She sipped at it obediently as he flung himself into the armchair. She could taste nothing, but the liquid was hot and warmed her insides. “It does,” she said. “Matthew, I…”

“Go on,” he said, having poured himself a companionable cup of tea. “Tell me about James.”

Perhaps Matthew was right; perhaps tea was the solution to everything. Either way, something unlocked the words inside her. They came out all in a rush. “I had thought it might all work out, you see,” she said. “I knew when we agreed to marry that James didn’t feel for me what… I felt for him. But there were moments—not all the time, but moments—where I thought it was changing. That he cared for me. And the moments were becoming more frequent. More real. I thought. But it seems those were only moments that I was deluding myself. It was my delusions that were becoming more frequent.” She shook her head. “I knew, I knew how he felt about Grace—”

“Has something happened with Grace?” Matthew interrupted, a sharp note in his voice.

“She is with him now, at our house,” she said, and Matthew sat back in his chair, exhaling. “Matthew, don’t look like that—I don’t hate her,” Cordelia said, and she meant it. “I don’t. If she loves James as he loves her, all this must have been rather awful for her.”

“She does not,” said Matthew icily, “love him.”

“I didn’t think—but perhaps she does? She seemed panicked. She must have heard he was in danger today. I suppose they felt they had to see each other, after everything.” Cordelia’s hand shook, rattling the teacup in its saucer. “She told him she would break it off with Charles. And he said, ‘Thank God.’ She was holding him—he was holding her—I had never thought—”

Matthew had set his tea down. “James said, ‘Thank God’? When she told him she was going to end things with my brother?”

Charles, Cordelia knew, would not care in any real way about Grace’s abandonment. But Matthew did not know that. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Matthew. It’s not very nice to Charles—”

“Never mind Charles,” said Matthew, propelling himself savagely out of the armchair. Oscar gave a concerned woof. “And as for James—”

“I don’t wish you to be angry with him,” Cordelia said, suddenly worried. “I would never want that. He loves you, you are his parabatai—”