A flash of Tennyson went through James’s mind. My heart would hear her and beat, were it earth in an earthy bed.

He couldn’t remember what happened in the poem after that, just the poet dreaming of the girl he loved walking over his grave.

Other than at Enclave parties, when he had spotted her from afar and not approached, it had been months since James had seen Grace. It had certainly been that long since he had spoken to her. He had kept to his vow. No communication with Grace. No contact.

If he had hoped it would change the way he felt, he knew in this moment it hadn’t. Her dress was cloudy gray, the color of her eyes: there was a little color in spots on her cheeks, like drops of blood tinting pale wine. She was as beautiful as a dawn that came without color, a sweep of gray sea unmarred by whitecaps or waves. She filled up his vision like a lamp blotting out the stars.

Somehow he had caught her wrist; he had drawn her behind a pillar, out of sight of the rest of the guests. “Grace,” he said. “I didn’t know if you would come.”

“I could have no reasonable excuse to stay away.” Everything about her—the way she looked, the clear sound of her voice, her small wrist under his grasp—went through him like a knife. “Charles expected me to accompany him.”

He released her wrist, glancing around hastily. The only person nearby was a freckle-faced housemaid, who edged away awkwardly. James didn’t recognize her, but then, he didn’t know most of the servants in the Institute today; they’d been brought in by Bridget to help with the wedding. “I would rather you hadn’t.”

“I know.” She bit her lip. “But I must speak with you alone before the ceremony. I must. It is important.”

James knew he should refuse. “The drawing room,” he said quickly, before his own better sense could kick in. “In ten minutes.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” It was Matthew: James looked up in surprise. How his suggenes had found them, he had no idea, but found them he had. He was glowering at the both of them like an owl who had been mortally offended by another owl. “Grace Blackthorn, it is James’s wedding day. Leave him alone.”

Grace did not look in the least intimidated. “I shall quit James’s company if he asks me to do it, not if you ask me to do it,” she said. “I owe you nothing.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Matthew said. “If nothing else, you owe me for the pain you have put my parabatai through.”