Chapter 31 Kane
KANE
Kane shouldn’t have kissed Zaria again.
He knew that. Quite apart from the fact that it had been entirely the wrong time, he’d just spent the better part of twenty-four hours convincing himself that it was done.
He’d spoken his truth, gotten to taste her the way he’d yearned to since that day in the workshop, and then told himself to disconnect.
That brief moment was all they would have.
It was all they could have. No matter how hard Kane tried, he couldn’t conjure a scenario in which they could be together.
Zaria might believe she wanted him, but Kane knew it wasn’t enough.
He was trapped in his role, and she would never be happy at his side.
There was a reason he’d never seen Ward in any kind of romantic relationship.
It was too dangerous, and no one in their right mind would willingly choose that type of life.
Besides, he and Zaria were barely adults.
This—obsession, if that’s what it was, would pass when they were no longer in close proximity.
Zaria would find someone who loved her in the way of a regular, redeemable man, and Kane would find his way back to feeling nothing at all.
So why did he want so badly to claw his heart from his chest? Why did this kind of agony rival any alchemological dart?
He shouldn’t have been thinking about any of this.
Not now, while he was watching the Royal Commission wrap up their meeting.
It had to have been at least two hours. Kane’s entire body was sore, the wound in his torso most of all, but he barely felt it.
He was too busy digesting the fact that he had failed.
Two hours of watching these men interact, and he still didn’t have a clue who the Curator might be.
At first, he’d had high hopes—a small group of men had been arguing before the meeting commenced, but one of them left right after that and didn’t return, leading Kane to wonder whether the man had been a member of the commission at all.
Otherwise, the meeting had gone rather as he might have expected.
The devices at the Exhibition were the main topic of discussion, and though there were a few moments of polite disagreement, none of the interactions suggested one member had a bone to pick with the others.
Kane had been a fool to think he would be able to identify the Curator simply by seeing him.
The culprit could be sitting here right now, smiling and nodding in agreement, not saying a word.
The deadline to deliver a name to Price was tomorrow. Kane didn’t have time to explore any other avenues. If he couldn’t find the true culprit, then he needed a scapegoat. He certainly wasn’t about to let it be him.
“Have we covered everything?” boomed the man who seemed to have led much of the discussion, dragging Kane’s attention back to the table below.
“Are we planning to feed The Times any more information about what’s happening at the Exhibition?” another man said. “At this point, the intrigue is substantial.”
That had Kane sitting bolt upright. He held his breath as the first man—Dilke, someone had called him earlier—shook his head. He was heavyset and proud-chested, his gaze acute even from a distance. “According to Mister Cole and the prince consort, the queen is unhappy enough as it is.”
An older fellow on the far end of the table spread his withered hands in disbelief. “But the publicity is driving ticket sales through the roof.”
“Be that as it may, it’s also drawing the attention of alchemologists who recognized the Curator’s symbol for what it is.
The crown understandably doesn’t want to be connected to that.
In recent years, they’ve already spent considerable time and resources tracking down those who know too much. Best not to inspire any rumors.”
Kane frowned. He’d been scanning the commission members’ faces at the mention of the Curator, but it was what Dilke had said next that really piqued his interest. The crown had been tracking down those who knew too much.
Too much about what, though? And then, another thought: Was that what had befallen Ward’s predecessor?
Had he been killed because—as that entry in the ledger suggested—he knew something he shouldn’t?
It was interesting that these powerful men seemed to have no qualms discussing alchemology behind closed doors.
Dilke clapped his hands together as he stood. “If there’s nothing further, then this session is adjourned.” He set about proposing a time for their subsequent meeting, but Kane didn’t stick around to listen. He needed to find Zaria so they could leave this place ahead of everyone else.
He crept back to where he’d left her, confused to find the door slightly ajar.
Zaria could be forgetful, but she was careful when it mattered.
She would never have left it open on purpose.
Apprehension bore down on him as he climbed the stairs two at a time, taking a swift look around when he reached the top.
Zaria wasn’t there.
It was possible she’d already gone back downstairs, of course. Surely she remembered the way. But when Kane returned to the storage room, narrowly avoiding being spotted by a member of the staff, it became clear she was not there, either.
“Durante.”
Kane whirled where he stood at the bottom of the stairs, relieved to see that it was only Jules half jogging toward him. “Where is she?”
Jules slowed, frowning. “You’d better not be talking about Zaria.”
“Who the fuck else?”
The other boy’s face began to redden. “She was with you, if you’ll recall. Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“No,” Kane snarled. He didn’t have time for this. “She wasn’t where I left her, so I hoped she’d come back here to find you. I take it that isn’t the case.”
“I haven’t seen her since you two left. Where could she possibly have gone?
” Jules dragged a hand down the side of his neck, distressed enough that he didn’t take offense to Kane’s tone.
“Granted, she doesn’t always think everything through, but I can’t imagine she started gallivanting around this place on her own. ”
Christ almighty. “Really? You can’t imagine that?” He may not have known Zaria as well as Jules, but if something had come up that she’d deemed important, there was a chance she’d pursued it without considering the consequences.
“We’ll have to search the rest of the building,” Jules said, looking apprehensive at the mere thought.
Kane was about to agree, then changed his mind and strode over to the door they’d originally entered through. He rapped out two sets of triplets as he said, “Let’s talk to Fletcher first. It’s a long shot, but maybe Zaria already left.”
Jules nodded, pressing his lips into a white-edged line.
They waited a long moment. Then another.
The pit in Kane’s stomach entrenched itself even deeper.
“What the hell,” he muttered, suddenly not caring whether it was safe to exit.
If anyone besides Fletcher was out there, he would shoot them on sight.
If anyone had harmed Fletcher, he would carve them into tiny pieces and hurl them in the reeking river.
Slamming his shoulder into the door, Kane burst outside, glancing wildly around through the deluge of rain. The humidity and smell of petrichor were sobering after Mansion House’s cool, lacquer-scented air.
Fletcher was nowhere to be seen. Kane bellowed his friend’s name, not caring who might be around to hear. His heartbeat was painfully fast in his chest. First Zaria, now Fletcher—what was going on?
A breath later, however, a groan answered him. He spun in the direction of the sound, giving a strangled yelp when he spotted Fletcher sprawled on the ground, propped up against the side of the building. Fear tore through Kane like a jagged arrow.
“Fletch,” he rasped. Incognizant of the rain, he sprinted over to his friend, Jules on his heels.
Fletcher groaned a second time, pushing himself farther upright. Rain had plastered his hair to his skull, and the collar of his wet shirt was askew. Despite his wan face, he didn’t appear to be bleeding, and he slapped Kane’s hand away when he tried to yank his coat open. “Stop fussing.”
Kane crouched down beside him. “What happened? Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” Fletcher blinked hard, squinting slightly. “I mean, I think so. Do you know where my—?” He broke off, spotting his gun a few paces away, and reached out to grab it. “Never mind. Did you get him?”
“Get who?” Jules demanded.
“The man who had Zaria.” Fletcher shook his head as if attempting to clear it.
“I saw them leaving together. They were headed toward a stagecoach. It was obvious she hadn’t gone with him willingly—she was trying to pull away—but they also seemed to know each other.
I went after them and pulled out my gun, but he shoved Zaria in front of him.
I wasn’t confident I could shoot without hitting her, and then he shot me.
With what, I’m not sure. I think I blacked out.
” He frowned down at his body. “I don’t think I’m injured, though. ”
Kane ground his teeth. He knew exactly what Fletcher had been shot with. “Zaria brought that aleuite revolver with her,” he reminded his friend. “The one she shot Price Junior with at the Exhibition. I bet you anything that man wrested it from her and used it to shoot you.”
“Who was he?” Jules asked again. “You said Zaria seemed to know him.”
Fletcher shrugged, using the wall to push himself to his feet. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before, but I could tell he was tall. Middle-aged. He was wearing a top hat, and I think his hair was dark.”
It wasn’t a particularly unique description, but the mention of the hat ignited something in Kane’s mind. “Was he wearing a dark coat and blue cravat? Pin-striped trousers?”
“Could’ve been. It was difficult to tell, given the rain, and I wasn’t exactly paying attention to his outfit.”