Seven Witches

twenty

Zoya;

Zoya opened the gates to the guild master's guest room. She stepped in, the bag she had in hand dripping blood on the carpet. In her other hand, she held the documents and the seal Mr. Gytius used to stamp those documents.

And around her neck, sat the key that she'd taken from Mrs. Gytius's neck, the key to open the chamber that contained the documents. It was a lovely piece of jewellery that she had grown fond of.

When she entered, Vladislav grinned, the hand he had on the servant girl by his side went to his lap. "My darling," he said, blue eyes glowing under the several lit lanterns. "You have brought me my gift."

Zoya nodded, eyeing the servant girl, watching her shiver with cold or perhaps disgust. She placed the papers with their seal on the table, holding up the soaking bag. Before he could ask, she stated, "Mr. Gytius's head."

Inside the bag, was Mr. Gytius's severed head.

His grin broadened as he stood up and approached her, taking the bag and glancing inside it. "Well done," he put the bag down, caressing her face and then her neck, the key that sat dangerously low on her chest. "Well done." He repeated, motioning for the servant to leave.

Zoya's attention thinned to his touch, to the scar that stretched from his elbow till his muscled bicep. She stared at it, bowing her head slightly, her umber short hair falling over her face. "Let me heal you," she whispered but he only shook his head, tugging away her curls behind her ears.

Vladislav stroked a thumb over her cheek, "This scar is my story, I want to keep it, to remind me." And then, just as he was done speaking, he moved away from her.

This was as far as he would get close to her, because he respects her is what he would say—what he said when she'd cornered him one afternoon by the balcony. But the lie was clear, was shown in the way his eyes didn't hunger for her the way she did for him. He wanted her to want him, not just so that he'd manipulate her into doing his dirty work, but for him to be sure she'd never betray him.

Zoya knew she was being manipulated and didn't care.

He sat back on his couch, spreading his body on the pillows as he read the documents, smiling. Vladislav always smiled, not the way most people smiled—when he smiled, it promised of pain and agony.

She studied this smile, not of cunning or deception, but of pride. It was a smile for her.

~

Cythera and Selene emerged from the forest and walked a good two hours into Kirovsk before Demyan had found them. It was mainly because Selene insisted that they enter every shop and spend the remaining money Cythera had on her.

Selene could not speak or understand Russian which was sometimes a relief and other times a burden. A relief because she didn't comprehend the unflattering words some men would throw at her in the streets due to her unique looks and incredibly flattering dress. It was a burden because Cythera had to repeat every word uttered to Selene in Latin.

The sun began setting when Demyan had found. It seemed that he indeed fulfilled his promise, truly came to where they departed everyday and stayed until sunset when he returned to rest for another day. Cythera embraced him briefly, eyeing Selene. "A sister," she said, tugging the sleeve of her dress up to reveal the tattoo on the inside of her wrist.

While they shopped, she was careful to glamour not only her tattoo but also Selene's since she was careless, not having ever been so deep inside the city. The four of them had only enough money to rent one room, with one bed. It was decided, Cythera and Selene would sleep on the bed, while Demyan and Alba on the floor over the coats.