He caught sight of Cordelia then and waved, and she realized with a startled jolt that he had been looking for her. He hurried over and took her hands, bending to speak quietly in her ear. Cordelia glanced around, blushing, but no one was sparing them a second glance. (Tessa, discreetly, had melted back into the crowd.) Of course not, she thought: they were newlyweds, meant to be whispering in each other’s ears.

“Sorry to abandon you,” he murmured. “Your father kicked up a bit of a fuss.” She was glad he was making no attempt to ignore or pass off what had happened. “We got him a cold flannel for his forehead and put out the lights in the games room. He said he needed to be alone until his headache cleared.”

Cordelia nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “The Basilias was supposed to have cured him, but—”

James cupped her face in one hand, his thumb brushing her cheek. “He was under a lot of stress. This might not happen again. And if he sleeps in the games room until morning, it’ll do him no harm.”

She glanced at Alastair. He was talking calmly with her mother. Cordelia had always thought that Alastair’s moodiness was the result of their odd, lonely upbringing. Now she knew it was more. How often had Alastair had to deal with their father like this? What kind of toll had it taken on him?

I’ll speak to him about it at home, I’ll make some tea and we—

But no. She wasn’t going home to Cornwall Gardens. She would not be sleeping in the same house as Alastair. She was going to go home with James. To their own house.

She raised her chin. James’s face was just above hers: she could see the amber flecks in his eyes, the small white scar on his chin. His full lower lip, which she had kissed only a few hours before. His gaze clung to hers, as if he did not want to look away, although she knew it was only her imagination.

She felt tired. So extraordinarily tired. All day, she had played a part. All she wanted was to be at home, whatever that meant now. And if home meant James, well then, she could no longer pretend to herself that it was something she did not want.

“Let’s go home, James,” she said. “Take me home.”

5 THE KING IS DEAD

’Tis all a chequer-board of nights and days

Where Destiny with men for pieces plays:

Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,

And one by one back in the closet lays.

—Edward FitzGerald (trans.), The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam

They managed to depart the Institute with a minimum of fuss, bidding goodbye to their families and their suggenes. Lucie hugged Cordelia tightly, speechless for once. Over her shoulder, Cordelia saw Matthew whisper something in James’s ear. James smiled.