Chapter 34 Zaria
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 and she 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. Hoped for 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.
A gun fired as the stagecoach rattled to a stop.
Zaria cowered automatically, shielding her head as if that would make any sort of difference.
Fear sent her blood racing, her ribs tightening.
It only grew more potent when she realized Aurora still stood a short distance away, unharmed and looking vaguely irritated.
Zaria whirled in the direction the gunshot had sounded from, not entirely sure what she was expecting to see.
Pritchard was in the midst of lowering his weapon.
His expression was disdainful as he stared down at Maisie, who was crumpled on the ground near his feet.
Her mouth was slightly open, her breaths coming in gasps.
She had one hand pressed to either her hip or lower torso—Zaria couldn’t tell which.
Without thinking, she lurched for the other girl, only to find herself hindered by a shockingly firm grip.
Shaw. He and two other men had emerged from the stagecoach when Zaria wasn’t paying attention. He gave her a dark look, yanking her arm so that she was forced to stumble back from Maisie’s limp form.
Aurora didn’t say a word. She didn’t need to. She merely raised an eyebrow at Pritchard, demanding an explanation.
“I saw her turn her gun on you,” Pritchard said, stowing his own away.
It was an alchemological one, Zaria saw, but with an unfamiliar attachment on the end of the barrel.
Pritchard inclined his head at Maisie, whose chin was resting against her heaving chest, blood starting to spread on the ground beside her. “I had to make a snap decision.”
Maisie let out a groan, and Zaria tried to pull away from Shaw, grunting with the effort. Even with the rain slicking her skin, it was futile. He was far too strong.
“Let me go,” she snarled, then turned her furious gaze on Aurora. The woman was a rain-blurred silhouette, her beautiful face cold and unreadable. “We need to help her!”
Aurora didn’t acknowledge Zaria. She studied Maisie for another moment, then shrugged. “Whatever you say, Mister Pritchard. It doesn’t make much difference. We don’t need her.” She made an arcing gesture to Shaw. “Bring Miss Mendoza inside.”
“No,” Zaria spat, struggling against the large man, but she didn’t have the strength to dig her heels in.
He half dragged, half carried her in the direction of the Crystal Palace.
Distantly, Zaria realized they weren’t headed to one of the entrances at all, but rather to the mechanical room near the west end.
She glanced wildly around, hoping to see coppers in the vicinity—for the first time in her life, she wanted to lay eyes on one—but nobody else was around.
Her teeth began to chatter from the damp cold.
“Officers are only stationed at each of the doors,” Aurora informed Zaria, still managing to sound flippant.
Rather than look at her daughter, she gazed straight ahead as they walked across the wet grass.
“They’re not going to help you. And if you attempt to draw their attention, Mister Shaw will make you very sorry indeed. ”
Zaria had no doubt that was the truth. Besides, now that she was thinking about it, what good would summoning a copper do? By all appearances, Pritchard was a member of the Royal Commission, and he might not be the only one. Nobody in a position of authority would believe Zaria over him.
She tried to glance back the way they’d come, but it was too dark to see Maisie. The girl was going to die there, cold, in pain, and alone. Zaria’s only ally in her current situation, and she was gone. It wasn’t fair.
“Hurry up,” Aurora snapped, and Shaw quickened his pace, guiding Zaria over to the nearest steam engine.
The warmth surrounding it was a relief, but the acrid scent of coal and the overwhelming noises had her cringing.
No wonder Aurora wasn’t overly worried about the authorities; it would be impossible to hear anything over this racket.
Pritchard was waiting at what appeared to be a small hatch in the side of the building, right where a bit of piping passed through a pane of glass.
It was about two-thirds Zaria’s height but sufficiently wide enough that an average-size person could climb through without much difficulty.
As Zaria watched, Pritchard popped the small door open, then beckoned Aurora inside as he scanned their surroundings.
Water dripped from the brim of his hat as he met Zaria’s gaze. His lips pulled wide in a smile.
“It’s for maintenance,” he informed her, though she hadn’t asked. “Nobody knows about it—it’s not even on the blueprint.”
“Fuck you,” Zaria said on an exhale, and Pritchard’s excitement dimmed slightly, giving way to a scowl.
“Watch how you speak to me, Miss Mendoza. Your mother values my input rather highly.”
She thought of how he’d shot Maisie without warning and spat at his feet. Her entire body felt like a lit fuse careening toward some explosive substance. She wanted to ignite. She wanted each and every one of these terrible people to go up in flames along with her.
“That’s enough,” Shaw growled, using a large hand to shove Zaria’s head down and through the small entrance. Pain rippled through her knees as they collided with the floor, but then somehow Shaw had forced his way through behind her, yanking her up to stand again.
They were in the Crystal Palace. At night. The exhibits were a wholly different kind of overwhelming in the dark, seeming to loom in the enormous space like enigmatic figures in a nightmare. It felt wrong, being here without the accompanying clamor of a thousand other patrons.
Pritchard shut the hatch with a soft click once he and the other two men had clambered through it.
Aurora, however, was nowhere to be seen.
Zaria kept her gaze straight ahead as Shaw guided her down the long corridor to the center of the building.
It felt like an infinitely long time before she saw the crystal fountain up ahead, its many facets reflecting even the smallest dregs of moonlight from the open sky above.
The water still cycled through as it did during the day, the sound a welcome reprieve from the heavy silence.
“Excellent.” Aurora’s voice cut through the rushing noise. Zaria couldn’t see where the woman had emerged from, but she was clutching an enormous clear vial of what could only be soulsteel. “Let’s get started, shall we?”