Seven Witches

twenty-five

Vladimir;

Vladimir finally had the time to read the daily report, still unhinged from the earlier conversation and what it might suggest, how he couldn't help but repeat it a hundred times in his head until it made no sense.

As usual, the reports were boring, often about every ruble spent throughout the day and how much more rubles he had gained. He still read them all, or at least ran his eyes over them just in case there was something important.

And then he flipped the next sheet after pages and pages of political talk and staff complaints, a sheet which was usually blank or had two names in black, but this time it had one name in red.

Ivan Zherk. Sixteen. Murder.

The Tsar sat back in his chair, raising one eyebrow as he read carefully the name of the culprit.

"Jesus Christ," he pulled his sleeves up, resting his forearms on the table. He almost could not believe it—did not want to.

Cythera had killed the military man in front of everyone, in the middle of the night, and walked right out. In the report that the commander wrote, it said that she threatened several other men.

Vladimir read the report again, a chill running down his spine. It made sense why that day she had been covered in blood, why she seemed so tired. Stabbed repeatedly in the chest, the soldier died of blood loss. He hadn't known she was capable of that, or that she was skilled enough to threaten several other military men.

Suddenly, their very first conversation popped into his head.

"Shouldn't there be guards with you, or are you not threatened by a woman?"

"Should I be threatened?" he asked.

"You should."

Vladimir could have easily been killed, and if he was, it would be his fault. Just yesterday she had been sitting on his table, he had been holding her hand. He never expected an exotic dancer to fight.

However, behind all the surprise and minor dread was pride. He was somewhat proud, and he was not exactly sure why, considering the fact that he had one of his military men killed.

The door to his study was opened, a guard bowed and stomped his foot in salute. "Moy Tsar," he said, breaking the Tsar out of his thoughts. "Grand Duchess Iskra."

His sister walked in with her handmaiden in tow, the two grinning broadly. Their intertwined hands might have been intimate had Iskra not been blind, then there might be other issues to deal with. "Vladi!" she called.

He placed the reports under the pile of papers, standing up to greet her. "Yes," he replied. Iskra turned around then, clapping her hands.

Three servants walked in, carrying a big cage with a velvet white cover over it. "Happy birthday!" she exclaimed, pulling the sheet away from the cage. Inside it was a pair of the prettiest doves he'd ever seen in his life, their tails trimmed in the shape of a fan, suiting the smooth curve of their wings.

The cage was golden and big enough for the two to fly and come back to each other, chirping at the sudden light. "Dear god," he murmured, touching the cage with a gloved hand. "They are beautiful."

Iskra's smile widened, "Do you like them?"

Vladimir went to his sister, taking her in his arms. "I love them,"

She squeezed him, standing on the tips of her toes to be able to reach his neck. When they let go, she clapped his hands between hers. "What are you planning to do, with your birthday party and all?"