“Thank God,” he said. He saw her smile; now was his chance. He drew back and reached around her to slam the door closed, bolting it. When he turned back to her and caught at her hand, cold and bony in his, she let him take it almost eagerly. Didn’t she even wonder where Cordelia was? James thought. Whether they might be interrupted? Was no one in the world real to her except herself? Did nothing matter but her immediate needs?
“Thank God,” he said again. “Thank God and the Angel that this farce is finally over.”
Her smile vanished. James could not help but marvel at what he was feeling—or rather, not feeling. Gone was the need for her so strong it felt like an illness. Gone was the sense of shock and amazement he felt at the sight of her.
In its place was something else. A rising anger.
Her lips were moving, starting to shape questions. But James could hear footsteps—the sound of the door had probably roused Effie. The last thing he wanted was to be interrupted. Tightening his grip on Grace’s wrist, he marched her down the hall into the drawing room. Once inside, he let go of her immediately, yanking his hand back with such force that her mouth opened in indignant protest. He slammed the door behind them, locked it, and placed himself in its path.
She stared at him. She was panting a little. Objectively, he knew, she was still beautiful. Her features, her fine hair, her slender figure, none of that had changed. But they revolted him now as surely as if she’d been a monster extruding warts and tentacles in all directions. “James,” she said. “What’s wrong?”
He reached into his pocket, his hand closing around the broken pieces of bracelet. A moment later he had flung them on the floor. They clanged as they dropped, looking rather pitiful against the carpet—two tarnished half-moons of bent metal. “？‘Loyalty binds me,’？” he said mockingly. “At least, it did.”
Grace’s whole body tensed. He could see the calculation in her eyes—she had come hoping the enchantment of the bracelet would still work. That she would be able to charm him. Realizing the truth, now, she was considering her options. “How did it break?”
“It happened while I was kissing Cordelia,” he said, and saw her wince a little, as if the words were distasteful. Good. She could consider her options all she liked—he had no intention of being cooperative or friendly.
She narrowed her eyes. “It wasn’t that long ago that you were kissing me—in this room.”
“Shut up,” James said dispassionately. “I am not an idiot, though I suppose I might as well have been, for some years now. I ought to just call for the Silent Brothers. They can determine what should be done with you. But I wanted to give you the opportunity to explain yourself.”
“You’re curious.” He could see her determining the price of his questions, her answers. It filled him with rage. He knew he ought to summon the Clave, the Brothers, but his need for the truth overrode everything else. She would tell him what he only half guessed at now—what he dreaded, and needed, to know.
“Not curious enough to put up with you toying with me,” said James. “Did you know what the bracelet did? Have you always known?”
Her lips parted in surprise. “How do you—”
“Did it just make me think I loved you, or did it do more than that?” James said, and saw by her expression that his question had hit its target. There was no pleasure in having guessed correctly; he felt physically sick. “What did it do to me?”
“There is no point shouting,” she said, rather primly. “I’ll tell you all of it—God knows there’s no point protecting anyone now.” She gazed past him, at the dark window. “After Jesse died, my mother took me into Brocelind at night.”
“This,” he said, “had better be relevant.”
“It is. There was someone there—a man in a cloak, I couldn’t see his face—who gave me what my mother called a ‘gift.’ The ability to make men do as I said and feel what I wished them to feel. When I use the power, men give me what I want—from a glass of wine to a kiss to a marriage proposal.” She shifted her gaze to him. “But oh, the irony. It didn’t work on you. I tried everything. You resisted all of it. My mother was furious, never more so than when you came back from Cirenworth to Idris and I told her you had fallen in love with Cordelia.”
“I was fourteen—”
“Old enough for puppy love,” said Grace, without sentiment. “All you would talk about was Cordelia. How she talked, how she walked, how she read to you when you were ill. The color of her eyes, her hair. My mother was desperate. She went to him, the one from the forest. He gave her the bracelet. It would counteract the effect of your demonic grandfather’s blood in your veins, she said. And it did. From the moment you put it on, you forgot Cordelia. You believed that you loved me.”