“I’m ready, and I mean it. I forgive you.” Now he looked Kane in the eye. “You would’ve died for me last night. Besides, it’s ridiculous, holding a grudge just because I feel like I ought to. I hate it. I hate being alone, and I hate watching you beat yourself up, and Ihate pretending I don’t know you as well as I know myself.” Fletcher’s throat worked. “We’re brothers.”
“Brothers,” Kane agreed, and the well of emptiness inside him seemed to crack, emotion rushing back in all at once. Had he still known how to cry, he might have done just that. He should have thanked Fletcher. He should have apologized again, then a hundred more times. When he finally spoke again, though, it wasn’t what he’d meant to say.
“I killed him, Fletch.” His tone was even, but the crack in his voice betrayed him. “Ikilledhim.”
Fletcher didn’t respond. He didn’t have to. He understood Kane’s relationship with Ward—knew firsthand how much Kane had both needed and hated the man. It was better that he was gone. Kane knew that. He couldn’t regret what he’d done. But that didn’t mean he didn’t lie awake each night remembering the look in the kingpin’s eyes when he’d realized his prodigy was going to end his life. Kane couldn’t get it out of his head, that look, no matter how much whiskey he drank or how many bullets he fired at a target.
“I hated Ward,” Kane whispered. “So much. I hated myself for loving him, and now I hate myself for killing him. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
And Fletcher—steady, perceptive Fletcher, who had always been far too good for Kane—simply lay a hand on his knee, grounding him with a touch as they both stared wordlessly into the dimming light.
“You should show that letter to Zaria,” Fletcher said when either minutes or hours had passed. “This changes everything for her.”
It was true, Kane thought. He wouldn’t be the only one to have an unpleasant revelation about his parents today.
Strange, really, how he sorely wished he could have been.
ZARIA
Zaria once again found herself with Jules, Kane, and Fletcher in her bedroom. This time it wasn’t at all uncomfortable, though that likely had to do with the letter she currently held in shaking fingers.
“I don’t understand,” she said again. Jules, who had been reading over her shoulder, put a hand on her arm, but Zaria scarcely felt it. She stumbled, thrusting the letter back at Kane as if being further away from the words would make them less true. Theycouldn’tbe true.
They know Itzal Mendoza was successful in creating a primateria source, and that he subsequently attempted to get rid of it.
Nobody said a word, and Zaria shook her head, feeling entirely unmoored. “Cecile must have made a mistake, or else was lying to Ward. My father never created a primateria source. He was only trying tofindone, and he was never successful.”
As she spoke, however, she thought back to the day Itzal destroyed his work. The frenzied voracity with which he’d shredded the parchment and tossed it into the fire, muttering curses to himself. How he’d refused to answer a single one of her questions about the whole affair. The way he’d seemed almost paranoid in the days following, always glancing toward the door as if expecting someone dangerous to materialize on the threshold. Zaria hadn’t been able to understand it. She’d put it down to his illness, which became increasingly serious in the days following. He was losing control of his faculties—that was all. Such a thing wasn’t unheard of when it came to alchemologists.
Now, though, shewondered. Flipped through each of her memories with a changed perspective. Strange, really, that her father had gone from being so single-minded in his pursuit of a primateria source to abruptly destroying his research. Confounding, the way he’d barred her from his workshop for hours at a time, despite claiming he wanted her to know everything there was to know about alchemology. It had happened so fast: his change of heart, his odd behavior, his swift decline in health.
“Oh my God.” Zaria put a hand to the collar of her dress and yanked it away from her warm skin. She needed to breathe. She needed more room to think. She sidestepped Jules, ignoring his murmured questions, and sank onto the bed. “My fathercreated a primateria source. He did it, and it killed him.”
“There’s no solid proof of that,” Jules said, but Zaria shook her head again. The pieces were beginning to fit together.
“I thought he was going mad,” she whispered, “but he must have realized what he’d done. That he would become a target.”
“Or maybe he realized it was too much power for any alchemologist to wield,” suggested Kane. Zaria’s attention snapped to him; he appeared drained. Unwell. There was a faraway look in his hazeleyes, and his shoulders were stiff. He had to be in pain—on top of the incisions she’d made in his torso, an alchemological dart left a person uncomfortable until the chemicals exited their system.
Zaria returned her gaze to the letter and read the second half. “Oh.” The word came out of her in awhooshas she glanced back up. “Kane—”
“Don’t,” he said sharply. “It doesn’t matter. That part isn’t relevant.”
“Isn’trelevant?”
Fletcher shot her a pointed look that urged caution, and Zaria let the subject drop. Kane almost never spoke of his parents, but it was clear from the way he held himself that he hadn’t known about their so-called betrayal.
“Okay,” said Jules, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had fallen. “So we know Cecile was still working for Ward. We also know the Scriniarii has—or had—a plan. One that involved the Magnum Opus. Call me a fool, but I don’t think it’s a stretch to assume the Curator is connected to the Scriniarii somehow. Maybe he’s a member. Or a former one, at least.”
Zaria released the collar of her dress with an exhale. “If my father did create a primateria source, it means he was successful in re-creating the Magnum Opus. If the Scriniarii knew about this, then maybetheywere the ones trying to find it.”
“And they did,” Kane said dryly. “If they’re still active, and the Curator is a member, then they have what they wanted.Ifwe’re right about the Curator having a primateria source.”
Fletcher cracked his knuckles. “We’re relying on a lot of hypotheticals here.”
“Louisa said the Scriniarii’s goal was to make alchemology accessible to everyone,” Zaria murmured, mostly to herself. “If they could get their hands on a primateria source, they…” She trailed off as herbrain began outpacing her mouth. Her limbs went numb. “Holy shit. Bring me a piece of paper.”
Jules snatched a stack of parchment from her desk, handing it to her alongside a pen. There was a deep furrow between his brows. “What’s wrong?”
