“James, no.” Matthew started toward him, the wind whipping his blond hair. “You can’t agree to that—”
“He’s right.” Cordelia caught at James’s arm. “James, please—”
James turned toward her. “This was always going to happen, Daisy,” he said, catching urgently at her hands. “You have to believe me, believe in me, I can—”
Cordelia screamed as her hands were torn from his. She was lifted off her feet—it was as if a hand were gripping her, squeezing her. She was flung aside like a doll; she hit the stone steps with a force that knocked the breath from her body.