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But that had been years ago. He’d been a child, still small and even a bit sickly, and had fallen out of an apple tree. He and James had played cards every night in the Institute infirmary while he’d healed. It seemed like a distant dream now, of a more innocent time, when the horrors of the present would have been unimaginable, and the loss of James and Matthew more unimaginable still.
They’re not dead, he reminded himself, starting to turn over, the blankets rustling around his feet. Then he heard it. A deep, steady voice, rising and falling—Alastair Carstairs, reading aloud. He was sitting beside Thomas’s bed, his eyes fixed on a leather-bound volume in his hands. Thomas closed his eyes, the better to savor the sound of Alastair reading.
“I have often thought of you,” said Estella.
“Have you?”
“Of late, very often. There was a long hard time when I kept far from me the remembrance of what I had thrown away when I was quite ignorant of its worth. But, since my duty has not been incompatible with the admission of that remembrance, I have given it a place in my heart.”
“You have always held your place in my heart,” I answered.
The book snapped shut. “This is dull,” Alastair said, sounding weary. “And I doubt you are appreciating it, Thomas, since you are asleep. But my sister has always insisted that there is nothing better for the ill than being read to.”
I’m not ill, Thomas thought, but he kept his eyes closed.
“Perhaps I ought to tell you what’s happened today since you’ve been laid up here,” Alastair continued. “Anna and Ari found the entrance to the Silent City. I know because they sent Matthew’s blasted hound back with a note to let us know. And speaking of notes, Grace and Jesse managed to get Christopher’s project to work. They’re in the library now, sending dozens of the things to Alicante. We can only hope they arrive—it’s one thing sending them within London, and another trying to break through the barriers around the city.” He sighed. “Remember the one you sent me? The one that was mostly nonsense? I spent hours trying to piece it together, you know. I was desperate to know what you wanted to say to me.”
Thomas stayed as motionless as he could, keeping his breathing steady and regular. He knew he ought to open his eyes, tell Alastair he was awake, but he couldn’t make himself do it. The raw honesty in Alastair’s voice was something he had never heard before.
“You scared me today,” Alastair said. “At the train station. The first iratze I put on you—it faded.” His voice shook. “And I thought—what if I lost you? Really lost you? And I realized all the things I’ve been afraid of all this time—what your friends would think, what it would mean for me to stay in London—mean nothing next to what I feel for you.” Thomas felt something brush his forehead gently. Alastair, pushing back a lock of his hair. “I heard what my mother said to you,” Alastair added. “Before the Christmas party. And I heard what you said back—that you wish I would treat myself as I deserve to be treated. The thing is, that’s exactly what I was doing. I was denying myself the thing I wanted more than anything else in the world because I didn’t believe I deserved it.”
Thomas could stand it no longer. He opened his eyes and saw Alastair—tired, rumple-haired, shadow-eyed—staring down at him. “Deserved what?” Thomas whispered.
“Deserved you,” Alastair said, and shook his head. “Of course—of course you were pretending to be asleep—”
“Would you have said all those things if I was awake?” Thomas said roughly, and Alastair set down the book he’d been holding and said, “You don’t have to say anything back, Thomas. I know what I hope for. I hope against hope that you could possibly feel anything like what I feel for you. It is almost impossible to imagine anyone feeling that way about me, given who I am. But I hope. Not only because I wish to have what I desire. Although I do desire you,” he added in a quieter voice. “I desire you with an ardor that frightens me.”
Thomas said, “Come lie down next to me.”
Alastair hesitated. Then he bent down to unlace his boots. A moment later Thomas felt the bed sink, and the warm weight of Alastair’s body settle next to him. “Are you all right?” Alastair said quietly, looking into his face. “Does anything hurt?”
“Only that I’m not kissing you right now,” Thomas said. “Alastair, I love you—but you know that—”
Alastair kissed him. It was awkward to maneuver on the small bed, and their knees and elbows knocked together, but Thomas didn’t mind. He only wanted Alastair close to him, Alastair’s mouth hot and soft against his, lips parting so he could whisper, “I didn’t know it—I hoped, but I wasn’t sure—”
“Kheli asheghetam,” Thomas whispered, and heard Alastair suck in his breath. “I love you. Let me love you,” he said, and when Alastair kissed him again, a hard, hot, openmouthed kiss, Thomas lost himself in it, in the way Alastair touched him. In the way Alastair moved with careful surety, unbuttoning Thomas’s shirt with deft fingers. In the way, once Thomas’s shirt had been gotten rid of, Alastair stroked him with gentle fingers, his gaze sleepy and desiring and slow. He brushed touches along Thomas’s wrists, up his arms, across his shoulders, opening his palms against Thomas’s chest. Sliding his open palms down, until Thomas was going out of his mind, wanting more than gentle brushes of lips and fingers.
He buried his hands in Alastair’s hair. “Oh, please,” he said, incoherently, “now, now.”
Alastair laughed softly. He drew off his own shirt, and then he was lowering himself over Thomas, bare skin against bare skin, and Thomas’s whole being seemed to rise up in a tightening spiral, and Alastair was shaking as Thomas touched him back, shaking because it was now, just as Thomas had asked for, and now was a moment so immense, so profound in its pleasure and joy, that both of them forgot the shadows and peril, the grief and darkness that surrounded them. They would remember in time, and soon enough, but for the moment of now, there was only each other, and the brightness they wove between them on the narrow infirmary bed.
When Cordelia awoke the next morning, the dim sun of Edom was filtering into their hiding spot. She had fallen asleep with one hand on Cortana; she sat up slowly now, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, and looked at Lucie.
Lucie was curled up in her blanket, her eyes closed, her face pale. Cordelia had woken several times in the night to find Lucie tossing and turning restlessly, sometimes crying out in distress. Even in sleep, the weight of Edom bore down on her.
It will all be over today, Cordelia told herself. We will either succeed in finding James and Matthew, and I in slaying Belial, or we will be killed trying.
In her sleep, Lucie plucked at her locket. There were dark shadows under her eyes. Cordelia hesitated before steeling herself to reach out and gently shake Lucie by the shoulder. There was no point in delaying; it would only make everything worse.
They parceled out what was left of the food—a few swallows of water and some hardtack each—and Lucie seemed a little revived; by the time they ducked out of their shelter and began to cross the plain to Idumea, there was color in her face again.
It was another simmering day, and a hot wind blew dust into their eyes and mouths. As they drew closer to Idumea, it grew more recognizable as what it was: a ruined Alicante. The great fortress of what had once been the Gard loomed over a tumbled mix of rubble and standing structures. All the demon towers save one had fallen, and the single glassy spire caught and held the scarlet glow of the sun, like a red-hot needle piercing the sky.
Cordelia had wondered whether they would be bothered by demons as they tried to enter the city, especially after their encounter with Carbas. But the place was almost eerily deserted: only the wind troubled them as they scrambled over the rubble of the destroyed walls.
More rubble awaited on the other side, but in between the piles of smashed and broken stone were surprising patches that had been left almost intact. As they moved closer to the city’s center, Cordelia could make out what had once been Cistern Square, though a great hole had been torn through the paving stones there, as if something had burst up through the earth long ago. She and Lucie exchanged an uneasy look and gave the hole a wide berth.
They passed the remains of ancient canals, filled now with rotting black moss. Cordelia could see something shining in the near distance, a glint like metal or gold. A heap of rubble barred the way; she and Lucie clambered over it and found themselves in what had once been Angel Square.
