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At the sight of the large stone spires of the castle, Isla expected the inside to be grand– and the entrance hall was, hung with lush tapestries and lit by large cressets that held bright fire. The five of them– Azul, Grimshaw, Cleo, Celeste, and her– walked slowly through the hall, led by a small girl with a limp.
“This way,” the girl called, leading them further into the castle. Deeper, deeper– Isla was beginning to realize that the spires might have been a front, and that the true castle lay below the ground. There were no more windows or other holes for sunlight, and the flickering flame in the cressets was a poor imitation.
“King Oro is waiting to receive you in the throne room,” the girl reminded them, pausing at a doorway. It was low, and led to steps. “I apologize for the hike– since the curses, we’ve had to take precautions for him.”
Down, down, down– the five of them followed like good children behind her, their footsteps echoing on the thick stone. Celeste, sensing Isla’s discomfort with the squeezing walls of the staircase, reached back and brushed her fingers against Isla’s, reminding her that she was not alone. It was a small comfort, but made her feel much better.
Finally, the staircase opened up. The girl led them down a cramped hall, still decorated with rich tapestries. In the low light, it was hard to see their subjects– but Isla managed to discern that most of them had the sun at the top, like a beacon shining on the images below. Finally, finally, they reached the final part, a large, heavy wooden door. The girl gestured for two gold clad guards, and with some struggle they opened the door together.
The throne room was cast in golden light– small bundles of flame floated on the ceiling, not catching the wooden support beams. Isla was so surprised by this she nearly missed the figure on the gilded throne.
He was not a Golden King– he did not look like the king of Lightlark.
Instead, this was a boy, barely an adult, with a poorly shaved beard and shaggy head. He was slumped on the throne, his clothing too large– his crown, like woven gold leaves, nearly slid from his head. The girl, still limping, went quietly up to him.
“Sir,” She said, voice tremulous. “Sir, they’ve arrived.”
With some trouble, the king roused himself.
So this was King Oro Reyes– the one who kept Lightlark alive with his sheer power. His face was gaunt, sunken. This man was ill. Isla’s stomach rolled with nausea.
“Hello, my fellows.” he paused to cough, and the girl was the one to respond first, rushing to his side and keeping him up. “I apologize for my state. It is not right that I should be the one to welcome you here– my father should be here.”
“Where is your father, highness?” It was Cleo who spoke, her voice cold and clear. “Evening is coming– why do you sit here?”
Oro’s smile might be described as wry– but it was more of a shadow than anything.
“My father is dead.”
The news hit them all hard. King Egan– named for the one who had died when the curses were cast– had been a good man, and had been very young during the last Centennial. Despite being aged, he should have been there. His absence was a wound, his son’s clear illness the infection.
“How?” This time, it was Azul who spoke. Isla watched all of them as they continued to react. Cleo had closed in on herself, but Azul still stood tall, facing the king. Grimshaw was fiddling with his rings, turning them with a contemplative face on. Looking out of the corner of her eye, Isla saw that Celeste had closed her eyes, and was clenching her fists. She reached out and brushed her fingers against those fists, a small comfort. Hopefully, it was enough.
“My father fell.” Oro laughed, shaking his head. “Into a hole. A hole!”
“Sir–” the girl protested.
“It’s alright, Ella.” He patted her hand. “My father, King Egan, died while looking for a solution to our problems. Have you noticed that we are growing weaker?”
“Yes,” Celeste said.
“Yes,” Everyone else said. Isla stayed quiet, watching.
Oro shrugged.
“Then it is so– the curses are sapping at the roots of everything that we hold dear. My fellows– and I once again thank you for attending– I am sick. I have been sick all my life. I have power, yes, but it is nothing compared to those days of yore.” The king struggled to his feet, and Ella, the girl, helped him into his crutches, which he leaned against heavily. “I do not think we will last another hundred years. This is the last centennial. Should we fail?”
The words hung for a moment, suspended. Isla felt the held breath of the room.
“We shall all die,” Oro finished. He shook his head again. “But first, a meal. Let us welcome you to Lightlark.”