It would only hurt Ariadne if she were found here. It was her duty to leave this place.
She kissed Ariadne softly, so as to not wake her. Then she dressed and slipped out the sash window. The dark did not quite obscure her now as she walked through the misty London morning in her men’s clothes. A few people turned their heads to get a second look at her, and she was fairly sure that some of those looks were admiring, even if she was mostly missing one of her sleeves and had lost her hat. She decided to take the longer way home, through Hyde Park. The colors were soft in the sunrise, the waters of the Serpentine still. She felt friendship toward the ducks and the pigeons. She smiled at strangers.
This was what love was. It was total. It brought her together with everything. Anna barely cared if she made it home before someone would notice her missing. She wanted to feel like this forever—exactly this, this soft and fragrant and friendly morning, with the feel of Ariadne still on her skin. Her future, so confused before, was clear. She would be with Ariadne forever. They would travel the world, fight side by side.
Eventually, she had to walk toward her home, where she climbed up to her window with ease. She removed her brother’s clothing and slipped into bed. Within seconds, she dropped into the easy embrace of sleep and felt herself back in Ariadne’s arms.
She woke just before noon. Someone had brought her a tea tray and left it next to her bed. She drank the now-cold tea. She took a cool bath and examined the wound on her arm. The healing runes Ariadne had drawn had done their work. The area was still red and angry, but she could cover it with a shawl. She dressed in her plainest, most severely cut gown—so funny now, to be dressed as a girl—and put a silk shawl over her shoulders, winding it carefully over the damaged arm. She went downstairs. Her mother sat in a sunny corner of the sitting room, little Alexander on her lap.
“There you are,” her mother said. “Are you ill?”
“No,” Anna said. “I was foolish. I stayed up quite late reading a book.”
“Now I know you are ill,” her mother said with a smile, which Anna returned.
“I need to take a walk in the sunshine. It is such a lovely day. I shall go see Lucie and James, I think, and discuss my book with them.”
Her mother gave her a curious look, but agreed.
Anna did not walk to the Herondale house. She turned instead toward Belgravia, stopping to buy a bunch of violets from an old woman selling them in the street. Her steps were light. The world was perfectly arranged, and all things and beings in it were worthy of love. Anna could have done anything in that moment—fought off a hundred demons at once, lifted a carriage over her head, danced on a wire. She passed along the pavements she had been on only hours before, back to her love.
At the house off of Cavendish Square, Anna knocked once, then stood nervously on the step, looking up. Was Ariadne in her room? Would she look down?
The door was opened by the Bridgestocks’ unsmiling servant.
“The family is receiving guests at the moment, Miss Lightwood. Perhaps you would like to wait in the—”
At that moment, the reception-room door opened, and the Inquisitor walked out with a young man who had familiar features and red hair—Charles Fairchild, Matthew’s brother. Anna rarely saw Charles. He was always somewhere, usually Idris. He and the Inquisitor were mid-conversation.
“Oh.” Inquisitor Bridgestock said, seeing Anna. “Miss Lightwood. How fortuitous. Do you know Charles Fairchild?”
“Anna!” Charles said with a warm smile. “Yes, of course.”
“Charles will be the interim head of the Paris Institute,” the Inquisitor said.
“Oh,” Anna said. “Congratulations. Matthew didn’t tell me.”
Charles rolled his eyes. “I imagine he thinks of such things as political aspirations as crass and bourgeois. What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Anna and Ariadne have been training together,” the Inquisitor explained.
“Ah,” Charles said. “Excellent. You must visit us in Paris sometime, Anna.”
“Oh,” Anna said, not knowing what we Charles was talking about. “Yes. Thank you. I shall.”
Ariadne stepped out of the morning room. She wore a dress of fresh peony pink, and her hair was coiled on her head. On seeing Anna, her cheeks flushed. Charles Fairchild stepped ahead with Inquisitor Bridgestock, and Ariadne stepped up to her.
“I did not expect to see you so soon,” she said to Anna in a low voice.
“How could I keep away?” Anna replied. Ariadne was wearing her perfume again, and it wafted lightly through the air. Orange blossom was Anna’s favorite scent now.
“Perhaps we can meet later,” Ariadne said. “We are—”
“I will be back again in a year’s time,” Charles said, concluding whatever conversation he was having with Inquisitor Bridgestock. He returned to them, bowed, took Ariadne’s hand, and kissed it formally.
“I hope to see more of you when I next return,” he said. “It should not be more than a year.”
“Yes,” Ariadne replied. “I would like that very much.”
“Anna!” Mrs. Bridgestock said. “We have a parrot. You must see it. Come.”
Suddenly, Anna found that Mrs. Bridgestock had hooked her by the arm and was gently leading her into one of the other rooms, where there was a large multicolored parrot in a massive gold cage. The bird cawed loudly on their approach.
“It is a very nice bird,” Anna said, confused, as Mrs. Bridgestock shut the door behind them.
“I do apologize, Anna,” she said. “I just needed to give the two of them the chance to properly say their farewells. These things can be so delicate. I am sure you understand.”
Anna did not understand, but there was a creeping numbness coming over her.
“It is our hope that they might wed in a few years’ time,” Mrs. Bridgestock went on. “Nothing has been settled, but it is such a good match.”
The parrot screeched and Mrs. Bridgestock went on talking, but Anna heard only a ringing in her ears. She could still taste Ariadne’s kiss on her lips; she saw Ariadne’s dark hair spread out on the pillow. Those things had happened just hours before, and yet it was like a hundred years had passed and the world had grown cold and unfamiliar.
The door opened again, and a quiet Ariadne joined them.
“Has mother introduced you to Winston?” she said, looking at the parrot. “She dotes on him. Aren’t you a nasty beast, Winston?”
She said it warmly, and Winston the parrot danced along his rail and extended a foot to Ariadne.
“Did you have a fruitful discussion?” her mother asked.
“Mother!” Ariadne protested. She was a little pale, but her mother seemed not to notice. “Please, may I speak to Anna?”
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Bridgestock said. “You girls have a good chat. I’ll have the cook make up some nice strawberry lemonade and some biscuits.”
When she left, Anna stared blankly at Ariadne.
“You are to be married?” she said, her voice gone dry. “You cannot marry him.”
“Charles is quite a good match,” Ariadne said as if she were discussing the quality of a piece of cloth. “Nothing has been settled, but we should reach an agreement soon. But come, Anna, come. Sit.”
Ariadne took Anna’s hand and led her over to one of the sofas.
“That won’t be for at least another year or more,” Ariadne said. “You heard Charles. It’s a year before I even see him again. All of that time, I will spend with you.”
She drew a small circle on the back of Anna’s hand with her finger, a gentle motion that took Anna’s breath away. Ariadne was so beautiful, so warm. Anna felt like she was being torn to pieces.
“Surely you cannot wish to marry Charles,” said Anna. “There is nothing wrong with him, but he is—do you love him?’
“No,” Ariadne said, clutching Anna’s hand tighter. “I do not love him that way, or any man that way. All my life, I have looked at women and known only they could pierce my heart. As you have pierced it, Anna.”
“Then why?” Anna said. “Why marry him? Because of your parents?”