“Because that is the way the world is,” Ariadne said, her voice shaking, the way it had when she had first asked Anna if she might kiss her. “If I were to tell my parents the truth about myself, if I were to reveal who I really am, they would despise me. I would be friendless, cast out, alone.”
Anna shook her head.
“They would not,” she said. “They would love you. You are their daughter.”
Ariadne drew her hand back from Anna’s. “I am adopted, Anna. My father is the Inquisitor. I do not have parents who are as understanding as yours must be.”
“But love is what matters,” said Anna. “I would have no one but you. You are all to me, Ariadne. I will not marry a man. I only want you.”
“And I want children,” Ariadne said, lowering her voice in case her mother was returning. “Anna, I have always wanted to be a mother, more than anything else in the world. If I had to bear Charles’s touch, it would be worth it for that.” She shuddered. “I shall never, never love him as I love you. I thought you understood—that this would be a bit of happiness we could snatch for ourselves before the world forced us apart. We can love each other for the next year, before Charles returns—we could have that time and always remember it, hold it close to ourselves—”
“But when Charles returned, it would be over,” Anna said coldly. “He would claim you. That is what you are saying.”
“I would not be unfaithful to him, no,” Ariadne said quietly. “I am not a liar.”
Anna stood up. “I think you are lying to yourself.”
Ariadne raised her lovely face. Tears poured down her cheeks; she wiped them away with shaking hands. “Oh, Anna, won’t you kiss me?” she said. “Oh, please, Anna. Do not leave me. Please kiss me.”
She looked at Anna pleadingly. Anna’s breaths were short, and her heart beat a wailing tattoo in her chest. The perfect world she had dreamed of was shattered into a million pieces, turned to dust, and blown away. What replaced it was something cruel and strange. There was not enough air to breathe. Hot tears stung her eyes.
“Good-bye, Ariadne,” she managed, and staggered from the room.
Anna sat on the edge of her bed and cried for a very long time. She cried until no tears came and her body heaved reflexively.
There was a soft knock on her door, and her brother peeked his head in.
“Anna?” he said, blinking his lavender eyes. “Are you all right? I thought I heard something.”
Oh, Christopher. Sweet Christopher. Anna roughly wiped her face.
“I’m fine, Christopher,” she said, clearing her throat.
“Are you sure?” Christopher asked. “Is there nothing I can do to help you? I could perform a saving act of science.”
“Christopher, get along with you.” It was Anna’s mother, appearing silently as a cat in the corridor behind her son. “Go and do something else. Something without explosives,” she added, shooing her second-born off down the hall.
Anna hastily scrubbed the last traces of tears from her eyes as her mother came into her room, carrying a long, beribboned box. She sat down on the bed and looked at her daughter placidly.
As always, Cecily was perfectly dressed and perfectly calm-looking, her dark hair in a smooth chignon at the back of her neck, her dress a becoming blue. Anna couldn’t help but think how ghastly she must look in her nightshirt with her face blotchy and red.
“Do you know why I named you Anna?” Cecily said.
Anna shook her head, puzzled.
“I was awfully ill during my pregnancy,” said Cecily. Anna blinked—she hadn’t known that. “I was worried all the time that you wouldn’t live to be born, or you would be sickly and ill. And then you were born, and you were the most beautiful, healthy, perfect child.” She smiled. “Anna means favor, as in God has favored me. I thought the Angel had favored me with you, and I would make sure you were always happy, always content.” She reached out to gently touch Anna’s cheek. “She broke your heart, didn’t she? Ariadne?”
Anna was speechless. So her mother did know. She had always thought her mother knew that she loved women, and that her father did as well . . . but they had never spoken of it until now.
“I am so sorry.” Cecily kissed Anna’s forehead. “My darling lovely one. I know it does not help to be told it, but someone else will come, and she will treat your heart as the precious gift it is.”
“Mama,” she said. “You do not mind—that I might not get married, or have children?”
“There are many Shadowhunter children orphaned, as Ariadne was, seeking loving homes, and I see no reason why you might not provide one someday. As for marriage . . .” Cecily shrugged. “They said your Uncle Will could not be with your Aunt Tessa, that your Aunt Sophie and Uncle Gideon could not be together. And yet, I think you will find that they were wrong, and they would have been wrong even if marriage had been forbidden them. Even where laws are unjust, hearts can find a way to be together. If you love someone, I have no doubt you will find a way to spend your life with them, Anna. You are the most determined child I know.”
“I am not a child,” Anna said, but she smiled, in some amazement. Ariadne might have disappointed her, but her mother was astonishing her in quite the opposite way.
“Still,” her mother said. “You cannot keep wearing your brother’s clothes.”
Anna’s heart fell. Here it was. Her mother’s understanding could only go so far.
“I thought you didn’t know,” she said in a small voice.
“Of course I knew. I am your mother,” Cecily said as if she were announcing that she were the Queen of England. She tapped the long, ribboned box. “Here is a new outfit for you. Hopefully you will find it suitable for accompanying your family in the park today.”
Before Anna could protest, a loud and demanding cry sounded through the house. Exclaiming “Alexander!” Cecily swept out the door, instructing Anna to meet her downstairs in the sitting room when she was dressed.
Glumly, Anna untied the ribbons holding the box closed. She had received many clothes from her mother in the past. Another pastel silk? Another cunningly constructed dress, meant to make the most of her slight curves?
The ribbons and paper fell away, and Anna gasped.
Inside the box was the most gorgeous suit she had ever seen. Charcoal tweed with a thin blue stripe, the jacket was crisply tailored. A gorgeous silk waistcoat in radiant shades of blue complemented a crisp white shirt. Shoes, braces—nothing had been forgotten.
In a daze, Anna dressed herself and gazed into the mirror. The clothes fit perfectly—her mother must have given her measurements to the tailor. And yet there was still one thing not right.
She tightened her jaw, then crossed the room to get the pair of scissors. Standing before the mirror, she grabbed a thick fistful of hair.
She hesitated for only a moment, Ariadne’s soft voice in her ears.
I thought you understood—that this would be a bit of happiness we could snatch for ourselves before the world forced us apart.
The hair made a satisfying crisp sound as she cut through it. It rained down on the carpet. She took another fistful, then another, until her hair was to her chin. The cut brought her features into sharp relief. She trimmed more in the front, clipped away at the back, until there was just enough to sweep back into a gentlemanly wave.
And now it was perfect. Her reflection gazed back at her, lips curved in an incredulous smile. The waistcoat brought out her eyes; the trousers, the slimness of her legs. She felt she could breathe, even with the ache of Ariadne’s loss in her chest: she might have lost the girl, but she had gained herself. A new Anna, confident, dapper, powerful.
Hearts were broken across London every day. Perhaps Anna might break a heart or two herself. There would be others—lovely girls would come and go, and she would remain in control of her heart. She would never be torn like this again.
She was a Shadowhunter. She would take the blow. She would harden herself and laugh in the face of pain.
Anna descended the stairs soon after. It was late afternoon now, though the sun was still shining bright through the windows. This day would last forever.