4.1 || The High Table
Pacing back and forth was meant to assist in calming a person's panic. It wore down their energy until the adrenaline that built up in their veins faded away, until their pounding heart had returned to normal. Ilyana had to be the exception to that method.
The princess walked so fast up and down the length of the High Table's meeting room that she reckoned she would rip holes in the bottom of her dress, and still, nothing could ease the fear that gripped her in its tight embrace.
The Necromancer's Curse was active.
It had always been a looming threat in the back of her mind but, with her twin dead, she wasn't worried about it being triggered. Nobody was. Vengeful necromancer souls didn't care about the dead after all. They would seek blood no matter what.
As the whole island was in an uproar about the sudden wall of magic that surrounded them, with no signs of gaps or cracks in the ancient magic, the birthday banquet had to be cancelled.
They didn't have the time for celebrations when they were busy questioning each other to see if anyone had a clue to what was going on.
The curse itself was a royal family secret.
Letting the news loose that they were all about to die would bring irreparable chaos.
However, keeping them in the dark would have devastating consequences too.
Would it even be explained to the High Table?
It wouldn't be long before they filtered in and demanded answers.
She didn't have an inkling of an idea what her father would tell them.
King Mortas sat at the end of the wooden table that stretched throughout the long room.
Unlike the other chairs which had simple, silver embellishments and pillows woven into their bases, his had golden crowns melded to the tops of the posts and and an intricate back shaped like the island.
If it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest, he could have easily been mistaken for a life-like carving.
The king was the epitome of calm. His straight-backed posture and worn hands shuffling through papers could have fooled anyone into thinking it was a normal day of meetings.
"Sit down," her father said, tracing her movements with his amber eyes. "You'll wear a hole through the floor."
"How can I?" Ilyana stopped in her tracks and motioned her hand to the window that looked over the island. "This isn't meant to happen! Vivi is dead and yet the curse is still active. If her end had no purpose, there's nothing we can do to stop the ruin of Wyrith now."
"Ilyana, please, sit. There is no reason for you to panic."
The princess' jaw could only hang loose. "Are you hearing yourself? Everyone on this island is going to slowly die one by one and you're saying there's no reason to panic?" Her heart thrashed against her chest so much that she was frightened it might break a rib.
"I have a plan or two to test out before my own worries settle in. I believe I know why the curse is active when there isn't a set of royal twins of age. If you calm down before the High Table arrives, I can explain my theories to you." He patted the table in front of her seat at his side.
With a deep breath, she slumped in the chair and leant forward, accepting the kiss on the forehead that her father pressed there.
"It's going to be okay," he assured with a quick hand squeeze.
"You need to learn to keep your emotions in check if you want to rule in my footsteps.
Fear doesn't make for a compelling leader.
" Her father's warmth and promising words were a bright beacon in the darkness of her hopelessness.
It frightened the shadows into the corners where they once lurked so they could wait for another chance to emerge.
Ilyana squeezed back. "What are these plans you have?"
"The first is something the High Table does not know about and I will trust you with the secrecy of this matter.
There is a sorcerer on the far edge of the island who has been studying dark and forbidden magic for decades.
When we discovered this crime, we made a deal.
In exchange for not being arrested, he has been researching necromancers and the curse for me in secret.
With some rules and limitations, of course.
" King Mortas eyed the door, making sure no eavesdroppers to this plan were skulking behind the wood.
"My first course of action will be to get in contact with him to see if he has any guidance. "
"And if he doesn't?" She didn't realise her father had been dabbling in illegal affairs, but if it was for the sake of the kingdom, she didn't have any qualms about it.
Though, with any dangerous magic, there was bound to be something that went wrong.
"The necromancers have been gone for centuries.
Digging up information about them would be nearly impossible.
Even if the sorcerer has managed to do it, who knows how many sources his discoveries have been through?
How many times has this information been altered? "
"I've thought about that, which is why the sorcerer's findings will only be guidance and nothing more.
The final decision on how we go about this will depend on the second plan I have.
" Her father shuffled through the papers in front of him until he arrived at one with various columns of scrawled writing.
"And is this one a little more reliable?" Ilyana's fingers fiddled with the folds of her gown, outlining the blood splatters that stained the fabric from healing Cloven with a pointed nail.
King Mortas smiled. "Very. As you know, we have been sending groups of guards into the Lost Abyss, and the most recent group has made a significant discovery."
The Lost Abyss was a lawless territory that thugs retreated to when they refused to pay for their crimes — an infestation that tarnished the glorious reputation of Wyrith.
It was understandable that something to do with a dangerous curse would stem from a dark and forbidden place, but what could it be?
The king had been sending guards down there for years in an attempt to determine ways to regain control of his people and land.
Hordes of criminals living freely never did well for a kingdom's morale.
Several recognisable names were brought up in the meetings we had, so perhaps it was linked to one of them.
One particular name stood out to Ilyana more than any others — a star blazing in the midnight sky.
"Is it Morana The Cursed?"
"It-" King Mortas was cut off as the doors slammed open, striking against the walls as if they were loud claps of thunder. If they hadn't been there, Ilyana feared they may have fallen off the hinges entirely.
A man stormed in and headed directly for the king, leaning over the table and slamming his fist into the wood in front of him.
"What in the Gods' names is this, Mortas?
You promised there wouldn't be any trouble this year for the banquet," he yelled amongst papers that had scattered across the room.
The scarlet tunic that the stout man wore brought out the redness in his cheeks. His angered expression did nothing to help the wrinkles deeply etched into his skin. Other people entered behind him, ignoring the outburst.
"And there won't be, Arc." The princess' father gently removed his hand so he could salvage what was left of his meeting notes. "Once everyone has arrived I assure you I will explain. Please, take a seat like everyone else until the time comes."
A woman who sat beside Ilyana watched as Arc took his place at the far end of the table.
She was a witch called Cassara who had fought for her place to sit amongst them at the table — swearing oaths that she would only ever use her skills for good.
Her cedar hair flowed down her back in gorgeous curls, ringlets of shimmering glitter peeking out between the strands.
"Your Highness, if I may, this isn't a matter to take lightly.
The people of Wyrith are panicking. This wall is nothing like anyone has ever seen before, even to the witches who are used to casting wards and shields to protect things.
" She placed a hand on her chest, revealing the large, silver ring that rested on her middle finger — the piece that denoted her coven.
A dagger with twisting vines curled around it was engraved into the precious metal, a turquoise gemstone embedded in the blade's hilt.
"The magic that was used is inherently dark.
Any ships that were attempting to leave or enter have been destroyed by it.
People have already drowned in shipwrecks. "
"And I am incredibly saddened by that news." Two more High Table members arrived as he spoke — a Sea Warrior, that Ilyana knew went by the name of Zene, and a woman with a clean, shaven head called Rosil. "I already have a plan to put in motion to stop these tragedies from happening."
Under normal circumstances, Ilyana would speak up to help quell the High Table's worries. She was the next ruler of Wyrith and she needed these people to trust her. However, when she couldn't keep her own panic under control, she didn't think she had anything comforting to offer.
When the last member of the High Table filtered in and took their place, a guard followed in behind them and shut the doors once more.
The princess' eyes widened as she took in the tangled crimson hair and the wink that the guard gave her.
Cloven stayed by the exit, standing to attention and becoming an ornament of decoration that every soldier was told to become in the presence of the king.
The only time they were allowed to move was if they were spoken to first.