Renit and I don't find time. Shortly after we prepare dinner for the group of rebels sitting in the dining area two rooms over, we're called into a meeting. Scheduled by the one-eyed commander who faked his death, he ordered Renit and me to stand towards the back and monitor what they discuss.

I stand towards the back wall of the room, my arms crossed over my chest and Renit standing at my side. Most of the plates along the wooden tables are already empty after the array of rebels scarfed down their meals without a second thought. Fried fish and a side of vegetables, steamed, and lightly salted. We're using as little supplies as we can in Arego, there's not enough to go around. Portions are small, taste and seasonings are even smaller. Renit has said on more than one occasion that he wishes for Mills to be here.

Dalis has said the same.

Alaric stands towards the front of the room, his back rested against the wooden paneling. Standing at his side is Bren, and in the corner, Tesha sharpens a sword. The weapon is out of place in her grip, I've never seen her without a bow or an arrow twisting between her fingers, spinning dangerously close to her eye.

The rest of our original group received the same summons from Alaric. It's time we earn our keep, even Celestine, who sits close to the front of the room with Dalis at her back. So far, she's had little contact with anyone other than Bren, they've taken a liking to each other since being back. I hope for nothing more than to watch their happiness blossom.

Citlali, my pair in power, stands near the door to keep a close eye on the hall. Although there are guards posted outside, she's become a close and quick supporter to Alaric's forces. Finding the right doorway into the rebel forces was what she'd been waiting for and now that she's here, she holds nothing back. Personal training from Rex Fletcher will not go to waste.

The last witch I consider to be a friend of mine and also the one who has allowed himself to drift into the rebel forces—Binx. He mixes in well with the rebels sitting at the table in the corner of the room, near the front but not too close to smell the icy breath of their commander. Binx fiddles with his fingers and stares down at the wood beneath them as if that'll hold the answers to all his troubles.

We haven't spoken much since everything happened. The regret and guilt has swallowed him whole and to make himself useful, he's offered up every bit of secrecy after working at the king's side for so long. Not only that, but he trained many rebels starting out in the operation. Alaric, a man not open to giving out praise, has stated on more than one occasion that Binx is a worthy soldier to have.

They never fought together on the battlefield; Alaric had long been dead once Binx stood on the mudded plains and took down enemies with his sword, but stories of the commander spread far and wide through the war camps. A close associate to the prince and a strong power to match. Alaric was unstoppable; the stories explained more than that to fellow soldiers looking to mourn a man that never received a proper sentencing.

He's receiving that now—alive and well. Renit is still fickle about trusting someone that he believed to be dead for so many years. At least until I remind him that Alaric was willing to get me out of the castle with hardly any questions asked. It wouldn't be fair to assume the commander isn't out to make friends.

Bren's dark brows draw inward, his hands moving on their own accord when he speaks to his commander. Their tones are hushed, and underneath the steady wave of voices in the room, no one at the front—or back—of the room can hear what they're speaking about.

"If this is how they conduct meetings, we're going to have a problem," Renit whispers in my ear.

"They're still getting a hang of things," I defend, my voice quiet enough that the rebels directly in front of us can't hear. As long as they're not a witch of all-hearing, they don't have a chance. So far, I have yet to discover one throughout Alaric's forces.

Renit leans his head back against the wall behind him. Minutes ago, he'd worn an apron and cooked a meal with such efficiency I'd think him to have once been a cook in the castle kitchens. I was just about to ask when Alaric stuck his head in and ordered us to come here instead of preparing a meal for ourselves.

My stomach grumbles in response to the smell of all this food and I press my hand against it to dull the audible ache. Renit raises his brows at me but I shake my head in silent urge to keep him from revealing to the entire room that I need to eat. The last thing he wants is for me to be weak and unprepared for training tomorrow morning.

It won't be with weapons or with the difference of our powers, my training tomorrow won't be with Renit entirely. The throat being cleared in the doorway causes me to turn, revealing my training partner for tomorrow. Citlali jerks her chin at me, silently asking what the hold-up is. She has monitored for long enough.

I shrug in response and my twin in power shakes her head. She's much stronger than I am, her power is developed well beyond what I've discovered myself, and my advancement in all ways of ground will be our focus tomorrow. My anxiety rises simply at the thought of it.

A sharp whistle sounds towards the front of the room and I nearly jump out of my skin. The room silences and the only movement left behind is Alaric clearing his throat to signal to the rebels that the time has come. "Listen up!" He shouts to his forces. Immediately, they straighten and turn their full attention to him. One table in particular, stocked with young male witches and one female, stop laughing upon recognizing their commander's orders. What has Alaric done in his free time to show the rebels he doesn't mess around?

I'm surprised when he gestures to my childhood friend. The commander isn't going to be running this meeting. Bren, a witch that grew up with no family and no direction of his own, is leading it. Along with that silent order to take control, Bren straightens and schools his features into neutrality, disappearing so deep within the mask that I hardly recognize him.

His blue eyes darken, the flame of his power seemingly visible within them. "This is our first official meeting," Bren addresses. Even his voice is different. Stronger. "We have one goal throughout this rebellion, kill the king of Esaria."

I dare a glance at Renit. A few other rebels do the same. He doesn't shift his gaze, doesn't falter, doesn't swallow the lump in his throat to expose his nerves to the room. I know they're there; the bond reveals them.

"To do that, we will need forces stronger than mortals will allow. We need numbers, yes, but we have that. We also need ideas, strength, magic, everything underneath the sun to contribute to killing a witch that doesn't want to be killed." Bren slams his closed fist against an open palm. "Through intel, we've discovered the king's forces are growing stronger with the potion he concocted. An army like that is unstoppable, all with immortal strengths and the skills of a five-hundred-year-old warrior. We have little time and with every second, our resources here in Arego are dwindling. Either we do this soon, or we relocate. There is not enough give and take." His eyebrows draw inward in disappointment, a few other faces convey the same expression.

For a moment, the room is silent. Everyone looks to one another in question, waiting to speak, but Alaric does that for them. "This is the time to share ideas. Plans. Anything that might lead in the direction of the castle."

Still, no one moves. They are strong on the outside, especially in training, but there's only so much strength they can withhold throughout this. The castle is a battlefield and they are the soldiers. Not one of them, in their own silent way, is ready to give up their life.

To my surprise, Celestine raises her delicate, pale hand into the air. With a subtle jerk of his chin and a softening of his eyes I've only seen when he looks at someone he cares about, Bren gives her the floor to speak. "With my new power, I can slowly chip away at their army. It won't do much, but if we manage to capture a few of his soldiers, I can convert them to our side," she offers.

Mutters and whispers follow her dedication.

"That's true." Bren scratches at his chin. Relief resides in his eyes when he gazes at her. "A power like that is versatile, but it'd have to get us in close contact with the king's army. We'd burn through so many soldiers ourselves that converting one or two might not be worth it."

From her place next to Celestine, Dalis huffs a laugh. "Take a chance. The king's forces, although strong, might not be as diverse as he claims them to be. All this could be a show to scare the rebellion into running off with their tails between their legs," she says. Again, some rebels agree with hushed acceptance to their partners.

"We don't have time to take a chance," Bren retorts. "As I said, our supplies are dwindling. We can keep eating fish, yes, but no one is receiving the necessary amount of food we need to survive and sustain ourselves here. The weaker we get, the less of a chance we have to take down the king."

"So the witches of the gardens pull extra shifts." Alaric shrugs with that simple answer. "We need more food, they can provide it. Next on the list, keep it going." He spins his hand in a circle to emit the physical urge of this meeting.

Binx's eye meets mine from across the room. A silent question lingers there, but there isn't a telltale truth to his stare. We weren't around each other long enough and I wasn't as observant as I should have been to know his silent telling immediately. "What about taking down the castle and crushing the king within it?" He asks before I can figure it out.

To that, everyone looks at me. Citlali is gone from the doorway and monitoring the outside of the building so she can't take the burden of attention off my shoulders. Our two powers are the same, but being the king's third hand, they know who to look to. I am the one that stood at the king's side, Citlali is the one that hid in Lona. That's the only difference between the two of us.

"If you want a king on the throne, that isn't an option," Renit states. No one agrees with him, he's still the prince, the king's weapon. Our titles will follow us everywhere. Despite that, Renit goes on. "Silas is still in there, as are many innocent witches. Unless you plan on killing them, too, you must think of something else."

"Innocent witches." A rebel towards the front of the room shakes their head with the statement. "You've killed plenty in your day, who's to say we can't do the same?" Before anyone has the chance to agree, the ground rumbles underneath our boots and dust falls from the ceiling. Everyone stills.

I clamp a lid on my power after the subtle warning and tilt my head to the rebel, scrutinizing every inch of his strained face. Not another word. I'll take this entire building down with him on the inside if he even looks in Renit's direction again.

Alaric glares at me from across the room but I don't balk. He may hold the power of gravity, but I won't give him the upper hand. Renit is still a matter of protection, he's still a target amongst these rebels, and they'll learn very quickly what happens when they express the wrong interest in the king's former weapon. 

Clearing his throat, Bren says, "Renit is right. The crown prince is there, and I don't plan on killing more innocents than we have to. Although taking down the castle is a decent idea, we'll shelve it for now. Anything else?"

"We can lure the king out," Dalis offers. She drums her knuckles on the wooden table.

Tesha, having been silent in the corner, snorts. The sword in her hand is quickly forgotten as she drags the whetstone across the blade one final time and tosses it into her lap. Her eyes flash with amusement when she stares down the witch of water sitting at the table behind my innocent sister. "Let's lure him out, sure." She shrugs simply. "Because that worked so well the last time."

She tightens her jaw and accents the three scars down her cheek. No one in their right mind dares to ask her how she received them, whether she was close enough to the king to stare into the hollowness of his near-black eyes, or dealt them to herself in a desperate attempt to escape.

Dalis frowns at her sarcasm. "Fine, do you have any other good ideas?"

"Sure, let's string up little illusion here as bait. After everything he did to screw over the king and us, the castle might want him back." Tesha spits onto the wooden floorboards and stares at Binx as she does so. He doesn't convey any emotion, only looks down at the table in defeat.

He hasn't stood up for himself since arriving. Everyone, down to the most insignificant of rebels, has beaten him down, one way or the other. Believing he deserves the verbal abuse, Binx takes it and doesn't wait for apologies afterward. The only time we've spoken is after a rebel shoved him into a stone wall. I told him to stand up for himself, no one else would do that for him.

He hasn't faced loneliness in all regards. Over time, Dalis has rekindled their relationship together. Not through Binx's persuasion, he's been more than ready to cut off all contact with the rest of the world; the witch of water stepped forward first and offered to aid him through such a difficult time.

"Tesha," Bren growls. The tight pursing of his lips is answer enough that if she says another word, there will be punishment for it later. Guard duty—a secret enjoyment of Tesha's and her only alone time in a village full of cowardly witches. Her words, not mine.

She exposes her hands in innocence before slumping back in her chair. "We're all thinking it, I'm just the one speaking."

"Only certain things need to be said," Citlali chimes in. They stare each other down, one strength against the other, and Tesha winks at her. The witch of ground's cheeks flush red and she casts her eyes to the floor, only for a second. Confidence blooms through her once she's facing the room again. "Pinning accusations on others will not help us right now. We need a full plan."

Tesha, and no one else in the room, retort to that.

Waving his hand to keep it going, Alaric steps forward. "More ideas, people, come on. If we get nothing out of this meeting other than senseless bickering, then we're not using our time well. Our bodies are dying by the minute. Well, the mortals are." His grin is nothing short of wicked.

"What if someone goes undercover?" Celestine asks. "We could send an unsuspecting rebel into the castle to pose as a servant."

"Too risky." She doesn't appear disappointed by Bren shooting her down. "With witches of all-seeing, there isn't a chance we send a rebel in there without not receiving the same one back. The king's eyes are more observant now than ever and we can't waste any more rebels after the destruction in the flower meadows."

Along with Tesha's scars, I have yet to hear the full story on what took place in the flower meadows. The king killed as many as they could with his power, from what I've heard, and the rest of his guards of immortal powers completed the work. Escaping from certain doom, the remainder of the rebels have realized their failures and are not willing to go through that scenario again. Loved ones died, friends begged to be left behind, the survivors remembered with blood-shot eyes the pain of blood and sacrifice.

Alaric steps forward and scratches at the back of his head. "Roux?" He asks. "Do you have any input you'd like to offer?"

I stumble over my words, my throat clogs with uncertainty, but I say the only thing that comes to mind. "Without the crown prince out of the castle, we don't have much of a chance. We need his safety and his alliance. Otherwise, we leave the throne up for question and after so many years of uncertainty, that's the last thing we need." I try, and fail, to make my voice sound convincing enough in a room full of warriors.

"Wisely put." The rebels in the room nod their agreement.

"Let's table this discussion," Bren orders. "We have a steady input of ideas coming in; this is only the beginning of our discussion. For the next meeting, I want to hear more ideas and I want to hear more about powers and strengths. We need everything we can get. Everyone, keep training, do what you can to strengthen yourselves. We'll meet back here in two days' time. You're dismissed."

No one waits for Alaric's confirmation. Leadership has passed down quicker than any of them could expect, but it's clear who the rebels look to now. The sword at Bren's hip, the determination in his eyes, and the confidence in the rise and fall of his chest when he looks to Celestine—every single piece of my childhood friend was crafted by a different soul than his own. Not from his parents, not from me or anyone else in Arego.

I realize Alaric gave him this. The ability to lead. Bren has taken that chance with no regrets and run with it without looking back. As our eyes meet across the room, I jerk my chin once in silent appreciation. He casts his eyes down, draining my chances of us ever having a normal friendship after everything we've been through, but eventually, the gesture is returned—followed by a wink to remind me he's always there. Through it all, Bren is there.