The first day of fighting was packed with activity. The first fight was fairly uneventful. Two knights entered the ring. Firearms were not allowed in the arena, but swords, daggers, and any other melee weapons were fair game. The first two knights were new recruits, so they stuck to swords. Their fight was mediocre, an impressive clashing of swords, but their movements were stiff and not smooth. It only took moments before they met in a parry and one of the fighters managed to fumble his way through a disarming technique. As per the rules, there was no killing or intentional maiming. A simple sword held to the throat and a croaked, "I yield" from the disarmed knight was enough to end the match.

"Pathetic," Tigris mumbled as Roche latched on her breastplate, "This is embarrassing to watch. I'll train them twice as hard next week."

"They did alright," Roche soothed, quickly tying the leather cords. "Lift your arms."

Tigris obliged with a huff. "It's not alright. They were barely holding onto their swords! And they swore to me yesterday that they were progressing well with their training, the liars."

"They were telling you what you wanted to hear. Who would speak out against you, princess?" Roche replied with a smirk. Tigris shot her a snide look.

"They know a thing or two about respect, at least. Maybe you need to learn a lesson from them."

Roche rolled her eyes, tying the cord tight enough that Tigris grunted.

Two more knights entered the arena. A flash of curly dark brown hair caught Roche's gaze. She fumbled with Tigris' helmet as her eyes latched onto a familiar slim figure entering the ring. Her jaw dropped.

"Is that Finn?" Roche gasped. Tigris side eyed her, smirking.

"Did you think he wouldn't fight? He's a knight too." Tigris chuckled.

Roche gaped as Kai handed the prince a large broadsword. Finn spun it with a feline grace that made his opponent, a fairly new knight, pale.

"He's so..." Roche struggled to find the right word.

"Scrawny? Weak? Nerdy?" Tigris snorted, crossing her arms, "Yeah, but he can fight. I made sure of that."

A bell tolled and Finn shot forward. The new knight only had time to lift his sword to parry the lightning fast strike from the prince. Finn's forest green, dreamy eyes sharpened with predatory focus. He danced back, avoiding a weak stab from the knight before plunging in with a quick swipe of his blade. Finn caught the knight in the stomach, sending him stumbling back a step, his glasses clanking against the inside of his helmet.

He pressed forward with an unrelenting barrage of blows so quick that Roche could barely see him move. The poor new knight was pale, his brow sweaty. He ducked under a wide swing of Finn's sword that made Tigris hiss in disapproval. The knight rolled to the side, shifting to reveal a pair of daggers palmed in his hands. He chucked them at Finn's chest. Finn batted the blades out of the air with his sword, and Roche's jaw nearly hit the ground.

"Holy shi-" Roche was cut off as the new knight used the distraction to barrel forward, sword extended, attempting to catch Finn off guard. But Finn had foreseen the trick. He feinted to the left but swung his sword in a tight arc to the right. The new knight grunted as his sword was thrown to the ground by the maneuver. Before he could recover, Finn slammed the flat of his blade into the man's stomach.

The new knight folded forward, his knees hitting the ground with a mighty thud. Finn extended his sword, a perfect millimeter from his opponent's jugular.

"Do you yield?" Finn's voice was steely, not even slightly tired.

The new knight answered quickly, "Yes, my lord. I yield."

The crowd cheered loudly. Finn lowered his sword and held out a hand to help the knight up. Tigris' jaw tightened at the sight.

"He's too soft on the new recruits." Tigris sighed, "Father won't be happy."

"Why? Is it customary to just leave the vanquished knight on the ground?" Roche asked, still reeling from the fight. Who knew that bookish Finn could actually fight as well as his sister? A traitorous part of her mind wondered if there was more about the young prince that Roche didn't know about, things that could lead to him betraying his sister. She shook away the thought, her chest tightening.

"It isn't," Tigris muttered sourly, "He spent way too long toying with that knight. Did you see his disarming at the end? He could have done that from the start, but he dragged it on. I overheard him talking to that boy earlier, he just let the fight go on so that the boy could tell his parents that he lasted more than ten seconds against the prince." Tigris snorted, "They're both fools."

Roche smiled softly to herself. There was the Finn she knew.

The day dragged on. Aodh's fight was the next to occur. He was quick and brutal with his attacks, moving so fast that his opponent barely had time to defend himself. His fight lasted a whopping three seconds until his opponent was on the ground, his sword flung several feet away. Roche thought she might have actually seen tears on the defeated knight's face. Aodh was impassive the entire time, only stooping to help the defeated man up before leaving the ring.

Sir Harold's fight was the only other one that Roche focused on. He prowled into the ring, surefooted and buzzing with energy. He turned in a tight circle, ratcheting the crowd's cheering up to another level before facing his opponent. He'd been paired with a fellow seasoned knight.

A bell tolled and Harold circled his opponent. Both of them sized each other up for a total of one second before Harold leapt forward, trading the focused gleam in his eyes for something wild.

His first blow visibly rocketed up his opponent's arms as their swords met. The opposing knight blinked in surprise, wincing. Harold didn't pause. He battered the man with a wide swing of his sword.

Their swords met with a loud clang. They met each other, swing for swing, evenly matched. They danced around the arena, their feet light and swift. The crowd was enraptured by the connection and whirling of steel.

Roche dared to hope that the fake knight wouldn't make it to the next round. But then his blows became less controlled. His swings became more wild, less restrained.

"The hell is he doing?" Tigris breathed as Harold swung for the knight's neck.

The world seemed to quiet as the opposing knight's eyes widened with the realisation that he was now fighting for his life. He brought his sword up, fending off a slash to his throat. Harold spun, swinging his blade for the man's head. The knight stumbled back and Harold was there, ramming his sword into the man's side fiercely.

The knight went down, his grip loosening on his sword. Harold didn't stop. He brought the hilt of his sword down hard. The seasoned knight barely managed to swerve away as he fell. The blow, instead of hitting him square in the forehead, glanced off his temple. It was still enough to send the knight unconscious.

Harold's chest heaved. He stared down at his fallen foe, a calculating gleam in his eyes, like he wasn't sure whether he wanted to slit the man's throat while he was down. Roche staggered as she felt a startling pulse of his repulsive inkblood enchantment slide off him like a shedded coat.

The moment of horror shattered when a bell tolled, signalling the end of the match. Leinos and Verita rushed in, carrying away the unconscious body of the defeated knight on a stretcher. The crowd roared as Harold stood, pumping his arms with victory.

When Roche looked up, she noticed that the king wasn't looking at the victorious knight, but staring intently at his daughter.

And Tigris stared back, grim determination flashing in her eyes.

-------

Tigris proceeded to the next round without a struggle. Her opponent was knocked to the ground with two well aimed strikes, a rather boring affair but still impressive. She was a blur of movement, her sword gliding through the air effortlessly. Her grace as a fighter was clearly unexaggerated. Roche would have been more impressed if she hadn't spent the past year watching the princess train so extensively. The match lasted one second.

The crowd ate the spectacle up, buzzing during the lunch break about Tigris' easy victory. That was the princess' only match for the day, but some of the other knights would need to fight again to reduce the numbers of remaining knights.

Roche helped Tigris into a warm bath after stripping off her armour. Tigris hummed as she settled into the sudsy water.

"I'll need that armour cleaned for tomorrow and my sword needs polishing." she instructed. Roche, sticky and sweaty from the afternoon heat, grunted her approval. She lugged the metal all the way back to the library once Tigris was settled in her chambers.

"Any luck?" Roche asked as she hauled the armour into Verita's chambers. Verita shook her head, poring over another book.

"There doesn't seem to be an alternative scrying spell. Just the one I've given you." the librarian informed her, her voice heavy with disappointment. Roche sighed, shoving the armour and sword into her room with a kick. It had been two days of trying to scry. All she'd been able to see was flashes of thick foliage and trees, none of them familiar. She'd managed to identify the plants as native to the forest near the castle, so there was a good chance that the real Harold wasn't too far away.

Roche returned to the table where a large cauldron of water lay still. She gripped the rim of the cauldron, watching the surface ripple.

"I don't understand what I'm doing wrong. All I need to do is put my inkblood in and watch. The incantation for it is simple." Roche muttered, skimming the surface with her fingers. Cool beads of water clung to her skin.

Verita sighed. "Well, there's plenty of factors. You could try infusing it with more inkblood, repeating the incantation more times, or focusing more deeply on Sir Harold. You could also do with a nap. You didn't get a full night's rest."

"I can't," Roche sighed, "I need to serve Tigris again in a few hours."

"Have you eaten today?" Verita asked. Roche hesitated and Verita rolled her eyes, "Honestly, Roche. Did you expect this to work if you're running on fumes?"

"I'm the Ala, it should work at any time, otherwise I'm just a useless lump of inkblood!" Roche snapped. Verita raised a brow at her, and Roche sighed. "I'm sorry. You're right."

"Of course I am." Verita ruffled Roche's hair and slid a wrapped sandwich towards her, "Eat that before you try anything."

Roche hadn't realised how hungry she was until she unwrapped up the sandwich and her stomach growled loudly. Heat rushed into her cheeks and she scarfed down the sandwich, barely taking the time to savour the delicious mix of sauce, meat, and bread. She brushed crumbs off her fingers, already feeling better. She sucked in a breath and stared at the cauldron.

"Alright. Scrying attempt number five." Roche muttered, wiggling her fingers. She rallied her inkblood, willing it to diffuse from her fingers. Almost immediately, her veins became visible through her skin, glowing ebony. The inkblood squeezed out of her fingers like a porous sponge being wrung out. The inkblood dripped into the cauldron. The surface of the water became perfectly still, the dark shadow of the inkblood somehow erasing Roche's reflection from sight.

Roche steeled herself. "Kynamoam gwylluxi ol uskoia mon eidull Harold." she recited, her mind focusing on the image of the Harold she'd seen months ago: kind green eyes, shorn brown hair, and a gentle smile matching his pinkened pale skin. Roche inhaled deeply, focusing intently on the image in her mind, ironing out every wrinkle, every light and shadow that she could recall. She held onto the image, holding her hands out over the heavy cauldron. She kept her eyes closed as her inkblood stirred in the water, stretching and tugging at her mind and rippling through the strange fabric that was the world. When the chaos settled, Roche finally opened her eyes. Her heart jumped in her chest.

The image was clearer than it had ever been. It was like Roche was seeing the scene play out in front of her.

"Verita!" she called excitedly, her eyes never leaving the reflective surface turned into a looking glass. The image zoomed from the castle, moving quickly enough that all Roche could understand was that they were moving into the forest adjacent to the castle. Hope reared its ugly head. That meant Harold was probably close.

Verita stood behind Roche silently, not breaking her concentration. Roche fed more inkblood into the scene as it began to blur, darting through the forest. Roche recognised one of the paths, then they were yanked off of it, somewhere due west. The images were slowing. Roche's heart leapt as she saw fresh footprints caked in the mud.

"We're close." Roche muttered, feeling her inkblood bubble excitedly, like a dog on a scent. "I can feel it."

Then, the image smeared, like jelly had been smeared over Roche's eyes. She cursed, feeding more inkblood into the cauldron in a rush. Something pressed against her, staying her inkblood as it tried to press forward in the direction of the footsteps. Roche gritted her teeth. She was so close, she could feel it. What the hell was blocking her?

She shoved more inkblood out of her, ignoring the crackle of pain that lanced through her head. Her hands trembled as the image flickered in and out of focus, revealing footprints, a strangely red fern, an oblong rock shaped like a swan. Roche could feel her hold flickering, smothered by the strange presence blocking her.

"Stop it." Roche muttered. Something dripped from her nose as her vision blurred. Verita hissed.

"Roche," she warned, "You need a break."

No. This was the closest she'd gotten. Roche gritted her teeth, shoving out a huge burst of the seeming endless well in her veins that waned with her strength. The image in the cauldron winked out and Roche cursed loudly, ready to flip its contents onto the floor in frustration. But then the presence pushing against her disappeared. Roche staggered under the sudden release, the surface of the cauldron rippling. A new image spawned in the center, gritty and wavering but there.

Roche felt like she'd been punched in the chest as her eyes focused on the shaky image of Sir Harold sitting in the corner of a dingy, dark cell. He glared at the thick metal bars, something wet dripping from them. His brown hair was overgrown and stringy, brushing his strong jaw. His green eyes were fractured by the rippling surface, but they were deeply shadowed. His knight's uniform was tattered, revealing his reduced muscles. His weapons holsters were noticeably empty. There were thick gouges in the walls around him, pieces of plaster and brick lying on the ground around him.

The utter defeat and rage in his eyes gutted Roche. She touched her fingers to the surface of the water, releasing her hold on the inkblood.

"You probably can't hear me, but we'll find you, Sir Harold." Roche whispered as the image faded. Verita waited until the inkblood floated to the top of the water and dissipated before tugging Roche to the bench. She pulled out a handkerchief, dabbing at Roche's nose. Roche wasn't surprised when the rag came away red.

"That was very foolish," Verita chided, "You can hurt yourself if you don't abide your limits."

"There wasn't a limit." Roche grumbled, "Just my strength."

"Exactly," Verita lightly smacked the back of Roche's head, "You aren't restrained by the amount of inkblood in your veins like normal wielders. Instead, you are limited by the strength of your body. You just tried to use an obscene amount of inkblood on an unrested, barely fed body."

"Well, at least something good came out of it." Roche shoved a few books out of the way until she found a spare scrap of paper and a pencil. She jotted down the directions she could remember. "We have more of a lead on Harold's location now."

"And how exactly did you expect this rescue mission to go?" Verita asked, raising her eyebrow sarcastically, "Are you just going to waltz into a high security prison and use your inkblood to break the bars off his cell?"

Roche bit her lip. "Nothing so dramatic. I'll try to hide."

"You must," Verita warned, her eyes deadly serious, "Sir Harold is a knight of the Faultless Kingdom. Inkblood is his enemy. He won't be forgiving if he sees you using it."

Roche's heart panged at the idea of the kind knight hating her so passionately, but that was true for most of the knights Roche had come to know. They could never know who she truly was or they'd hate her.

Even if she just wanted to help protect them.

Roche shook away the depressing thoughts. She nodded at her guardian. "I'll be careful."

"Good," Verita folded the soiled handkerchief, "Now, I'm going to insist that you go eat, drink some water, and rest before you go on your little rescue mission."

Roche nodded. She didn't even bother protesting. She was exhausted and had no energy to take on anyone stationed to guard the real Harold. Besides, her absence would be noticed if she left. She had to tend to Tigris and finish her chores for the princess. There was a lot of polishing in her future.

Roche rose unsteadily but trudged over to the cauldron. "I'll empty this." she muttered. Verita watched her warily.

"Be careful, Roche." Verita ordered, her eyes worried, "And tell me before you leave. Leinos and I will keep Harold out of your hair until you return."

Roche nodded wearily, staring into the now normal reflective surface.

Don't worry Harold, Roche thought determinedly, I'm coming.

A/N: YAY WE FOUND MY BOI!!!!!!

So, what did y'all think of this chapter? I kind of feel like this book has been dragging on a bit. I probably should have ended it off as "Book 1" 50 chapter ago, but I'm in too deep now lol. I'll go back and make edits once the whole story is done tho. What do you think? Do you prefer having all the chapters in one book or would you rather it be split up?

As always, happy reading!