The Way We Fall

Chapter 23 (Roche)

Roche had talked to Verita. She'd confessed to visiting Kai and gotten an earful for it. As if that wasn't enough, Roche revealed part of her plan because she didn't want Verita to be tied into it if she didn't want to be. Verita deserved to know that much. The librarian had protested, of course, citing the obvious safety concerns Roche would face.

But Roche had made her choice. And from Circe's words, she knew not to turn back on it. Verita had seen the resolve in her eyes and sighed.

"Be careful, Roche." Verita had warned, "At least wait until I get back from delivering these books?"

"Of course," Roche lied. She even accompanied Verita to the door. Once she'd heard the librarian's footsteps fade, she locked the doors behind her. She'd only used the passageways in the walls at night when everyone was asleep and couldn't hear the rumbling that opening them created. She couldn't risk anyone coming to investigate.

Roche made her way to an irksomely familiar shelf. She pulled the stone tablet and lit the torch with a silent incantation. She walked through the passageway for a few paces, waiting to hear scratching.

It didn't take long before the wall beside her gave way, revealing a feathery beast.

"I see you've made your choice."

"I have," Roche conceded, "And I need your help. But I think you already knew that."

Circe tilted their head. "The choice you have made will have many effects, Ala, provided you follow through."

"Why do you keep calling me that?"

"It is a name you will gain." Circe's eyes glowed bright, "Some humans make choices so far reaching that the words recognize their names for all time. In almost every choice you make from now, you earn that name. Forgive me if I've used it prematurely."

"Right," Roche deadpanned. She had a feeling that the oversized bird knew exactly why it was using the name, that it wasn't premature at all. Half of what Circe had said made no sense. But she wasn't here to focus on that. "I need your help. Striga are creatures of inkblood, correct? That means you know more than any inkblood wielder."

"Ask, kin. I cannot lie to you. I am a creature of communication and truth. I am a creature of inkblood."

Roche steeled herself. "Prince Finn has been poisoned with an enchanted datura flower. It glows golden. Someone has been wrongfully accused of poisoning him. The safest way to keep them both safe is by curing the prince and revealing the true people behind the poison."

Circe blinked at her owlishly. "I know. What do you seek, Ala?"

Roche tilted her head so that their gazes met head on. Her inkblood stirred.

"Tell me how to cure Prince Finn."

There was a small pop in the air. A single feather floated off the Striga's wing, coming to a stop at her feet. The feather was perfectly notched, so shiny and dark that it seemed polished. Circe nodded their head,

"The enchantment is a powerful one, made with the moonflower variety of datura. This flower has the potential to cure and condemn."

Roche picked up the feather. In the reflective surface she could see the pale flower curling up, its petals, spreading delicately in the moonlight. It glowed a pale white. Roche could see pale hands stroking the petals. Wherever they touched, it turned gold.

"Some of the enchanted flower must be reverted back into the original flower state using inkblood. Then the flower's healing, curing properties must be isolated at night and given to the victim. A drop must be administered orally. Only then will they rouse."

In the feather, Roche could see the gold leeching from the petals until the flower had blanched white. Then the tips of the flower curled inwards, turning grey as a drop of a white, silvery liquid was drained into a vial, some moonlight twining in.

"But be warned."

The image in the mirrored surface of the feather shifted. The flower crumbled to ash. Roche could practically hear a wet thump as a hand crashed limply against the ground.

"The reverted flower must be from the flower used for the enchantment. More datura cannot be grown or found. The enchantment is a delicate one. If the reversal is not completed properly, the flower will crumble to ashes and the victim will be left to die with no hope."

Roche's throat dried. She was going to use inkblood to help a royal, or damn him to his death.

Aw hell.

She swallowed. "What words must I incant to reverse the enchantment?"

She could practically feel Circe smiling. "The words are not easy. Change does not like to be undone. Such is balance."

"Circe." Roche tutted impatiently. The bird seemed to find pleasure in her irritation.

"Patience. These words will not be as instinctive as the ones you normally cull from your blood. It is too complex. As such, the pronunciation and intention will not be instinctive either. Heed my words. You say the words correctly or the flower will crumble, and this will not be simple."

That explained why her inkblood hadn't shown her the words.

"I know," Roche gulped, "I understand. Please, tell me the words. I don't have much time."

"Then hear the words. I wish you well, Ala. Come see me soon. I haven't been near my kin for a long time."

Circe raised their wings and flapped. The air was knocked out of Roche's lungs as she was thrown back, tossed through the passageway. She blinked and she was on her ass, outside the sealed passageway. Tucked in her hands was Circe's iridescent feather.

Roche picked it up with shaking hands and it shattered, breaking apart into dust. The dust flew into the air, surrounding Roche's face. She swatted it away, but the feather dust was insistent, curling around her head. In the cacophony of swirling air, Roche heard a familiar feminine whisper. Her inkblood thrummed in her veins, the words murmured into her ears. Roche took all her concentration, focusing on every word.

And when the dust settled and the wild scent of inkblood was a memory in the air, Roche got to her feet with a grin. She pulled a pen out of her pocket and scrawled the words she needed on the golden skin of her forearm.

"See, Circe? When you give me a pen, there's no telling how productive I'll be."

She could have sworn she heard the bird laughing as she retreated back to the front of the library to unlock the doors.

A/N I've always wondered how MCs just memorise long prophecies on the spot. When someone tells me something important, it goes in one ear and out the other (unintentionally, of course LOL).