Even Matthew seemed to realize his comment had cut too close, the skeleton of the truth gleaming like white bone through dirt. He pulled his flask from his coat and turned it upside down, but it was empty. He tossed it onto the nearby sofa and looked at James, his eyes bright.

“Jamie,” he said. “My heart. My parabatai. You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to go through with it. You know that, don’t you?”

Both Christopher and Thomas sat motionless.

“Cordelia—” James began.

“Cordelia might not want this either,” said Matthew. “A sham marriage—not what a young girl dreams of, surely—”

James stood up from the table. His heart beat a strange tattoo inside his chest. “In order to save me from being imprisoned by the Clave for arson, destruction of property, and the Angel knows what else, Cordelia lied for me. She said we spent the night together.” His tone was harsh, each word clear and precise. “You know what that means for a woman. She destroyed her own reputation for me.”

“But it isn’t destroyed,” said Christopher. “You—”

“Offered to marry her,” said James. “No, scratch that, I told her we were getting married. Because Cordelia would indeed be the first to turn away from such a union. She would never want me to do something I felt compelled to do, never want me to make myself unhappy for her sake.”

“Are you?” Thomas’s eyes were clear and steady. “Making yourself unhappy for her?”

“I would be more unhappy if she was ruined,” said James, “and I had the blame for it. A year of marriage to Daisy is a small price to pay to save us both.” He exhaled. “Remember? We all said it would be good fun? A lark?”

“I suppose the closer it gets to the day, the more serious it seems,” said Christopher.

“It is not a light business,” said Thomas. “The runes of marriage, the vows—”

“I know,” said James, turning away toward the windows. Snow seemed to have swallowed all of London. They sat captured in a pinpoint of light and warmth, in the center of a world of ice.

“And Grace Blackthorn,” said Matthew.

A short silence followed. None of them had spoken Grace’s name in front of James since his and Cordelia’s engagement party, four months ago.

“I don’t know what Grace thinks, actually,” said James. “She was very strange after the betrothal—”

Matthew’s mouth twisted. “Even though she herself was already betrothed and had no business—”

“Matthew,” Thomas said quietly.

“I haven’t spoken with her for months,” James said. “Not a word.”

“You haven’t forgotten that you burned down that house for her, have you?” Matthew said, refilling his cup.