My hand glances over something else in the bag—something hard and sharp. I nearly jolt back—it almost speared me. Whatever it is in there is sharp enough to cut. Curiosity buzzes through me, and, gingerly and listening for Varia’s movements the whole time, I pull open the strings of the bag. There, glimmering next to the pinkish lump of my heart, is a clear splinter. I reach in and touch it warily—it’s smooth in an unmistakable way. Glass. What is glass doing in a witch’s heart bag?

“Please don’t,” Varia calls from the bathroom, and my hand retracts instantly.

“Why is there glass in there?” I snap.

Varia’s laughter is low. “There’s always glass, Zera. That’s how Heartless containers are made.”

“But,” I start. “Nightsinger had glass jars, and no splinter on the inside—”

“The splinter was in the jar itself,” Varia answers lightly, like I’m an infant asking about the alphabet. “Melted down alongside regular glass. Why do you think so many witches choose to use jars instead of more economical bags? Because it’s a far more elegant solution to combine the two.”

I gnaw my lip, careful to close the bag in such a way that the splinter doesn’t pierce my heart.

“I prefer bags for their…personalization.” She laughs, and my eyes fall on the threaded words on my bag and Gavik’s.

“What’s the purpose of that glass splinter?” I demand. “It could pierce my heart in there—”

“It never will. The splinter is what enchants Heartless containers so. It’s what gives them their magic. It preserves your heart and connects you to your witch. It essentially gives you your immortality.”

I think back to the glass jars in which Nightsinger kept Crav’s and Peligli’s and my hearts. That glass—each of those jars had a splinter melted down into it? Where did the splinters come from in the first place?

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter how I’m kept a prisoner. All that matters is getting out.

“Lucien’s asking about what I’m doing at South Gate,” I call. “Aren’t you worried I’ll tell him?”

“Worried?” Varia muses. “Why should I be? No one who works for me will tell him; I’ve seen to that in numerous ways. And you, certainly, won’t tell him, because he would try to stop us. And that would only imperil your chances of getting your heart back.”

I glare at the fancy carpet. She’s put in words what I’ve always known. I’d keep quiet about the valkerax forever if it meant getting my heart back. But Lucien’s stubbornness alone isn’t the biggest problem.