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“There is nothing to raise,” Cordelia said. “She is dust and ashes. I promise that, Grace.”
“Oh, thank God,” Grace whispered, “oh, thank God,” and she began to shake violently, her whole body shuddering. Jesse got to his feet and went across the room to his sister. Kneeling down beside her, he took one of her hands, pressing it between his own, murmuring words Cordelia could not hear.
James’s lips brushed Cordelia’s cheek. “My love,” he said. “I know it is not easy to take a life, even such a life as that.”
“It does not matter now,” Cordelia said. “What matters is Christopher. I am so, so sorry, James—”
His face tightened. “I can’t fix it,” he whispered. “That is the unbearable part. There is nothing I can do.”
Cordelia only murmured and stroked his back. Now was not the time to speak of how no one could fix this, how death was not a problem to be solved, but a wound that took time to heal. Words would be meaningless against the chasm of the loss of Christopher.
Cordelia looked over at the bier and caught Lucie’s gaze. Alone among them all, Lucie was weeping—silently and without movement, the tears trickling down her cheeks one by one. Oh, my Luce, Cordelia thought, and wanted to go to her, but there was noise at the Sanctuary door, and a moment later, Thomas and Alastair came in.
“Oh, thank the Angel,” James said, hoarsely. “We had no idea what happened to you—”
But Thomas was staring past him. Staring at Christopher and the others. At the bier, the lighted tapers. The scrap of white silk in Matthew’s hands. “What…” He looked at James, his eyes bewildered, as if James would have an answer, a solution. “Jamie. What’s happened?”
James squeezed Cordelia’s hand and went over to Thomas. Cordelia could hear him speaking, low and fast, as Thomas shook his head, slowly and then faster. No. No.
As James finished the story, Alastair backed away, as if to give James and Thomas privacy. He came to join Cordelia, and he took her hands in his. He turned them over, silently, looking at the red frost burns where she’d held the ice sword. “Are you all right?” he said, in Persian. “Layla, I am so sorry I was not here.”
“I am glad you were not here,” she said fiercely. “I am glad you were safe.”
He shook his head. “There is nothing safe about London now,” he said. “What is happening out there—it is Belial’s doing, Cordelia. He has turned the mundanes of the city into mindless puppets—”
He broke off as Thomas approached the bier where Christopher lay. As big and broad-shouldered as Thomas was, he seemed somehow shrunken as he stared at Kit’s body, as if he were trying to disappear into himself. “It’s not possible,” he whispered. “He doesn’t even look wounded. Have you tried iratzes?”
No one spoke. Cordelia recalled her vision of Anna, drawing healing runes on Christopher over and over, becoming more and more frantic as they vanished against his skin. She was not frantic now—she stood like a stone angel at the head of the bier and did not even look at Thomas.
“There was poison on the weapon, Thomas,” said Ari gently. “The healing runes could not save him.”
“Lucie,” Thomas said roughly, and Lucie looked up in surprise. “Isn’t there something you can do? You raised Jesse—you brought him back—”
Lucie whitened. “Oh, Tom,” she said. “It’s not like that. I—I did reach out for Kit, just after it happened. But there wasn’t anything there. He’s dead. Not like Jesse. He’s truly dead.”
Thomas sat down. Very suddenly, on the floor, as if his legs had given out. And Cordelia thought of all the times she had seen Christopher and Thomas together, talking or laughing or just reading in companionable silence. It was the natural outcome of James and Matthew being parabatai and always together, but it was more than that: they had not fallen together by chance, but because their temperaments aligned.
And because they had known each other all their lives. Now, Thomas had lost a sister and a friend as close as a brother, all in one year.
Matthew stood up. He went over to Thomas and knelt down beside him. He took Thomas’s hands, and Thomas, who was so much taller and bigger than Matthew, gripped onto Matthew as if he were anchoring him to the ground. “I shouldn’t have left,” Thomas said, a hitch in his voice. “I should have stayed—I could have protected him—”
Alastair looked stricken. Cordelia knew that if Thomas blamed himself for Kit’s death because he had been with Alastair, it would crush her brother. He already blamed himself for so much.
“No,” Matthew said sharply. “Never say that. It was only chance that Kit was killed. It could have been any of us. We were outnumbered, outmatched. There was nothing you could have done.”
“But,” Thomas said, dazed, “if I’d been there—”
“You might be dead too.” Matthew stood up. “And then I would have to live with not just a quarter of my heart cut out, but half of it gone. We were glad you were somewhere else, Thomas. You were out of danger.” He turned to Alastair, his green eyes bright with unshed tears. “Don’t just stand there, Carstairs,” he said. “It isn’t me Thomas needs now. It’s you.”
Alastair looked stunned, and Cordelia knew immediately what he was thinking: That can’t be true, it can’t be me Thomas needs, or wants.
“Go,” she said, giving him a little shove, and Alastair put his shoulders back, as if he were readying for a battle. He marched across the room, past Matthew, and got down on his knees beside Thomas.
Thomas raised his head. “Alastair,” he whispered, as if Alastair’s name were a talisman against pain and grief, and Alastair put his arms around Thomas, with a gentleness Cordelia did not think she had ever seen her brother express before. He pulled Thomas close to him and kissed his eyes, and then his forehead, and if anyone had wondered what their relationship might be before, Cordelia thought, they would not wonder now. And she was glad. It was past time for the end of secrets.
She caught Matthew’s eye and tried to smile at him. She did not think she actually managed anything like a smile, but she hoped he read the message in her eyes, regardless: Good work, Matthew.
She turned to look at James. He was frowning, but not at Thomas or Alastair. It was as if he heard something—and a moment later, Cordelia heard it too. The sound of hoofbeats in the courtyard.
