She thought of what James had said about faerie fruit: that the more you had of it, the more you wanted, and the more you ached when it was gone. And yet, was not knowing what it was like to taste it not also a form of torment?

She loved James; she always would. So many people loved without hope of return, without the dream of a touch or a glance from the object of their affection. They pined away in silence and misery like mortals starving for faerie fruit.

What fate was offering her now was a year of such fruit for her table. A year of living with James and loving him might ruin her for any other love, but oh, at least she would blaze up in glory. For a year she would share his life. They would walk together, read together, eat together, and live together. They would laugh together. For a year, she would stand close to the fire and know what it was like to burn.

Epilogue CHISWICK HOUSE, LONDON

Not far from the lights of London, Nephilim guards had escorted Tatiana to Chiswick House, its gates and lanes choked and rendered almost impassable with thorns. Briars clawed sunlight from every window, preventing the guards—who included her brothers, Gabriel and Gideon—from seeing inside as Tatiana gathered her things and reappeared at the front door of the house, a small brown valise in hand.

She looked down at them from the top of the stairs. “I would like to be allowed to go one more time to the garden,” she said. She did not think the hatred she felt for them showed on her face. They did not seem to know it; they never had understood how much they deserved her loathing. “To bid goodbye to the memories of my husband and my father.”

A sort of spasm seemed to cross Gabriel’s face. Gideon put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. They never had respected their father properly. Never had mourned him after they let Will Herondale and Jem Carstairs murder him.

Gideon nodded. “Go ahead,” he said, with a short nod. “We will await you here.”

Herondales, Tatiana thought as she made her way to the Italian gardens. Tainted blood ran in their veins. In her opinion, their name dominated the history books more than it should. There should be far more instances of the name “Lightwood” and less of the name “Herondale.” After all, she wouldn’t be surprised if Will Herondale’s warlock wife wasn’t the first time they’d sullied the line with Downworlder blood.