"𝑺𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒂 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒛𝒊𝒏𝒆. 𝑮𝒐𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖'𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓"

♛

"You care for her, don't you?" Dahlia whispered to Christopher as they left the library. They were all heading to the drawing room. Christopher looked at her and nodded, almost as if he were realizing himself. "I believe so," he replied.

Dahlia smiled so widely she thought her face would fall off. "What she has done, it is horrible, truly vile, Chris. But you are correct, she was but a child it was all she knew. She was scared. She had no right, but she did not have a choice either. That is something I understand. If you do truly care for her, then I shall care for her like she is my sister, Chris, I promise you that."

Christopher smiled at her, and Dahlia felt like everything was going to be okay.

"Bloody Kit," said Matthew. "When did you get to be so insightful? I thought you were only supposed to be good at putting the contents of one test tube into another test tube and saying, 'Eureka!' "

"That is most of it," Christopher agreed. They were in the drawing room, Matthew having had an inexplicable aversion to the idea of retreating to the games room after their long session in the library. In the end, nothing specific had been decided, exactly, but it was clear James felt much better than he had. He had been able to smile with a lightness that Dahlia had long ago thought gone with his first year at the Academy. Everyone had pledged unwavering support for anything James might choose to do, and of course undying secrecy. James would tell his family, he said when they returned from Idris; he had not made up his mind about anything else, but he did not need to now. There was time to consider things.

"And let me say it is lovely, James," Ari had said, as they were all standing up, "to see you so happy with Cordelia. A true case of real love winning out."

James and Cordelia had both looked faintly embarrassed, if pleased.

Dahlia found Matthew in the crowd and leaned up to whisper, "Do you think we ought to tell them now?"

Matthew looked at her, his green eyes shimmering with such adoration it startled her. "If you think it is right, my love, and we shall."

Dahlia nodded to herself. "Most in this room know, but not all of the people important to both of us, jaan, if you wish to tell james separately, then you can."

Matthew shook his head, "I will talk to him privately later, we could go from each of them and tell them."

Dahlia nodded, "Yes, that is a good plan."

Matthew took her hand leading them to Thomas. "Thom!" Matthew called. Thomas looked at them, glancing at Christopher briefly. "Math, yes?"

Dahlia walked to Thomas and stood on her toes to whisper, but she still came about an inch short, leading to Thomas having to lean down a bit. "I am with child." she whispered. Thomas' eyes widened for a whole second before a smile broke out. "Congratulations, to both of you."

He engulfed Dahlia in a hug that made her feel warm down to her bones. It was the first time in a long time that she felt as though she belonged.

Matthew grinned. "Name suggestions will be taken now. Nothing of the sort Anna's been suggesting."

Dahlia hit his shoulder playfully, Thomas' arm wrapped around her shoulder. "I think Anna the Second is quite marvellous."

"I'm sure," Matthew said, dryly.

"I'm going to the Games room," Matthew declared. "Join me if you care too," with that he left the room. Dahlia blinked, turning to Thomas who shrugged. "He has been fidgety about telling James and Cordelia," Dahlia explained.

Thomas only nodded, motioning Christopher over. THey all set off to the Games Room where Matthew was opening a pack of cards. Dahlia sat on the sofa in the room, watching them play Eventually, Alastair came in with a huge leather bound book and wordlessly sat beside Dahlia. Matthew made no objections.

When Thomas and Matthew had lost most of their money to Christopher, as was usual, there was a knock on the door, and James poked his head in. "Matthew," he said, "could I speak to you for a moment?"

Matthew hesitated.

"Bad idea," Alastair muttered under his breath, still staring at his book. Matthew cast Alastair a look, then threw down his cards. "Well, I have lost all I can here," he said. "I suppose I had better see what else there is left for me to lose in this world."

"That's a bit dramatic," said Thomas, but Matthew was already on his feet, following James out into the hall.

Dahlia worried though there truly was no reason to, but she knew Matthew. He would most likely blame himself for everything that had happened with James, she wished to comfort him the best she could. But the thing about self loathing was that only you could help yourself, and it just turned out to be the hardest thing in the world.

"Stop." Matthew was saying. The room had gone dead silent, everyone clearly worried. "As I listened to you, James, in the library, I could not help but think I have lived all this beside you. Noticing nothing and knowing nothing."

"I explained," James said. "The bracelet—"

"But I am your parabatai," said Matthew, and Dahlia realized she was right, the blade in his voice was set against himself. "I was so much in my own misery that I never saw the truth. I knew it made little sense for you to love Grace. I know your heart, your sensibilities. There was nothing about her that would have won your affections in any sensible world, yet I let it pass by, dismissed it as a mystery of human behavior. The mistakes I made, the signs I missed—"

"Math," James said, in despair. "None of this is your fault."

But Matthew was shaking his head. "Don't you see?" he said. "I should have known." he whispered.

Alastair's hand on her arm was the only thing keeping her from throwing herself into the hallway and telling Matthew that he couldn't have known. None of this was his fault.

Dahlia was sure Thomas and Christopher were pretending to play cards until Matthew returned. At least Thomas was pretending. He wasn't quite sure what Christopher was doing; he might have invented his own game without mentioning it to Thomas, and be contentedly playing along with its rules.

Alastair continued steadfastly reading his book, at least until Matthew stalked back into the room. Thomas's heart sank—he guessed the conversation with James had not gone well. Matthew looked feverish: there was a high color in his cheeks, and his eyes were bright. "No more cards for me," he announced. "I'm going to go confront Charles about being blackmailed."

Alastair dropped his book with a thump. "I had a feeling you were going to do something like that."

"So you didn't just come in here to read a book about"—Matthew stared —"sixteenth-century warlock burnings? Ugh."

"I did not," said Alastair. "I chose it randomly from the shelves. What a pity so many books are filled with terrible things."

"Why did you think I intended to confront my brother?"

Alastair began ticking off the reasons on his fingers. "Because Charles is here, because he's shut himself up in the main office, because the other adults are gone, and because he can't do a bolt since he's supposed to look after the Institute."

"Well, you are entirely—correct," said Matthew, rather grudgingly. "You have outlined why it is an excellent plan."

"Math," said Thomas. "I'm not so sure it is—"

"I have outlined the positives," interrupted Alastair. "There are also negatives. We are all stuck in this building with Charles, and he can make life unpleasant for us if you upset him, which you will."

"My brother is miserable," Matthew said, "and when he is miserable, he makes life awful for other people. I want to tell him that I know, not only so that he'll stop doing it, but also to take some of the burden away. For all our sakes."

After a moment, Alastair nodded. "All right. I won't stand in your way."

"Well, thank goodness, as I was waiting desperately for your approval," said Matthew, but there was no real malice in it.

♛

THOMAS

In the end, it was decided Matthew would go, and Thomas would accompany him to keep the whole thing from descending into a family squabble. Charles had to understand that this was a serious matter, that not only Matthew knew about it, and that it could not be swept under the rug.

Thomas followed Matthew upstairs, dreading the awkwardness to come. Without knocking, Matthew burst open the double doors of Will's office, where Charles appeared to be deep into a pile of ledger books on the desk.

He looked up blandly when they came in. "Thomas," Charles said. "Matthew. Is anything the matter?"

"Charles," Matthew said, with no further preamble, "you are being blackmailed to ensure your support of Bridgestock, and it must stop. You cannot fear Bridgestock so much that you are willing to sell out everyone who has ever cared for you. Even you cannot be so low."

Charles sat back slowly in his chair. "I suppose I ought to expect this sort of fanciful accusation from you, Matthew," he said. "But I'm surprised he got you to go along with it, Thomas."

Thomas felt suddenly weary. Sick of the whole thing. He said, "He has proof, Charles."

Something flickered in Charles's eyes. "What sort of proof?"
"A letter Bridgestock wrote," said Matthew.
"As usual," Charles sighed, "you have jumped to a conclusion based on

nothing but conjecture. May I ask how you came across such a note? Assuming you do have it, and it is from the Inquisitor—which is quite a wild accusation, by the way."

"It is here," Matthew said, drawing the letter from his inside jacket pocket and holding it up. "As to how we got hold of it, Ari found it. That is why she left home. The letter is clearly meant for you. There is absolutely no doubt as to what is going on."

Charles's face had gone sallow. "Then why did you not speak to me about this before?"

"The letter did not make it clear what he wanted you to do," said Thomas. "After your performance at the meeting yesterday, we know. You spoke out against Will and Tessa, against your own family, because he threatened you, and you were too afraid to tell him no."

Charles said, with a ghastly sort of smile, "And what do you think you can do to fix it?"

"Stiffen your spine," said Matthew. "So Bridgestock plans to tell everyone you love men. So what? Some will understand; those who don't are not worth your knowing."

"You don't understand." Charles put his head in his hands. "If I want to do good in this world, if I want to rise to a position of authority in the Clave... I cannot—" He hesitated. "I cannot be like you, Matthew. You've no ambition, and so you can be whomever you want. You can dance with anyone you wish, man, woman, or other, at your salons and your clubs and your orgies."

"Can't say I have," murmured Matthew. "Charles, you're a pillock, but you've always been a decent pillock. Don't throw that away because of bloody Maurice Bridgestock."

"And how, exactly," said Charles, "are you proposing to help? If I reverse my opinion on the Herondales, it will only mean I am condemned

with them."
"We will vouch for you," Thomas said. "We will testify that you are

being blackmailed and that you were coerced into supporting Bridgestock."

"There is no way to do that," said Charles, "without revealing the blackmail letter and its contents. You understand he is not just threatening to tell people I love men, but that I love—that I loved Alastair. It is Alastair, too, whom I am protecting."

The door burst open. Alastair stalked inside, his black eyes snapping. He looked furious, and also rather—in Thomas's view—glorious. Proud and strong as the Persian kings of old. "Then stop," he said to Charles. "I don't need your protection, not where this is concerned. I'd rather everyone know than that you let a dozen good people be dragged down by lies, just because you fear Bridgestock."

Charles's face appeared to crumple. "None of you can possibly understand what it is like to hold on to this kind of secret—"

"We all understand," Thomas said forcefully. "Myself as well. I'm like you, you idiot. I always have been. And Charles, you're right, it isn't as easy as it is for Matthew, who has never cared what anyone thought. Most of us do care. And the secret is your own business, and it is disgusting of Bridgestock to have used it against you like this. But neither can Will and Tessa, and all our parents, pay such a terrible price for his criminality."

"They will be vindicated by the Mortal Sword," Charles said hoarsely. "Then this will all be over."

"Charles," said Alastair. "Don't you know how blackmail works? It's never over. It'll never be enough for Bridgestock. He'll hold your secret over you for as long as he's able. You think he won't want other things in the future? That he'll simply give up his leverage? He will bleed you dry."

Charles looked back and forth between Alastair and Matthew, his expression anguished. Thomas felt for him; Charles was being a coward, but he knew well how difficult bravery could be in such a situation. "If we seek to bring down Bridgestock," Thomas said, "will you help? Even if you cannot disclose the... the contents of the blackmail?"

Charles looked at them helplessly. "It would depend on what was being done, and what its consequences might be—" he began.

Matthew shook his head, his fair hair flying. "Charles, you are being a milksop and a blockhead. Let the record show that I tried. I tried, despite how little you deserve it."

With that, he stalked out of the room.

Charles looked at Alastair, as if there was no one else in the room. No one else in the world. "Alastair, I... you know I can't."

"You can, Charles," Alastair said tiredly. "And there are people in the world like us who don't have what you do. A family that will never abandon you. Money. Safety. People who could lose their lives for confessing such a thing. All you will lose is prestige. And still you will not do the right thing."

There seemed nothing more to say. Charles seemed visibly shrunken, but he was still shaking his head, as if denial could ward off the truth. Alastair turned on his heel and left; after a moment, Thomas followed.

He found himself alone in the corridor with Alastair. Matthew was already long gone. Alastair was leaning back against the wall, breathing hard. "Ahmag," he snarled, which Thomas was fairly sure meant idiot; he was also fairly sure Alastair didn't mean him.

"Alastair," he said, meaning to say something vague and kind, something about how none of this was Alastair's fault, but Alastair caught hold of Thomas and pulled him close, his fingers cupping the back of Thomas's neck. His eyes were wide, black, feverish. "I need to get out of here," he said. "Come for a carriage ride with me. I have to breathe." He leaned his forehead against Thomas's. "Come with me, please. I need you."

♛

DAHLIA

Dahlia was alone with Christopher in what felt like the first time in a long time, even though it had only been two weeks ago.

He was playing with the cuff of his sleeve and looking about nervously. Dahlia came and sat beside him, taking his hands in hers.

"Chris, I love you very much, what is bothering you?"

He blinked, "Tatiana, she being put in the Silent City, with Grace. I do not think that is very wise."

Dahlia tilted her head. "She won't be able to harm Grace, her area of imprisonment would be far away. They not entirely stupid, Chris."

"I'm aware,  I cannot shake this uneasy feeling. I feel like I ought to write out a will or something."

Dahlia paled. "You are but seventeen, Christopher you need to do no such thing."

"Dahlia, you have been a star in my life since I met you, being your parabatai has been the greatest honor. You are kind, smart and fearless. But most of all you are selfless to a fault. I love you and I know you better than you know yourself." he said.

Dahlia shook her head. "Nothing is going to have Chris, why are you-"

"Even if nothing happens, you ought to know how much you mean to me."

"I love you Christopher Lightwood. You are my very best friend, my platonic soulmate. I would never love someone the way I love you."

She placed her head on his lap and he gently stroked her hair. "Till aught but death do thee and me apart."

He sighed, "Till aught but death do thee and me apart."

♛

man i really dont want to write the next few chapters. im probably gonna cry 👺👺