The group convened in a central space, where the stalls were arranged around them in a square. Lucie released James’s arm so he could consult a hand-lettered directory nailed to a post. Matthew gazed warily at a vampire selling bottles of “special” ginger beer as Christopher produced a long scroll of paper from his pocket. Cordelia had darted off to examine a stall selling hand-tooled leather scabbards and wrist gauntlets.
“What have you got there?” Lucie asked Christopher, peering over his shoulder at a list of unfamiliar terms.
“Oh, this? It’s my shopping list,” Christopher said. “What with the curfew business, I haven’t been able to attend the Market for quite some time, and I’ve got ingredients to acquire.”
He set off briskly along a winding path between the stalls. Lucie followed; to her amusement, the vendors greeted him enthusiastically:
“Mr. Lightwood! A new shipment of marrubium has just come in. Would you be interested?”
“Christopher Lightwood! Just the man I was hoping to see! I’ve got the materials we discussed last time we spoke—top grade, very rare.…”
As Lucie watched, Christopher paused to haggle with a werewolf who was selling dried roots and fungi, eventually walking away empty-handed, only to return when the werewolf called after him to accept the price he’d offered.
“Christopher haggles like an expert!” Cordelia exclaimed, appearing at Lucie’s side with two bottles of fizzy pink liquid. “He could hold his own in the souks of Marrakech. Here, try this—I’m told it makes the cheeks rosy.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” James said, swooping in and taking the bottles from her hands. “Daisy, Lucie, do not eat or drink anything that is being sold here. At best, you might get a mild stomachache. At worst, you will wake up as a pair of otters.”
“Otters are lovely,” said Cordelia, her eyes dancing.
“Your cheeks are rosy enough as is,” said James firmly, tossing the bottles on a trash heap behind the stalls before joining Matthew to look at a display of swords with dubiously sparkling “gems” decorating the hilts.
“Speaking of brothers,” said Lucie. “Not that we were, exactly, but—I am so sorry that Alastair was arrested. I think what he did was exceedingly brave.”
Cordelia looked surprised. “I knew you would understand,” she said, laying a hand on Lucie’s arm. “And Lucie…”
Lucie glanced about. Cordelia had the air of someone wanting to confide a secret. James and Matthew were deep in conversation with a werewolf—a woman with long, gray-brown hair and a necklace of teeth, presiding over a glass case full of colorful crystal bottles from which perfumed scents wafted. A hand-lettered sign on a shelf declared WILL COVER UP THE SMELL OF WET FUR.
“I know that you’ve been doing something—something you’re keeping secret. I’m not angry,” Cordelia hastened to add. “I just wish you’d tell me what it is.”
Lucie tried to cover her surprise; she had thought that—busy with marriage and a house to keep up—Cordelia hadn’t been paying her any mind. “I’m sorry, truly,” she said slowly. “What if I told you… that I am trying to help someone, someone who is very deserving of help, but for their safety I cannot share the specifics at this point?”
Cordelia looked hurt. “But… I’m your parabatai. Or I will be, very soon. We are meant to face our challenges together. If there is someone who needs help, I could help them as well.”
Oh, Daisy, Lucie thought. If only it were that easy. She thought of Grace—her bluntness, her maddening secrecy—and knew that Cordelia would not understand Lucie’s decision to work with her. “I can’t,” she said. “It is not my secret to tell.”
After a moment Cordelia withdrew her hand. “I trust you,” she said, but her voice sounded a bit… small. “I hope you can tell me sometime soon, but I understand you’re trying to protect someone. I won’t push any further. Now, let’s get back to the others, shall we?”
Surely I could have managed that better, Lucie thought, as they rejoined their companions. James and Matthew were speaking to a gentry faerie wearing a fur cap in the Russian style, the flaps covering his ears. He was shaking his head: no, he didn’t know anyone buying or selling adamas. As the girls started toward them, a pixie brushed by Lucie’s ear and whispered, “Malcolm Fade wishes to see you. Find him in the blue tent.”