The Way We Fall

Chapter 37 (Roche)

Roche grabbed a drowsy Finn by the arm, dragging him across the ground until he was awake enough to understand the words she was whispering. He grabbed his sword, his cheeks pinkening. Roche realised he was still in his nightclothes.

They didn't have time to change. They raced after the elder royals.

Tigris was hurtling down the hall, her white nightgown streaming behind her like a stag's tail. Roche sprinted to catch up. The gentle patter of steps had devolved into a thunderous stampede. Clearly the inkblood knew she was being chased.

"OCWELAN!"

Roche felt the incantation before she heard it. She lunged, her hand wrapping around Tigris' bicep. She yanked Tigris to the side as the arrow of inkblood hurtled past. Aodh and Finn ducked to the ground.

The floor trembled as the wall exploded in a rush of sharp fragments.

"C'mon!" Tigris bellowed, dragging Roche to her feet, ignoring the reddish cloud that had bloomed around them. Up ahead, Roche could see a flurry of dark fabric bounding out the door.

The inkblood raced into the forest. Tigris held her sword at ready, crashing through the foliage. Roche recognized the path that they'd used earlier in the day, so she knew the exact moment when they veered away into the heart of the forest.

It was dark. There was barely any moonlight to see by. Somehow Tigris was still on the inkblood's trail, like a hound with its nose trained on a scent. She looked ghostly in the night, her skin glowing white under the moonlight.

She turned for a moment, gesturing to her brothers and Roche. They immediately split off into the forest in opposite directions. Roche blinked in confusion. Tigris rolled her eyes.

"This," she copied her earlier gesture, a thumb to the side, "Means go around and catch them on the other side. And this," she jutted two fingers, flicking them at Roche, "Means follow me."

"Sorry, I only know one gesture." Roche held up one choice finger. Tigris rolled her eyes.

There was a glade up ahead, littered with fallen dead logs. Spiders hung off the branches of the midnight bark of the trees, their bluish leaves glowing eerily. The trees formed a perfect ring.

Roche took one step into the mulchy glade and her stomach flipped.

Inkblood. It pulsed like a second heart thrust into the earth. Right atop the epicentre, a long, perfectly cobbled tunnel stood. In the mouth of the dark entrance, the inkblood wielder stood, hood raised to mask their features. Tigris stepped past Roche, blade levelled.

"Don't try running," the princess announced, her voice low, "You're outnumbered."

The inkblood tilted her head. "But not outmatched."

Tigris laughed darkly. "I beg to differ." Her sword glimmered in the light.

"Then go ahead," the inkblood crowed, spreading her arms wide. Roche caught a glimmer of brown skin flashing, interspersed with veins of inkblood. "Kill me."

"Gladly," Tigris growled. But to Roche's surprise, she didn't lunge forward. She waited, sword level and muscles coiled. She grew tenser with every second.

The inkblood's hood flipped back enough to reveal a smirk. "Waiting for someone?"

"What have you done with my brothers?" Tigris snarled, her grip on her sword tightening. The inkblood laughed.

"Don't worry. They aren't dead."

"Have you given them the plague?" Tigris demanded to know. Roche could see her hands trembling. The inkblood grinned.