Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,222

was the best man I’d ever known. Then when I discovered he had squandered all our money at the gaming tables, I thought he was the worst man I’d ever known. Now that I am myself a father, I know that he was simply a man.”

Cordelia looked up at him. “Thank you,” she said. She wanted to tell Will Herondale that she appreciated his honesty. She wondered how much he knew, or guessed, about her father: surely there were rumors. She wished she could be honest in return about her marriage to James. Surely Will must have noticed that James had hardly spoken to her tonight—at this, their engagement party?

“Daisy?”

Cordelia and Will stopped dancing; she saw with surprise that James had come up to them on the parquet dance floor. The jet and ivory of evening wear perfectly suited his sort of looks, she thought, already a beauty of contrasts, black and white and gold.

“Daisy?” he said, again, shyly, and Cordelia barely noticed Will step away from her. She only saw James’s outstretched hand. “Would you like to dance?”

* * *

They looked remarkably happy, Lucie thought. She would not have found it odd, save that she knew the truth: still, James and Cordelia were good friends. As she watched, Cordelia laughed at something James said, and he reached to tuck a loose bit of hair back under her bandeau. Perhaps the Merry Thieves had been right—perhaps the two of them, her best friend and her brother, would find a way to make it all a sort of frolic?

“What are you thinking, Luce?” said Thomas, who was leaning against the wall of the ballroom, tie loosened. He had nobly danced several dances with Esme Hardcastle before retreating to the safety of the corner near the refreshments table. Matthew had joined him there, as had Lucie. “You’re gazing very thoughtfully at Jamie and Cordelia.”

“I was thinking she makes him a better dancer,” said Lucie.

Matthew cocked his head to the side. “By the Angel,” he said. “Marriage. Did you know James asked me to be his suggenes?”

In Shadowhunter marriage ceremonies, your suggenes was the one who escorted you down the aisle. You could pick anyone in your life—mother, father, brother, best friend. “Well, that’s not odd,” Lucie said. “Parabatai almost always pick each other.”

“It does make one feel very grown-up,” said Matthew. He was drinking from the flask in his hand, which to Lucie was not a good sign. Usually at parties where spirits were provided, Matthew would be seen with a wineglass in hand. If he were getting his “drain of pale” from his flask, he must be very determined indeed to be as drunk as possible. His eyes were glittering too, rather dangerously. Perhaps he was angry at Charles? Angry at his parents for accepting Charles’s marriage to Grace so easily? Though how could they know? Lucie wondered, glancing at Henry and Charlotte where they sat at a table at the far end of the room. Henry’s Bath chair stood sentry against the wall and the Consul and her husband leaned together, talking softly, their hands entwined. “Although,” he added, his eyes narrowing as he gazed past Thomas, “not grown-up enough to put up with that.”

Lucie looked over and saw Alastair Carstairs moving through the crowd toward them. His shoulders were slightly hunched, and his once-again dark hair made him look like a different person.

“Be polite to him, Matthew,” said Thomas, straightening. “He was a great help to me when I needed to make the antidote.”

“Has anyone tried the lemon tarts?” said Alastair lightly, as he arrived among their group. “You have an excellent cook, Lucie.”

Lucie blinked. Matthew set his jaw. “Do not try to make small talk, Alastair,” he said. “It gives me a headache.”

“Matthew,” said Thomas severely. “Do you need to go sit down?”

Matthew shoved his flask back into his jacket with shaking hands. “I do not,” he said. “I need Carstairs to leave us alone. Tonight is difficult enough—”

There was no chance for Lucie to ask why tonight might be difficult, for Alastair had already cut in. He seemed half-annoyed and half-abashed, his voice even but tense. “Can we not put our schooldays behind us?” he said. “If I admit I was a cad, is that enough? How can I apologize?”

“You cannot,” said Matthew, his voice very strange, and they all looked at him. Lucie had the odd sense she was watching someone balanced on a knife’s edge; Matthew seemed all sharp angles in that moment, as if