Archive of Our Own

The day that Cordelia Carstairs kissed a man who was not her fiancé started out normal.

The air was biting cold as she walked to the Institute. Trees clung to the last remnants of autumn leaves, the sky was the same mix of grays it had been the day before, and her breathe came out in puffs in front of her. The route was familiar, enjoyed, and habitual after weeks of walking it. Now that she and Lucie had set a date for the ceremony and James was helping them train, her presence at the Institute was a near daily thing.

“Our parabatai ceremony must be before your wedding,” Lucie had declared when Tessa and Sona had continually pestered the couple to choose a date. James had just begun training them. “Daisy was my friend long before she was your betrothed. It shall be a statement so even when you two divorce, she will still be my sister.” 

James had smiled at Cordelia before turning to his sister. “Of course we must hold the ceremonies in order of importance. Daisy and I are still arguing over the merits of a January wedding.”

It was a lovely time, spending days with her favorite Herondales, and she felt the pain of her situation with James under control. For the most part. Sometimes he gave her a sweet smile or called her darling Daisy, and the pain rushed back. Sometimes black hair fell into golden eyes and it took her breathe away.

That’s what greeted her when she left the chilly November morning behind and opened the training room door.

“Morning, Daisy,” James greeted warmly. With a small uptick of his mouth, he closed the book he’d been cradling and stood. 

“Good morning,” she replied brightly. Having left her coat at the entrance, the chilly air made her shiver. She was grateful she was still in her long sleeved gown and not yet changed into her training gear. Glancing around, she realized James was the only one there. “Where’s Lucie?”

“I’m not sure. At breakfast this morning, she told our parents she was going out for a short walk and hasn’t returned. I strongly suspect her of being in pursuit of mischief.”

“Sounds like Lucie,” she joked, but inwardly frowned. More and more often, Lucie would disappear for two or three hours. Cordelia had asked her where she went, but Lucie would joke about needing alone time from the male energy of James and the Merry Thieves. Cordelia didn't believe her but hadn't pushed either.

James crossed the room, causing a fluttering in her stomach. She and James hardly ever spent time alone. Usually Lucie or one of the Thieves was around. Being in front of James now, just the two of them, felt like all the protection she had thought she’d made on preparing her heart was nothing but paper thin walls.

“We can still train if you’d like, or,” James paused and gripped the book to his chest. “Or, we can find more exciting ways to lolly about until Luce returns from whatever roguish errand she’s on.”

They should train. The ceremony was two weeks away and she refused to be anything but flawless, yet something made her pause. James looked tired, she realized. Dark circles and a slight dimness to his normal attitude. Was he sleeping alright? Was something wrong? Would he even tell her if there was?

She crossed her arms. “What exciting activity do you have in mind?”

“No matter how many times I’m in here, it never ceases to amaze me.”

“It is a source of wonder. All credit is due to my mother.”

The London Institute’s library was packed to the brim with books. They lined the walls all the way to the ceiling and covered most surfaces, leaving the room a thing out a book lover’s fairytale. James had brought Cordelia there, a tray of tea and Brigette’s blueberry tarts already at the table. She’d smiled when she saw it, wondering what he would have done if she’d said she wanted to train instead.

“And great credit she is due. There are more books in here than I have ever seen.” Cordelia walked past a section that held The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. When James was one minute intense and the other distracted, she thought of this book. She had half a mind to ask if he’d read it. “You must come in here all the time.”

“I have my own little library of sorts in my room, but yes, I usually put them in here for all to use.”

“You have more books in your room?” Cordelia loved to read, ardently and frequently, but she had nothing on the Herondales, who lived and loved the printed words and parchment.

“A bit.”

“And how much is ‘a bit’?”

James blushed. “Would you like to see for yourself? I have something for you in there anyway.”

Cordelia raised a brow at him and James became even redder.

“Not that I—of course, I mean nothing untoward—”

She laughed. “The entire Enclave already thinks us the most scandalous pair. Besides, I don’t doubt your good intentions. I see nothing wrong with you showing me the second library in your bedroom.” He still looked flustered so she added, “I would also like to see my gift.”

They made their way to his room talking about the day she was to be parabatai with Lucie, walking side by side. “Cousin Jem has already agreed to perform the ceremony.”

“My father will be thrilled. Then again, he'll be thrilled regardless now that there will be another Herondale and Carstairs as parabatai.” He smiled, yet the words dug at Cordelia’s heart.

Will Herondale was fond of her, undoubtedly so, and that fondness had only grown in recent months. Not only was she to be his daughter’s sworn sister, but his daughter-in-law as well. The guilt at Will’s joy and kindness gnawed at her daily. 

“Here we are.” James announced, breaking from that spiraling into her familiar train of guilt. The door to his room was plain. She had admittedly expected something grand but it looked like any other bedroom door in the Institute. “This was Uncle Jem’s room. Now, instead of music coming from here, it’s a rather dull quiet.”

The love and devotion between Tessa, Will, and Jem was so strong that Cordelia still marveled at it. Even with Jem in the Silent City, Will and Tessa seemed determined to keep his presence all around their children’s lives. Would she ever feel a love as strong as the love that was between the three of them?

James pushed the door open and gestured for Cordelia to enter.

She had never been in his room; it wasn’t proper, even with others. Yet it didn't feel improper in that moment. It was like glimpsing into a piece of James she did not yet know, one that he was offering freely. A sneak peak into life once they were married.

The room was standard size, with a larger bed than the other Institute rooms. There was dark green bed coverings and curtains. As she suspected, books were on his bedside table, his dresser, in the corner of the room, stacked under his bed as well.

She smiled warmly at his expectant expression. “It’s lovely. Do you collect anything else besides books? Or is there only room for one passion in your room?” 

He gave her a sheepish look and walked over to his dresser. “Don’t laugh, though I won’t really blame you if you do,” he said before opening a drawer. 

She went to stand beside him and looked curiously into it. There were spoons, of varying shapes, sizes, and materials. “Why on earth do you have so many spoons?”

“When I was a child I was fond of them and my family has never let me forget it.” James gazed at them with affection. “Most are from Uncle Gabriel. Kit, Tom, and Matthew will give me one when they are in the mood to tease me.”

“We must find space for such a collection in our new home.” 

When Will and Tessa had announced they planned to purchase the couple’s new home, only a ten minutes walk from the Institute, Cordelia and Sona had tried to refuse. The Herondales, especially Will, had said it was normally up to the groom’s family and it was their pleasure. Maman had still been uneasy so Tessa had said that the decor would be left entirely to Sona and the couple. Noticing Cordelia’s own discomfort, James had turned it into a game of sorts. Whatever outlandish and fanciful thing they wanted would be put in their home. A full display of James’ spoons was just the newest addition. 

“Must we?”

“We must.” She reached down and grabbed ornate silver one. “This is beautiful. Where’s this one from?”

James squinted at it. “Thomas brought it back from Spain. Says he nicked it from the best restaurant in Madrid for me.”

Cordelia beamed. “Oh, now I am certain we must display them all. I shall begin the search for appropriate casing at once.”

“I would not mind continuing the tradition of keeping them in a drawer,” James said, picking up an intricately carved wooden one.

Cordelia shook her head, biting back a smile. “Nonsense. We shall have an entire room dedicated to this, James. Our guests shall be surrounded by Persian tapestries and your spoon collection. I will show them proudly.”

“If you insist, darling Daisy,” James replied wryly. 

Cordelia masked the flush on her cheeks with a proud nod of her head. “I do.” Suddenly, she realized how close they were. She could see the thick black eyelashes that framed his eyes. It was unfair how handsome he was.

Step back.

Cordelia put the spoon on top of his dresser, adding the smallest amount of space between them. “Where is this present you flaunted?” Cordelia said looking around the room. “I am very excited.”

With an easy laugh, what a strange mood he was in today, James went toward a desk in the other corner of the room. He picked up a reddish brown book, one that was unwrapped but had a bronze colored silk ribbon tied around it.

It reminded her of the dress she’d worn in the Whispering Room. She pushed the thought away; James had long forgotten about that night. The ribbon meant nothing.

Cordelia took the book with both hands, carefully untying the bow and studiously not thinking about a darkened room and his hands on her. The book quickly captured her attention; it was in Persian.

It was a copy of the Bustan, a poetry book by Saadi.

She looked up at James in wonder. He was watching her carefully. “What have I done to earn such a wonderful gift?”

His shoulders eased. “I was at a bookstore with Matthew when I saw it. You said you prefer Persian and I do not know much, but the book seller told me the book involved human behavior and the ethics of life. I’m sure it’s no Layla and Majnun, but I thought maybe you’d like it.” 

Cordelia was touched. She’d never read the Bustan, but she’d always wanted to. It was centuries old, and rivaled Rumi’s work in popularity. She stroked the gold writing on the burgundy cover. “Thank you, James. Truly. I cannot wait to read it.”

“I’m glad.”

When she managed to tear her gaze away from cover he was closer than she expected. Surprised, she stepped back, her elbow knocking a spoon to the ground.

James looked down, startled. He reached to pick it up before she could. It was the silver one from Spain she’d forgotten to put back in the drawer. He shook his head as if to shake something off. Then he smiled. “When you divorce me, you should cite it on the grounds of an unreasonable collection of spoons.”

And like that, a bucket of ice water was thrown on her. A book and some kind words and she'd forgotten herself. 

James had no illusions of their situation and frequently joked about their eventual divorce. He would say that she should divorce him on the grounds of him putting an excess amount of sugar in his tea, or that he was incapable of wearing red clothing because he thought the color looked ghostly on him. He tried to be kind and funny. Cordelia, frustratingly, lost herself in the act until he made jokes. 

He does not love you. No matter how fun it is to plan a home with him. No matter what presents he gives you.

She cleared her throat and tucked the book under her arm. “Perhaps we should go see if Lucie has returned?”

James looked surprised for a moment before straightening. “Yes, right. You two need to finish training within a fortnight.” 

The walk back to the training room was quiet. James was lost in thought and Cordelia examined the herons painted on the walls. Just as they were about to turn a corner, they heard a voice groan, “This isn’t what we were looking for at all!”

James and Cordelia exchanged a glance. The voice was Lucie’s. They stopped at the door that led to a study and James swung the door open. Standing in the middle of the room was Lucie and Grace Blackthorn. They were hunched over a book, faces annoyed and deep in thought.

Lucie looked up first and her eyes widened. “James? Daisy? What are you doing here?”

James expression was pained, but he kept his eyes on his sister. “What are you doing? We’ve been waiting for you.”

“Grace and I—”

Grace shut the book they had been looking at. “Lucie and I have become friends. We did not wish to offend either of you so we have kept it quiet.”

This where Lucie snuck off to all the time? To spend time with Grace Blackthorn? There was a tea tray on the table, half drunken cups. It shouldn’t feel like a betrayal, yet it did all the same. Lucie knew that Cordelia came in the mornings, yet she’d gone with Grace without a word to her or James.

“Yes.” Lucie blinked rapidly and nodded. “Training slipped my mind.” 

“Why did you not just tell us?” Cordelia asked calmly, hiding her hurt.

Lucie picked up on it anyway. “Daisy—”

“This is not some dire secret, you know Cordelia wouldn't have minded because—” James stopped himself and for the first time glanced at Grace who already looked at him.

“Honestly James,” Lucie placed her hands on her hips and glared at her brother, “it’s not as if you haven’t already told Grace that you and Cordelia shall be divorced in a year. She says you did. It’s why she is making her engagement to Charles so long.”

In the corner of her eye, Cordelia saw James fidget. Of course he'd told Grace. Of course. Again, she was surprised by the pain James was capable of causing her without even meaning to.

Grace stood tall in her pale blue gown, face as expressionless as ever. Cordelia straightened. She would not look like a sad, little fool.

To James, she said, “You are so insistent on me coming up with a reason to divorce you.” She forced herself to use a playful tone. She smiled brightly, as if this was funny to her. “It appears now I know why.”

James rapidly shook his head, reaching one hand out to Cordelia. It was the hand that bore Grace’s bracelet. “Daisy, I didn’t—“

“It’s alright, James.” Cordelia reassured, forcing herself to smile at Lucie and Grace as well.  “Lucie, I merely came to say goodbye. I must return home early. I hope you all enjoy your tea time.”

Without a polite nod toward Grace, she turned on her heel and walked out the room.

She heard Lucie call after her but she only walked faster. Neither Lucie or James came after her.

Cordelia wouldn't stay where she wasn't wanted. If Lucie wanted to spend her free time with Grace and lie about it, that was her choice. James would enjoy time with Grace too, no doubt. She trusted his word enough that he wouldn't be unfaithful. That did not mean she wished to be there to witness their longing glances.

As she walked out the door of the Institute, focusing on swallowing down the lump in her throat, she bumped into a warm chest covered in a forest green brocade waistcoat.

She would have known who it was regardless of the fashion. No one else had the lingering scent of brandy on him as consistently as Matthew Fairchild.

“Cordelia! You look lovely.” He was all sunshine as normal. Glancing behind her, he asked, “I thought you and Luce were practicing for the ceremony today?”

Cordelia shrugged. “I have to leave early today.” Before he could say anything else, she added, “I'll see you later.”

As she reached the iron gates that led back onto the streets of London, she felt a light grip on her elbow.

“What’s wrong?” Matthew asked. Cordelia was tall, but Matthew was taller and bent slightly, curving over her. He was fashionably dressed as always, rings glittering on his fingers. A figure of color and energy. “And do not say nothing, because you clench your hands when you’re upset and that’s exactly what you’re doing right now.”

Glaring at him, she stopped immediately. She and Matthew had become good friends since that first week in London. He was now her closest friend, second only to Lucie. Normally, she cherished it. At the moment, she wished he hadn't gotten to know her so well. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright,” Matthew agreed. She thought that would be the end of it, but instead he opened the iron gates with a flourish. “After you.”

She walked through them and he stepped out with her. “Aren’t you going to see James?”

“I adore seeing Jamie, but you are my friend as well and I refuse to leave you in such a state. Come. The day is young, there’s much we can do.” Yet he didn't start walking, instead he looked at her, waiting for her to agree or not.

The breeze brushed his blonde hair across his forehead as Cordelia stared at him. She didn't exactly feel like returning to Cornwall Gardens and putting on a happy face for her mother and Alastair. Time spent with Matthew always did make her feel better.

“Like what?” Her copy of the Bustan still felt heavy under her elbow as she walked toward him.

“Care to go for a drive?”

Her eyebrows rose. “A drive?”

“I have purchased a car,” he said nonchalantly, as if it was a common thing. “Uncle Gabriel may find them the fad of mundanes, but I quite like them.”

“You bought a car?” She did not know a single Shadowhunter who owned one, but Matthew was unique, a man who operated beyond the parameters and expectations of others. If she had learned anything in their six months of friendship, it was that.

“It’s a lovely grey. Matches our fair London sky.” He pulled a metal key from the inside of his coat.

Thinking of James and Grace off in some corner of the Institute whispering about their sorrows and terrible engagements, Lucie keeping secrets, she decided that yes, she would very much like a drive and told Matthew as much.

“Wonderful! Walk with me to my flat? It’s no more than fifteen minutes and I fancy stretching my legs.” Matthew offered his arm and without hesitation, Cordelia took it.

On the supposedly fifteen minute walk to his flat, Matthew roped her into going into a cafe.

“Just a quick stop for some tea,” Matthew told her as he pulled her toward a place on the corner that’s sign read, Interlude Heureux. 

Cordelia allowed him to guide her over. She’d never been there as she didn't spend too much time in mundane shops. They tended to stare at her darker skin.

The elderly man at the front of the store didn't blink an eye at her though, just politely smiled at them.

“For two please, Arnaud.” Matthew told the host. 

The man, Arnaud, nodded him and replied with an accented, “Yes, Monsieur Fairchild.”

He led them inside and there were a few other couples seated. Cordelia looked around in admiration. The cafe was all cream walls with gold finishes. Paintings of lakes and people at lavish parties were hung on the walls. The only other color in the place was from the vibrant velvet chairs at each table. The table they were seated at had indigo cushions and Matthew eased her chair in once she was seated.

Arnaud asked Matthew if he wanted his usual and he said yes. When he turned to Cordelia, she scanned the menu, which was entirely in French. She squinted, trying to remember the little she knew. “May I have the spiced orange blossom tea?” 

“Lovely choice,” Arnaud said with a nod, taking her menu and walking away. 

Once it was just the two of them, she looked around. “This place is beautiful. It reminds me of my favorite café in Paris.”

“Your affection for the City of Lights rivals my own.” Unbeknownst to Cordelia, Matthew was watching her admire the cafe with a small smile. “When it’s time for my travel year, I cannot decide whether I should go to Paris or somewhere new.”

Cordelia turned back to him. “It’s your choice, but I think you should go somewhere new. As much as I love the city, you can always go to Paris. There’s a whole world out there to be seen, not just one across the Channel.”

“Spoken by someone who has seen a great deal of it,” he teased.

Cordelia sighed. As lonely as the travels had been, she did miss seeing new things constantly. “Not nearly as much as I wished.” 

At that moment, Arnaud returned with their tea. He placed fine, floral pattered china in front of her and one in front of Matthew, then put down a tray of macarons, finger sandwiches and scones with sides of jam and clotted cream. “Enjoy, mademoiselle, monsieur.”

“Thank you,” she replied, perking up by the sight of macarons.

Matthew stirred a spoon of sugar in his tea and asked, “For your travel year, where will you go? Will you wait until after you and James are married?”

The mention of James made her frown. She hadn't thought of it, but she knew she didn't want memories of her travel year filled with melancholy. James most likely didn't want to take his travel year with her either. “I think I will wait. But when I do go, I would love to see Cairo. I was there briefly and would love to go back.”

“I have never been to Egypt.” He took a long sip of the amber liquid in his cup and she wondered if there was alcohol in his tea. As their friendship grew, she had noticed that there was hardly a time Matthew was not drinking or have something mixed in with his beverages.

With her father in and out Basilias for his problem, Cordelia didn't want to see anything similar happen to Matthew. She had yet to interfere because he seemed to have it under control and recoiled at anyone’s mention of it.

“You would love it,” she said eventually. “It’s a place of history, divine food, and never-ending sun. Much different than London.”

“You must take me then. I shall postpone my travel year until you go on yours. I demand a tour of the pyramids.” He said it in jest but she smiled. It would be impossible, given their marital statuses, but the thought of traveling with her friend sounded like a great deal of fun. 

“It’s inspiring.”

“It’s wrong.”

“Cordelia, it’s fashionable.” The source of their disagreement was twirled again. A determined looking young women with brown hair was wearing a dress that she thought was horrid. She tried not to voice her objections to it too loudly.

Another stop on the journey to Matthew’s flat was a dress shop. The shop owner had been scandalized when the two of them, an unmarried man and woman, had entered and announced they wished to look at dresses. He had appeased her by saying they were distant relatives. The shop owner had relaxed, but she eyed them suspiciously whenever Matthew got too close to Cordelia.

“Magenta and orange have no business being on the same dress,” she leaned over to whisper.

“It’s bright, it makes a statement.” He said, looking at the dress for a moment longer before turning to her.

“I do not have your mind for clothing.” It was a dress that may have been acceptable in Tehran, if the cut was different. But to Cordelia, all she thought of was how horrible it would look with her hair. Grudgingly, she could admit the dress wasn't hideous the more she stared at it. “You have far more skill and knowledge in that area.”

“Many would disagree. To them, I am empty-headed.” Matthew said with that dry, mocking smile. “Charming, but insignificant and fanciful.”

She poked him in the arm. “I do not think that at all. I think you are lovely. A friend of depth and humor and knowledge.”

Matthew whispered, “Hardly knowledge that Shadowhunters care about.”

“Others are exceedingly dull. I enjoy your company far more than the likes of them. Anyone with sense would as well.” She disliked when he spoke as if he was nothing. To Cordelia, he had a mind like no one else.

She turned when the next model came out, this time in a blush rose colored gown with darker pink lacing on the top. From the corner of her eye, she could see Matthew still staring at her, not the dress.

“Oh, that’s beautiful.” The dress was something she could wear to Hell Ruelle or a party at the Institute if she was feeling brave.  

The shop owner had heard her declaration and came over. “It is a dress I only have two of. It’s a special one.”

She doesn't say anything else, but Matthew stood up and announced they must go. Before they left he had a quick conversation with the shop owner then followed her out.

Once they left the shop, Cordelia turned to Matthew. “What did you tell that woman?”

“Your measurements. I ordered the rose dress for you. It should be delivered within a week.”

“Matthew.” Cordelia glared at him but he seemed chipper. 

“I have taken up so much of your day. It only makes sense that I get you a small gift.”

“A dress that expensive is not a small gift,” she hissed. “You also insisted you pay for tea. I must pay you back or get you something in return.”

“I like buying you things.” Matthew placed a hand on his chest. “And you would wound manly pride if you did that.”

“As if you care about the standards and customs between men and women.”

“Correct.” He began walking backwards, somehow dodging the other pedestrians and keeping his merry smile. “But I do care about beautiful things belonging to beautiful people. It is an unbreakable habit so you must forgive me and accept the dress.”

She continued to glare, trying to ignore what he had just said. Matthew did that sometimes, compliment her so offhandedly it threw her off guard. It was surprising and sweet. It was also hard to be truly angry with him when he did it.

“Will I ever see your car? Or did you lie about it?” She sniffed.

“Ah, I am too tired to drive now. Let us take a cab.” Matthew announced in a rush. 

So he had snuck some drinks in the three cups of tea of Interlude Heureux. 

“Fine. Where to next? I will be buying you something regardless of your approval, so choose wisely unless you want a hideous handkerchief.”

Matthew eyed the late afternoon’s sinking sun. “I know the perfect place.”

They walk into what Cordelia could only describe as a tamer Hell Ruelle. The inside of the establishment was lined with tan wood paneling and the furniture was mismatched but ornate. Downworlders mingled, there was a werewolf playing the violin on stage, and the atmosphere was relaxed and intimate. 

A woman with long silver hair and black horns approached them. A warlock. “Matthew Fairchild, welcome back. What would you like to drink?”

“A brandy for me.” He turned to Cordelia questioningly. 

“Red wine, please.”

The warlock looked her up and down, then back to Matthew, smirking. “I’ll take it to you.”

After giving the woman a kind smile, Matthew lead Cordelia down a long hallway that had doors lining each side. He walked into an open doorway. Inside, was a cozy study. A fireplace was blazing and there was a love seat and sofa, both a dark red suede. Matthew made his way to the sofa and flopped down.

“I didn't know you drank anywhere but the Devil’s Tavern and Hell Ruelle.” She sat across from him on the love seat.

“This is my secret spot.” Matthew took off his outer coat. “Only James, and now you, know about it. I come here when I would like a break from everything.” 

“Well, thank you for showing me these places. It was nice to get a break from it all as well.”

“No thanks are required.”

Marveling the room and this reprieve, she rested her cheek against her hand. Life would have to continue tomorrow. They would have to continue for a year. The thought made her feel terribly lonely. The loneliness she had experienced when Papa and Mâmân took her traveling, her only companion the reflection in the mirror.

The silver-haired warlock came in with their drinks on a tray. Matthew gave another broad smile. “Thank you, Nyota.”

With a wink, she walked out of the room and shut the door.

Cordelia grabbed her wine in cheers. “To a break from everything.” 

“I am tired of myself tonight, I should like to be someone else.” Matthew said, raising his glass.

“Cheers. We share the same feelings.” She took a sip as did Matthew, his larger than hers.

“So does Oscar Wilde, as he is the one wrote that line.”

“My thanks to Mr. Wilde.” She set her glass down and fixed her eyes on him. “Who would you be? If given the chance to be someone else.”

His gaze turned wistful. “I would be a mundane tailor. I would make the finest clothes for myself and the people of Europe and I would throw the most divine parties when the day was over.”

They were Shadowhunters first and anything else second. A job solely as a tailor sounded nice, but as far-off as fairytales.

“I would wear all your designs,” Cordelia promised. “I would be the best dressed in London.” 

He tipped his glass toward her in thanks. “And who, dear Cordy, would you be?” He asked before draining half his glass. She frowned.

“Elizabeth I. No one ever forced her to marry and she was ruler in her own right.”

She watched as the firelight made his eyes the most beautiful deep green, reminiscent of the trees surrounding Cirenworth Hall. They were captivating, in a different but not inferior way to James’ eyes.

James. All roads lead to Herondale.

“You wouldn't be Layla?”

“There’s enough tragedy in our lives without the loss of such a love isn't there?” She didn't believe herself capable of baring such a great tragedy, dealing with her current situation was hard enough.

As if reading her mind, Matthew said quietly. “You said you didn’t wish to speak of what upset you this morning.”

“I didn't.”

“Would you like to discuss it now?”

Cordelia grabbed her glass, fidgeting with the Herondale ring on her finger.

Matthew leaned against the arm of the sofa. “I told you once that I feared James would hurt you. Has he?”

All the feelings she’d tried to ignore throughout the day rush back. It would be nice to speak of it to someone. Looking into the fire, Cordelia admitted, “No. Most of it is self-inflicted.”

Matthew remained silent and it gave her the courage to continue. She watched the fireplace as she spoke. “James and I are putting on a show, and while his is nothing but for the farce of our arrangement,” She plucked at her skirt, “…I do not feel the same.”

She chanced a glance at Matthew only to find looking at her with understanding and something else, but no trace of pity. 

Cordelia was relieved to finally speak the words to somebody. “James and I are not even married yet and still, I lose myself in our game of pretend. He has done nothing to make me think this is but a performance. It's my fault for allowing my emotions to get the better of me.”

She had to lie to everyone, all in different ways. The Enclave. Lucie, James, Will and Tessa, Alastair and her mother. So just like that, the well of emotions she’d been hiding spill out. “Lucie told me that Herondales love but once, and I know I am not James’ once. I know. Yet, when he and I—we laugh and train and plan for our home. It was something I thought I would savor, enjoy.” An image of Lucie, James, and herself laughing in the training room came to mind and Cordelia pursed her lips. “But today I was reminded of the fragility of it. His gaze and heart will forever belong to Grace. And I’m an idiot, Matthew. For even thinking—” She broke off with a gasp. The pain of today and yesterday and every day before that sat on her chest.

After a moment of only wood crackling in the fireplace, a warm hand encircled her wrist. She looked up in surprise to see Matthew gazing right back, expression pained.

“Cordy.” Not Daisy, or Layla, or even Cordelia. It was his own nickname for her, something he always said with affection and softness. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “I made this decision.”

“You’re wrong.”

“What?” She asked, sniffling. What a fright she must look. He was kind to sit with her.

“James, my lovely parabatai, is the the idiot if he does not love you. There is no bigger fool.” Cordelia stared at him, struck by the force behind his words. Matthew returned her gaze fiercely. “You are so brave, so funny, and yet so kind. To be in your presence is to be in sunlight for the first time after a long winter. Surely you know that Grace Blackthorn does not hold a candle to you in character… or in anything else.”

Much later, Cordelia would look back on this moment as the point she could have thanked him and stopped it there. It would have saved them all a great deal of pain. That is not what she does.

“Would you like to know something?” Matthew asked when her confusion must be plain on her face.

“I have a feeling I will be told regardless of my answer.”

He laughed as if she had said something terribly funny. “Correct you are, I am in a reflective mood.” She raised an eyebrow, forgetting the seriousness of the atmosphere.

“Before you arrived, a few years ago, I saw you. Lucie showed me a picture that you sent her. And do you know what I thought of?”

“Am I about to be insulted after all those kind words?”

The smile grew but he ignored her. “I thought of poetry. Well, Jane Eyre specifically, but I had forgotten it was a poem in Jane Eyre. It took me ages to find it.”

His rambling was amusing, she thought as she took another sip of wine. “And I remind you of poor Jane?”

He squeezed her hands and said in an uncharacteristically serious voice, “It's in Mr. Rochester’s frightening long declaration that he describes his lady love as a person of shower and gleam. That is who you are. I thought it then, I know it now.”

His hand moved to her cheek, and she knew that any respectable woman would push him away. Immediately. But she didn't push him away. 

“The truest love that ever heart, felt at its kindled core, did through each vein, in quickened start, the tide of being pour. Her coming was my hope each day, her parting was my pain; the chance did her steps delay was ice in every vein.” Matthew smiled ruefully. “I’m surprised I remember all that. Brontë is very wordy.”

It felt nice to be wanted, to be seen. Matthew had spent the day with her, and when she was with him, a smile was never too far off. Isn't that what she wanted? Dreamed of?

She should have pushed him away.

She didn’t. Instead, her eyes met his shaded green ones. 

He appeared terrified but hopeful. “You’re the sun, Cordelia.”

Her cheeks warmed and heartbeats quickened. “Those are very kind words, Matthew. Kinder than I deserve.” Cordelia was in a most inappropriate position with her promised husband’s parabatai. There was no excusing that. Still, she stayed.

Matthew's breathing was quick as well. “I know that you love James. That you are to be married to him. And I swore I wouldn't act until the year was up but I can’t bear to watch you in pain and alone. Perhaps…”

Cordelia stared. She couldn't move, could barely blink. The warmth of the room and the softness of the sofa beneath them made her feel encased in comfort and safety. Matthew made her feel that too. She didn't want it to end, to go back into the world of fake engagements and smiles.

“…perhaps when this is all over, I can be your once. If you’ll allow me, my heart, however little it is worth, can be yours,” Matthew swallowed, and added quietly. “I believe it is yours already.”

"A year is a long time. You don't know where your heart will be," she told him. Trapping another person in this waiting game was unthinkable. "You are too good a person to deserve to wait like that."

He reached for her hands slowly, as if he expected her to pull away and wanted to give her every opportunity to do so. “I'm the most awful sort of person. There is—much you don’t know about me, Cordelia. But I tell all this to you regardless.”

She wanted to love someone who loved her back. Before, she believed she could bear the unrequited but it was much more painful than she imagined. Now there was hope. “Have I not told you you are worth far more than you give yourself credit for? You call me the sun, yet you are the earth and all it’s lively wonders.”

At balls and parties when James was forced cheer and Lucie distracted company, Matthew lit up her life these past months. She did love him, not in the way she loved James, but perhaps she could. When James got the divorce he so clearly wanted and she the freedom from this tragic parody.

Cordelia was tired of being lonely. In Matthew, there was a matching, haunted loneliness. It reminded her of what he’d just said and of his drinking and unreachable moments. “You say there is much I don’t know about you. Will you tell me? If not today, then someday?”

Matthew looked away. “Your good opinion of me would vanish.”

Declaration of love forgotten, she lightly thumped his shoulder. “Nothing will change the good I see in you. None of us are perfect in this life. I will not pretend to know your every secret and sin, but your character I am certain of. It is kind and good.”

If his gaze was intense before, now it was immoveable.

Everything Cordelia wished James would say to her, Matthew was saying instead. Maybe romance wasn’t always the dark and daring prince, but the boy with golden hair who made her smile. Not the painful, burning passion, but the unwavering, warm laughter.

Maybe when the year was up and she and James divorced—

“Matthew,” she whispered, just as he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers. It was lightest of touches, the smallest of kisses. All she was able to decipher from the pressure she'd given back was that Matthew Fairchild had very soft lips.

He had pulled back to look at her and her eyes fluttered open. His gaze was questioning, asking if she had liked it, if he should continue.

What she would have done next, she’ll never know because over his shoulder was James.

Cordelia gasped, pulling away from Matthew and standing in lightening speed. She hadn't even heard the door open.

James was looking back forth between her and Matthew. His brow furrowed, but nothing else betrayed what he was thinking.

“It’s not—” It’s not what? What could she possibly say?

“Jamie,” Matthew said when seeing his parabatai, a great deal paler than he had been a moment ago. 

James’ expression would have been funny under other circumstances; it was genuine confusion. “I have been looking for you two all day.” As the seconds ticked on, a shadow crossed his face.

“Why both of us?” Matthew asked, dazed.

“My mother saw you leave the Institute together.” James appeared to find the memory unpleasant. “She said Cordelia looked upset.”

“Ah,” Matthew said, rubbing the Fairchild family ring on his finger.

“Are you drunk?” James asked him quietly.

Matthew looked as if James had struck him. “Is that what you think of me?”

“You aren't answering the question.”

“James,” Cordelia called, finally finding her voice past the knot in her throat. She had forgotten how much Matthew had had to drink. She wondered how much of what he’d said he’d meant and how much was alcohol influenced.

James seemed hesitant to look at her, and when he did his injured gaze made her tear up with frustration. Why did he seem so hurt? He and Grace stared at one another in front of her whenever they shared a room and Cordelia bore it. 

You asked for his faithfulness. Perhaps the betrayal of that is what hurts him. For not the first time, the Herondale ring on her finger felt heavy. “I was upset. Matthew was comforting me. That is all.”

Matthew opened his mouth to speak but James beat him to it. “I was not aware of the affections you held for one another,” He said it while working his jaw. His eyes flickered between the two of them. Oh dear, how much had he even seen?

She felt detached as this played out, as if she was a bystander to this awful moment. As hard as she searched for something to say, nothing came to mind.

Matthew, damn him, was screwing the top back on his flask when Cordelia looked back to him. He seemed to be trying to act normal. His next words were not. “You clearly hold affections for another, why do you begrudge her the same?”

It was James’ turn to look struck. The parabatai stared at one another, an ocean of emotion passing between them. “Cordelia is my fiancee,” James told him quietly.

“Yet you treat her terribly,” Matthew blurted out.

James stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“Jamie, do you honestly—”

“Matthew!” She snapped. It was a warning and a plea. Matthew straightened at the sharpness of her tone and looked down. How much had he had to drink? The tea at the cafe, the flask, the brandy. It hadn't looked like a lot at the time, but with him, it was hard to tell. 

“What have I done?” James took a few steps toward Cordelia, panicked. “I have done my best to be the fiancé you deserve, but if I have failed or hurt you please tell me how.”

Matthew gave his parabatai a smile but it was not a kind one. “You truly are blind, my dear friend.”

“I am speaking to Cordelia.” It's the coldest tone she's heard him use with Matthew. 

She wanted to bury her head in her hands and go in search for a time machine to undo this entire day. Why hadn't she thought this through? Matthew was probably halfway to drunk and she was an emotional mess. James was their friend. By the Angel. She wouldn't be a source of rancor between them.

“That’s enough.” She stepped in front of Matthew, both to shield him and shut him up. “James, what I have done is inexcusable. I asked for your fidelity on the day of our engagement and I have been the one to break it. I was upset and Matthew was here. Don't blame him. For the duration of our time together it won’t happen again.”

James stood in the doorway still, the firelight playing across his face. “And after?”

He was the most confounding man in the world. When he had proposed to her, he had been so eager and hopeful for her to love another. Now he was troubled by it. “We both have hopes for after.” She looked at him and then at the silver bracelet he still wore. He followed her gaze and deflated. “As you once said.”

“I didn’t know I would—” James paused. “This is unexpected.”

James looked to Matthew, whose face was contorted in pain. They stared at each other again in that silent communicative way of theirs.

“Let us forget this all,” she repeated. Cordelia had been wrong to do this. No matter how lonely, the sting of betraying James was stronger. “It was a moment of forgetfulness and folly.”

She didn't look at Matthew as she said it. She kept her eyes on James, who’s mask had fallen back into place. If that was what it took for the two not to argue, so be it. They were the best of friends, blood brothers. Cordelia cursed herself for thinking that this was acceptable for even a moment.

It was surreal standing between them. The three of them, all on uneasy ground. Unsure of who to look at, who to speak to.

This is not how it’s supposed to be.

“It’s late. I will return home and you should both do the same,” she announced when the boys just continued to stand there.

“I can walk you to Cornwall Gardens,” James offered, his body half shifted toward the door. Matthew stared into the fire.

“No,” Cordelia rushed out. The pain on his face returned and vanished in an instant. “What I mean is, I think we would all benefit some time alone. We can discuss this tomorrow if you'd like.”

While the warmth of the fireplace had been comforting earlier, it was stifling now. She looked at James and Matthew once more, both staring at her with questions in their eyes. “Good night.”

She grabbed her coat and left without a glance behind her.

When Cordelia arrived home, she slipped off her boots at the door and sunk into the closest chair. Her coat was still in her arms and she lifted it when something poked at her. Saadi’s Bustan was still wrapped up in it. She placed the book on the nearest table.

You’re the sun.

I have done my best to be the fiancé you deserve, but if I have failed or hurt you please tell me how.

Risa appeared and asked in Persian, “Are you hungry? I can warm up the food for you.”

Though she had little appetite, she nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you, Risa.”

The woman slipped away, leaving Cordelia with her thoughts and a darkened room. She sat there until Risa called her to the table. The moment she sat down, Alastair appeared.

“There you are.” Alastair was still in his day clothes, but he looked like he'd been sleeping. He stopped at the chair across from her and gave her an aggrieved look. “Mâman was tired so she went to sleep early, but she was upset you missed dinner. I managed to convince her you’ve been busy preparing for your parabatai ceremony, but tomorrow you better be home early.”

Going to bed early and rising late, Sona was nearing the end of her pregnancy. She said the baby exhausted her and she was more emotional than normal. An added guilt swirled in Cordelia’s chest. “Okay. Thank you.” She told him, though she wasn't even sure she would go to Institute tomorrow. Or ever again. “I’ll eat and go to sleep.”

Her brother narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She cut a piece of chicken and chewed it. It tasted like rubber. “Nothing, I’m just tired.”

Alastair frowned, unmoving. “Layla.”

Cordelia put her fork and knife down. “Yes?”

“What happened?” He walked toward her, brow pinched. “Is it James?”

Cordelia rose from the table and walked toward the kitchen with her plate. “No. I’m just tired.” She threw out the food, and made her way to the stairs. Alastair stared after her but thankfully didn't follow.

In bed, Cordelia stared at the canopy. 

I’m sure it’s no Layla and Majnun, but I thought of you.

I can be your once. If you’ll allow me, my heart, however little it is worth, can be yours.

How did she not know her own heart? How did she get hers so jumbled? 

And what did this mean for them? Matthew and James were sworn brothers, surely this could not tarnish that. She hoped above all hopes James would realize he didn’t care, he shouldn’t. The thought of that was equal parts stinging and relief.

And Matthew. One of her fondest friends, teetering on the edge of something that ruined her father.

Cordelia shut her eyes in an attempt to keep it all out. After an hour of tossing and turning, thinking of James and Matthew’s faces and words, she finally did doze off. 

The last thing that came to mind as she drifted to a fitful sleep was something Alastair had said a lifetime ago.

If it’s Herondale, he will never like you better than Miss Blackthorn, and if it’s Fairchild, he will never like you better than the bottle.

Cordelia dreamed of shadows and green carnations.