"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
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. "I'm thinking about what the cards don't say,"