The Way We Fall

Chapter 159 (Tigris)

TW: Grief, descriptions of a d3ad b0dy

Unconsciousness wrapped around her mind, soft and comforting. It begged her stay, even as she rose towards the light that beckoned her. She wavered, hovering in that space for a moment. There was something beyond, something she needed to see. Tigris pressed upwards, sensation slowly coming back to her body.

It was dark when she opened her eyes. A coppery scent stung her nostrils as she groaned, blinking. Someone had lit a candle that glowed, beating back the darkness of night. Tigris sat up, her memories whirring in her mind, none of them clicking together. She blinked, finding a ring of figures standing in front of her. They were all turned away. The room was silent, eerily so.

Tigris rose, her head spinning. One by one, they turned towards her.

Verita first. Then Leinos. Their faces were unreadable. Then Roche, who cupped a hand to her face in horror. Tigris' memories fastened together, numb horror and grief crashing through her as Aodh turned. She lifted her eyes towards him, drunkenly hoping that it had all been a terrifying dream.

But then Aodh stepped aside, his face stained with tears. Tigris crawled forward, kneeling next to the body that had been laid on the floor. Her father. His throat was slit.

There was so much blood.

"The king is dead," Verita announced hollowly as Tigris' shaking hands cradled her father's head.

The words were a release and a damning sentence all at once. Tigris could only bow her head, staring into the face that had watched over her when her mother hadn't. Tigris held her last parent tightly, watching the slit in his neck open like a gaping mouth.

Then there were two arms looping around her, warm and comforting and tugging her away from the awful sight.

"Tell me this is a dream," she begged, her voice strangled.

The arms tightened around her, grounding her to this terrible reality.

"I'm sorry, Tigris. I'm so, so, sorry," Roche murmured into her shoulder, her tears icy against Tigris' shoulder.

Tigris let her maid hold her tight and repeat those words as she remained frozen in that terrible moment, her father's corpse cooling on her lap.

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The crypt was frigid and silent. Tigris kneeled beside her father's coffin, numbness ballooning within her. Leinos had prepared the body in silence. The entire court had gathered in the frozen room. Tigris had barely registered their consoling, simpering murmurs as she'd kneeled beside the still body of the former king. As the heir to the throne, she was expected to stay with him all night.

Without the blood, he looked peaceful. Like he was asleep. But when she reached out to trail her fingers over his cheek, she only felt ice beneath the pads of her fingers.

Tigris swallowed, retracting her hand. Her fingers burned as she placed them against her lap. A thick band of jewels had been laid over the gaping wound in the king's neck.

"This is your second death, I suppose," Tigris croaked, her voice hoarse. Silence greeted her, but she imagined her father sitting there with his usual, severe expression. "The man you were died once long ago. With Mother."

She pictured his spirit, bluish and transparent, tilting his head contemplatively. She pictured the imposing, haughty gleam she often saw in his eyes, the gleam that only her mother had been able to soften.

She closed her eyes, memories weighing against her eyelids. "I haven't had a father for a long time, have I?" she whispered, "You were dead the moment she was."