The Way We Fall

Chapter 130 (Roche)

They gathered on the beach as the sky was tinged with the darkness of night. Not a single star glimmered over the crowd's heads, not even from the top of the tallest mounds of sand along the beach, as if even the heavens did not want to watch this day.

Roche stood beside Verita, steadying the old woman as several guards lined up with unlit torches. They'd spent hours running around the library, packing their meagre belongings and the most sacred and important texts they could find. A few hours was not nearly enough to protect centuries worth of information, but it was all they had.

Roche swallowed, looping her arm around Verita as the woman shuddered, barely recovered from her time in the dungeon.

"Easy," Leinos murmured from beside her. He clutched the librarian's hand like a lifeline, "We'll be okay."

She could feel stares directed at them, particularly from the princess. The royal made no move to approach, not even when the guards began to light their torches and numbness swelled within Roche. Her inkblood was pulsing, frenzied beneath her skin.

This is an end, Roche realised, Ink was my empire, and now it will fall.

She couldn't help but notice how similar the scene looked like to the burning she'd witnessed when she'd first arrived in the city. It had been over three years since that day.

How little had changed.

The king finally mounted the highest dune of sand, overlooking the crowd. The entire castle had been evacuated. Young and old, nobles and commoners, Tseltan and Faultless. All had been brought out to spare them from the smoke that would fill the halls in the coming hours. The air was lit with tension. Roche caught murmurs from nobles wondering if the fire would spread beyond the library.

Others were glad it was being burned.

Yawning emptiness opened wide within her, a monster devouring her every emotion.

The king lifted his hands, silencing the crowd instantly.

"Bring him out!" he barked. The guards hauled another figure onto the sand before the king. Finn looked weak, a wisp of his former glory. His curls were flat and limp against his skin. Shadows stained his eyes, so deeply that Roche thought they would never leave. His head bowed limply against his chest with utter defeat.

The king didn't seem to care. He lifted his chin regally.

"Today," he announced, his voice carrying over the sea air that caressed Roche's cheeks, "We rid this land of inkblood for good!"

The crowd cheered. Roche could barely hear it over the roar of her inkblood. Her heart hammered wildly in her chest, drowning out all sound. She numbly watched the guards lift their torches as one. Flaming arrows struck the wood, setting it aflame.

The crowd roared, drowning out Verita's choked sob. The librarian buried her face into Leinos' shoulder.

"Vee, the king is watching," the man murmured, patting her back sympathetically. Verita didn't seem to hear as she cried against the physician's chest, like he could heal this somehow.

Leinos helplessly hugged her shielding her face as the guards moved forward, into the castle with militaristic synchrony.

"The fire will be contained to the library only," the king announced. Roche could see the library windows from here. The shelves were full of books, books she hadn't read, stories she would never see.

"The fire shall rage from sundown to sunrise. Whatever remains afterwards shall stay and be kept under the strict supervision of our royal librarian, Verita!"