TW: Blood and injury. Please read with caution.

The royal children had spent the remainder of the day in the library, prowling through the stacks like lions. Roche didn't miss the dangerous glint that still flickered in Aodh's eyes and decided to remain in her chambers for the rest of the day to avoid earning another bruise.

The datura petal stared at her tauntingly from where she'd placed it on the pillow of her bed. She glared at it furiously. The image of a pale, unresponsive Finn was seared into the back of her eyelids.

Aodh was right.

She was to blame for this.

She'd been so fixated on the king she hadn't noticed the flower being slipped into his son's drink. She'd been a fool. Recalling her earlier triumph made her cringe.

"I'm such an idiot." she murmured, pressing her hands against her burning eyes. And now, the prince would pay with his life.

It was many hours until Roche heard the enraged slam of the library doors, a sure sign that the royals had left. She slipped out of her chambers, into the shelves to rifle through books. With all these texts, surely there had to be something about datura enchantments.

The evening sun dwindled to a faint orange glow. Roche kept looking, stacking books about poisons into her arms even though none of them were what she needed. The stack she balanced precariously in her arms was nearly as tall as her when she heard the library doors swing open again. Roche dropped the books, fully expecting the furious prince to strangle her. But it was only Verita, looking weary and rumpled. Roche rushed towards her.

"How is he?" she asked. Her heart sank as Verita sighed sadly.

"He only has a few days, at best." Verita replied blankly. Roche followed her to their quarters. They both sat on the bench, exhausted and devastated.

"I don't understand," Verita whispered, holding her head in her hands, "How did this happen? I thought the flower had been destroyed. You sensed it, didn't you?"

Roche nodded, dazed. "Of course," she answered, "When the ambassador told the servant boy, Ganymede to- oh."

"What?" Verita asked with a note of alarm as Roche jumped to her feet. Roche couldn't believe herself. She smacked her forehead.

"It was a distraction!" she realized aloud, meeting Verita's wide eyed gaze, "He drew the attention to himself while the boy was pouring Finn's drink. The flower must have been slipped in then, right before the boy went to serve the king."

Verita's eyes widened. The realisation made Roche press her hands against her head. "I'm an idiot!" she snarled, so loud that it echoed off the walls. Verita shook her head.

"It wasn't your fault." the librarian said softly, "You did what you could."

Roche laughed humourlessly. "It wasn't enough. And now..." she trailed off.

An innocent boy would die.

The one, kind royal who'd defended her.

The one royal who'd been willing to speak out against the king's war against Irulia.

And it was all. Her. Fault.

Verita murmured something soothing, but Roche didn't hear it as she retreated to her chambers. She flipped through all the books she'd found about datura until her candle had melted into nothing but a puddle of wax. She hadn't realised she was crying until she felt something wet trickling down her cheeks. Roche carefully set aside the priceless book on her nightstand. After a long moment, she stood and headed for the washroom. She found a small washbasin and razor, braced herself, and nicked her palm. She cupped her hands, watching the dark inkblood surface and swim around lazily between her fingers.

"How do I stop this?" she asked in a harrowed whisper, "How do I heal the prince? How do I stop the datura enchantment?"

She waited, holding her breath. She waited for the words to appear, something to save the son of the man who would sooner have her dead. The inkblood began to move then, but it didn't form a word.

It disappeared. Like it usually did when people were around, but this room was empty. Roche could feel it there, still in her palms, but retreating back through the cut in her hand. She hissed, pressing against her skin to summon it back. The gummy blood stuck to her skin with an awful suctioning sound.

"Please," she begged, "He's going to die! Tell me what I need to do!"

Roche had grown up with words. They'd been her friend, her companion, her first love. So she waited and watched as the one thing that had never failed her, the one thing that had always been hers to behold, abandoned her call.

And all she could do was watch and bleed.

-------

Verita didn't ask any questions when Roche reappeared in her chambers in the middle of the night, her bleeding hand limp by her side. She didn't ask any questions as Roche sank onto a bench, too numb to cry. She didn't ask any questions as she carefully bandaged her ward's hand.

She only worked in silence, wrapping Roche in a surprisingly warm hug when she was done tending to the wound. Roche was stunned to feel her body shudder with pent up sobs, even though no tears dripped down her cheeks. Verita held her tighter.

"My inkblood," she whispered, "It won't tell me what to do. It won't tell me how to help."

Verita pulled away with wide eyes. "It talks?"

"Sometimes," Roche held out her bandaged hand, "It usually shows me. It writes out the word I need. But it won't. I-I don't know why."

It was like the loneliness of coming to the Faultless City was crushing her anew. She'd left behind her mother, her home, all for a place where she wouldn't find any friendly faces. Now, even her inkblood wouldn't stand by her. Roche shivered.

It's for the best, she told herself, At least you won't hurt your own mother.

But instead, she'd allowed another man to get hurt. Roche squeezed her eyes shut. Verita placed a hand on her shoulder.

"It's not your fault Roche,"

"I should be able to help." she mumbled, wiping her face roughly, "I should-"

"Inkblood is more than just a force, child. It is a guide. It is the regulation of this universe. If it has stopped speaking to you, there is a reason. You must be patient." Verita advised warmly. Helplessness formed a lump in Roche's throat. She pulled away.

"It's left me." she mumbled miserably. Verita gave her shoulder a gentle shake. The same shoulder Aodh had slammed against the wall.

"No, it hasn't." Verita chided, "It's a miracle that it communicates with you at all. But do not mistake a lack of visual support for no support, Roche. Perhaps the incantation you need is too complex to be shown this way. And it would be best if your method of finding incantations didn't involve something so... gruesome."

Roche looked away. "It's a last resort." she admitted, "I've only ever used it when the word doesn't come to mind instinctively. Even then, I do it sparingly. I take no joy in it, Verita. I just thought it was reliable."

"Reliability is not validity. I've heard of such methods before and they don't work for more complex incantations. You probably haven't asked for such a complex incantation before." the old librarian said gently. She lifted her hand from Roche's shoulders. "You must rest. You can't keep looking for solutions if you're worn to the bone."

Roche nodded, her mind swimming. She got into bed, but didn't do much but stare up at the ceiling. She could hear the soft rumble of Verita's snores through the walls. It had been a few hours. Her bandaged hand ached terribly. And that when Roche heard it.

Footsteps.

Her back cracked as she stood up and crept out of her chambers, throwing on a small cloak for warmth. The library floors were icy against her bare feet as she slipped out of Verita's quarters and followed the familiar blue cloaked figure who stalked through the shelves. They returned to the passageway Roche had discovered where another figure waited.

"Is it done?" the waiting figure asked, the same woman Roche had seen give Luctus the flower. Lord Luctus lowered his hood and nodded, grinning so widely that Roche wanted to scream.

"The prince is sure to die in a day. The king is inconsolable." he explained, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. Roche's blood simmered as the woman laughed. Her serpentine voice was chilly but tinged with amusement.

"And what is the kingdom without its king?"

"Nothing," Luctus said gleefully, "A pyre of Romulus' making, free to light."

Roche felt sick. That was it. That was the goal, wasn't it? Strike the king at his heart, kill his son as a war breaks out, leaving the Faultless Kingdom vulnerable without a proper leader. Vulnerable to the plague, to war, to inkblood, even.

Roche tried to tell herself that she didn't care. Maybe the Council deserved to succeed after everything the king had done to inkblood wielders. But she couldn't shake the sensation of wrongness emanating from the datura flower.

She couldn't stop thinking of Finn, a royal who'd actually listened, pale and limp and dead. Hell, even Tigris, with all her arrogance, had been willing to try and do what was right to prevent bloodshed. As much as Roche hated Romulus, his children weren't so bad. At least not bad enough to deserve death and whatever misery was in store for them.

"Do not get cocky, Luctus. Ensure Romulus' downfall and your sister will be avenged." the woman said, wiping the cheeky, triumphant smirk off the lord's face. He bowed deeply.

"Of course, my lady. You know I will do nothing less."

"Then I must take my leave. I will return upon your success." the woman paused, her hand lingering on the stone tome. She turned back to Luctus and in the flickering torchlight Roche could make out some of her features. They stole her breath.

She was a splitting image of the woman who had been burned on Roche's first day in the Faultless City. Her warm brown skin was wrinkled, her pale brown hair bound back into a severe bun that matched the icy, hollow glint in her green eyes.

The similarities to her dead daughter ended there. This woman radiated with inkblood. It swam under her skin in currents, like a network of tattoos. The inkblood shifted, revealing words and patterns Roche had never seen before.

It was mesmerizing.

And terrifying.

Roche stumbled backwards, hands pressed against her mouth. Her back hit a shelf with a muted thud. She froze, praying that her presence had gone unnoticed. She heard a sudden silence descend over the two wielders. She felt that powerful wielder creeping near cautiously. Roche scrambled to race away as quietly as she could, but her elbow caught the corner of one of the older wooden shelves.

BANG!

An entire shelf's worth of books clattered to the ground thunderously.

"Show yourself!" Luctus demanded.

Stealth be damned. Roche sprinted. Her feet pounded against the slippery tiles. She couldn't see in the dark, shelves seemingly materialized in her path. The back of her neck tingled. She heard a harried whisper of words. Roche dove into a new aisle, barely dodging the enchantment that had been hurled at her. The edges of her cloak were singed with its power.

They were trying to kill her. Burn her alive.

Her knees hit the ground hard. She only had a few seconds to get back to her feet. She could feel the wielders gaining on her.

Sweat gathered on Roche's brow as she scrambled away. She found herself facing a wall, by the shelves. She trembled with adrenaline. Verita's warnings rang in her ears.

What would the Council do if they found out about her powers? How would they use her?

Roche sucked in a breath so quickly it burned. She could hear the footsteps nearing, practically feeling Luctus' triumph.

She was trapped.

Roche pressed against the wall, a hand pressed to her mouth to stifle her sobs. All of a sudden, the wall behind her gave away. With a reflexive cry, Roche sprang forward, towards the open aisles of the library where her attackers were, but something clamped around her shoulder.

It felt like a hand, but not. Something ticklish. Feathery almost. It dragged her back into the open, cavernous space where the wall had been. Roche fought futilely, tried to scream, but one of those monsterish hands pressed against her mouth.

"If you want to live, you will calm yourself!"

Roche froze, stunned. The beast hadn't spoken aloud but through her veins, sending the pulse of words up through her inkblood to her mind. How...?

The creature took advantage of her shock and yanked her backwards into the darkness. The last thing Roche saw was the cloaked figures charging into the aisle, hands raised triumphantly. The wall sealed as they looked around, wondering where exactly Roche had disappeared to.

And then... darkness.

A/N: Roche gets kidnapped. The end. LOL jk. But who do you think this mystery saviour is? Lmk in the comments :D