The stale bread tears easily in my hands. Crumbs fall onto my lap and I hand the larger half over to Renit, who takes it slowly. If the archer hadn't bothered to come in here hours ago and discover Renit was close to removing the titanium from his body, we wouldn't have to deal with infection anymore. The titanium around his wrist prevents his magical, immortal body from healing what is left of the wound.

I break half of the cheese and hand that over to him as well, even if he takes each bit of food with a grimace. He doesn't want to eat; his body is too busy worrying about other things than stocking itself with necessary nutrients.

"I've had to do this before," Renit mumbles. He turns the bread over in his hand, examining the burnt, stale surface, and rips off a chunk. The flask between us is filled with water from a nearby stream. We weren't given lunch but, in the afternoon, one of the rebels opened the door to the wagon and tossed in this food and water, our meal for the rest of the day.

Not a single soul other than the two of us is worried about Renit's condition. Any glances thrown our way when we're allowed out to relieve ourselves behind a tree are filled with hate and disgust for the prince. No one bothers to ask if he needs a healer or if it would be smart to use one in case the prince doesn't make the journey.

I've heard we're a few hours out. Bren told me after he took me to relieve myself. I didn't bother meeting his eye and I didn't want to talk to him so instead, I told him to take me back to the wagon and we'll talk later. He didn't seem disappointed but more than anything, that's what I feel for him. Disappointment for putting this first. For involving himself in the rebels instead of helping the remnants of Arego build itself back together.

The forces could have stemmed from there. I don't recognize anyone other than Bren, that confirms my superstitions that no one—or a small fraction—of citizens in Arego made it out alive. He's working on his own, he joined a cause of his own and has everything to show for it. Leadership, willing soldiers, and a flame to combat.

"When you were in battle?" I ask, tearing off a chunk of the cheese. Like the bread, it's dry but better than nothing as the bread has no flavor to name. After being dropped in the dirt, sand particles grind through my teeth and I ignore the rattling in my skull as the crackling drowns out every other sound.

Renit nods. "I was injured and my magic was covered by titanium. While I waited for rescue, I forced myself to eat and drink even if I didn't want to. I'm alive today because of that." Then he won't have a problem getting this meal down, if that means he chews on that piece of bread for hours. Finally, he swallows and turns to the cheese. He needs more than I do.

"I suppose you're smarter than I am when dealing with things like this." I roll my neck, stiff after sleeping against his non-injured shoulder for an hour. It was the most sleep I've gotten in too long.

"To be fair, I have over three hundred years on you, I'm a soldier, and I have proper training. If you want to stay alive, then force yourself to do so," he says around the cheese in his cheek. He's much calmer than he ever was when talking to me, his supposed enemy. I was believed to be that, at least.

Before the arrow went through his shoulder on that trail, he had wanted to talk to me. Wanted to, I didn't have to force him. If it wasn't for that arrow, I would know precisely what made him to the witch he is today. Who he lost, someone he loves, and the events that took place to bring him here. In this wagon, all because of me, he is here fighting for his life. All I can do is sit back and watch, give him encouragement, and wait out the long hours until we arrive.

Renit looks towards the window as he takes a swig of water from the flask and hands it over to me. The last time we shared a meal of stale bread and cheese, he was taking me to the capital with my family at my side. My father's warmth, sitting next to me on a boulder. My mother, sparing her food so we could eat more.

I had lied those days. I had told her those weren't going to be her last meals but everything I ever gave her in relation to reassurance was wrong. She's gone today, gone with my father. I can't bear the thought of them still, I find them in my nightmares as well. Their faces are as haunting as watching the lightning cleave through Silas's body.

Renit smacks his dried lips together and says, "They're taking us to Fosux still."

"That doesn't make any sense. The guards we passed were unphased by what was in Fosux, that must mean they still have control over the mines. Rebels wouldn't take us to Fosux if they knew they were under close watch from the guards and the slaves themselves. That's too many eyes." Renit pushes the flask closer to me, urging me to drink. I've been trying to save as much for him as possible.

"Fosux is wide-spread. If they can manage to get through the busiest parts of the area without drawing any eyes, there's abandoned shafts and underground dungeons for prisoners waiting to be hanged. I suspect that's where they're taking us," Renit concludes. He shifts against the wall, bracing a hand on his shoulder, and winces. "If we had a key for your titanium band then this could all be over in a second. My power might be dulled with my strength but you can cleave apart the land."

I shake my head, out of luck. They took that key, fished it right out of Renit's pocket after I dove for it, searching over his entire body for the small piece of metal. Our freedom was in his jacket pocket, buttoned and locked away until he might need it. The one place I wouldn't look if I managed to somehow get the upper hand on him and free myself from his hold. But I never planned on escaping and his uncertainty was our downfall.

I had tried to reach for that key, had it in my grasp, when the female archer grabbed me by the ankles, dragged me away and had Bren snatch the key from my grasp before I could unlock the band. My ribs are still sore from when I connected against the floorboards of the wagon and was then dragged by the impossible strength of someone so thin.

Renit was still in too much pain to do anything, I couldn't rely on him for everything, so we were left to wait out our fate in that wagon. They hold the key to getting back to the castle, where Celestine and Silas and the king wait. If Silas is still alive to begin with. If not, the king might reserve his efforts into killing us rather than saving us from the rebels. But when his crown is threatened, he will stop at nothing.

I pick at the bread. Silence isn't uncommon between us and after two months, it's no longer awkward. "I wanted to say," I begin, my voice barely a whisper, "I wanted to say that I'm sorry for everything. You didn't deserve the cold treatment I gave you. What you did...it was an accident." Nails digging into my skin, blood left behind. Renit's shock, his pale skin blanched because of what he had done.

That is not a nightmare to me. That is a memory shrouded by guilt.

Renit's eyes drift to the wounds on my wrists. They healed quickly and all that remains are the scabs in the shapes of his nails. Soon, they'll be scars. If I live that long to see them do so.

"We have both made mistakes," he offers instead of apologizing. I've never heard those words leave his lips: I'm sorry. Like he physically can't bring himself to do so. "Those mistakes blinded us and got us here, in the back of a prison wagon. It's up to us, even if we still have a fraction of hate for each other, to find our way out."

Not a fraction of sympathy laces his words. Instead, a commander is speaking to his soldier. A tone he's kept with me time and time again, but this time the courage feels right. We're not going to get out of this by bickering or screaming at each other. If we manage to make it count, we'll work together to find a light in all this darkness.

He jerks his chin towards the bread in my lap, only two bites taken out of the loaf. "Eat the rest of your bread. We won't stand a chance if you're weak, too." For emphasis, he tears off another piece of his and forces himself to chew, then swallow. Every part of his body is going into not eating.

His cheeks are flushed red from the fever beginning to strike. The infection in the wound will fester underneath the titanium band suffocating his power and if Renit isn't healed before morning, he'll die. The fever will kill him, the infection merely being a spark for all that is to come.

I force myself to eat to please him as the wagon continues down the trail. In the distance, pickaxes spring against stone. The mines. They're merely an echo on the empty trail but the fogged land, spread by grass and sparse trees, is visible through the window. Slowly, we're arriving. Slowly, Fosux is coming in through the haze.

"It won't be long now," I say. I back away from the window and sit on the bench. The wood groans underneath my weight.

"We don't try to fight. If we make any sudden movements, they'll strike us dead. Listen to what they want, follow them where they take you. One thing remains constant, we don't separate. Do not let them separate us." He points a shaking finger at me.

"What do I do if they try to separate us?" I ask warily.

"Then we fight like hell. If they're taking you elsewhere, that means you're already dead. Might as well have a noble death."

I nod slowly, putting that image in my mind. If my magic was here, fighting with me, I could show Bren all that I've learned about the power of ground. He's always fought for me to learn, promised that I would someday, but neither of us envisioned it to be possible because of the prince living in the castle—the reason we were in Arego in the first place.

I will fight if we're separated. Even if I have to take down Bren in the process, he is standing in the way of my freedom and the prince that has much more to live for than what he's been given. My life is substantial but I've learned one or two things in the castle—the prince was never given a chance in the first place.

"And you?" I inquire. "What of your role at court?"

He blinks at me as if the answer is obvious. "My role at court does not matter, I am not the next king. If Silas was out here, forces would already be aligned to take out whoever kidnapped him. For me, that is different. I'm the king's weapon for a reason and the truth that lies behind that can go a long way."

I cock my head to the side.

Renit rolls his tired eyes, dull once more. "My father expects me to fight my way out better than Silas would be able to."

I snort. "That's preposterous."

He arches a brow, a subtle smirk on his cheeks saying, I know. But that's the only amusement we share as the sound of pickaxes striking against stone is louder than ever. Shouts ring out around us, echoing from one side to the other. The female archer doesn't have to climb into the wagon to warn us about screaming for our lives because no one will care to listen in the first place.

The trail turns smooth, no more bumps from long forgotten puddles, and I brace my hands against the bars on the window. The mines stretch out before us, log cabins for the overseers and shafts, flooded with slaves going in and out, shuffling from the chains wrapped between their ankles.

Most are thin and they keep their eyes down, towards the dirt ground they walk on. I swallow the dry lump in my throat at the gibbet and the fresh bodies, two young men, hanging from their noose. Their ripped clothes flutter in the afternoon breeze that swirls dust around Fosux. But none of the slaves seem to mind, they'd rather be out here than in the dark shafts.

Instead of stopping here, the wagon continues on. These shafts are too crowded, they're still in use, so Bren has other plans where to put us. All the while, being directly underneath the nose of the king's men.

The wagon continues on down the trail, passing shaft after shaft and lowly slaves shuffling along the side. Only one woman meets my eye and she quickly looks away, offering me a second of the sorrow these people have faced. These mines, they are my cause. The cause Mani told me to find, to protect these people from.

The stench of unwashed and rotting bodies finds its way into my nose and I can't block out the tears in my eyes from the distress and the smell. The wagon rolls to a stop behind a cluster of trees, far enough away where the distant beat of pickaxes is now a dull roar. Renit grunts as he stands, moving beside me to glance out the window. "We've arrived," I say.