Au gibet noir, manchot aimable,
Dansent, dansent les paladins,
Les maigres paladins du diable,
Les squelettes de Saladins.
—Arthur Rimbaud, “Bal des Pendus”
“Alastair,” Cordelia said. She had her hands flat on her brother’s back and was pushing him, or at least trying to, toward the carriage. Unfortunately, it was like trying to dislodge a boulder. He didn’t budge from the doorway. “Alastair, get in the carriage.”
Her brother’s arms were folded, his look stormy. In a world of chaos, thought Cordelia, exasperated, at least some things remain consistent. “I don’t want to,” he said. “Nobody wants me at this harebrained confabulation anyway.”
“I do,” Cordelia said patiently, “and also, they do, and the proof is here in writing.” She brandished a folded page at him. It had been delivered that morning after breakfast by a messenger boy named Neddy, the Merry Thieves’ most regular Irregular.
It requested both Cordelia’s and Alastair’s presence at the Devil Tavern that afternoon, on behalf of the Merry Thieves, “to discuss the developing situation.” Cordelia had to admit she’d been relieved to receive it—she hadn’t realized until that moment how worried she’d been that she’d be cut out of her friends’ activities. For the crime of mistreating James, or mistreating Matthew, or snapping at Lucie. But no—she had been invited, and quite cheerfully, with Alastair also requested by name.
“I can’t imagine why any of them would want me there,” Alastair grumbled.
“Maybe Thomas convinced them,” Cordelia said, which caused Alastair to forget that he was supposed to be resisting her attempts to drag him outside. He let go of the doorframe, and they both nearly toppled down the stairs. Cordelia heard Risa, wrapped up in fur blankets and perched on the driver’s seat of the carriage, chuckle to herself.
They clambered into the carriage and started off, Alastair looking a little stunned, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was going. He had his spears with him, and his favorite dagger—as Cordelia remained unarmed, lest she forget herself and accidentally summon Lilith. She hated it. She was a Shadowhunter, and going out weaponless felt like going out naked, only more dangerous.
“Why do you keep mentioning Thomas to me?” Alastair said. They were passing row upon row of white houses, many with holly wreaths pinned to their front doors. Risa had clearly decided to take smaller roads to reach the Devil Tavern, avoiding the traffic of Knightsbridge at peak Christmas shopping time.
Cordelia raised an eyebrow at him.
“Thomas Lightwood,” he clarified, tugging on his scarf.
“I didn’t think you meant Thomas Aquinas,” said Cordelia. “And I keep mentioning him because I am not a complete idiot, Alastair. You did turn up rather suddenly at the Institute the moment he was arrested to tell everyone you knew he was innocent because you’d been following him about for days.”
“I didn’t realize you knew all that,” Alastair grumbled.
“Matthew told me.” She reached out to pat her brother on the cheek with a gloved hand. “There is no shame in caring about someone, Alastair. Even if it hurts.”
“ ‘The wound is the place where the light enters you,’ ” Alastair said. It was her favorite Rumi quote. Cordelia looked quickly out the window.
She told herself not to be foolish, not to cry, no matter how kind Alastair was being. Out the window, she could see the crowded streets of Piccadilly, where sellers pushed barrows of holly and ivy wreaths and wooden toys. Omnibuses rolled by, their sides advertising tins of holiday biscuits and Christmas crackers.
“You’re not going to mind seeing James, will you?” Alastair said. “It won’t bother you?”
Cordelia tugged at the lace on her skirt. She was wearing a pale lavender dress that her mother had gotten her when they first arrived in London, with far too many ruffles and frills. Her only other choices had been the elegant gowns she’d gotten in Paris, but when she’d opened the trunk and touched the silk and velvet, so carefully packed with tissue paper, she’d felt only a wave of sadness. Her time in Paris now seemed tinged with shadow, like the darkening of an old photograph.
“I left him, Alastair,” she said. “Not the other way around.”
“I know,” he said, “but sometimes we leave people to protect ourselves, don’t we? Not because we don’t want to be with them. Unless, of course,” he added, “you are in love with Matthew, in which case, you had better tell me now, and not spring it on me later. I’m braced, I think I can bear up.”
Cordelia made a face. “I told you,” she said. “I just don’t know what I feel—”
The carriage came to a jouncing stop. They had made good time through the park and across Trafalgar Square; here they were at the Devil Tavern. As Cordelia and Alastair clambered out of the carriage, Risa called down that she’d be waiting for them around the corner on Chancery Lane, where the traffic was quieter.
The ground floor of the Devil was as bustling as ever. The usual assortment of regulars filled the high-ceilinged space, and a brief cry of welcome from Pickles, the drunken kelpie, came from the far corner as they closed the door behind them. Alastair looked astonished when Ernie the barkeep welcomed Cordelia by name. Cordelia felt a little surge of pride at that; it was always gratifying to surprise Alastair, no matter how old she got.
She led them through the crowd to the staircase at the back. On the way they passed by Polly, who was carrying a precariously full tray of drinks above her head. “All your Thieves are already upstairs,” she said to Cordelia with a nod, and then turned to take in Alastair with wide eyes. “Cor, who knew the Shadowhunters have been hidin’ their handsomest away until now. What’s your name, love?”
Alastair, shocked into silence for a change, let Cordelia pull him past and up the stairs. “That was—did she really—”
“Fret not,” Cordelia said with a grin. “I shall keep a weather eye out lest she assail your virtue.”
Alastair glared. They had reached the top of the staircase, and the familiar door, above which was carved, It matters not how a man dies, but how he lives. S.J.
Alastair read this with some interest. Cordelia poked him in the side.
“I want you to be nice in there,” she said sternly. “I don’t want to hear any comments about how the furniture is shabby and the bust of Apollo has its nose chipped.”
Alastair arched one eyebrow. “My concern is never with the shabbiness of the furniture,” he said loftily, “but the shabbiness of the company.”
Cordelia made a frustrated noise. “You are impossible,” she said, and swung the door open.
The little room inside was crowded. It seemed everyone else had already arrived: James, Matthew, Thomas, and Christopher, of course, but also Lucie and Jesse, Anna, and even Ariadne Bridgestock. All the available furniture from the adjacent bedroom had been dragged in so that there was a seat for everyone (counting the window ledge, where Lucie had perched), but it was a tight squeeze. James and Matthew weren’t sitting next to one another, but Cordelia decided to be relieved that they had both come and didn’t seem to be exchanging glares.
A chorus of greetings rose up as Alastair and Cordelia came in. Thomas detached himself from the arm of Anna’s chair and came over to them, his hazel eyes bright. “You came,” he said to Alastair.
“Well, I was invited,” Alastair said. “Was that your doing?”
“No,” Thomas protested. “Well, I mean, you are the current holder of Cortana—you ought to be here, and you’re Cordelia’s brother; it wouldn’t make any sense to leave you out—”
Cordelia decided it was time to make herself scarce. She smiled awkwardly at Lucie, who smiled equally awkwardly back, and went to sit on the sofa, where she found herself next to Ariadne.
“I heard you were in Paris,” Ariadne said. There seemed something different about Ariadne, Cordelia thought, though she could not have put her finger on what it was. “I’ve always wanted to go. Was it wonderful?”
“Paris is lovely,” Cordelia said. It was true enough—Paris was wonderful. Nothing that had happened there had been the city’s fault.
She caught Matthew’s eye. He smiled a little sadly. Cordelia noticed with a pang at her heart that he looked awful—well, awful for Matthew. His waistcoat didn’t match his jacket, a lace had broken on one of his boots, and his hair was untidy. This was the Matthew equivalent of turning up at a party with a dagger protruding from his chest.
Thoughts Cordelia hated crowded her head—was he drunk? Had he been drinking that morning? He had kept up appearances in Paris; what did it mean that he wasn’t doing it now? At least he was here, she told herself.
As for James—James looked his ordinary self. Orderly, calm, the Mask firmly in place. He did not look at her, but Cordelia knew him well enough now to sense his tension. He did not wear his anguish plainly, as Matthew did, if indeed he felt anguish at all.
“And you,” Cordelia said, to Ariadne, “are you all right? And your parents? I am so terribly sorry to hear of what befell your father, though at least he is unharmed.”
Ariadne said calmly, “I think my parents are well enough. I am not staying with them at the moment, but with Anna.”
Oh. Cordelia glanced over at Anna, who was laughing at something Christopher had said. Ariadne had been pursuing Anna, Anna resisting—did this mean that Anna had finally given in? What on earth was going on with the two of them? Maybe Lucie knew.
Thomas reappeared to retake his place on the arm of Anna’s chair; Alastair had stationed himself by the disused fireplace. Cordelia did not fail to notice that Thomas was wearing something new—a long green scarf she recognized as Alastair’s. Had Alastair made Thomas a present of the scarf?
A loud crack silenced the room, and Cordelia jerked her head around to see that it was Christopher, pounding a small hammer against the table.
“I call this meeting to order!” he cried.
“Is that a gavel?” Thomas said. “Don’t judges only use those in America?”
“Yes,” said Christopher, “but I found it in a knickknack shop, and as you see, it has already proven highly useful. We have gathered here this afternoon to discuss—” He turned to James and spoke in a quieter voice. “What is the order of discussion again?”
James gazed around the room with dark golden eyes. Those eyes had once been able to melt Cordelia’s bones inside her body and turn her stomach to a mass of knots. Not anymore, she told herself firmly. Certainly not.
James said, “First, we are discussing the problem of Lilith. Specifically, that she has tricked Cordelia into becoming her paladin, and that for her own good and for all of ours, we need to find a way to break the connection between them.”
Cordelia blinked in surprise. She’d had no idea that the meeting would be focused at all on her, rather than Tatiana or Belial.
“To be honest,” Ariadne said, “I’d never even heard of a paladin until Anna told me what happened. Apparently it’s a terribly ancient term?”
Christopher banged his gavel again. When they looked over at him, he reached under the table and brought out a huge old tome, its covers elaborately carved wood. He dropped it onto the table with a crash.
Matthew said, “So you brought a gavel and the book?”
“I believe in thorough preparation,” Christopher said. “I had heard the term ‘paladin’ before, at the Academy, but only in passing. So I looked it up.”
They all waited expectantly. “And then what happened?” Alastair demanded finally. “Or is that the entire story?”
“Oh, yes, sorry,” said Christopher. “A paladin is simply a name for a warrior sworn to the service of a powerful supernatural being. There are stories of Shadowhunter paladins—pledged to Raziel or sometimes to other angels—that go back to the time of the very first Shadowhunters. But there hasn’t been one for hundreds of years. In fact, the most recent reference I found, already five hundred years old, refers to paladins as ‘of an earlier time’ and ‘no more to be found among us.’ ”
Lucie frowned. “Were there paladins sworn to demons?”
“Not among Shadowhunters,” Christopher said, “at least not in the records we have.”
“It must have happened,” Alastair offered. “But they were probably too embarrassed to record it.” Cordelia gave him a cold look. “What?” he demanded. “You know I’m right.”
Christopher cleared his throat and said, “There are records of a few mundanes who have become the paladins of Greater Demons. Usually they are described as fearsome warriors who killed for pleasure and knew nothing of mercy.”
“And they remained paladins until they died?” James said.
“Yes,” said Christopher slowly, “but these weren’t the kind of people who died in their beds. Almost all of them died violently in some battle or other. The problem, you see, is that all of them very much wanted to be a demon’s paladin.”
“Were any of them sworn to Lilith specifically?” Cordelia said.
“I don’t think so,” Christopher said. “I believe you said Lilith sought you out as a paladin because she has lost her realm—Edom. It is a terrible place, reportedly, a scorched desert with a burning sun.”
“So why does she want it back so badly? What’s important about it?” asked Ariadne.
“Demons are very attached to their realms,” said James. “They function as a source of power, with the realm being almost an extension of the demon itself.” He frowned. “If only we could figure out a way to drive Belial from Edom, perhaps Lilith would release Cordelia.”
“I doubt it would be easy to do that,” said Christopher glumly. “Although I like the epic nature of your thinking, James. Edom is a world that was not unlike ours once. It even had Shadowhunters and a capital city, Idumea, much like our own Alicante. But the Nephilim there were destroyed by demons. Some of the old texts speak of the Princes of Hell referring to Edom as a site of great victory, where Raziel’s hopes were dashed. I imagine as realms go, it’s a sort of trophy, and—I see your minds are wandering, so I’ll just say I intend to do more research on the subject. And I intend to make all of you help me,” he added, brandishing the gavel at them.
Everyone seemed to be waiting for Cordelia to say something. She said, “I understand why you all think ending Lilith’s hold on me should be our focus. If I could wield Cortana again, it remains our best defense against Belial.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lucie said loudly. “It is our focus because you are in danger, and we care about you.”
Cordelia felt herself flush, painfully pleased.
James said, “If I may… Lucie is right, but Cordelia is also right. It has become clear that Belial will never leave us alone. Perhaps if my family were dead—”
“James,” Lucie murmured, her face pale. “Don’t even think it.”
“—but even then, Tatiana would remain at large, causing trouble. With Cortana, it might be possible to end Belial’s life.”
“That is something I do not understand,” said Anna. “Princes of Hell are meant to be eternal, is that not true? Yet we have been told many times that Cortana can kill Belial. Can he be killed, or not?”
“Much of the language regarding Belial, Lilith, and the Princes of Hell is poetic. Symbolic,” said Jesse, and the rich, soft timbre of his voice struck Cordelia. He sounded very confident for someone who’d spent so many years half-alive and hiding. He smiled at the surprised looks he was being given. “I read a great deal, when I was a ghost. Especially when I realized my mother was being drawn in deep with powerful demons. There was a time,” he went on, “when research into the Princes of Hell and their powers was quite popular. Unfortunately, the monks and magicians and others doing the research had a nasty habit of turning up dead, nailed to tree trunks.”
Everyone winced.
“As a result, the books containing such information are few, and old. And they do not solve the paradox. They are full of such riddles. Lucifer lives, but does not live. Belial cannot be killed, but Cortana can end Belial with three mortal blows.” He shrugged. “Belial certainly seems afraid of Cortana. I think we must trust that means something.”
“Perhaps a third blow from the sword will put him into a deep and permanent sleep?” suggested Thomas.
“From which he will be awakened by a kiss from Leviathan’s sticky tentacles?” suggested Matthew, and there was a chorus of groans.
“What about your dreams, James?” said Anna. “You’ve always had some power to see what Belial’s up to, in the past.”
James was shaking his head. “There’s been nothing,” he said. “In fact, there’s been so much nothing that it’s begun to worry me. No dreams, no visions, no voice. No hint of Belial in my mind at all since—well, since I was in Cornwall.” He frowned. “I dreamed I saw a long blank road, with demons rushing by above, and I heard Belial’s voice. Nothing since then. It’s as if I used to be able to see through a doorway and now—the door is closed.”
“You heard his voice?” said Anna. “What did he say?”
“ ‘They wake,’ ” said James.
Cordelia felt as if she’d been walking down a flight of stairs and missed a step; the same flinch, the same drop in her stomach. Her eyes met Matthew’s; he, too, looked startled, but when she shook her head, he nodded. They were not going to say anything yet.
“But what does it mean?” Anna mused aloud. She turned to Jesse. “Did Belial ever say anything like that to you? ‘They wake’?”
Jesse spread his hands wide. “I don’t think my possession was like the possession of a living person. During the time Belial was inhabiting my body, I had no awareness of his presence, or any memory of my body having been away from Chiswick. Whenever you might have encountered him while he was in me… I was fully unconscious of any of it. And I’ve had no awareness or image of him or anything since.”
“Maybe this is good news?” Thomas offered. “Maybe he’s been set back on his heels for the moment, and we have some time?”
“Maybe,” James said doubtfully. “But I’m not saying things have been normal. I’m not dreaming about Belial, but I’m not dreaming of anything else at all. In recent nights, no dreams at all, just a blank white void where dreams should be.”
“There’s also the matter of Tatiana,” Lucie said. “Belial appeared before the Inquisitor to warn him off finding her.”
Christopher said, “James, do you think Belial is hiding from you on purpose?”
James shrugged. “It could be.”
Matthew gave a hollow laugh. “Very frustrating, what? All you want is for Belial to leave you alone and now he is, just when we want to see what he’s up to.”
“All of that considered,” Anna said, “we may have to pursue the questions of Lilith and Belial on parallel tracks. Let’s get back to Cordelia. Our best weapon against Belial, should he show up, is Cortana, and who wields Cortana? You do, darling. We need you.”
Cordelia glanced over at Alastair, worried, but Alastair was nodding. “It’s true,” he said. “Cortana chose Cordelia a long time ago. I didn’t become its wielder when Cordelia handed it to me. I used it, as one might use any sword, but it did not kindle in my hand as it does in my sister’s.”
“So,” Christopher said, “to sum up: Cortana is hidden. Cordelia remains bound to Lilith, though only us ten know that.”
“And Belial,” James said quietly. “He told Bridgestock we should keep our paladin away from him, though of course the Inquisitor didn’t know what he meant.” His eyes fixed briefly on Ariadne, then looked away.
Anna, however, caught his look. “Ariadne is no longer on speaking terms with the Inquisitor,” she said primly. “She is part of our group now.” She looked around as if to challenge anyone to deny this, but no one did.
“If Bridgestock pursues the question of what Belial meant,” said Cordelia, “it’ll only be a matter of time before it comes out.”
“Belial may know that you are a paladin of Lilith, but he cannot know you will not raise a weapon in her name,” said James. “If Belial is telling Bridgestock to keep you away from him, he likely fears Cortana more than ever.”
“Do you think Tatiana knows?” Thomas said. “About Cordelia being a paladin?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t told her,” said James. “She is not his confidante, his partner. Belial doesn’t have those. He has dupes and minions—” He hesitated.
“Oh dear,” said Christopher. “I’m sorry, Jesse. Perhaps this is awkward for you.”
Jesse waved this off. “Not at all.”
“You could wait in the stairwell,” Christopher suggested magnanimously, “while we talk about how to defeat your mother and crush her plans. If you like.”
Thankfully, Jesse smiled at this. “I know it would be helpful if I had any idea where my mother was. She kept most of this from me while I was with her—both when I was fully alive, and after—though I did what I could to piece things together. I’m going to speak to Grace in the Silent City tomorrow, but I doubt she’ll have any better guess than I do where she—our mother—is.”
“Jesse,” Lucie said, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Tell them your idea.”
Jesse said, “I was going to suggest that while it remains empty, we should perform a thorough search of Chiswick House. I may not know where my mother is right now, but I do know many of her hiding places in the house.”
Matthew said wearily, “The Enclave has been over Chiswick House at this point. Many times. If they haven’t found anything—”
“Maybe it’s because there’s nothing to find,” Jesse said. “But maybe it’s because my mother hides things well. I saw her do it; she was often unaware of when I was watching.”
“All right,” said James, “then we’ll go tomorrow. There are enough of us to make a significant search party.” He hesitated. “After you see Grace, of course.”
Ariadne said, “We could go right now. I’m eager to do something. Aren’t all of you?”
“I can’t,” said James. “Nor Lucie, nor—more crucially—Jesse. We were only able to convince my parents to let us come here because it’s still daytime. If we aren’t back for dinner, they’ll send their own search party after us.”
“And while Chiswick won’t be the first place they look,” Lucie put in, “it’ll probably be the third or fourth. Searching Chiswick is a good idea,” she added. “But there must be something we can do to try to help Cordelia, too. I don’t expect to find anything about Lilith, or paladins, among Tatiana’s things.”
Cordelia took a deep breath. “She is still very much watching me. She sent demons to attack us, in Paris. So that I would fight back and summon her.”
“What?” said Alastair and James at the same time. They glared at each other for a moment, before Alastair demanded, “For what purpose? What did she want?”
“She assumed I’d still have Cortana,” she said. “Once she realized I didn’t, it was mostly taunting and threats.”
“Do we know of anything that can hurt Lilith?” Thomas said. “Cortana could, of course, but… it’s not an option.”
Lucie brightened. “Why, James’s revolver, of course. That’s how we sent her away last time.”
“It only seemed to damage her temporarily,” Cordelia pointed out. “She left, but she didn’t appear wounded at all when I saw her in Paris.”
Christopher said, “The revolver was blessed with the names of three angels—Sanvi, Sansanvi, and Semangelaf. They are enemies of Lilith. I mean, I suppose all angels are enemies of Lilith. But they are particularly her enemies. Perhaps we could make use of the power of those angels in some other fashion to dispatch her?”
To Cordelia’s surprise, Alastair spoke up. “Or what if we tried to find, or summon, the real Wayland the Smith? He must be one of the most powerful beings alive, if he’s still alive. Surely he’d be vexed to learn that a demon had impersonated him?”
“A good thought,” said James, and Alastair looked a little surprised to have James’s approval. Thomas smiled at him, but he was looking down at his feet and didn’t appear to notice.
“And we must keep in mind,” said Jesse, “that Belial and my—that Belial and Tatiana are using each other. She is using him that she might find a way to have revenge against those she hates: Herondales, Lightwoods, Carstairs, Fairchilds. Even the Silent Brothers. What he is using her for, we do not yet know. But I expect it will be an important part of his plan.”
There was a short silence. Then, “I think,” Christopher cried, “that this will call for some significant research!”
This seemed to punctuate the meeting in some way, and immediately the larger conversation broke down into chatter. Christopher began trying to recruit fellow researchers, whereas Lucie began organizing who would go to Chiswick House and when they would meet. Only Matthew sat where he was, his eyes closed, looking green around the gills. Hungover, Cordelia thought sadly. She wished—but it didn’t matter what she wished. She’d learned that again in Paris.
As discreetly as she could, she slipped out of her seat to approach James. He was standing by one of the shelves of books, running a finger along the spines, clearly looking for something.
“James—I need to speak to you in private,” she said quietly.
He looked down at her. His golden eyes seemed to burn in his pale, intent face. For a moment there was no one in the room but the two of them. “Really?”
She realized, belatedly, that what she’d said must have seemed to him as if she were saying she wished to speak to him about their marriage. She could feel her cheeks turning pink. “It’s about something I heard,” she said. “In Paris. I thought we’d better talk at the Institute before alarming everyone. Lucie ought to be there too,” she added.
He remained motionless for a moment, his hand on a thick book of demonology. Then, “Of course,” he said, turning away from the shelves. “We can speak at the Institute. And if you like, you can stay for supper.”
“Thank you.” Cordelia watched as James stepped away to say something to Christopher and Matthew. She felt stiff, uncomfortable, and it was nearly unbearable feeling uncomfortable around James—James, of all people.
Her heart felt like a rag, wrung out but still saturated with stubborn, ineradicable love. She could not help wondering: If there had never been a Grace, would James have fallen in love with her? Would she and James have found happiness together, a simple, direct happiness that was now forever out of reach? Even in her wildest dreams, she found it impossible to picture what that happy ending would have been like. Perhaps she ought to have learned something from that before all this, she thought; if one could not even imagine something, surely it indicated that thing was never meant to happen?