The Paper Magician (The Paper Magician Trilogy, #1)(56)

Her fingers fluttered over the shield chain around her torso, pinching each link to test its security. After checking the entire chain twice, she called Fennel with a whistle and a snap.

Emery stepped aside to let the paper dog pass. Fennel’s expertly crafted paws left four-toe prints in the thin layer of dust covering the dry, flat earth, but the prints vanished nearly as quickly as they appeared.

“I need you to fold up, Fennel,” Ceony said. Fennel whined and she added, “I don’t want you to get hurt again, and it’s wet outside. Just for a little while.”

“Will it be?” Emery asked, once more scanning the expanse. “Just a little while?”

Ceony gave him a soft smile before commanding Fennel, “Cease.”

Fennel stilled in her arms, and she folded him softly in her freckled hands. “Your doubtful side isn’t very strong,” she remarked. “You must be sure about a great many things.”

Emery didn’t answer.

Tucking Fennel far down into her bag, she said, “I think mine would look much different. More cliffs and surging rivers, or lots of roads with unexpected turns. Maybe even some lions. I’ve been doubtful about a lot of things in life.” Including you.

“But no cracks,” Emery commented.

Ceony glanced over her shoulder to the chasm rupturing the land, wondering for a moment how much more sand had fallen into it since her hurried paper lessons. “Plenty of cracks, but no canyons. Not yet,” she affirmed. I guess it all depends on how this goes.

She stood, brushed off her skirt—for what good it did her—tested the shield chain for the third time, and checked the stitches of her bag’s strap. She had memorized the location and number of all the spells within the bag already, should she need to retrieve them quickly.

“Good luck,” Emery said.

“Thank you,” she replied. “But how will you—”

Ceony turned to him, but met only the stretch of empty, predawn space beyond the canyon. The paper magician—at least this version of him—had disappeared.

She barely had time to recognize Emery’s absence before the ground began to quake. Ceony reached out for something to steady herself with, but of course she found nothing amidst her barren surroundings.

The land shook in broader and broader patterns, bucking back and forth like a rodeo bull. Ceony took two steps away from the chasm before she stumbled to one knee and skinned her palm on the hard earth, which had begun to fade, revealing deep red flesh beneath it.

The vision slowly collapsed. The sky broke like shards of glass. The heart’s PUM-Pom-poom drummed so loudly Ceony felt it in her lungs. The pulse accelerated and the last of the vision faltered.

The walls of Emery’s heart throbbed and rippled. The beat grew uneven, and Ceony’s breath quickened. It didn’t sound right; it didn’t feel right. If Emery’s heart destroyed itself trying to free her . . .

Her hands turned cold. A world without Emery Thane. Her entire world up until a month ago had existed without him, but to go back to it now . . . The thought made Ceony sick. It crushed her.

The rivers of blood lining the perimeter of the chamber engorged and rose. The air grew thicker and hotter, as if she hung over a pot of boiling water, ready for cooking. The heart wrenched one way, then another, and Ceony felt herself fall.

She landed on her side, her left cheek pressed to wet, rough rock. Damp, cool air encircled her, clinging to her clothes and skin. Tasting of salt. She heard the sounds of swishing and spurting nearby—waves crashing against rocks.

Pale sunlight filtered through the mouth of the black cave. The sharp cry of a gull startled her to alertness.

She was free.

“You did it,” Ceony whispered, pushing herself to her feet and spinning to the rocky shelf that still held Emery’s beating heart in its pool of enchanted blood. Still beating, but even weaker than before. She could still save him, if she hurried.

She hoped.

Her eyes shot back to the cave’s mouth. Morning. Early morning. But had it been one night, or two? Exhaustion pinched the center of Ceony’s muscles and the edges of her brain, but it could not tell her how many hours had accumulated.

Ceony swallowed, realizing for the first time just how thirsty she was.

She approached the heart like a priestess to an altar. Would it need its pool of gold-rimmed blood to survive the trip back to London? It had beat in Lira’s hand after she had pulled it from Emery’s chest without a spell—at least, without any Ceony could see. Then again, she knew little of the working of magicians’ hearts, and almost nothing of Excision.

She needed something safe to carry the heart in, but as she considered her options the salty air began to burn her nose, and the blond hairs on her arms stood on end. Licking her lips, Ceony turned around to face Lira, whose dark hair fell in perfect, lush waves over her narrow shoulders, whose dark eyes narrowed to lightless almonds, and whose red lips curled into a sneer.

Setting her jaw, Ceony stepped away from the heart. She would allow no spell of Lira’s to miss her and strike it. She would keep Emery’s heart safe, especially from the woman who had treated it so very poorly.

If the Excisioner was surprised to see Ceony, she didn’t show it. Her pale skin flushed almost prettily with anger, or perhaps hate. Ceony couldn’t be sure—such loathing had never been directed at her before. Not to this magnitude.