Seven Witches

thirty-two

Zoya;

Zoya should have killed that little brat, should've never listened to that bastard who thought it was a good idea to let a military woman go away. She told him as much as they ran, to her surprise he was significantly slower than her, and his breaths were harsher and shorter.

Eventually they had to stop and hide inside the stable beneath the hay, praying that they won't hear his wheezing and throw them both in a dungeon. Aaron tried to hide the pain in his chest but she saw him clutching it. "What is wrong?" she asked, annoyed at that girl and a tad bit worried.

He shook his head, "Nothing serious—I just need to rest for a while."

But they didn't have a while, they had the entire imperial guards following them. Zoya placed her hand on his chest, feeling out what could be making it so hard for him to breathe. Only a few seconds later, her powers went deep and she had a mental image of what it was, the inside's of his lungs were swollen, the pipe now too shallow to take in air.

"Here lay down," she told him, placing two fingers on his chest and pretending to massage the area while in fact, she was healing it. Soon enough he breathed normally, eyes open wide.

He stood straight, and she helped him up so they can both escape. The guards were not far away, it was only a matter of time before they capture both of them. There was only the sound of their boots agains the snow, and the screams of the guards commanding one another and searching the area.

Aaron yelped, and she turned to see that he was being pulled into a room, and that the man who pulled him was his scrawny brother. Zoya followed into the small room, and then Paul closed the door. "I step outside to see the source of the ruckus, and find you getting chased by the entire palace guards," he complained to the darkness around them.

Then, silently, he got out and got two buckets and two aprons. "Take your clothes off," he commanded, and she was not sure who he was talking to until the two were looking at her.

"Excuse me?"

Paul handed one apron to Aaron, and bucket. "You will sneak out, and you can't do that wearing a gleaming mask and a cloak as dark as the night. Try wearing a shirt, not leather, now go on change,"

With a sneer, Zoya took the shirt and wore it over her leathers. He gestured to her cloak and mask, then she handed them to him. "And the weapons,"

She shook her head, "They're mine, I won't give them to you, how am I to defend myself."

Paul exhaled deeply. "I'll put your things in the bucket," he offered and when she wasn't convinced he added, "A servant girl does not carry knives."

Zoya grinded her teeth, taking one dagger and a pistol from the inside of her sleeve, giving it to him and another two from her boots. Metal hit metal inside the bucket, and Aaron raised an eyebrow, "Keep them going."

"Bastard," she cursed, pulling poisoned needles from her hair and then putting them in with the rest of her knives.

Still, he was not convinced. "I saw you strapping a sickle, put that too,"

She pressed her lips, reaching inside her leather suit to the blade she had put in her spine. "I should've gutted you when I had the chance," she then took it out of its sheath, and placed it inside too.

Paul poked his head outside the door, made sure it was clear and then pushed them to move. He kept a hand behind them, silently showing the closest route to the gates. "Keep your heads low," he whispered.

Aaron and Zoya did as told, and for a while no one bothered them, until one guard walked up towards them and gave Zoya an eyeful. "Show me your ring,"