Instead of traveling through the Blood Desert and finding ourselves surrounded by more robbers, we go back the way we came once the trial is clear. The hoof prints are faint but we find our way through the sandstorm and back out to the grasslands outside of Ashtomb Prison.

Night has fallen and the sky is clear, revealing every twinkling star overhead. In the distance, a full moon watches from overhead and illuminates the bare and silent land. We're the only witches out here, the only living thing once you forget about the howling wolves in the distance. But they don't bother me. There are other demons I need to slay.

I clutch tightly to the small wooden box. Every once in a while, I run my fingers over the sand-crusted surface and the tang of blood returns. This guilt doesn't feel the same as it did when I killed that rebel. His intentions were clear as was the same for the robbers. Why am I beating myself up for it now when I didn't do the same before?

There is time to think about the death of those two robbers, I suppose. When we were captured by the rebels, I didn't have the chance to think twice about what I had just done. But out here, with an empty trail before me and a silent prince as terrible company for a time like this, I can't do anything but bask in the sound of their bones breaking.

I never want to do that again. I don't want to be at the winning end of a blade and I definitely don't want to use my power to kill more. That's all anyone thought I was good for—my father thought the same although he never admitted it. I don't want to give into the stereotype of being a killer with a power like my own. But I also can't stop myself from protecting the prince.

Over hillsides and through clustered forests, we ride until Renit decides that its best to stop for the night. He picks a spot next to the stream and takes the horses to drink. They dip their powerful necks to the cold water and hydrate themselves while I get started on a fire. But that's difficult with shaking hands and only one to do the job. I don't want to let this box out of my sight.

I'm about to throw down another stick onto the pile when Renit's hand closes around the other end and takes the burden off my shoulders. "Wash up. I'll get started on the fire," he offers.

Instead of meeting his eye and finding a question there, I hand over the box and leave our small campsite to head towards the stream. The trees surrounding are somewhat thick so we'll be blocked off from anyone on the nearby trail. We're days away from Ducoria but that's nothing we can't handle, we've been through this entire kingdom.

The farthest thing away from us now is the capital. My sister is weeks away and if I needed to get to her...I couldn't. We're too far apart, even Arego is closer to us than the king. That's a first for me.

Our supply is dwindling so we have to eat light.

I splash some cold water onto my face and take a deep breath. I'll have to kill more people, I can't allow the death of two to keep me down. On the battlefield, you must claim life. Or it's yours that will be claimed.

Renit's words are something I need to hold onto. I'll slip entirely if I let myself off the tight leash I keep. Although we are not on a battlefield...is life not a battle within itself? Is this mission not a fight to survive if we encounter the wrong company? I had to kill them, I had to do it so we could survive. So our lives weren't claimed.

The prince is waiting for me by the fire, already holding out bread and cheese for me to eat. I force myself to take them although my appetite is little to nothing. Those people that I killed cannot eat now so I should go at least tonight without my own meal. To pay them some respect.

When Renit realizes I'm fiddling with my food instead of eating it, he rolls his eyes. "That was only two lives, spitfire. There will be more," he attempts to console.

I stare into the flames and find myself lost in their warmth. "I don't want to kill anyone," I confess.

Around the chunk of cheese in his cheek, Renit's words are straight to the point. "You are young and my beating heart permitting, you'll be at the hands of death more often than you have recently. You'll have to kill again."

I scowl and tear off a corner of the bread with my teeth. I taste nothing, either this bread is stale or I've allowed myself to slip too far. "My power was always to be used for killing. I was never supposed to do anything...good with it."

"Some powers are that way. The more powerful. Like my father, he was born to kill."

I snort. "He's fulfilling the destiny of his power very well."

Renit laughs under his breath as he picks a piece of lint from his shirt sleeve. The flames turn his tan skin an orange shade, clean and soft. He hasn't had the chance to shave since we were in Flitsea, the desert doesn't allow for much grooming so the bottom half of his face is covered in light stubble. And I have to say...either version of him is handsome.

With his hair a mess and his skin shiny after not being properly washed with the soaps of the capital, he looks more like a merchant or a sloppy farrier than a prince. This is the Renit that should be, if this is the witch he desires to become. His father should not keep him from behaving like a commoner. But I wouldn't know what Renit desires to be, if he even wants to be this, scruffy and sullied.

"Your power is strong," Renit says to break the silence. "Some of us are born with powers that don't have one purpose—but have many. A witch of storm can help crops in a land that doesn't have any water but I can also kill someone with lightning and create tornados that take out entire villages." The prince rests his chin in his palm and drums long fingers against his cheek.

I twist the bread back and forth in my hands. "But you have something," I counter. Renit furrows his brows. "You can help people with water but I can't do anything like that. No one needs the ground."

I rest my back against a stone boulder and out of habit, search through with my power to find the truth underneath. This rock was here long before the kingdom ever was, before this land was claimed by Renit's ancestor and even before those that had it before were here. This rock is as old as the land itself.

"You have...protection." I flatten my stare at him and he holds out a hand. "I'm serious, hear me out. You can create an impenetrable shield that can't even be damaged with one hit of titanium. If someone ever needs protection, you'll be the right person for the job."

Despite my best interests, I smirk. "I think that's the real reason why your father paired us together. He needed someone to protect the foolish prince."

Renit laughs, exposing white teeth in a rare showcase of joy. Not a small smile that he hides seconds later but one that remains. I can't help but mimic it. "You think too highly of yourself, spitfire. I've been protecting myself since I could walk." He stares into the flames, same as me, and after a moment goes on to say, "But the added security is nice to have."

I pop a piece of cheese into my mouth. "You better believe so. If it wasn't for me, those robbers would have made a meal of you."

He scratches at the back of his head. "They didn't know what they were up against. I would have disabled them, one way or the other," he boasts.

I roll my eyes and without the presence of conversation, finish the rest of my food. Minutes ago, I didn't think I could stomach a meal after killing two people who didn't stand a chance in the first place. With Renit's coaxing, the guilt is completely forgotten and I find myself...proud to be considered a protector of the prince. He's never had anyone protect him before.

In the silence of the night, staring into those flames, I don't find myself to be tired. So I pull the box from inside the satchel and examine the gold tracings and carvings meant to signify something in the ancient language. A language that not even Renit could translate. The only ones that knew it were the first witches and that bloodline has long receded into nothing. Secrets of the past died with them.

Across the fire, Renit watches me. "That's Red Jasper," he says. "The Stone of Endurance." He waggles his fingers, asking for the box, and I hand it over. The lock on this one is heavy as well, what the prince examines first, and frowns when the box doesn't budge.

I haven't thought about opening either of the treasures we carry. But curiosity is getting the best of us. We want to know what is on the inside, what truths they might hold as to what the king is looking for.

"The Stone of Endurance," I repeat. "It promotes justice, protection, and life. The common relation to a warrior." I recite the words like I've read them hundreds of times before; the history of stones and crystals was a popular choice to read before I went to sleep next to the fire. It bored me so much that my eyes were heavy after the first few pages but I've read about Red Jasper before, it's referred to as the Warrior's Stone—among other things.

"You know your history."

I don't know if that's a compliment or a question so I nod slowly. "I used to read about stones and crystals all the time. They're very important to witches. They used to call it..." I let my voice trail off, searching for the right word.

"The backup for magic," Renit finishes for me. "Stones and crystals have the opportunity to do what magic-born witches cannot do." A muscle in his jaw feathers. Before he can make himself more curious as to the Red Jasper on the inside, he stuffs the box back inside the satchel and shoves it away.

Anyone who opens that box other than the king will find themselves in serious trouble. Even Renit.

He sits back, resting his head against a boulder behind him. "The original witches were able to use spells—along with the stones and crystals. They weren't born with only one power to control, they had never heard such a thing as power. With the spells, they could do whatever they wanted," Renit baffles.

"They were the true witches," I muse.

Renit shrugs, contemplating. "They're the reason our powers come the way they do. The reason every witch is born with only one power is because the spell they put on our entire race. Witches were becoming too powerful so...they evened the playing field."

The prince knows his history. He has to, considering his ancestor is the one who started all this. It's important to know where we come from, the things we could fix now while our ancestors were too busy taking everything for themselves to care.

I think of my father and how he took Arego on good intentions. Back then, it was merely a plot of land in the forest. And when Celestine wrapped her arms around the widest tree and hugged tight, my father knew that was what he was to build around. I miss that tree, I spent many summers reading and drawing underneath the shade of the thick pine branches. In the distance, my father built one of the most notorious safe-havens this kingdom has ever seen...and likely the last.

No one in their right minds would dare risk their lives again.

After talking about crystals and stones, murmuring about the original witches to the forest beyond, my eyes become heavy. Leave it to talking about history to drag me into sleep.

We slumber peacefully, no critters or witches come to disrupt us. Leaving before the sun rises, we find the trail leading to Ducoria and head through the biggest grassland in the kingdom, the one surrounding the city.

We'll be there in three days' time, a feat compared to the rest of this journey.