The Way We Fall

Chapter 89 (Roche)

Snow crunched under Roche's flats as she trudged through the icy, cobbled streets, basket clenched tightly with frozen fingers. Tigris had dismissed her early so that she could convene with some of the patrols about the runaway librarian and scribe. Roche took the opportunity to head to the forest to retrieve some sap for Verita to make fresh ink.

Roche shivered as a frigid breeze sliced past her cheek. The streets were nearly empty, darkness descending upon the city early in the dead of winter. Most merchants were packing up their wares, huddling by their torches and lanterns for warmth. Roche tugged her cloak tighter to her chest as she hurried down the road, smiling to those she passed.

Her breath fogged the air in front of her, obscuring her view of her feet for just an instant. That was all it took for Roche to slip on a patch of ice. Her knees hit the ground hard, and Roche tried to stifle her yelp. She looked up to see if any of the passerbys had noticed, and then paused when her eyes caught on a small face hidden near one of the stalls.

The child was small with deathly pale skin. His eyes glowed a brilliant shade of bronze, fierce in a way that completely contrasted his skinny flame. There was something ethereal about him, something so poignant and rich in his gaze that Roche couldn't tear her eyes away. The boy stared at her, cocking his head inquisitively. Dark hair cascaded down over his eyes, overgrown and unruly. Roche stared at him, watched him burrow deeper into the shadows.

Every hair on the back of her neck rose as a tall, gangly man approached the boy. The man wore a large cloak, his face hooded from sight. Roche saw his dark hand extend towards the boy, who gratefully accepted it, nothing but warmth and trust in his eyes. The man held out a torch he'd gotten from a vendor, letting the boy huddle close to it. They settled onto the icy grounds, content to stay there.

Roche looked away, wishing she'd had the foresight to bring a torch. She scrambled to her feet and hurried towards the castle and its warm interior. She'd just crossed into the busy courtyard when shouting drew her attention.

"Alert the princess! We've found them!" a knight bellowed to his patrol as they stormed towards the castle. Roche watched, her stomach twisting with dread, as the man she'd seen earlier hauled the strange child to his feet. They both looked numb and frozen from the cold as they stumbled away from the knights.

Roche watched in horror as the man slipped over the patch of ice she had. He crashed into the ground, nearly dragging the boy down with him.

"Go!" he shouted to the child, his voice deep and rich. He turned back towards the knights, hands sluggishly raised. Roche saw his lips curve with words, but only small spurts of inkblood leaked out from his palms. When his incantations failed, he sprinted in the opposite direction, drawing half of the guards towards him

The child screamed, stumbling blindly towards the castle. His small legs struggled against the snowbanks. The other half of the knights were nearly upon him.

"HELP! Please." The transmission sliced into Roche's mind through her inkblood, like it had when Circe and Moriean had spoken to her. The exhaustion and desperation in the child's plea forced several images to the forefront of Roche's mind in an instant.

She saw the pyres she'd been forced to see everyday through Tigris' window.

She saw Finn, telling the king that the librarian covens were peaceful groups.

She saw herself forcing back tears as Tigris asked her to accompany her to gather wood for more pyres.

Roche blinked, and the memories cleared away. The boy was staring at her again, his eyes wide and terrified, just beyond the castle gates. She took a few steps back, focusing her inkblood.