At another time, Cordelia would have glowed at being compared to heroines of Persian history. Not now, though, not with the bitter thought of Lilith still at the forefront of her mind. She forced a smile. “You should rest, Maman—”
“Oh, nonsense.” Sona waved a dismissive hand. “You would not know, but I was also confined to bed before you were born, and Alastair, too. Speaking of which, Alastair, darling, would you give us a moment alone for women’s talk?”
Alastair, looking horrified, could not absent himself soon enough; he muttered something about packing a valise, and fled.
Sona looked at her daughter with bright eyes. For a moment of terror, Cordelia wondered if her mother was going to ask her if she was pregnant. She couldn’t bear the thought.
“Layla, darling,” Sona said. “There is something I wished to speak to you about. I have thought a great deal about many things in the days since your father died.” Cordelia was surprised; her mother spoke clearly, an undertone of regret in her voice—but the terrible grief Cordelia had expected from a mention of Elias was absent. Something sad and quiet and bittersweet seemed to be in its place. “I know that you did not want to marry James Herondale—”
“Maman, that is not—”
“I am not saying you do not love him,” said Sona. “I can see from the way you look at him that you do. And perhaps marriage would have come, later, but it came when it did because scandal forced it. And that was never what I wanted for you.” She drew her wrapper more closely about herself. “Our lives rarely turn out the way we expect them to, Layla. When I married your father, I knew him only as a great hero. Later, when I realized the extent of his troubles, I distanced myself from my family. I was too proud—I couldn’t bear for them to know.”
In the kitchen, Risa was singing; the sound seemed miles away. Cordelia whispered, “Maman…”
Sona’s eyes gleamed, too bright. “Do not worry yourself over it. Only listen to me. When I was a girl, I had so many dreams. Dreams of heroism, of glamour, of travel. Layla—what I want for you above all things is that you follow the truth of your dreams. No scorn, no shame, no part of society’s opinion matters more than that.”
It was like a knife in the heart. Cordelia could not speak.
Sona went on. “What I am saying, and I will say the same to Alastair, too, is that I do not want you hovering over me, doting on me until the baby comes. I am a Shadowhunter too, and besides—I want to know you are pursuing your own happiness. It will make me happier than anything else in the world. Otherwise I will be miserable. Do you understand?”
All Cordelia could do in response was murmur assent and embrace her mother. One day I will tell her all the truth, she thought fiercely. One day.
“Layla.” It was Alastair, having changed out of his torn and ichor-stained clothes. He looked less rumpled but still weary, and grim about the mouth, as if he were not looking forward to returning to the infirmary and Charles. Cordelia had tried to talk to him about it in the carriage on the way to Kensington, but he had been tight-lipped. “The carriage is waiting for us. You can always return tomorrow.”
“Don’t you dare,” whispered Sona, releasing Cordelia with a smile. “Now—run along back to that handsome husband of yours. I am sure he misses you.”
“I will.” Cordelia straightened up. Her eyes met her brother’s across the room. “Only I need to speak with Alastair first. There is something I must ask him to do.”
* * *
“Excellent lying, James,” said Matthew, raising a glass of port. “Really top-notch.”
James mimed raising a glass in return. He had wanted to collapse into a chair the moment they’d walked through the front door; rather luckily, Effie had appeared and proceeded to lecture them thoroughly about not getting ichor and dust on the rugs.
“I was warned you’d be coming home filthy,” she said. “But no one told me about the smell of fish. Lord, it’s awful. Like a bunch of rotted oysters.”
“That’s enough, Effie,” said James, seeing Christopher turn green.
“And where’s Mrs. Herondale at?” Effie inquired. “Did the stink drive her off?”
James had explained that Cordelia was visiting her mother and would be returning shortly, which seemed to energize Effie. She packed them all off to clean up and return brushed, washed, and ichor-free to the drawing room, where a fire had been laid in the hearth.