The Seventh Sister (Part 1)

The window wouldn’t open, so Caleb rested a bare shoulder against the glass and let it suck the heat from his skin. He took a drag of the cigarette, watching the smoke ripple and break apart against the pane, then held it out behind him. Lorette took it with light fingers.

“What’s this?” Caleb said, tapping the glass. “Am I about to see some delightful public sacrifice?”

Cigarette between her lips, Lorette slid off the bedsheets and pattered towards the window. A crowd had gathered in the plaza far below, circling a platform upon which a priest stood calling and gesticulating, but there was no more to see than that. Caleb soon found his eyes drifting back to Lorette. Moonlight edged through the glass, licking the sharp angles of her bare arms and shoulders and sheening them with silver. She handed the cigarette back to him.

“Ceremony,” she said.

“Yeah?” he said. It was too far away for him to make out what the priest was saying, but he heard a stirring cheer as a man stepped onto the platform, clad in clanking armour. “What’s the occasion?”

“Hurtling towards an age-old war,” she said. She shivered. “Come back to bed.”

“Nah, I’m interested now,” he said. When she pouted, he blew a smoke ring into her face. “Go on, tell me the details.”

“It’s for the Seven Sisters,” Lorette said. Caleb looked blank. “Seven Sisters. You’ve heard of them, surely?”

“Nope. Sounds like something out of a cult.”

She rolled her eyes. Sometimes, she wondered if he made a deliberate effort to ignore the culture of the places he visited. She took his warm hand and pointed it at the view through the window, so that the tip of his finger hovered over the crest of a distant tower. “There. The Den of Sisters.”

“Now it sounds like a brothel.”

She sighed. “You're hopeless.”

“I know,” he said, grinning. He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her stomach and letting his mouth brush her ear. “Educate me, then. What’re the Seven Sisters?”

“Dragons,” she said.

“Ooh, exciting,” he said, squeezing her. “Tell me more.”

“They guard a floor each of the palace,” she said. “Twelve times a year, a Champion charges off to kill them. None of them have ever charged back.”

“In-ter-esting,” Caleb said. “I’m guessing there’s some kind of prize in this? A pretty princess lies in wait?”

She rolled her eyes again, leaning back against him. “Gods, no. She’s a demigoddess. Valades - means ‘wish giver’ in the Old Tongue. The Seven Sisters stole her away three centuries ago and she’s been incarcerated ever since. She’ll grant the desires of whoever frees her.”

“Very grand,” Caleb said. “How come a demigoddess can’t free herself?”

She sighed, as though he’d said something incredibly stupid, and didn’t answer the question. She did that a lot. It was only to be expected, really – she was the daughter of a high priestess, born in a valley where the forests still sang and the monuments blinked and moved. She knew the nuances of magic the way she knew the creases in her hands, same as he knew how to shoot pool, moor a boat and wrangle free drinks off strangers. They came from different worlds. Where he’d grown up, the closest you got to magic was a man asking you if the seven of hearts was indeed your card.

“They’ve never killed any of the dragons, then, these Champions?” Caleb said, fiddling with a lock of her brown hair. “In three hundred years?”

“Some have been killed,” she said. “But so long as one lives, the others will return.”

“Why don’t they send more than one bloke to fight at a time, then? There’s a thought.”

Lorette sighed, and again she didn’t answer the question. “Tiisha has been killed the most times. She’s the first dragon. The colour of the seabed, with wings as vast as the room. She beats them hard and sends her quarry against the wall, shattering their bones.”

“Sounds fun,” Caleb said. “What about the others?”

“Eljien breathes fire hot enough to melt stone,” she said. “Danet is small, no larger than a dog, but her scales are glassy and take the colour of the room. She kills with her teeth. You feel her before you see her.”

“This gets better and better. The others?”

“Jye is long and lithe – she wraps herself around her victims and crushes them like a snake. Yirivia cannot see, but she hears everything. She only ever needs to move once. Kolokos, the sixth, has the blood of demons – she sets the room burning, then infiltrates her victim’s body to make them walk into the flames.”

“I swear you’re making this up,” Caleb said, laughing. “Go on, then. Tell me the seventh one has a million heads and plucks you apart one tendon at a time.”

Lorette unpicked his hands, turning to face him. “Nobody has seen the seventh.”

“What? You’re lying,” he said, and locked his arms tight around her. “I’m not letting go ‘til you tell me.”

“We don’t even know her name.”

“Can’t accept that. Too dissatisfying.”

She laughed, and the gesture brought such flushed brightness to her face that he kissed her, moving his hands through her heavy hair, over her skin, along the bumps of her ridged spine, breathing in the sweet scent of her flesh. For a moment, she leaned into him, her nails biting into his shoulders, but then she broke away.

“No, I’m going, I’m going,” she said, scooping her clothes up. “I’m already late. Said I’d be home by midnight.”

“Spoilsport,” Caleb said. “I’ll walk you back.”

She paused halfway through struggling into her skirt. “You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t,” he said, pulling his shirt over his head. He looked at her. “What?”

“It’s- I’d rather go alone, that’s all. You’ve had a long journey,” she said, focusing on belting her skirt. “And if my parents see you, they might…”

“Might what?” he said. “I’ve come back with you before.”

“Well, it’s different now,” she said, shrugging into her blouse. He saw her hesitate, fiddling with the buttons, still not making eye contact. “There’s a man in the village. A priest. My mother thinks he’s a good match.”

Caleb’s stomach hollowed. “What?”

She waited a second or two, doing up the last few buttons, then swept her hair out of her collar. “He’s decent enough. A bit dull, but I can’t help that.”

“Can’t help it?” Caleb said, his voice wavering. “You’re getting- when the fuck were you going to tell me?”

She looked into the corner of the room. “I’m telling you now.”

“You’re- I don’t- and you’ve agreed?”

“Of course I have,” she said, forcefully off-hand. “What did you expect? That I’d tell my mother no, sorry, I’m going to marry a godless foreigner instead?”

A sharp, stinging silence.

“I can’t believe this,” Caleb said, rubbing his face. “You said it, last time. You said you wanted-”

“Want’s got nothing to do with anything,” Lorette said, her mouth tight. She planted her hands on her hips. “Can you let me past, please?”

Caleb realised then that he was blocking the door, his fingers gripping one side of the frame. Numbly, he let his arm drop, then moved aside. The clap of her footsteps was too quiet in his ears.