The Way We Fall

Chapter 75 (Roche)

"Is something wrong?"

Roche looked up, grinning sheepishly at Verita's raised eyebrow. From the librarian's concerned face, it was clear that it wasn't the first time she'd asked the question. Roche avoided her guardian's eyes.

"No."

"Really? Because I think you've stirred a whirlpool into your soup." Verita noted dryly. Roche frowned and took an exaggerated sip even as her stomach rebelled. Circe's words echoed in her mind, pressing in on her.

A prince would betray Tigris. A prince would try and hurt Tigris. A prince might try to kill Tigris.

Roche bit back a shiver. She couldn't unsee Aodh talking to Harold on the privacy of the beach, their faces solemn and intent. Perhaps they were conspiring. Roche bit back a wave of nausea at the very thought. Aodh was fiercely loyal to his sister, he wouldn't hurt her.

... would he?

"Roche," Verita's rheumy brown eyes were very concerned, "What is it?"

"It's nothing." Roche lied again. She definitely couldn't tell Verita about Circe now. She knew she'd be scolded infinitely for even listening to the inkblood creature in the first place, and Roche had learned her lesson well. Plus, even after everything Circe had done, Roche didn't want the Striga's home to be revealed to the king. The bird was the last of its kind. It was the smallest mercy Roche could offer in repayment for everything they had done for her.

When Roche realised Verita was still gazing at her with clear skepticism, she added, "I'm worried I won't be able to find the real Sir Harold in time."

Verita stilled, her hawkish eyes narrowing. "Do you think he's going to make a move soon?"

Aodh's conversation with Harold bloomed in Roche's mind, unbidden.

"The tournament is in a few days!" Aodh had snapped to Sir Harold. Roche chewed her lip.

"Maybe. Perhaps during the tournament." she said slowly, even though each word felt like a stab of betrayal towards the prince. "Harold's only been making attempts on Tigris during training, but he's been half hearted. It's like he's waiting for something."

Verita hummed thoughtfully. "Perhaps he's not waiting, but testing the princess. Feeling out her strengths and weaknesses in fighting before the tournament. If something were to happen during the tournament, he could play it as an accident or that Tigris wasn't a skilled enough warrior to defend herself."

The theory made Roche's blood simmer. She thought back to Tigris' frustration a few hours ago. The princess honoured her skill as a fighter above all else. To go down in such a way would be the ultimate posthumous shame. And Fake Harold would get away scot-free, ready to murder the rest of the grieving royal family for the Council.

Except for the traitor, a wicked voice whispered in Roche's head. She flinched at the thought, pushing away her bowl of soup.

"I need to find the real Harold quickly." she muttered, rubbing her temples as the makings of a headache began to form. "I don't know where to start, he could be anywhere."

"Well, starving yourself won't help." Verita said gently, nudging the bowl back towards Roche. "Eat."

Roche figured that if Verita was worrying about her, then she must truly look like a mess. She obediently tugged the bowl back towards her, slurping the cold soup. Verita didn't reprimand her for the horrendous table manners. Instead, the old librarian seemed lost in thought.

"Have you heard of scrying, Roche?" Verita asked. Roche shook her head and Verita stood, darting into Roche's room to grab the spell book. She flipped it open to a page, pointing to a thin line of text.