Seven Witches

five

The ball was in three days, and it had been two days since she'd given the letter to the Tsar's guard. A part of Cythera gave up on ever getting money for the ball and the other part didn't want to look Hera in the eye. She had spoken to Hera yesterday about Paul and ever since then, she'd been aware of how Hera was keeping secrets.

"How much does he know Hera!" she'd asked one afternoon while her sister was brushing her hair.

As soon as she said that, her sister put the brush down, brows furrowing as she turned around. "What are you asking me?"

There was no space for this sort of confusion now, no space for lies and playing on words. "Hera you know exactly what I'm talking about. How much does Paul know? How much have you told him about me?!"

Her sister was quiet for too long and Cythera felt a chill crawl down her spine, hair rising on the back of her neck. "Hera," she held her wrists firmly. "Hera I would have to kill him if he knows too much, so don't lie to me."

She gasped, brown eyes widening. "No!" Cythera could now see the golden stripes lining her iris, the long lashes against her lids. "I-I swear, I didn't... I only told him you have your ways to get us invitations. Not anything more I swear!"

She released a sigh of relief, letting go of her sister. Her shoulders slumped but her sister's brows were still pinched, her cheeks red. Perhaps by killing Paul she would truly become the villain, perhaps he was her sister's lover and then she'd never forgive Cythera. "You would really kill him?" she said softly, her voice breaking.

Cythera looked her in the eye, nodding. "He is a kitchen boy Hera, if he sells me out he'd never have to work a day in his life ever again."—she sat on her bed—"What do you think they would do to a witch's sister?"

"Paul would never sell you out!" Hera yelled, the first time she'd ever heard her sister scream in a very long time. "He would never,"

Cythera immediately stood from her bed and walked towards her sister. She held her cheeks with both palms, thumb wiping the tear that escaped her left eye. "Don't trust anyone but us, you and I." she dropped on hand only to point it at her chest, feeling the faint thud of her racing heart beneath the layers of clothing. "Trust no man, all those other people don't matter—anyone that is not us doesn't matter."

Whatever ran between them in that instance was not love, it was something much more. It was a bond built from years of sticking by each other's side, of sharing a loaf of bread, of standing by the withering fire trembling as they struggled to drive the cold from their skin. Both of them knew at the moment that not Paul, or any man would be able to give them that love.

Hera wrapped her arms around Cythera, head resting on her chest. She patted her sister's hair until she stopped crying, until the ice that was Cythera's anger had melted and sizzled into warm mist.

Cythera hadn't seen Tetka Helen the entire day and did not intend on seeing her any time soon. She was in her room, watching the breeze move her grey curtains. The wine she'd bought was watered down and bitter, not strong enough to get her drunk or even tipsy.

She set her cup down and decided she would much rather drink the expensive one Hera had stolen a few days ago. Opening the bottle, the heavy scent of alcohol tickled her nostril. She groaned at the strong smell, her face pinching.

If the nor the Tsar or Tetka are willing to help, then she would find a much filthier option to get the money she wanted. Those bastards shower in sugar and sleep on gold yet refuse to give any of it away.

Pouring a knuckle length into her cup, she drank it all in one go and regretted it at once. The liquid burned its way down her throat and she began coughing before refilling her cup.