"I'm thinking about what the cards don't say," she replied, finally turning the card over. The illustration showed a warrior—not unlike herself—standing before a rising sun, a massive gold-hued blade held aloft. "They show the glory of the hero, the sharp edge of the steel. They never show the hand that bleeds from holding it."
Cordelia didn't look up. James Herondale moved with the quiet grace of a shadow, his presence a constant, low-thrumming ache in her chest. Cordelia_tarot_Cordelia.epub
Cordelia felt the weight of at her hip, the sword that was both her greatest strength and her heaviest burden. She looked from the steel to the paper, realizing that in the world of Shadowhunters, destiny wasn't something you read in the cards—it was something you carved out of the dark, one stroke at a time. "I'm thinking about what the cards don't say,"
The London fog clung to the windows of the Institute like a living thing, damp and heavy. Inside, sat at a mahogany table, her fingers tracing the worn edge of a card from the Shadowhunter Tarot deck. They never show the hand that bleeds from holding it
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