“Secretly, yes. She wants it to become accepted. Another subject for the wealthy to tutor their children in.”
“That will never happen. Not while the queen is on the throne.”
Maisie spread her hands wide, her expression troubled. “Thisisn’t about logic, Zaria. It never is with people like Aurora. But the worst part is, she might actually have a chance of making it work. She believes she has the skill to carry out the Magnum Opus, and she’s found a way to replicate the primateria source by channeling animundi.”
“Animundi?” The word struck a chord of familiarity in Zaria, though she was loath to admit she couldn’t place its meaning. Something about the way Maisie said it had apprehension prickling the back of her neck.
“It’s the energy of the collective. Aurora has found a way to steal people’s energy, their life force, without their consent. That’s what the devices at the Exhibition have been harvesting.”
Zaria was nodding. “We did figure out that much. Enough different people attend the Crystal Palace each day that they’re unlikely to notice any ill effects.”
“Right. As I understand it, the fourth and final device was installed in the Exhibition last night, so everything’s ready to go. Essentially, the plan is to generate enough carmot that alchemologists will never again be limited by the amount of magic they’re able to produce.”
“And once she has that magic, Aurora’s first course of action is to ruin people’s lives.” Zaria felt vaguely sick. “Great.”
Maisie gave a rapid nod. “Yes. But in order to do any of that, she needs—”
“The blood of the original creator,” Zaria said quietly. “In order to effect a proper transmutation or replication, you require the life force of the practitioner themselves. That would have been my father. With him dead, I’m the closest thing there is.”
“Right,” Maisie said again. Her dark gaze was wary, gauging Zaria’s reaction as though she expected her to… what? Scream? Cry? Beat her fists against the floor?
Zaria didn’t do any of that. She didn’t have the energy. All she felt was a deep, yawning pit of emptiness. If Aurora planned to keep making carmot using Itzal’s primateria source as a guide, it was possible she would require Zaria foryears. Was that her mother’s intention? To keep her captive and siphon her life force slowly, bit by agonizing bit?
“I’m hardly a good person,” Maisie went on with a brittle laugh, “but I don’t want that for anyone. Not even you. I certainly don’t want to see innocent citizens harmed.”
“I wouldn’t have thought you cared about that,” Zaria admitted. “It’s difficult enough for people like us to make a life in London. Why do you care what happens to those in the slums?”
Maisie gave a wry twist of her mouth. “I’m Irish, Mendoza. I know the kind of damage that results from too much power. I’ve seen the suffering. I’velivedit. I was sent to London when I was only a child, alone and with nothing at all. Everyone is just trying to survive in the best way they know how, and I’ll be damned if I stand by and let people like Aurora Vaughan make it harder for them.” She paused. “You know, I believe that’s why nobody ever found Hohenheim’s original primateria sources. I think he made sure they wouldn’t be able to. I think he realized the kind of power they held, and saw how dangerous it could be.”
“Then what are we going to do about it?”
Maisie proffered a hand. “There’s no use trying to escape yet. Not when we’re this far outside of the city. Once we get to the palace, though, I’ll distract Aurora, and you need to run.”
“How are you going to do that?” Zaria let the other girl pull her to her feet, draping an arm over Maisie’s shoulders as her shaky legs protested.
She felt Maisie’s silent laugh beside her. “I’m going to shoot the bitch.”
ZARIA
The stagecoach trundled in the direction of Hyde Park, the sound of the rain deafening against the wooden roof. Zaria sat on one side of the bench next to Maisie. Aurora and Pritchard were on the other side. She could hardly stand it, looking into her mother’s smug face, knowing what she was planning.
Aurora didn’t appear remotely concerned. Her expression was placid, serene, as she stared out the window. Zaria supposed there was no reason for her mother to be worried about gaining access to the Crystal Palace; after all, she’d managed it three times already. Still, she might’ve expected a little more emotion from the woman who was about to bleed her unwilling daughter of her life force.
Pritchard, on the other hand, was having difficulty containing his anticipation. The corners of his mouth kept twitching into a smile, and his left knee bobbed incessantly. It was almost disturbing, watching the way he and Aurora interacted. He was like a dog andshe the handler, murmuring only a single word of instruction to get him to obey. Pritchard wasn’t the only one, either. Another stagecoach followed behind them, this one carrying Shaw and a couple others Zaria hadn’t recognized. Trusted members of the Scriniarii, no doubt. Sad, really, that the group Louisa had described as being so committed to knowledge had devolved in this way.
Maisie sat motionless at Zaria’s side, her gun pointed at Zaria’s leg as per Aurora’s instruction. She didn’t want her daughter dead, she’d said, only maimed, in the event that she tried to run. Zaria didn’t have to feign her tension, but it wasn’t because of Maisie’s weapon. She couldn’t stand it, being this close to her mother, surrounded by choking silence. She’d never wanted to see someone hurt quite so badly.
What did it mean, that Zaria was the product of two people such as Itzal and Aurora? Two people whose lives had revolved around magic and power, and neither of whom had ever really loved her. Perhaps it was no surprise she’d agreed to Kane’s proposition that night he appeared at the pawnshop and asked her to help him commit a crime. Perhaps it was no wonder she was drawn to him, that boy who didn’t seem to possess any regular person’s idea of a moral compass.
Perhaps it was to be expected that she was prepared to watch her own mother die.Hopedfor it.
Maisie would come through. She had to. And then Zaria would have to hope her legs had recovered enough for her to run like hell.
It felt like ages before the stagecoach jolted to a stop. Zaria could see the Crystal Palace through the pelting rain outside the window, the glass walls dark and inscrutable. She cut Maisie a sidelong glance. She didn’t know what the other girl’s plan was. When she would strike, or whether she would even follow through. The air felt thick with humidity and foreboding.
“Get out,” Aurora barked. “And be quick about it.”
Maisie nodded at Zaria, indicating that she should exit the stagecoach first. Zaria obliged, her heart thundering as she stepped onto the gravel path separating the Crystal Palace from the rest of Hyde Park. Wet rocks shifted beneath her feet, and she screwed up her face in an effort to see through the rain. There was a clacking noise as the second stagecoach approached, and Aurora turned to watch it, her hair beginning to lose its careful curl in the elements.
