It was visibly beating, a solid, steady pulse, and looked almost indecently healthy for something that was not safely housed in her body, save for a blackening around the edges that was slowly creeping across the red.
It didn’t look like a disease or any kind of corruption, though—the heart was just as healthy and alive in the black portions. If anything, it seemed to pulse most strongly in those places.
I was struck by how small she looked, how young. A child, sleeping, with pursed lips and unblemished, almost translucent skin. She should have been tucked into a trundle bed with a ragdoll, not taken apart like a broken toy and displayed thus, indecent and pierced through.
“It’s too late,” said Sylvester from just behind me.
I couldn’t take my eyes from Millie. “It can’t be. We could break the glass ...”
“It would kill her,” said Sylvester flatly. “She is already transforming. There is nothing anyone can do now.”
“What is he doing to her?” I whispered. “What did he do toyou?”
The little girl’s eyes weren’t quite closed. There was a sliver of pale light showing under the shadow of long lashes. Her cheeks, despite her half-starved frame, still had some baby fullness.
“We can’t leave her here,” I said.
“We have no choice. Come.”
I did not move. Sylvester took hold of my shoulder, but gently. “Come,” he repeated. “We cannot help her.”
“Is that what he did to you? To the little boy, I mean?”
“Yes,” said Sylvester flatly. “And now we really do have to go.”
18
We climbed back through a doorway he had created and started back on our way out of the palace. Cornelius hopped back onto the sorcerer’s shoulder, but I was still struggling to keep up. The floor shuddered and strained.
“My father is trying to break free,” said Sylvester.
“How much further?”
“We are almost to the door.”
“I don’t know if I can run much more,” I gasped. My legs were aching, and my feet felt like they were about to fall off. I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath. My hair was plastered to my forehead and neck with sweat, and I’m sure my face was bright red.
“You have to,” he said.
“I’ve been chained up for the better part of a day and all night, not to mention that half my heart has been extracted from my chest. I’m doing well to still be standing,” I snapped.
The sorcerer gave me a searching look and then sighed.
“All right.” He pulled out one of the heart jars. I drew back. I saw him touch his finger to the jar, making the heart inside glow gently. A little of its outer skin crumbled into dust, and then with a queasy lurch, we were outside, on a rain-streaked street somewhere in the city, standing beside the sorcerer’s ridiculously ornate carriage and his unnaturally large horses, their immaculate black coats steaming in the rain.
A passerby bumped into me and swore, then stumbled past me into the night. I felt off-balance after being jerked out of the palace, as if I had missed a step on the stairs. I wondered why I wasn’t freezing, and then realized I was fully dressed again in rich, black clothing and sturdy boots, any trace of the blood and sweat magicked away.
“We need to be careful with our store of hearts,” said Sylvester, tucking the jar away. “We don’t have many, and they will deteriorate rapidly as the rot spreads.”
The inside of the carriage overwhelmed me. There were so many black cushions and furs and rugs that it was like being inside a giant furry animal, if that animal had also swallowed a bellyful of spangles and sparklies.
I had to push several glittering swathes of fabric aside before I could sit myself down. Cornelius found himself a cozy spot and sat neat as a loaf of bread with his front paws tucked under him. Sylvester climbed in after us and closed the door behind him, enclosing us in a suddenly intimate, breathlessly warm space.
I felt my color rising as I smelled his familiar, spicy scent, and remembered all the things I had imagined the magic-workers did inside their carriages with the people they snagged. To distract myself and conceal my embarrassment, I cleared my throat and crossed my arms across my chest forbiddingly.
Sylvester gave a nonchalant flick of the wrist, and the horses outside snorted and started to move with magical swiftness.
“And how many hearts did that take?” I asked drily.
