I flipped back the long tails of his sleeves and fished about in their velvety depths, wrinkling my nose against his too-sweet perfume, looking for the pocket where he must have hidden my jar, growing more frantic as I found nothing.
His skin slithered against mine as I searched, sickening me. Finally, I found a deep pouch, and pulled out a handful of jars, one containing my half heart. I recognized it immediately, as if it were calling out to the rest of itself. The king stirred a little and groaned, and I jumped.
“Quickly,” urged Sylvester, who had been examining a row of jars on one of the shelves and pocketing those that seemed least affected by the mold.
“I’m coming,” I said. “Give me a pouch. A bag. Anything.” He threw me a cloak, much like my old one, that he had apparently conjured out of thin air. It was warm and clean, with several capacious pockets, into one of which I stuffed the jar.
“You have your heart. Now let us go,” said Sylvester’s voice from above me. He grasped my hand, and I nearly fainted as the spell did its work again and overwhelmed me with false feeling. I was alight with love. I wanted to drop to my knees and kiss his boots. It was horrifying and wondrous all at once.
I could not give in to it, though. I forced myself to stay upright and to move my cramped legs, one-two, one-two, until I was capable of breaking into a run alongside him. Cornelius stared at me from the sorcerer’s shoulder, eyes sharp and bright as tacks.
“Cornelius!” I wanted to hug him, but there wasn’t time. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”
“You too,” he said. “I found him for you.”
“I see that.”
“Come,” said Sylvester, picking up the pace. “We have to hurry.”
I wasn’t about to ask Sylvester any questions right then, although hells knew I had no idea where he had been, how he had gotten away, or why he had chosen to rescue me. I was just grateful to have half my heart left.
I did, however, want to know that we weren’t just going to run into the king’s guard and end up where we started. I stopped, chest heaving, and held myself up with one hand against the wood paneling.
“Oi,” I panted. “Aren’t they going to stop us?”
“No,” he said. Annoyingly, he did not seem out of breath. “I used all the good hearts I could get hold of for that sleeping spell. The entire palace will be asleep for a while. My sisters, too.”
“How long isa while?”
“Long enough for us to get away, I hope,” he said with a ghost of a smile. “My carriage is outside.”
“That great shiny, black thing? The whole world and his wife will know where we are if we parade about in that!”
“We won’t be around long enough for the world and his wife to see us,” said Sylvester. “We can be out of the city within the hour and gone.”
A thought occurred to me. “Millie!”
“What? Who’s Millie?”
“A little girl. Your father took her. To make into a magic-worker. Like he did with you and the little boys.”
“Where is she?” he asked.
“She was being kept where I was. I don’t think I could find it again.”
“What did the room look like?”
“It was a dungeon, I think.”
I described it as best I could. He nodded and started striding down the corridor, his coat spreading out behind him, dark and iridescent as oil against the crimson carpet.
“Where are you going?” I asked, struggling to keep up.
“To find her.”
I was surprised. I hadn’t expected him to care, much less delay us to find her. I trotted after him, unable to match his long stride, and tried to remember the turns we took, but I quickly became confused. The place was almost worse than the House for twisting and turning.
“What will he do to her?” I puffed out. “What did he do toyou?”
