“Tell me.”
There was a beat of strained quiet. Then Kane said savagely, “I regret that it had to come to that. I’d rather it hadn’t. But no, I don’t regret killing Ward. I only regret that he ever made me love him in the first place.”
Zaria’s unease must have shown on her face, because he didn’t stop there.
“Don’t try to humanize me. I’ve always been able to see it—the way you want to pry and prod and chip away at my exterior, to see if there’s a different version of me underneath. A version you can understand. A redeemable one. But there isn’t, okay? Don’t delude yourself into thinking I care about any of it. Not anymore.”
Zaria pressed up onto her tiptoes, hands fisted at her sides. She knew she ought to retreat, to go back inside and not provoke him any further, yet she didn’t seem to be able to help herself. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be out here firing rounds into a piece of old lumber. You wouldn’t be staring into space like you’ve just seen your whole world ripped away. You wouldn’t bedrunk.”
Kane’s fingers twitched around the gun, and for a heartbeat she thought she’d pushed him too far. That he would snap the way he’dsnapped in her old workshop, and this time it would be her body that crumpled to the ground. Now, finally, she felt the true fear she should have experienced the moment she forced herself back into Kane Durante’s life. Despite everything, a not-insignificant part of her hadn’t truly believed he would hurt her.
Now she knew just how foolish she’d been.
He didn’t shoot her, though. Instead, he stowed the gun in his waistband, expression immovable. “I ought to thank you.”
Caught off guard, it took Zaria a moment to form a reply. “For what?”
“Making me realize I’m not as much like Ward as I’d thought.” Kane stepped around her, then paused, tossing a glance over his shoulder. “If I were, you’d be dead.”
ZARIA
Silence hung between them as Kane led Zaria back to her rooms. She didn’t dare puncture it, not even when they passed a furious-looking Elijah. Zaria didn’t take the boy’s glare to heart; he would undoubtedly receive a verbal lashing from Kane later for what had transpired in his absence.
Once she was alone again, she endeavored to get a couple more hours’ rest, but her sleep was interspersed with dreams she couldn’t make sense of. Some of them featured her father. Most of them featured Kane. In one, he was chasing her through the manor’s side yard, gun raised. In another, he turned the weapon on himself.
Zaria lurched into consciousness just as her dream-self tried to scream. After dragging herself from the bed over to the desk, she tried to calm her racing heart by penning a note to Jules. In it, she did her best to apprise him of the situation with the Curator, assured him of her well-being, and apologized again for the trade she’dnegotiated. It was torturous, not being able to see him. Not knowing how he’d reacted when Kane told him to leave, and not knowing if he was angry with her.
After all, hadn’t she done the very thing he’d always resented—tried to keep him safe regardless of his thoughts on the matter? Jules didn’t yet know about Vaughan’s request for the ledger, and she didn’t have a way to tell him. Not when Kane was sure to read her correspondence, assuming he let her send it at all.
It was midafternoon when a knock sounded on her bedroom door. She expected it to be a late tea—Adam had delivered her breakfast and lunch, since Elijah had presumably been relieved of his duties for the time being—but she was taken aback to see Kane standing there, clad in a fine suit and polished boots. With his acute gaze and stiff shoulders, he looked nothing like he had several hours ago.
“Get yourself in order,” he said curtly. “We’re going to the Exhibition.”
He was gone as quickly as he’d appeared. Muttering under her breath, Zaria did as he’d requested, readying herself and hurrying down to the foyer. She found Kane waiting by the front door, which he opened without meeting her eyes. She stepped into the pale sunlight and didn’t bother to thank him—if he intended to forego niceties, then she would do the same.
He caught up to her easily enough, his soft footfalls slowing as he drew up at her side. Zaria continued to ignore him, focusing instead on the end of the street.
“I hope you’re prepared to be professional today,” Kane said finally, and she spun around.
“You’rejoking.”
His tone was wry. “Rarely.”
“You’re the one who barged into my rooms without so much as agood day. And that’s not to mention your behavior early this morning.”
“I didn’t barge in,” he pointed out. “I knocked.”
Zaria wasn’t about to argue semantics. “Iam more than capable of being professional. If I weren’t, I never would have agreed to work for you.”
“Need I remind you that it was your idea?”
Rather than reply, she bit down hard on her tongue, recommitting herself to winning his trust back. They didn’t speak again for the duration of the walk. Hyde Park wasn’t a great distance away, but it seemed to take an eternity to get there. Despite the animosity crackling between them, Kane never detached himself from Zaria’s side, and her face heated whenever she felt the press of his attention. She refused to turn and confirm it, though, not wanting to inadvertently meet his eyes. When at last they approached the Crystal Palace, her legs felt oddly wooden.
Just as they had the first time, the masses drawn by the Exhibition took Zaria’s breath away. Despite having been open for over a week, the crowd appeared only to have grown. Everything was noise and jostling movements and unfamiliar faces swimming in and out of her periphery. It made her want to turn tail and sprint back to Devil’s Acre, which at least had the type of chaos she was accustomed to.
“Five shillings,” Kane said without preamble, and she squinted at him.
“What?”
