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

Chapter Eighteen

My head rolled against the pillow. Both Aris and Lazar filled the room, leaning against the wall. They must have shoved the detached cot beneath Eliza's to make the room to stand, and Aris had found himself his own uniform—although he chose only to wear trousers and a shirt without a collar, precisely three buttons left undone.

I knew I was in trouble. Aris had his hands on his hips. Lazar had his arms crossed. Neither of them looked particularly pleased.

But it was Lazar who sensed my confusion. "You do remember, don't you?"

My gaze drifted to the cane, discarded on the floor. I didn't want to discuss it. 'I wasn't thinking, I just left' would make me sound like I had lost my mind.

Perhaps it was just that, then.

Perhaps I had lost it.

My chapped lips pressed together. "I needed air."

Lazar lifted his chin. "And made it all the way to the steel wall." Aris nodded, at least until Lazar stroked the bristle of his chin and added, "Quite extraordinary, actually, considering your indisposed state."

Eliza growled as she planted her hands against the cot on either side of me and hoisted herself up. The shock of cold air cleared my senses like a whiff of good smelling salts, but then I was left with the view of her on all fours over me.

If a light bulb could have a switch, then why couldn't my primal needs?

"Aristarkh," she said. "A favor, would you? Hit him. Make it good."

Aris once had a body very close to Lazar's, with enough bulk to strain the buttons on fitted shirts. He didn't anymore, and fully aware of his new pale, lanky rag doll physique, he peeked up at Lazar, cleared his throat, and lightly knocked him with his fist. Lazar turned a glower onto Aris that could have made armies cower.

As Aris simpered, Eliza swung herself from the cot and tucked the blankets around my body with stabs of her hands. Any tighter and I would have been wearing a body corset. "You're a lucky bastard, Sev. Aristarkh said your ameenia with the freezing temperature should have killed you—"

"Anemia," Aris said. "Not ame—"

"And if it weren't for Lazar finding you and carrying you back—"

Her words drifted into the fog when my gaze settled on Lazar. The ship that had carried me. It had been him. Whatever Eliza continued to rant about, I interrupted with, "Did you see...what was written?"

His dark eyes studied my face, and I felt his gaze like fingertips smoothing along my features. "I did, Sevastyan, and I know your next question: no, I don't remember number two hundred. I'm sorry."

No, it must have been too long ago. At least nine months ago. Number two-zero-zero must have been the sheep Isidora had used to test her scope of frequencies. Number two-zero-zero must have been in the same shoes that Aris was in now.

Or perhaps not.

He had been upgraded to number three-zero-one.

Aris made his move, taking a seat on the edge of the cot, wary as it squealed with his added weight. "All that aside, how are you feeling? Brilliant, I'd hope."

I grunted.

"Good. Well, I have to say, I'm famished and I know we need to get you some liquids—"

Lazar stepped forward. "I've another question." Aris shot him a glare to which Lazar was immune. "Why did you smash down the fence in the first place, Sev?"

My eyes fell shut as the memory torched my vision. A breath escaped me. "Did you explain to Aris all of what's been going on down here?"

"At length," Lazar said. "He's got a short attention span, so you're welcome."