“Wait. Henry Cole met Jules,” Zaria said with triumph, obviously not having listened to a word Kane had said. “They were introduced the day of the heist.”
This didn’t concern Kane. “Cole is the commission’s chief administrator. Just like the prince, he rarely attends any routine meetings now that the Exhibition is open.”
“But what if he does?”
“Then it still won’t matter, because he doesn’t know anything about Julian. He’ll have no reason to question his position.”
“It sounds like a decent enough plan to me,” said Fletcher with a shrug. “We’ll just need to figure out when the next meeting is.”
“I said no,” Zaria snapped as she quite literally put her foot down, the heel of her boot thudding against the floorboard. “When I took Jules’s place here, it was with the understanding that he wouldn’t have to be involved in anything like this.”
The tenuous hold Kane had on his temper snapped. He felt it happen, ire abruptly pouring through him as if from an unstoppered bottle. “When you took his place here,” he said, low and dangerous, “it was with the understanding that you would do as I asked. That was all. There were no further specifications. If I want Julian to help, and if he’s willing, then you willnotstand in the way. Things aren’t the same as last time—this isn’t an equal partnership.”
He’d begun speaking more rapidly as he went on, the words edged with a ferocity that made both Zaria and Fletcher go still. Kane meant it, though: Thingsweren’tthe same as when he and Zaria had worked together last. He would not be swayed by her anger, her contention, or the fire in her dark eyes. His fondness for her had been his undoing once, and he wouldn’t let it happen again. That fondness had died alongside the last shreds of Kane’s humanity. It had died alongside Ward.
He’d already come so close to failing. What had he been thinking, admitting to Zaria that he’d nearly upheld his end of their deal after all? Why had he wanted, even for a moment, to redeem himself in her eyes? It wasn’t as though it mattered. He couldn’t let himself forget what she’d done.
Zaria lifted her chin, as she so often did when he challenged her. Glared at him in that way that made Kane feel like she could see right through to his core. Her lips scarcely moved as she said, “I hate you.”
Good.“I can live with that.”
Fletcher, who had watched their exchange with an unreadable expression, rose to stand. “I told Adam I’d accompany him to the wharf at nightfall. I’d better head out.”
Something inside Kane seemed to collapse as he nodded. Only a short time ago, it would have beenhimand Fletcher going to the wharf. His sole concern would have been how Ward might seek to punish him next. It had felt like a miserable existence at the time. Now, though, Kane was beginning to wonder if he hadn’t understood true misery yet.
True misery felt hollow. It was the knowledge that all action, all effort, was futile. That the only thing left was to feel nothing at all.
“Am I free to go?” Zaria demanded once Fletcher was gone.
Kane busied himself with arranging the stacks of parchment on his desk. “Elijah should be waiting to escort you to your rooms.”
“I thought you’d fired him from being my shadow.”
“No. The few hours of reprieve I gave him were just to clear his head.” Kane felt he’d been extremely forgiving, in light of the circumstances. Then again, Elijah was trustworthy and hardworking, and Kane didn’t want to make him feel badly. Once Elijah had heard what happened with Cleland and Ferrington, it was obvious he’d blamed himself.
“Great.” Zaria leapt to her feet with a scoff. “I’m sure he’ll be as pleasant as ever.”
No sooner was Kane alone than did Tom burst in, chest heaving like he’d just run a lap of Devil’s Acre as opposed to a single flight of stairs. The man looked ill at ease—more so than normal, at least—and it took Kane a minute to realize that it was because ofhim. He didn’t know what he looked like, but it was evidently unsettling.
“Tommy,” he said, making a conscious attempt to relax his face. “What is it?”
“Note was delivered for you.” Tom thrust the envelope across the desk. It was sealed with red wax, the intricate embossing suggesting it had come from someone of import. “The runner said your services are being requested.”
His services as the kingpin, no doubt. If a dispute between a dark market buyer and seller had ensued, Kane would be called upon to resolve it—and punish whichever party hadn’t delivered their side of the agreement.
He broke the seal, dismissing Tom with a wave as he unfolded the piece of paper within. A glance at the signature told him he vaguely recognized the family name of the man who had written; Mister Lombard had purchased from the dark market before, albeit not frequently. It was obvious from the tone of the writing that he was irate, and, as Kane had predicted, he was indeed requesting the kingpin’s help.
What Kanehadn’tpredicted, however, was the name of the intended target. He skimmed the letter a second time, just to make sure he hadn’t misread.
The name of the alchemologist who has refused to deliver, as I understand it, is one Miss Zaria Mendoza.
ZARIA
Zaria didn’t like anything about what was currently happening.
She stood outside Mirko Petrov’s house as Kane rapped his fist against the door. Neither of them had spoken on the way here; Zaria was still furious about the plan to involve Jules in their scheme, but she’d known better than to raise the argument again. Ever since that moment in his office, Kane had given the impression of a coiled snake ready to strike at the slightest provocation. He seemed more distant than ever, moving with swift purpose, the tautness of his jaw never letting up. Not once did he give any indication of wanting to converse, and Zaria was glad for it.
I hate you.
