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“Come on, let’s go, shoma mitavanid tozieh bedid, che etefagi brayehe in ahmagha mioftad vagti ma mirim,” Alastair said. You can explain what’s going on with these idiots when we leave. Apparently it had slipped his mind that James had been learning Persian.
“Go on ahead of me. I’ll join you in a moment,” Cordelia said. Alastair nodded and withdrew to the carriage. Cordelia turned to face Matthew and James.
“I don’t know how I feel,” she said. “There is too much going on—too many complications. In some ways, I am angry at you both.” She looked at them steadily. “In others ways, I feel I have hurt you both, been unfair to you. These are things that must be settled with my own conscience.”
“Cordelia—” Matthew began.
“Don’t,” she said wearily. “I am so tired. Please, just understand. I care about you both.”
She hurried down to the carriage and held out her hand, and Alastair took it to help her up the steps. As the door closed, James could hear Alastair asking Cordelia if she was all right, or if he was required to hit anyone for her. The carriage rattled off, leaving Matthew and James alone with each other, and a silence where Cordelia had been.
James turned to look at Matthew. His parabatai was almost bloodlessly pale, his eyes like dark green smudges of paint in his white face. “Math,” he said. “We shouldn’t fight.”
“We are not fighting,” Matthew said, still looking at the spot where the carriage had been. “I told you already I would cede the field to you.”
“But that isn’t your choice to make,” said James. “Or mine. It is Cordelia’s. It will always be Cordelia’s.”
Matthew rubbed at his eyes with a gloved hand. “I think she hates us both,” he said. “Perhaps that puts us on equal footing.” He looked at James. “I didn’t know,” he said quietly. “I had no inkling when I went to Paris with Cordelia that you would mind. I did not think you loved her. I would never have gone, if I had thought that.”
“A reasonable enough thing to think, given my behavior,” said James. “Though—I wish you had asked me.”
“I should have. I was angry. I was about to leave on my own, and then Cordelia was in my flat and she was in tears, and—” He shook his head. “I thought you had hurt her callously. Now I do not know what to think. Grace is in jail; you seem pleased about it. I can’t say I’m sorry she’s there, but I’m puzzled.”
“Grace did come to my house that night you left for Paris,” said James. “I turned her over to the Silent Brothers. When I realized Cordelia was gone, I ran after her. All the way to your flat, and then to Waterloo. I was on the platform as your train pulled away.”
Matthew slumped back against the door. “James…”
“Mathew,” James said quietly. “I am in love with Cordelia, and she is my wife. You must understand, I will do whatever I can to mend things between us.”
“Why did you never tell her?” Matthew said. “Why did she have to run away for that?”
“I should have,” James said. “I wish I had.” He hesitated. “Why did you never tell me you loved her?”
Matthew stared at him. “Because she is your wife, and I do have some scruples, you know. What you saw—the kissing—that was the extent of it. Of anything—physical—between us.”
James felt a wave of shameful relief. “And if I hadn’t interrupted you?” He held up a hand. “Never mind. You believed my marriage to Cordelia was a sham. I understand that.”
“But I knew—” Matthew stopped himself from whatever he was going to say next, and let out a long breath instead. “I knew that once you lived together, once you spent all your time with her, you would come to love her too. And besides—when you find you’re in love with your best friend’s wife, you don’t tell anyone. You drown yourself in drink, alone in London or in Paris, until either it kills you or the feelings go away.”
James knew he shouldn’t say it, but he couldn’t stop himself. “But you weren’t alone in Paris, were you?”
Matthew sucked in his breath. “It is a sickness. I thought if Cordelia was with me, I would not require the bottle. But it seems too late for that. The bottle requires me.”
“I require you more,” James said. “Math, let me help you—”
“Oh, dear God, James,” Matthew said, with a sort of passionate despair. “How can you be so good?” He pushed himself away from the door. “I couldn’t bear it, right now,” he said, “to be helped by you.”
Before James could say anything more, he heard Charles call out, in his booming voice: “There you are, Matthew! Do you want a ride back to your flat? Or you could come back to the house and see the parents. I’m sure they’d love to hear about Paris.”
Matthew made a face that James knew well: it meant give me patience. “Just one moment,” he called. He turned back to James and put a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever else happens, don’t hate me, James. Please. I don’t think I could bear it.”
James wanted to close his eyes. He knew that behind them he would see two boys running across a green lawn in Idris, one fair-haired and one dark. “I could never hate you, Math.”
As Matthew went to join his brother, leaving James alone on the steps, James thought, I could never hate you, for all my hate is reserved for myself. I have none left over for anyone else.
10 WANDERER
He saw a black shadow: a big raven squatted motionless, staring at Majnun, eyes glowing like lamps. “Dressed in mourning, he is a wanderer like myself,” thought Majnun, “and in our hearts we probably feel the same.”
