Cordelia almost smiled. She had been relieved beyond measure to see Alastair; she could not have borne the idea of anything happening to him. Not now. He was a mess, which must be vexing him dreadfully: his hair was tangled, his clothes torn and covered in stone dust. Sona would not be at all pleased when he returned home, but Cordelia thought he looked rather endearing, not so perfectly put together and stiff as she was used to.

Alastair had stayed by her side while James was talking, for which she was grateful. She had been feeling immensely peculiar. She was proud of James, holding his own against the entire Enclave, weaving a story that hung together while leaving out anything that would incriminate his friends—or her. She could not help admiring his boldness, yet at the same time she feared what came next. They were dancing at the edge of a cliff, she felt: they could not all manage this falsehood forever.

She had caught James looking at her oddly several times since the battle had ended, as if he wanted to do or say something, but was restraining himself. She couldn’t imagine what it was. She could see him now, deep in conversation with Jem, not looking toward her at all.

“Oun dorough nemigoft,” she said to Alastair, in Persian. She didn’t think anyone was listening to them—they had edged their way into a corner of the library, next to a shelf of books on numerical magic—but better to be careful. “It wasn’t lies. It just wasn’t the whole truth.”

Alastair’s dark eyes flashed with amusement. “Yes. I am familiar with how lying works, Layla.”

Cordelia’s stomach turned over. She wanted to say, Don’t call me Layla. It sounded too much like Lilith to her ears, and didn’t Lilith mean “night,” just as Layla did? “I can’t tell you all of it now,” she said. “But I can tell you one thing that is true. I was correct when I said I was not worthy of bearing Cortana.”

“Did you not kill the demon possessing Jesse Blackthorn?”

“I did,” Cordelia began. “But I am not—”

Alastair was shaking his head. “You must stop this,” he said. “You will make yourself unworthy by considering yourself unworthy. We become what we are afraid we will be, Layla.”

Cordelia sighed. “I will come back with you to Cornwall Gardens after this, before I return home,” she said. “It has been too long since I have seen Mâmân. And we can discuss—”

“Alastair,” Matthew said.

The Carstairs siblings turned in surprise; neither of them had heard anyone approach. The room was still full of Shadowhunters, streaming in and out of the library door, and the dull mutter of voices. Matthew must have come in with some of them; he stood looking at Alastair and Cordelia, his hands in his pockets.