A Web of Steam & Puppet Strings (Sevastyan #1)

Chapter Eleven

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lazar escorted me into the dining hall and gestured to the meal hatch. "Get your breakfast, then." He grabbed a chair by one of the casements. The wooden legs squeaked as he yanked the chair out to slide into. Outside, clouds smudged the sky, reducing the sunlight to hues of gray and cutting darker shadows into his strong face.

My chest and back and neck ached. My spine needed some reconstruction. My head throbbed. Acid burrowed teeth into my stomach. The very idea of food was nauseating from that alone, but worse, my nerves vibrated. Lazar was intimidating on his good days. Yet, sitting there, staring at me from across the room, I found I was strangely unafraid of him. He made me nervous in other ways.

I pulled the lever, the movement shooting needles into muscles all over. I suppressed a wince. Inside my compartment, my new box of midnight colors remained, alongside another inexplicably large breakfast portion. I wanted to bang my head off the wall. Instead, I collected the tray into my hands, and—what was this?

There was a paper folded up underneath my plate.

"You're giving your contents an ill look, Sev."

I swallowed. I couldn't hide it now, but...

'Keep your secret a secret.'

If I was caught lying again, no one would ever trust me. They might fit me a noose and hang me from the tree outside, if the thing could support my weight. The fat owl had probably been its limit.

With my tray in hand, I slapped the door shut and moved to the table. His eyes watched every movement I made, and I was all too aware of everything I did, from the way my hands moved like bloated fish in slow-moving water, to the way I dragged out the chair across from him and eased myself down.

Even the way I glanced at the folded paper beneath my plate.

Lazar's nearly black eyes, narrow like Eliza's with a sharp double lid, dropped to the paper as well, arms folded across his chest, muscles in his biceps and triceps and shoulders bulging even as he remained relaxed. "Do you understand why everyone regards me as some sort of authority?"

"Because you're physically intimidating, I'd say."

The corner of his lips curled. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him even contemplate smiling, let alone a hint of one on his face. "It helps," he said.

"Because you have two brutes who shadow and screech louder than feral cats?"

"Also helps."

I stroked the new young stubble at my chin, surveying the duck eggs and the stewing porridge, gray and doing very little to pique my interest. I went for the spicy tea instead and sipped. Lukewarm.

Before I could spout another word, he rolled his head with a sigh and said, "It's because they trust me, Sev. They trust me to protect them from—essentially—themselves." The words strummed odd strings in me. "As an example, I keep Grigory from ripping out your entrails, which means I keep Grigory from vanishing for murder."

The vision of my entrails spilled all over the floor didn't help my appetite. I sipped the tea, the walls of my mouth tingling with cinnamon and cardamom. "Fine. I suppose that's reason enough to earn marginal loyalty."

"Eat."

"My appetite has been washed down the gutter, I'm sure you understand."

His eyebrows lifted, and our conversation reiterated across his face. I huffed, grabbed the wooden spoon and stuffed my mouth with formless, watery rice porridge. It felt like daises going down my pipe.