“I cannot be Lucie’s parabatai,” she said.
He looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“I am bound to Lilith,” she said. “Her paladin—I cannot raise a weapon save in her name. How can I train with Lucie? I cannot touch a seraph blade, raise a sword—”
“We’ll fix it,” said James. “We’ll get help—from Magnus, from Jem, Ragnor—”
“Perhaps.” She didn’t sound convinced. “But even if we can find a solution, our ceremony is barely a month away. I cannot ask the Clave to—to delay it without explanation, and I cannot explain without awful consequences. And the result would be the same. The Silent Brothers would never approve Lucie binding herself to someone who serves a demon.” Her voice was full of loathing. “I could not put that burden on Lucie either. I will tell her tomorrow that there isn’t any—that it can’t happen.”
“She won’t give up hope,” said James.
“But she should,” said Cordelia. “Even if we could free me from Lilith, I will always have made this mistake. I will always be someone you shouldn’t trust to be your sister’s parabatai.”
“That’s ridiculous.” James remembered that moment in the park, when Lilith had revealed the truth. He had been furious. But not at Cordelia. He had been furious for her. She wanted to do good more than anyone else he knew, wanted to be a hero because it would be the best way to help the most people. In tricking Cordelia as she had, Lilith had turned what was beautiful about Cordelia’s nature back on itself—like a faerie who made the deepest desires of a mortal a weapon with which to hurt them. “Daisy, Lucie and I share a bond with Belial, a monster worse than Lilith. If anything, this makes the two of you more alike. It makes us more alike.”
“But that is not your fault,” she said passionately. “You cannot help who your grandfather was! I chose this.” Her cheeks were flushed now, her eyes bright. “I may not have known what I was choosing, but does that make a difference? All I wanted, all I ever wanted, was to save my father, to be a hero, to be Lucie’s parabatai. I have lost all those things.”
“No,” he said. “You are a hero, Daisy. We would have lost today, without you.”
Her eyes softened. “James,” she said, and he wanted to shiver. He loved the way she said his name. He had always loved it. He knew that now. “You were right.” She tried to smile. “I am cold.”
He drew her closer, settling her against his chest. Her body relaxed against his, her head against his shoulder. He smoothed a palm down her back, trying not to let his mind wander to the warm curves of her body.
“There’s something I always wonder,” she said, her breath against his neck. “We are raised to see demons, and we do. I cannot even recall the first I ever encountered. Yet we do not see angels. We are descended from them, but they are invisible to us. Why is that?”
“I suppose,” James said, “because angels require you to have faith. They want us to believe in them without seeing them. That is, I think, what faith is meant to be. We are to believe in them as we believe in all things intangible—goodness, and mercy, and love.”
Cordelia said nothing; when James glanced down at her, concerned, he saw that her eyes were very bright. She raised her hand slowly and laid her palm against his cheek. “James,” she said, and he let himself shiver as she drew her finger from his cheek to his lips. Her pupils darkened, expanded. She tilted her head back, and he kissed her.
She tasted like spiced honey. Sweetness and heat. He cupped the back of her head in his hand, let himself fall into the kiss. He drew her against him—she was soft, strong, curving. Perfect. He had never felt such tenderness—never even quite known what people meant when they spoke of it, for it had formed no part of his feelings for Grace. Pity and need, yes, but this—this overwhelming mix of passion, admiration, adoration, and desire—was something he had never felt before, and he realized with some wonder that it felt so new, so different, that he had not at first known to label it correctly. He had thought it was not love precisely because it was.
He loved Cordelia; no, he was in love with her. He had been pushing the thought back all day, knowing he could not let himself fully realize it until the danger was over—until he was alone with Daisy, until he could tell her—
She broke away, breathless. Her lips and cheeks were bright red, her hair tousled. “James—James—we must stop.”