The Way We Fall

Chapter 11 (Roche)

"I'll be gone for an hour doing book deliveries." Verita said, pinning up her grey hair with a pearlescent clip. She shot Roche a stern look. "If any patrons come in, help them find what they need. We'll have dinner when I return."

"Sounds good." Roche agreed, penning another label. She felt Verita staring at her intently and a drop of sweat rolled down her back.

"Stay out of trouble." the old librarian warned. Roche nodded, fighting to keep her expression neutral. She waited until she heard the double doors to the library swing shut and then she leapt to her feet, racing out into the shelves.

Roche quickly made her way back to the ancient section of the library. She gazed up at the tomes that were probably older than she was. Her inkblood remained still within her, its ghoulish feminine voice oddly silent. Roche wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign. She sucked in a breath and stretched towards the shelf, running her fingers over countless pages until she felt stone. Roche closed her eyes, anticipation tightening her chest. Then she yanked.

The ground rumbled. Roche staggered forward to keep her balance, her hands making purchase with the shelf. Instead of supporting her, it swung forward.

Roche blinked at it uncomprehendingly. It hadn't been a dream. She pulled the shelf open wider. The revealed passageway was dark and endless, stretching downwards in an empty abyss. A wild smell hit her then, one she recognized.

Inkblood. Or the remnants of it, anyways. Roche glanced back towards the library. She had to hurry. If Verita found out what she was doing, she'd be furious. Roche scrambled into the passageway, her short heels clicking against the ground. After a few steps, she found a metal bracket holding a wooden torch. Roche blindly tugged it off the wall.

Fyra, she incanted in her mind. There was a small tug in the air, and suddenly the corridor was visible with torchlight. Roche was careful to keep her hand on the wall, even if she could now see where she was going. She'd read countless stories of enchanted labyrinths that heroes would get lost in. She wasn't sure if inkblood could do that, but it would be a brilliant way to conceal a secret tunnel. It was better to walk in one direction, marked by her hand on the wall, to avoid any mishaps.

The tunnel sloped downwards sharply and her heel slipped. Needling pain scraped her arms and legs as she fell head over heels down a steep decline. A small scream rattled out of her lips as she rolled down in an undignified matter, interspersed by various ows. When the world finally stopped spinning, Roche dizzily registered three things.

One was that the smell of the tunnel had changed into something more salty.

The second was that she was no longer surrounded by darkness.

The third was that there was something gritty and damp beneath her.

Her eyes burned against the sudden light. She didn't recognize where she was, only that the ocean stretched before her like an endless, roiling cerulean blanket. She had to be somewhere on the beach, east of the castle. Roche pressed against the shadows of the tunnel. The beach was heavily patrolled and guarded. It was where nobles from overseas would arrive and where tradeships docked.

Pale sand rolled off her dress as she stood shakily. The tunnel was a terrible escape route. Any intruders would be caught by the frequent patrols. By all accounts, the trespassers from last night should have been caught by the patrol.

Roche froze. Unless the intruders were the ones on patrol. Then they'd be able to frequent the tunnel as they pleased without getting caught. They'd have full access to one of the most prestigious stores in the world.

Voices echoed somewhere down the beach. Icy fear trickled down her throat. She couldn't afford to be caught here. Roche quickly retreated back into the tunnel, her torch nothing but a damp piece of wood now. The hem of her dress was singed and smeared with soot and sand. Her mind spun as she recalled the conversations she'd overheard in the library. The king's knights were known to be trained by Tigris. They were fiercely loyal to the king. So why would any of them be so resentful that they'd resort to poisoning?