“You know exactly where I get my information.”
Sitri slides a stool out behind the counter, settles himself into it and props his chin on a palm. “Interesting, that. Morin giving you wrong information. That kind of implies that she doesn’t really trust you, doesn’t it?”
Valik opens and closes his mouth.
“What reason would she have not to trust you, Valik? Maybe because you’re not completely loyal to her? As much asI’dappreciate you ridding me of the thorn stuck in my side--” His gaze travels pointedly to me. There’s no hint of secret awareness pooling there, only cold, blank apathy. He’s so convincing I really can’t tell if it's the truth or not and my cheeks sting. “I don’t think Morin would appreciate you foiling her plans,” he sighs, finally looking away to turn a smug look back on Valik.
Valik’s face scrunches with anger. “I wasn’t going to—don’t worry. I would never rid you of that,” he sneers. “It's much too fun to watch.”
He turns to Vera. “Morin’s plate? I’ll take it up,” he says, shooting Sitri a snide look I’m sure there’s a double meaning in. The plate trembles in Vera’s hands as she hands it off to him.
As soon as the swinging door clatters behind Valik’s exit, Sitri’s on his feet. Gone is the calm facade. The intensity of his anger coats the air, or maybe it’s his magic, swelling and expanding the room until me and Vera are both holding our breaths. He walks around the counter and turns bloodshot eyes on us. Fear pulses through me, maybe even more intensely than when Valik was leering over me.
“You—we were just—um, you’re back already,” I finish lamely.
He doesn’t speak. Only stares us both down long enough to know he’s severely disappointed. His shoulders are tense and his fingers tremble at his sides. His fists clench shut at my perusal. His eyes find the bottle of wine behind us on the counter, the remains of the cake on the floor and narrow even further. He heaves a single breath before turning and stalking out, swinging door clattering behind him. Vera and I share a horrified look. “Am I supposed to follow him?” I whisper.
She lifts her shoulders. “I don’t know, but he’s really pissed off.”
I cross my arms. “Well, if he wants me to follow, he’ll have to come back and get me.” Vera’s face pales. “I’ll take the blame,” I whisper.
She shakes her head. “No, he’s already going to know I came to get you.”
“I’ll just say you came to check on me and I begged you to bring me down here.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
Sitri stalks back in, and Vera hastens to clear away the mess of cake and bottle of wine with a few flicks of her hand. He takes his two plates to the counter, not even bothering to look at us as his chair screeches across the floor.
The only noise that permeates the room is the sound of his chewing and his forks scraping against his plate. Somehow, even that sounds angry. Vera and I continue standing there awkwardly, sharing nervous looks every few minutes. She abandons me to busy herself on the other side of the kitchen.
Finally, he breaks the silence.
“Vera,” he says sharply. Vera hurries over, head bowed.
“Do you know how many Magi here would prefer any nought to be a dead nought?”
“It’s not her fau—“
“I will get to you,” he cuts me off, turning his filleting gaze back on Vera. “Do you?”
“I—I don’t know,” she squeaks out.
“Take a guess.”
“M—many of them,” she stammers.
“The majority of them. And, while it was brave of you to try and take up arms for her do you think they would pardon you attacking a Mask in defense of a nought?”
She shakes her head in confusion. “I—I—di—“
“It’s not her—“
“I will get to you,” Sitri spits, voice reverberating around the room. I clamp my mouth shut.
“And how adept do you really think you’d be at defending her against a Mask or anyone for that matter?”
“I…don’t know,” Vera says, voice now quavering.
