Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,119

tell you, she does not want Charles, and if she dies, yes, she will need him even less than she does now!” She gasped for breath. “You cannot see it. I am more desperate than Ariadne could ever be.”

“I cannot see what you will not tell me,” said James in a low voice. “If you are desperate, let me help you—”

“I offered you the chance to help me,” she said. “I asked you to marry me, but you would not have it. Everything you have here, it is all more important to you than I am.”

“That’s not true—”

She laughed sharply. “To love me, James, you must love me above all other things. We will forever be my mother’s target if we marry—and then our children will be—and how could that be worth it to you? I already know it is not. When I asked you to marry me last night, it was only a test. I wished to see if you loved me enough. Enough to do anything to protect me. You do not.”

“And Charles does?” James’s voice was low. “You barely know him.”

“It doesn’t matter. Charles has power. He will be the Consul. He does not need to love me.” She faced him across the worn pattern of the carpet. “I must do this now, before my mother wakes. She would forbid it. But if she wakes and it is done, she will not go against the Clave and Consul. Don’t you see? It is impossible between us, James.”

“It is only impossible if you make it so,” said James.

Grace drew her shawl around her shoulders as if she were cold. “You do not love me enough,” she said. “You will realize that soon and be grateful I have done this.” She held her hand out. “Please return my bracelet to me.”

It was like the lash of a whip. Slowly James reached for the clasp of the silver circlet. It had rested there so long that when he removed it, he saw a strip of paler flesh circling his wrist, like the pallor left behind when a wedding ring was removed. “Grace,” he said, holding it out to her. “You don’t need to do this.”

She took the bracelet from him, leaving his wrist feeling unnaturally bare. “What we had was the dream of children,” she said. “It will fade like snow in summer. You will forget.”

His head felt as if his skull were cracking; he could barely breathe. He heard his own voice as if it came from a long distance away. “I am a Herondale. We love but once.”

“That is only a story.”

“Haven’t you heard?” James said bitterly. “All the stories are true.”

He flung the door open, desperate to get away from her. As he raced down the hall, the faces of strangers flew by in a blur; he heard his own name called and then he was down the stairs and in the entryway, seizing up his coat. The sky was cloudy overhead and shadows had gathered thickly in the courtyard, resting among the branches of the trees like ravens.

“Jamie—”

Matthew appeared out of the dimness, his hair bright in the dark entryway, his expression concerned. “Jamie, what’s wrong?”

“Grace is marrying Charles,” said James. “Let it be, Math. I need to be alone.”

Before Matthew could say a word, James threw open the doors and fled, vanishing beneath the arched gates that marked the entrance to the Institute, the words carved on them gleaming in the dull sunlight.

We are dust and shadows.

* * *

Matthew swore, his fingers fumbling at the buttons of his coat. James had just vanished into the shadows outside the Institute without a single weapon on him, but Matthew was sure he could catch him up. He knew James’s haunts as well as James knew them himself: all the places in the city James might seek out when he was upset.

His hands were shaking too badly to get the buttons right, though. He swore again and reached for the flask in his waistcoat. Just a nip to steady his hands and put him to rights—

“Was James—did he seem all right?” said a voice behind him.

Matthew turned, dropping his hand. Grace stood at the foot of the steps, a gray shawl like a spider’s web wrapped around her thin shoulders. Matthew knew she was thought strikingly beautiful by most, but she had always seemed like the shadow of a shadow to him, lacking vibrancy and color.

“Of course he isn’t all right,” Matthew said. “Neither am I. You’re marrying