The Way We Fall

Chapter 176 (Roche)

A/N: D3ath, descriptions of injury, vi0lenc3

The wind howled in her ears like the guttural snarls of the uska as Roche barrelled out into the courtyard. Rain pelted her skin like icy darts, stinging as they sank into her clothes, the torn material suctioning to her skin.

"Run!" the knights shouted to be heard over the boom of thunder, escorting civilians to safety while others struggled to keep their torches lit. A piercing scream filled the air that devolved into garbled whimpers, someone's torch going out.

Roche sucked in a breath, turning away from the gory sight.

"Fyra," she recast the enchantment to the torches. She'd warned Tigris that it wouldn't last long, and the rain had only decreased the time that the enchanted flames could stay lit. She wished she could stay longer. She wished she could be at Tigris' side.

But her queen had given her a job.

Roche closed her eyes, focusing on the thrum of her inkblood beneath the skin, weakened but still beating strong, even after days of no rest and very little nutrition. She gritted her teeth as a headache burst to life behind her eyes, but she endured.

Tigris had given her a job.

She wouldn't fail her.

Roche waded through the pulses of life around her, the sea of beating hearts and rushing human thoughts from civilians and knights. She veered around the dark spaces of ice that the uska carved into the world. She clenched her jaw to bite back a shiver, focusing on the raw bulbs of power radiating from the castle.

The Council.

They were tucked into many lavish rooms. They were still weakened after Kai's food poisoning scheme. But Roche knew they would see the chaos breaking out through the castle and make their escape with their false king while they could.

Her breath rattled out of her as she sensed them crowded together at the far side of the castle, radiating so much power that it made Roche's bones ache. They were moving, approaching the throne room where Tigris and Finn had undoubtedly begun their battle.

It was Roche's job to hold them off until Tigris had done what was needed.

She took off, gathering her heavy skirts in her hands as she raced back into the castle, ignoring the sounds of battle echoing down the halls. She blindly followed the tug in her mind, spurring her into the heart of the castle. When her vision cleared, she found herself in an ancient part of the castle, a familiar place where she'd first seen Lord Luctus give the Irulian ambassador a datura flower.

It had been ages ago. A time when matters were much simpler. Her heart ached for those years as she planted her feet firmly, staring down the other end of the hall. The clouds roiled outside the stained glass. Roche stood firm, grounding herself with a breath that did nothing to soothe her racing heart as three figures appeared at the end of hall.

They were all that was left of the Council of Seven. Roche watched them approach, feeling an odd numbness creep over her. Their footsteps stuttered as they noticed her standing perfectly still at the end of the hall. They paused, glancing at each other in apparent confusion for a moment before continuing their approach.

Roche didn't recognise two of the faces facing her. Their pale skin gleamed ghoulishly in the grey pall of the storm, made paler by the forked tongues of lightning that lit the hall. They were both men with sharp jawlines and even sharper eyes. One of them had thin blonde hair that swept across his large forehead. His eyes were dark, matching the obsidian folds of his thick cloak that hung off his bony frame. Thick swirls of inkblood were carved into his arms, curling up his neck and swirling across his face in harsh, scratched patterns. Runes. He'd carved runes into his skin.