Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,125

they had joined it up with the rest of the attic. The floor was polished wood covered in tatami mats, and flexible ropes dangled from the raftered beams overhead, knotted at various lengths to make for easier climbing. Witchlight torches lit the room, and cloudy sunlight poured in through the windows high above.

Cordelia stood at the north end of the room in front of a large silvered mirror, Cortana gleaming gold in her hand. She wore training clothes she must have borrowed from Lucie: they were tight and short on her, her ankles visible beneath the hems of the trousers.

She turned, moving with the sword as if they danced together. Her light brown skin gleamed in the witchlight, sheened with sweat at her collarbones, her throat. Her hair had come free from its pins. It tumbled down her back like a waterfall of autumn leaves. Together she and Cortana were a poem written in fire and blood.

He must have made a noise, for she turned to look at him, eyes wide, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths. A jolt went through him. Something like a memory—Cordelia lying beside him, her hair soft against the side of his neck, the warmth of her hip against his—

He tried to shake the thought from his head; nothing like that had ever happened in his life. A fragment of his dream the night before, perhaps?

He drew the letter from his pocket and held it out to her. “Daisy,” he said. “I have something for you.”

* * *

Many years of practice had acquainted Cordelia well with solo training. Her father had always said that a living partner was necessary to learn certain aspects of sword art—how could you learn to turn a blade at close quarters, for instance, if you had no opposing sword to press yours against? Alastair had retorted that Shadowhunter training was somewhat unique: you were rarely fighting another opponent with a sword, after all, and far more often a peculiarly shaped monster.

Cordelia had giggled, and Elias had rolled his eyes and relented. After all, they moved around so often for Elias’s health that neither Cordelia nor Alastair had regular training partners except each other, and they did not match in height or weight. So when Lucie had gone off to procure herself a cup of tea, Cordelia had fallen into the old patterns of practicing her footwork—lunging with Cortana in hand, practicing sequences of actions over and over until they were as natural to her as walking downstairs. She raised Cortana, turned, spun, and lunged—only to nearly lose her balance in surprise as James walked through the open door of the training room.

She stared at him for a moment, caught off guard. Something about him seemed different. His clothes were ordinary—morning coat, gray trousers—and his hair was the usual dark tangle. There were slight shadows under his eyes, which was unsurprising for someone who had been out late.

She slid Cortana into the sheath at her back as James drew a letter from his pocket and offered it to her with a smile; she could see Lucie’s name scrawled across the front.

“How did you know this was for me?” she asked. Her hands were shaking as she took the letter from him and began to open it.

“Matthew told me,” he said. “I believe he is distracting Lucie in the dining room, though who knows how long that will last.”

“It’s all right, you know—I trust Lucie,” Cordelia said. “If I hadn’t been prepared for her to read the letter I wouldn’t have had it sent here.”

“I know,” said James. “But it is your letter. Why shouldn’t you read it first? In fact, if you’d like me to leave, I can.”

“No,” Cordelia said, dropping her gaze to scan Charlotte’s scrawled lines. “No—do please stay.”

Dear Lucie,

I hope this letter finds you well, and dear Cordelia also. I am afraid that I only have a little bit of news, as the situation with Elias Carstairs has been put on hold while the current emergency is dealt with. We did indeed attempt to try Elias by the Mortal Sword, but unfortunately doing so did not shed any light on the situation, as Elias has no memory of the events of the night of the battle. It is a very complicated matter. Please give Cordelia my best wishes. I look forward to returning to London and seeing you soon.

Love,

Charlotte

Cordelia sat down hard on the windowsill. “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “Why wouldn’t he remember?”

James crinkled his