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

Chapter Twenty-Three

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

She and Katya parted, and Eliza held open the door for me. We retrieved breakfast and returned to our bunk so I could take the weight off my leg and pick at my salted duck eggs. She picked at hers. We laughed together.

"I can't believe the boy of your dreams is alive." She stuffed a spoonful of rice porridge into her mouth and showed me every bit of rice as she said, "It's fate, then, isn't it?"

I shook my head, staring down at my bowl, a fraction of a smile still clinging to my face. "Doubtful. Although, I do wonder what he endured over these past nine months, don't you? I haven't the nerve to ask about all that." Or the opportunity.

Her head bobbed. She thankfully inhaled water to clear her palette before she said, "Have you seen his arm? Oh, I suppose you haven't yet, not really. I saw him dress, and down his shoulder are little white dots. Scars from needles, I'm certain. I couldn't count them on two hands."

Sedation, likely. How else could they have controlled him? How else could Isidora maintain him so she could test him? Perhaps my obedience had saved me in some sort of twisted manner. All I could think of was the way his face tightened at the mere mention of her.

And, perhaps as Rurik said, my obedience just might have granted me the right chance to strike. To be the weapon firing at the right moment, as he'd said.

I stirred the lumpy porridge, the wooden spoon chafing the bowl. "I wonder what they did to him..." My free hand gingerly kneaded the sore muscles around my unmarred-yet-overcompensating thigh, breaking up the tension. "They couldn't have kept him sedated all the time, since she wouldn't have been testing him all the time."

"I hope he at least had a room with a view, then."

A smirk cheated across my face. "He certainly doesn't have one now."

Her jaw fell, displaying a mouthful of half-masticated flesh of the dead. "He has you, doesn't he?"

Honestly, Lazar was more of a view than I was. My mind drifted to the morning we had spent together, the first time we'd ever been alone in the cafeteria. I could still clearly picture the harsh light against his face, the shapes competing with the shadows and reflective light, how much I wanted to put it to paper so that I'd never forget it.

Could I forget it, even if I tried? Without thinking, I'd spent nine months memorizing it, watching him from a distance, learning his strong jaw and wide, flat nose and the pinched corners of his eyes. Studying him.

Just as I'd done with Aris.

And, as if to meet his cue, the door grinded open. There Lazar stood, a small five-pound dumbbell in his fist. His gaze was already set on me when he said, "Metal lessons."

Eliza instantly sat upright, shifting off her cot. "Right, then. I'm quite full, and I think a shower is in my near future, so I'll come visit later." She stabbed an index finger into his chest. "Don't run him into the ground, will you? I need him." Without waiting for an answer, she glided around him and was gone.

My toes rolled into foot fists.

She was not inconspicuous in the slightest. How could she nudge me towards Aris, and then leave me with Lazar?

He took a seat across from me on my cot, next to my extended, stitched leg. As I set aside my tray, some sort of sly smile crossed his face. I wasn't sure what I thought of the statue man with mischief in his eyes, but I found myself wondering if he'd known what I'd been thinking about precisely when he'd entered. "Armor's in the making. I think you might approve."