"I'm tempted to let Fake Harold have at her." Roche grumbled as she stalked back into Verita's chambers late in the night. Verita smirked at her, not looking up from the book she was binding.

"Long day?"

"The longest." Roche agreed, sinking onto one of the benches with a groan, "I also surveyed part of the route while Tigris was fighting. I need to leave in an hour if I'm to find Harold before the match begins tomorrow."

"Are you sure you should be going alone?" Verita asked, gently folding her book shut. Her face creased with concern. "If the Councilman is there guarding the real Harold-"

"Then no knight would be able to fight him." Roche answered, rolling her shoulders, "I'm the only one with the means to stop him."

Verita bit her lip, her normally stern features nervous. Roche sighed. "I'll be fine, Verita. This shouldn't take more than a few hours. I'll probably be back before dawn."

Verita eased herself to her feet. "In that case, I'm going to insist that you eat some dinner and take a nap before you go." The librarian's voice was stern, but Roche's heart warmed at her concern. She obliged, eating the under seasoned stew that Verita heaped into a bowl for her.

-------

The guards were still on the lookout for the inkblood who had tried assassinating Tigris, so Roche had to remain very careful as she darted through the castle. She couldn't waltz out the gates, but she doubted that she would have to.

Roche made it to the ancient hall where Harold had fought her. It was spotless, not a trace of the fight that had occurred days ago. Roche could have sworn that her nostrils tingled with the scent of copper and the wild aroma of inkblood. She kept close to the wall. Harold hadn't left the hall, otherwise Tigris, Finn, and Kai would have tracked him to the cliff. Roche suspected he'd found another way out, similar to the way he'd gotten into the library.

Her fingers curled around the heavy, carved frame of the large painting hung on the wall. The eyes of the former king seemed to bore into her as she wiggled the painting this way and that. It moved soundlessly and with ease, like it had been moved recently. Roche wedged her shoulder under the large painting, shoving it upward with her meagre strength. The painting let out a small groan and then swung upwards and locked, revealing an open passageway.

Roche blinked at it for a moment. How many tunnels ran through the ancient castle? How many of them were known to the Council? She crawled through the passageway, easing the painting down behind her as she entered, leaving her in total darkness.

With a single thought, her inkblood blazed a small ball of fire in her palms. The passageway was more straightforward than the library's. It angled up sharply, dingy and rocky. She crept forward until a silvery light twined with the warm, orangey glow of her fire. She extinguished her flames immediately. The tunnel led to a large, padlocked grate. Roche bet that a guard like Harold would have the keys to unlock it.

Good thing she didn't need one.

"Ancinda."

With a gentle click, the padlock unlocked, Roche eased the rusty grate open, ignoring the grime and moss that clung to her fingers as she did so. As she stepped out into the moonlight, a chilly, salty breeze assaulted her. Roche pulled her cloak tight, her face stinging. She was somewhere along a remote stretch of the beach. She snuck around until pale sand smoothed into cobblestone which then thickened into mud. The smell of the sea wafted away, replaced by petrichor. Roche caught her bearings. It didn't take long to find the route she'd scouted out yesterday.

Roche clutched her satchel tightly to her side. She hadn't brought much, just a small dagger, a few pieces of bread, a waterskin, and Leinos' emergency kit. She wasn't sure how long she'd be gone, but if the scry was anything to base off of, she had at least a three hour trek ahead of her.

The backs of her legs pulsed as if they were complaining about the journey ahead. Roche sighed.

"The things I do for you, princess..." she muttered, stepping onto the path. With a small wave of inkblood, the footprints she'd left behind were covered by leaves and twigs. "You better thank me one day."

The silence of the forest ushered in the promise as Roche pressed on.

-------

The moon stayed over Roche like a mother's watchful gaze, beaming down on her with urgency that pushed her to trek faster and faster until she was nearly jogging. It had been nearly an hour of this. Roche paused on the path, her aching muscles protesting as she did so. Her breath whistled out through her nose as she paused to cover her tracks with a small pulse of inkblood. She could barely see the sky through the thick canopy of rustling trees, but she knew time was ticking away.

She pulled out her waterskin with cool and clammy palms, taking a large swig that felt heavenly against her dry throat. Her pulse was loud in her ears. With every break she took, the darkness seemed to press against her. She put away the skin with trembling hands, taking a long breath of crisp night air.

Somewhere, far away, a wolf howled. Roche couldn't quite hide her whimper. She was tired, aching, and scared of what lurked in the dark.

I want to go home. It was a plaintive, childlike thought that Roche immediately felt shame for even entertaining. She shook out her limbs. Home was the city. Home was where her friends were, where her future was. She wouldn't be able to sleep until she'd protected it.

And she didn't need to face this in the dark.

"Gwylluxi."

A ball of silvery light, the same shade as the moonlight, danced in Roche's scarred palm. She grinned, holding up the ball of light. She could see a bit better now in the ethereal glow. Her eyes caught on a patch of bushes ahead. Something about them seemed familiar. Roche drew near, growing more intrigued as she noticed that half of the bushes were crushed. From her times spent on hunting trips with Tigris, she knew that something large must have left such a marker, like a wolf or wildcat.

Or a human.

Roche peeled apart the bushes, grinning as she found something from her scry.

A single footprint caked into the ground. It was somewhat fresh and partially smeared, like it had been hastily covered. Roche veered off the path, due west, just as the scry had revealed to her.

As her trek progressed, Roche found more and more things she recognised from the scry. Footprints hidden in mulch, a red fern, and then the strange, swan shaped rock. Roche paused at the rock. This had been the place her scry had broken up. She'd been walking for nearly three hours at this point.

"Gwylluxi crescero." she muttered, the ball of light in her hands swelling. There weren't any more footprints that she could see. Roche hesitantly pushed out her inkblood into the fabric of the world, looking for discrepancies. Her light flickered as she felt a small tug from the north.

Roche's eyes popped open. She extinguished her light, took one last sip of her water, and followed the tug. For several moments, she didn't see anything strange, just the usual looming trees overhead and springy sheets of moss beneath her feet. After another few moments of walking, Roche was ready to turn back to the swan rock to reassess her plan. Then she saw it.

The trees petered out into a large clearing set over a large, deep ditch. On the high ground, a large rocky cavern stood. It looked like a normal cave, wide with large, jagged stones littering the entrance and stalagmites framing the top, dripping water below. Roche couldn't see far into the cave. A tense mix of anxiety and hope tangled around her lungs. She splayed her fingers out, letting her inkblood slip out and slither ahead. She could feel a wall of inkblood surrounding the perimeter of the clearing. She couldn't tell what it was used for, detection, entrapment, or defense.

Roche tucked herself behind a tree. If there were guards, she needed to lure them out. Roche let her inkblood press up against the barrier like a cat rubbing against its owners legs.

No one came running out of the cave. No force battled against her.

Her brow furrowed. It couldn't be this easy. Someone had to be guarding Harold or he would've broken out by now. Roche coaxed her inkblood to press against the barrier harder as she crept along its border. The cave extended deep into the forest with the wall of inkblood. Perhaps there was another entrance or exit.

Roche didn't want to test her luck. If someone hadn't come running by now, she probably had enough time to sneak closer. She walked to the place where her inkblood had coagulated against the barrier in a thick lump.

"Xeosure." Roche whispered, and the inkblood formed a thick scythe in her hands. It was cold against her palms as she pressed it against the barrier, slicing through it with a hiss. She stepped through the cut quickly. It sealed up behind her in an instant, locking her in. Unease crept up her throat.

This was too easy. Suspiciously easy. She hefted her makeshift scythe, darting for the mouth of the cave. She hovered there for an instant, holding up her hand.

"Gwylluxi."

A ball of light surfaced. The cave went on endlessly, further than Roche could see. Sir Harold had to be somewhere in there.

"Impressive." a voice called from deep within the cave. Her heart launched into her throat. Roche held her scythe higher, waiting for a flicker of movement to surface from the cave.

Which was probably why she didn't expect a figure to melt out of the shadows hugging the wall of the cave. A pale hand pressed against her temple.

"Hyunid." a whispery male voice hissed. The shadows crawled over Roche's eyes, dragging her into a deep slumber.