13
I cried myself to sleep that night. Of course I did. It was my first kiss, and it had been given without love or even the mildest affection, as an experiment. To him it was nothing, and to me it was everything.
I cried for my cursed heart, and for the misfortune of my birth, and for my Da, and for the knowledge that I was trapped here with no chance of freeing myself, at the whim of a magic-worker who didn’t even want me.
I was an accident, as usual. I should never have been snagged, never should have come here, just as I had always believed I was never meant to be alive at all. I gave in to self-pity entirely and soaked my black pillow with tears that were absorbed by the House’s magic, leaving the cloth dry and cool as ever.
This made me feel even more as if my tears didn’t matter—didn’t have any impact on the dreadful blank blackness of the House and of the sorcerer’s heart. Cornelius curled himself around my head, letting his tail fall across my neck like a scarf, and tried to purr the sobs out of me as best he could.
I spent a restless night, as you can imagine, thoughts scurrying about like ants. I thought about making a run for it, trying to go home to Da, but I couldn’t see how I’d be much better off once the heartsickness kicked in, in force again. I’d probably end up staggering back within an hour, begging to be allowed to serve the sorcerer all over again.
The only chance I had was to stay here and hope that he would stir himself and put some effort into learning how to undo the spell or mend me somehow (fat chance of that).
Or, I suppose, hope that he would just finish the spell and take my heart and put me out of my misery before his sister could. Or perhaps the Snagged were right and their method really would work. They were fast becoming my only hope.
I thought about the sorceress’s manservant, too. Colin. He had shown a flicker of remaining humanity, right at the end. Would he be able to help me? Or, if I found some solution, wouldIbe able to helphim? I had to try at least, didn’t I?
I woke up without any sort of solid plan, but with a raging headache that made me grump about the room as I got dressed and glower at Cornelius when he mewed. The House stayed out of my way as I stomped through to the kitchen, making the floors especially smooth and obstacle-free for me, and the kettle boiled in record time on the stove. I made a cup of tea so strong that it could have dissolved a spoon and swallowed it all down while I stared at the fire.
“Why are you in such a bad mood?” Cornelius asked me.
“That shiny bint in the fancy dress told her brother to harvest me, and he’s going to do it. If not today, then someday soon. Or she will.”
“He wouldn’treally,” said Cornelius. “He likes you.”
“He’s amused by me,” I corrected, “and only sometimes, at that. And it sounds as if he might not have much of a choice, if she’s making him. Or if the king is making him.”
“So, you’re leaving.” Cornelius stared at me with wide eyes. I could almost see the word “bacon” imprinted on his little forehead.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m thinking about it. I don’t know if it’s even possible for me to leave, but I might have to try. I’m sure the House will give you more bacon if I go, now that you’ve got a taste for it.”
“It’s not that.” Cornelius washed his chest quickly, as he did when he was embarrassed. “Could you take me with you?”
“You want to come with me?” I was startled.
“I don’t want to stay here,” he said.
“But you said it wasn’t a bad life.”
“It’s not. But it’s not a particularly good one, either.”
“It’s a long road.” And we’re not fancy back home, like him.”
“I don’t mind. I’m a good mouser. I think.” Cornelius paused. “Actually, I don’t know how I would do with real mice now. I’m a bit out of practice.”
“We have a butcher’s shop,” I said.
His eyes brightened. “Well, that’s perfect, then,” he said. “Plenty of meat.”
“Right,” I said, still a bit startled. “Well, if I do leave, I’ll bring you with. Like I said, though, I don’t know if I can.” Something occurred to me. “Will you still be able to talk, away from the House?”
“I wouldn’t think so,” said Cornelius. “Which is a pity, because I’m getting quite good at it. I think it’s something the House gives me, and outside of the House, I don’t see how I’d be able to keep it.” He looked at me a little uncertainly. “Would I still be good company, if I just mewed like any other cat?”
I felt an ache in my heart. “Oh, yes,” I said. “You would always be good company, Cornelius.”
“Oh. Good,” he said, and looked away as if he was thinking of something else. There was a pleased tremble to his whiskers, though.
I suppose the House had been listening and wanted to distract me, creaking open one of the drawers in the kitchen. I was used to the House’s ways of communication by now.
