"You got expelled?" James asked. "When? Why?"
"In about four minutes," Matthew said. "Because I broke my solemn word, and exploded the south wing of the Academy."
James and his father both looked at the south wing. It stood, looking as if it would stand for another century.
"I hoped it would not come to this, but it has. I gave Christopher certain materials that I knew he could turn into explosives. I measured them very carefully, I made sure they were slow acting, and I made Thomas swear to bring Christopher away. I have left a note explaining that it was all my fault, but I do not wish to explain this to Mother. Please take me with you to the London Institute, so I can be taught how to be a Shadowhunter with James!"
"Charlotte will cut off my head," said Father.
He sounded tempted, though. Matthew was sparkling wickedly up at him, and Father enjoyed wickedness. Besides which, he was no more immune to The Smile than anyone else.
"Father, please," James said in a quiet voice.
"Mr. Herondale, please!" said Matthew. "We cannot be parted." James braced himself for the explanation about truth and beauty, but instead Matthew said, with devastating simplicity: "We are going to be parabatai."
James stared.
Father said: "Oh, I see."
Matthew nodded encouragingly, and smiled encouragingly.
"Then nobody should come between you," said Father.
"Nobody." Matthew shook his head as he said "nobody," then nodded again. He looked seraphic. "Exactly."
"Very well," said Father. "Everybody get into the carriage."
"Father, you did not steal Uncle Gabriel's carriage again," said James.
"This is your time of trouble. He would want me to have it, and he would have given it to me if I asked him, which as it happens I did not," said Father.
He helped Matthew up, then heaved Matthew's trunk into place and tied it securely. He gave it a puzzled look as he did so. James imagined Matthew's trunk was significantly heavier than James's.
Then he helped James up beside Matthew, and then swung himself up to sit on James's other side. He grasped the reins and they were off.
"When the south wing collapses, there could be flying debris," Father remarked. "Any one of us could be injured." He sounded very cheerful about this. "Best to stop on our way home and see the Silent Brothers."
"That seems excessi--" Matthew began, but James elbowed him. Matthew would learn how Father was about the Silent Brothers soon enough.
Anyway, James did not feel Matthew had a right to characterize anyone else's behavior as excessive, now that he had blown up the Academy.
"I was thinking we could split our training time between the London Institute and my house," Matthew went on. "The Consul's house. Where people cannot insult you, and can get used to seeing you."
Matthew had really meant it about being trained together, James thought. He had worked it all out. And if James was in Idris more often, he could perhaps see Grace more often, too.
"I'd like that," said James. "I know you'd like to see more of your father."
Matthew smiled. Behind them, the Academy exploded. The carriage jolted slightly with the force of the impact.
"We don't . . . have to be parabatai," Matthew said, his voice quiet under the sound of the blast. "I said it to make your father take me with you, so I could execute my new plan, but we don't . . . have to. I mean, unless you . . . maybe want to be."
James had thought he wanted a friend like himself, a parabatai who was shy and quiet and would enter in on James's feelings about the terror of parties. Instead here was Matthew, who was the life and soul of every party, who made dreadful hairbrush decisions, who was unexpectedly and terribly kind. Who had tried to be his friend and kept trying, even though James did not know what trying to be a friend looked like. Who could see James, even when he was a shadow.
"Yes," James said simply.
"What?" said Matthew, who always knew what to say.
"I'd like that," said James. He curled his hands, one around his father's coat sleeve, and one around Matthew's. He held on to them, all the way home.
Shadowhunter Academy, 2008
"So James found a parabatai and everything worked out great," Simon said. "That's awesome."
James was Tessa Gray's son, Simon had realized, a long way into the story. It was strange to think of that: It seemed to bring that lost boy very close, he and his friend. Simon liked the sound of James. He'd liked Tessa, too.
And though he was starting to get the feeling, even without his memories, that he hadn't always liked Jace Herondale--he liked him now.
Catarina rolled her eyes so hard Simon thought he could hear them roll, like tiny, exasperated bowling balls.
"No, Simon. The Academy drove James Herondale out for being different, and all the people who loved him could do was follow him out. The people who drove them out did have to rebuild part of their precious Academy, mind you."
"Uh," said Simon. "Sorry, is the message I'm meant to be learning 'get out, get out as fast as you can'?"
"Maybe," Catarina said. "Maybe the message is to trust your friends. Maybe the message is not that people in the past did badly but that now we must all strive to do better. Maybe the message is you have to work these things out for yourself. You think all lessons have easy conclusions? Don't be a child, Daylighter. You're not immortal anymore. You don't have much time to waste."
Simon took that as the dismissal it was, scooping up his books. "Thanks for the story, Ms. Loss."
He ran down the stairs and out of the Academy, but he was too late, as he'd known he would be.
He was barely out of the door when he saw the dregs, filthy and tired, arm in arm, lurching up from the training grounds. Marisol was in front, her arm looped with George's. It looked as if someone had tried to pull out all her hair.
"Where were you, Lewis?" she called. "We could have used you cheering for us as we won!"
Some way behind them were the elites. Jon was looking very unhappy, which filled Simon with a deep sense of peace.
Trust your friends, Catarina had said.
Simon might speak up for mundies in class, but it mattered more that George and Marisol and Sunil spoke up too. Simon didn't want to change things by being the special one, the exceptional mundane, the former Daylighter and former hero. They had all chosen to come try to be heroes. His fellow dregs could win without him.
There was one more motive Catarina might have had that she had not announced, Simon thought.
She had heard this story from her dead friend Ragnor Fell.
Catarina had listened to her friend's stories, the way James Herondale had listened to his father's stories. Being able to tell the stories over again, having someone to listen and learn, meant her friend was not lost.
Maybe he could write to Clary, Simon thought, as well as Isabelle. Maybe he could trust her to love him despite how often he might fail her. Maybe he was ready to be told stories about himself and about her. He didn't want to lose his friend.
Simon was writing his letter to Clary when George came in, toweling his hair. He had taken his life in his hands and risked the showers in the dregs' bathroom.
"Hey," Simon said.
"Hey, where were you while the game was happening?" George asked. "I thought you were never coming back and I'd have to be pals with Jon Cartwright. Then I thought about being pals with Jon, was overwhelmed with despair, and decided to find one of the frogs I know are living in here, give it little frog glasses and call it Simon 2.0."
Simon shrugged, not sure how much he was supposed to tell. "Catarina kept me after class."
"Careful, or someone might start rumors about you two," said George. "Not that I would judge. She's obviously . . . ceruleanly charming."
"She was telling me a long story about Shadowhunters being jerks and about parabatai. What do you think about the whole parabatai thing, anyway? The parabatai rune is like a friendship bracelet you can never take back."
"I think it sounds nice," said George. "I'd like that, to have someone who would always watch my back. Someone who I could count on at the times when this scary world gets the scariest."
"Makes it sound like there's someone you'd ask."
"I'd ask you, Si," said George, with an awkward little smile. "But I know you wouldn't ask me. I know who you would ask. And that's okay. I've still got Frog Simon," he added thoughtfully. "Though I'm not sure he's exactly Shadowhunter material."
Simon laughed at the joke, as George had meant him to, smoothing over the awkward moment.