Cordelia pushed her coverlet down. Matthew watched her with some apprehension—perhaps he thought she was going to throw him out of the house. Instead she reached out, nearly toppling over, and put her arms around him.

She heard him inhale sharply. He smelled of snow, of soap and wool. He was stiff as a board, but she held on, determined.

“Cordelia,” he said in a choked voice, at last, and put his head down on her shoulder.

She held him as close as she could, feeling his heartbeat against her chest. She held him the way she wished she could have asked James to hold her, that morning in the stone corridor outside the Ossuarium. She stroked the soft hair at the nape of his neck. “You never meant to harm anyone, though you did cause harm,” she said. “You must forgive yourself, Matthew.”

He made an incoherent noise, muffled against her shoulder. Cordelia couldn’t help thinking of Alastair. He could not have known, of course, what would come of his rumor-spreading—but neither could Matthew have known what the result of his truth potion would be. They were more alike, she thought, than either would want to admit.

“Matthew,” she said gently, “you must tell your mother. She will forgive you, and you will no longer carry this bitter weight alone.”

“I can’t,” Matthew whispered. “Now she grieves for one child. After that she would grieve for another, for she and my father would never forgive me.” He raised his head from her shoulder. “Thank you. For not hating me. I promise you, it makes a difference.”

Cordelia drew back, squeezing his hand.

“Now that you have heard what I have done,” said Matthew, “perhaps you will stop thinking you are not worthy of Cortana. For there is nothing you could have done to deserve such treatment, even from an inanimate object.” He smiled, though it was not Matthew’s usual sunshine smile, but something altogether more tense and strained.

“Then perhaps it is a flaw with the sword, as Alastair says, though—” She broke off, eyeing Matthew thoughtfully. “I have an idea. And it involves another secret. If I asked you to go somewhere with me—”

He smiled crookedly. “I would do anything for you, of course, my lady.”

“Don’t play about,” she said, waving off his theatrics. “James told me your new flat has a motorcar they let you use. And I have some distance I need to travel. Fetch me tomorrow morning, and we will go together.” Quickly, she told him what the faerie woman in the Hell Ruelle had said to her of Wayland the Smith. “If anyone can tell me what’s wrong with Cortana, he can. If he even exists, but—I have to do something. I must at least try to find him.”

“And you want me to take you?” Matthew looked both surprised and pleased.