At first it was all a relief—Cordelia had been more worried about this dinner than she’d wanted to admit to herself. Lying to Will and Tessa about her marriage had been terrible, but for them, at least, this relationship had been a complete surprise. Lying to her own family was different. For Sona, and no doubt Elias, this outcome had been a dream. Not only had Cordelia gotten married, but she had married into a powerful and influential family (however Elias might have felt about the Herondales). She’d given them what they’d hoped for, but now that she’d taken the marriage oaths before the Enclave and the Angel, the lie of it seemed to loom much larger. Her parents knew her better than almost anyone: she had been half-certain that when she and James walked in, her parents would look at them and say, We see. You obviously don’t love each other and this is clearly some strange kind of marriage of convenience.

Instead everyone had been as polite as possible. Sona had fussed over James, Alastair had gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling, and Elias had been his most charming self—expansive, generous, welcoming, and full of war stories.

James set down his forkful of ghormeh sabzi and nodded easily. “A very famous demon,” he said. “I know of the evil he brought to the Shanghai Institute.”

“Perhaps this is not an appropriate discussion for dinner,” Sona said. Though she was lovely in a velvet tea gown trimmed with lace and sable, and a black roosari, she looked tired. She must have been crafting this meal since yesterday, ensuring the cook had the recipes and knew how to prepare everything from the fesenjoon, sweet with lamb and pomegranate paste, to the hot kaleh pacheh.

Ignoring Sona, Elias leaned over to James and raised his eyebrows. In a dramatically grim voice he said, “He’s the demon that killed my brother Jonah and his wife, Wen Yu, but only after torturing their son, my nephew Jem, in front of them. Have you heard the story of how I came to kill Yanluo?”

James smiled; if there was a little strain in it, Cordelia was sure her father didn’t notice. “Only that you did. And never firsthand. I would, of course, be eager to hear the story from you.”

Cordelia met Alastair’s eyes across the table. He raised one eyebrow as if to say, Well, well.