The blood wouldn't come off her hands.

Antonia reached under the water, nails scratching against her palms as she slowly breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth.

It had been three days since their escape from Savoy's castle.

Nema was still asleep in the rickety bed they had shared last night, hand absently reaching toward where Antonia had been nestled only minutes before.

Antonia had used the last of their money on the small hostel room they had found after selling the dress and jewelry she had escaped with. They could only afford one more night here, and Antonia was determined to find every fleck of blood on her skin and peel it off of her before they left. Despite the fact the blood was no longer visible on her, Antonia still felt it. She could still feel the stickiness of it. The weight it held.

"I... I... didn't- I had to," Antonia had muttered that night, staring blankly at her hands. "I killed him. I killed- he was just a child." Nema had knelt before her, grabbing Antonia's hand and placing them against her cheeks. Antonia almost gagged as the blood from her hands spread over Nema's face, but something about the action relaxed her.

Antonia had killed an innocent boy. She had killed Trajan's friend. A boy she had known for years. She had done so without a second thought. Without even weighing the decision in her mind. It was a horrendous act that left Antonia gagging at the memory. And yet... Nema was still here, unafraid, as she let the blood from Antonia's murder dirty her skin.

"You killed him," she agreed, and her fingers tightened around Antonia's wrists. "Now we must survive."

Nema's words had been enough to get Antonia moving. Unfortunately, it didn't ease the pain of Antonia's first kill. She still dreamt of the knife in her hand, of Lucius's pulse fading beneath her. Each moment of sleep was a year in some hell.

Romanovians didn't believe bad souls were punished by a divine creature. Antonia almost wished they did. It would be comforting in some way, like justice would be served for Lucius' murder.

The heat of the water burned her, and Antonia bit back a sob as an inky black spread over her palms, taking away the scalding sensation. Frustrated, she turned the water off and hit the pipe. She put her head between her legs, twisting her fingers in her hair as she tried to breathe.

Friedrich had said her Aunt Jivanta had also had magic. Antonia's magic. It had to be a lie. Antonia didn't know much about Jivanta, but her family had told her quite plainly that Antonia was one-of-a-kind. They wouldn't lie to her. Not about that.

If Octavia where here, she'd be able to reassure her. She could poke holes in Friedrich's faulty logic before dismissively telling Antonia she worried too much.

But Octavia was gone. Nothing but a pile of ash absorbed into a dragon's flames. Antonia had killed Lucius to save her life, and for what? For what?

Antonia didn't think she could live with the pain of watching her sister vanish in a ball of fire. One second, she was there, and the next... gone.

Octavia was gone.

Her brother gone.

Her mother gone.

Her father gone.

Her home gone.

What did she have left?

Antonia thought to when their castle fell. How it slowly broke from a strong, stable building into piles of rubble crashing down. Was that all she was now? Piles of a person that once was?

Antonia swallowed, eyes flicking to where Nema stirred slightly in her sleep. They were both dressed in rags now. Without the ostentatious gowns and gold, Antonia barely recognized herself, but Nema looked as she always did. Antonia had never paid much attention to what was on her. Her eyes always fell to how each strand of hair fell and how her lips would mouth whatever she was thinking. Nema lived in a world of spirits, and Antonia found herself wishing for an early death.

"Are druids allowed to be as young as you?" Antonia had once asked when Nema had first arrived at the castle two years ago to start her apprenticeship. Each word out of Antonia's mouth was awkward and clumsy, leaving her wincing at the bluntness of her question. Nema had looked up from a scroll, lips twitching with amusement as she examined Antonia as if they had known each other throughout many lifetimes.

"Shouldn't a princess be well educated in religion?" Nema asked her, and Antonia pretended to be offended, claiming she was far too busy with other, more important duties that they both knew didn't exist. "Well," Nema said, setting aside her scroll. "I am here, and I'm a druid, so...."

"Good to know. Thank you," Antonia said and turned to leave, only to run into a wall. Nema asked if she was alright, to which Antonia tried to respond, only to end up tripping and crashing into a guard. It was truly a wonder they had any conversations after that.

Antonia tore her eyes away from where Nema was sleeping now and got up, ignoring the scratchy wool she was sweating in. Was this even technically a dress? It felt like a lump of cloth held together with a rope. Antonia grimaced as she tried to adjust it on her, wiping her hands on her legs once more before turning to the door.