“Why did you leave me?”
Her voice sounded small, and her cheeks reddened as Cecile pulled back, mouth turning down at the corners. Regret danced inher blue eyes. “I’m so sorry, Zaria. I thought it would be for the best. Where I was going… it wasn’t safe.”
“Because you went to work for the kingpin, you mean.”
Cecile’s thin brows shot up. “You knew?”
“I only just found out,” Zaria admitted. “George told me. Until this week, I’d never thought to ask him. You two didn’t seem to have much to do with each other.”
“That’s true,” Cecile said. “But I expect Itzal told him what happened.”
“Which was what?”
The other woman sighed. “Our parting wasn’t exactly amicable. I don’t wish to cloud your opinion of your father, especially now that he’s gone.”
“I don’t care about that,” Zaria insisted, though a cold sensation trickled through her blood. It wasn’t like her opinion of Itzal wasn’t already tainted, but something about the way Cecile spoke made Zaria wonder whether she wanted to hear what came next.
Cecile’s gaze darted around the space. “Why don’t you first tell me why you went to the trouble of tracking me down? From what I’ve been told, it sounds like you’ve commenced a rather dangerous search.”
The last thing Zaria wanted was to hear Cecile warn her away from seeking a magic source—to remind her what that obsession had cost Itzal. How to make the woman understand? “I was going through my father’s documents recently, and I came across a notation in your hand. I was trying to find out what he knew about primateria sources.” She gritted her teeth. Saying the words aloud brought her frustrations to the surface all over again. “He was desperate to find one. Though he wasn’t successful, I’m positive he must have learned something of use. And Ineedto find one, Cecile. He left everything to me, including his list of commissions.”
Cecile’s eyes flashed with perturbed comprehension. “Oh, Zaria.”
“I need to finish them. I can’t pay back the deposits, and his clients aren’t exactly understanding. I think—I mean, I’m worried they’ll come after me.” There was no point telling Cecile it was already happening. “But I’m so afraid that—”
“That you’ll work yourself to death just like he did,” Cecile finished in a hushed tone. “The deposits… he lost the money, didn’t he?”
Zaria didn’t answer. The question seemed a rhetorical one.
“I’m not surprised.” Cecile coughed a dark laugh. “That’s why I left, you know. We worked so hard, put so much effort into our creations, and then he would lose it all. His shareandmine. It was during this time that Alexander Ward was trying to recruit your father to work exclusively for him. Itzal Mendoza was a well-known name on the dark market, but your father wouldn’t budge. To get Ward off his back, he offered him the next best thing.” She sighed wearily. “Me.”
“What?”
“Your father told Ward I knew everything he did. That I was a better choice because I was without a child to distract me.” Cecile’s expression turned sympathetic, and Zaria stilled. Was that what she’d been to her father? Nothing but an inconvenient distraction from his work? It was the impression he’d given every day of her life, but she never thought she’d hear proof he’d said it aloud. Acid climbed the back of her throat.
“I accepted Ward’s offer,” Cecile said. “What other choice did I have? Itzal was no longer paying me, and life in the slums is difficult. I don’t have to tell you as much. It was a dangerous escape, but one that gave me everything I needed. I left without saying a thing, mostly because I didn’t want you to come searching for me, but also because I didn’t want you to think poorly of me.”
“I wouldn’t have,” Zaria said hoarsely. Even back then, she’d understood desperation. How the need to survive could trump all else. “You’re not working for Ward anymore though, right?”
“No, I’m not.”
There was a heavy pause. It felt as though the crypt air grew heavier around them. “How come?”
Cecile stepped closer, the fabric of her dress whispering across the stone floor. Her eyes reflected the candlelight like twin flames. “I’ll tell you something about working for that man, Zaria,” she said. “It is very,verydifficult to stop.”
Zaria swallowed. “Because he didn’t want to let you leave.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course he didn’t. When you work exclusively for someone, you learn a lot about your employer. With every piece of information I picked up, I knew I was digging myself a deeper hole. Eventually, it became clear there was no turning back. Knowledge is a dangerous commodity. More dangerous than anything we create in our workshops.”
“But youdidleave.”
Cecile splayed her long fingers out before her, staring at them contemplatively. The shape of her mouth was melancholy. “I did. After less than two years, in fact.”
“How?”
“I believe the more pertinent question is why. Truly, I might have been content to stay. The pay was good. I always had work doing what I loved. It was the ideal arrangement, at least on its face. And yet things were not so perfect.” Cecile’s stare turned glassy. “One day, about eight years ago, I went to Ward’s office. I had an idea that I was excited about. You see, Ward wasn’t interested in the search for a primateria source; he wanted me tocreateone, the way Hohenheim once had. He was growing weary of the limits to my creation. Hewas growing weary ofme, and resented his own need for my skill. He wanted to wield magic in his own right, but he couldn’t master it. He wanted a primateria source.
“I worked tirelessly trying to unravel alchemology’s Magnum Opus—the process used to create a primateria source, as you’ll remember. I was attempting to work backward, so to speak, and I hit countless dead ends. I grew weak, sickly.” Cecile gestured down at her thin frame. “I forgot where I was for hours at a time. On the day in question, however, I thought I was having a breakthrough. I left my workshop and ran to Ward’s office at once, intending to let him know.
