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Not for the first time, Cordelia wondered what she should do following this year of marriage to James. There would be fall-out, naturally, and it wouldn't be helpful for her to dwell on that. All that lay for her there was heartache. She'd cry over it later, but, for the time being, she had options to consider.
That's why she was in the study in the first place—all the good books and maps were there. Oddly enough, she kept company with solitude. James, she was sure, must have been out with the other Merry Thieves. Probably better that way. These were lonely plans she was making, after all.
Traveling—that was the best thing for her to do. Practically the only thing, actually, since there would be no pleasure in staying. In shielding herself from the gossip, from watching James marry Grace, from noticing the pity in her friends' expressions because it was terribly sad and pathetic to love a boy who wasn't going to love you back, wasn't it?
Already, her heart was breaking. She pushed aside texts of Constantinople and the places she and James had dreamt of together. She needed somewhere that would only be for her.
Go to Persia, her mind whispered, and she was struck by how good that idea was.
In the next moment, she was on her feet and scanning the shelves for relevant materials. Then she needed ink and paper, needed to begin making a list of the route she would chart and what she would do in each city. She could already taste the cuisine, smell the favored spices, feel the heat.
This. She could dream of this adventure as freely as she wanted, even as James finally came home and found her scribbling away like mad.
"What's got you so occupied, Daisy?" he asked as he walked over and stood beside her seat at the desk. "Hmm, Persia?"
"Yes," she murmured, finishing the note she was making. "I'm going there, you see."
"Oh?" The playful lightness in his voice faded to something stilted. To forced casualness.
Cordelia, for her part, didn't particularly want to have this conversation, which was why she sighed. "Well, I'll have to do something with myself when our year runs out." Only after she'd gotten that off her chest did she finally look at her husband.
James, who'd been shrugging out of his jacket, was frozen. He stared at her almost dumbly, stuck in his sleeves. "What?" he asked.
Heat rose in her cheeks, but she wasn't going to be a coward about the truth. "It's not like I have some other arrangement waiting for me." She hoped that hadn't come out bitter.
Still, James simply stared. So long in such loaded silence she had to fight the urge to squirm. Instead, she smoothed a hand over the open pages of her current book. Perhaps she ought to say something, but what purpose would that serve? Nothing was changing. This was the reality of their union and—
"I don't want to marry Grace, anymore."
James' voice was so firm and his statement so unexpected that Cordelia turned sharply to face him. Frustration, anger, stabbed at her because didn't he know what his words did to her? Didn't he know she was vulnerable to hope?
That was why she scoffed and eyed his wrist. "Right," she said, "and that's precisely why you continue to wear that piece she gave you. If you cannot part with that token, I highly doubt you could be rid of your affections."
Now she was sure her cheeks must have been on fire. James was out of his mind. She could only imagine he'd let Matthew convince him to drink more than was advised because that was the only way to explain this interaction. And she needed this as much as she needed to be the next victim of the mysterious, still-at-large serial killer. She could be happy with her own plans, with whatever adventure would wait for her in Persia.
Though she was bent back toward her parchment, a bare arm suddenly obscured her view. The bloody bracelet glinted right in front of her. Too close. It struck her good and sound where it hurt most, and she was going to initiate their first honest-to-goodness fight as a married couple when James spoke first.
"Undo the clasp, Cordelia."
Eyes wide, she frowned up at him, trying to decide how serious he was. He'd fully removed his jacket, even rolled his sleeves up, and she saw tension in his muscles, over all his features. The steady intensity he watched her with sent a shiver down her spine.
"Please," he whispered. "I've been meaning to do this for weeks."
Hardly able to believe her ears, Cordelia dropped her gaze to the beautiful piece of jewelry and lifted her hands. The moment her fingers brushed his bare skin she could have sworn his breath hitched, but she didn't glance to gauge a reaction. She stayed focused on the simple task, which was trickier than she'd expected because the mechanism was so small, and felt a rush of relief as soon as the circle fell apart.
No sooner had she set it down on the desktop then James snatched it up—and took two, purposeful steps to toss it into the blazing hearth.
She gasped. "James! Why would you do that?"
When he whirled her way, her heart stopped beating for a second before racing off with the fluttering butterflies in her stomach because she'd never seen him look at her, anyone, that way. With such yearning and fervor.
"Because I want you to stay," he said. "I want you here with me. I want my wife."
Still stunned, Cordelia blinked at him, trying to make sense of this moment. "But...but why?"
Quicker than he'd gone to the fire, he was beside her once more. He, surprisingly gentle for all his frantic energy, held her face in his hands, said, "Because I'm ridiculously in love with you, Cordelia," and then captured her lips with his.
Her initial reaction was to freeze because, by the Angel, had she heard him correctly? But then he deepened their kiss, did something rather persuasive with his caress, and she leaned into him. Reached out to grasp onto his waist. She tasted nothing alcoholic on his tongue, so it really must have been only James she was pressed against. Only James and his sweetness and mischief. All his desire she remembered too well from the Whispering Room.
They broke apart for a much needed breath, and James said, "Please, don't go to Persia without me. Cordelia, wherever you go, I want nothing more than to go with you."
She could hardly collect her thoughts, a predicament only made worse when James, suddenly going pale, wavered on his feet and then collapsed.
In the ensuing panic, Cordelia hollered for Effie while searching herself for a stele. A healing rune. Maybe James needed something stronger than that, but a healing rune couldn't hurt.
Effie, saying something cheeky about what an hour it was to call for the help, quieted upon entering the room and seeing the prone body. Immediately, she was all business and efficiency.
"I should send for someone," Cordelia said, "and I'm also going to go find my stele. Stay with him, please."
"Of course, ma'am. Oh!"
Effie's exclamation was due to James' slight movement. It appeared he was stirring, coming to. Sort of. Cordelia was halfway to the door, but she turned back.
Though he was clearly suffering from something and only half-conscious, James stared up at Effie and asked, "Where's Daisy? Where is she?"
"She's running to get help," Effie said. "She'll be back in a minute."
Cordelia had needed that reminder; she'd just been standing there wasting time. As she got moving again, her breath caught in wild hope and affection as she heard James, on the edge of passing out again, say, "I love her, Effie. Make sure Cordelia knows I love her. Only her."
Was it too much to hope for? Cordelia didn't understand what had changed, but maybe this one year wouldn't be the end for them. Maybe they'd truly have Constantinople. Persia. All the other places they dreamt of.
Maybe, if they were lucky, they'd have even more.