemed to speed up in his veins. “What?”
She was kneeling, facing him; their eyes were on a level. The gown spread around her as if she were a water lily, rising from leaves. Its deep collar plunged low, edged with white lace that feathered lightly against her brown skin. There was a look on her face that reminded James of her expression the night she’d danced at the Hell Ruelle. A determination close to passion.