Chain of Thorns

Chapter 1: Twilight Days 1 TWILIGHT DAYS
My Paris is a land where twilight days

Merge into violent nights of black and gold;

Where, it may be, the flower of dawn is cold:

Ah, but the gold nights, and the scented ways!

-Arthur Symons, "Paris"

The gold floor tiles gleamed under the lights of the magnificent chandelier, which scattered droplets of light like snowflakes shaken from a tree branch. The music was low and sweet, rising as James stepped out from the crowd of dancers and held out his hand to Cordelia.

"Dance with me," he said. He was beautiful in his black frock coat, the darkness of the cloth accentuating the gold of his eyes, the sharpness of his cheekbones. Black hair tumbled over his forehead. "You look beautiful, Daisy."

Cordelia took his hand. She turned her head as he drew her out onto the floor, catching a glimpse of the two of them in the mirror at the far end of the ballroom, James in black and she beside him, in a daring dress of ruby-red velvet. James was looking down at her-no-he was gazing across the room, where a pale girl in an ivory dress, her hair the color of creamy-white rose petals, was looking back at him.

Grace.

"Cordelia!" Matthew's voice made her eyes snap open. Cordelia, feeling dizzy, put a hand against the wall of the changing room for a moment to brace herself. The daydream-daymare? It hadn't turned out to be that pleasant-had been awfully vivid. "Madame Beausoleil wants to know if you require any aid. Of course," he added, his voice full of mischief, "I would render the help myself, but that would be scandalous."

Cordelia smiled. Men did not usually accompany even wives or sisters into a dressmaker's shop. When they had arrived for their first visit, two days ago, Matthew had deployed the Smile and charmed Madame Beausoleil into allowing him to remain in the store with Cordelia. "She does not speak French," he had lied, "and will require my assistance."

But letting him into the shop

Cassandra Clare