The Way We Fall

Chapter 37 (Roche)

TW: Death, coarse language

Tigris' breathing evened out soon after. Roche stared at the ceiling of their shared room.

I threw up for a full day the first day I saw a body.

Hearing the vulnerable tremble in the princess' voice had taken her aback. The concern in her voice had been just as touching. Nice, even.

Roche blew out a shaky breath. The princess clearly had no lost feelings for those with inkblood. But... she was somewhat fair. She'd stayed true to her word. Roche squeezed her eyes shut. Tigris had the potential to be one of the greatest leaders the world had ever seen. And Roche would get her there.

But damn, if it didn't hurt to hear her venom against inkblood.

Roche let herself wonder, just for a heartbeat, what Tigris would do if she found the illicit substance that had been bestowed to her veins. She could feel it coursing through her body when she concentrated hard enough. It was getting easier to use too. She could incant most of the commands in her head, save for the newer ones. She learned them with every text she read, feeling the words flip and churn until something beautiful, an incantation, surfaced in the expanse of her mind. It felt like a breath of fresh air after diving into the depths of the ocean.

Roche couldn't feel anything but wonder for her inkblood. Tigris' hatred felt like a burn getting chafed. It was justifiable, of course. After the ordeal with Finn, the plague and all the vitriol her father spewed, it was no wonder the princess despised inkblood.

But for a moment, Roche hadn't seen the vendor on the end of Tigris' blade.

She'd seen herself.

And when Tigris had spoken of the punishment her father would have levied, she'd seen her mother, her entire village, writhing in the flames, their mouths torn open with howls of agony so potent that they were silenced.

Roche shook away the thoughts. Her stomach flipped again, and she forced herself to think of something else before she threw up again.

She just had to hope that the princess never found out the truth. Or if she did, she would be as tender and kindhearted as she'd been today.

It was a fool's hope. But Roche clung to it anyway as she drifted off to sleep.

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A hand pressed against her mouth. Roche squirmed trying to throw off the weight. It was no good. The person held fast. Roche tried to scream, but her assailant leaned closer, her hair tickling Roche's nose.

"Stop, it's me!" Tigris hissed. Roche stilled, relief blooming in her chest. It faded as soon as Tigris whispered, "Go wake up Finn and Aodh. Someone's in the hall."

Roche focused. She could hear the soft swish of steps in the hallway, so faint it was nearly inaudible. She nodded and Tigris leapt off of her soundly, grabbing her sword. Roche rushed towards the door adjoining their rooms, shoving it open.

Finn was sprawled across his bed, a hapless tangle of lean limbs and tousled chocolate curls. Roche grabbed his glasses, jamming them onto his face. She tapped his cheeks gently before moving to Aodh. If the situation hadn't been so urgent, she would have laughed.

The man even slept like a stick in the mud. He was on his back, arms tightly at his sides. Roche placed her hand over his mouth like Tigris had and slapped him across the face.

Aodh's eyes popped open, already burning in fury. He bucked, nearly throwing her off. Roche locked her legs around his hips, barely managing to stay on.

"Someone's in the halls. Get up, Tigris is going after them!" she whispered, and the prince's struggle stopped. Roche pulled away and the prince leapt out of his bed, grabbing his sword and barging into Tigris' room.