Princess Elia and her winged horse Cinder were flying their evening round above the castle when Elia noticed something wrong. One by one, the five tower windows had gone dark. No golden flicker. No soft amber square. Just five black holes in the stone, and the castle below looking small and strange without them.
"Something's happened to the Spark Sprites," Elia said, and Cinder banked left without being asked.
The Sprites were tiny creatures, one per tower, each one no bigger than Elia's thumb. Every evening at dusk they struck their spark-stones and lit the lanterns. It was their favourite thing. A dark lantern meant a Sprite in trouble.
Cinder landed on the first tower ledge with a sound like shuffled cards — a soft thwump of feathers. Elia pressed her nose to the round window and peered in. The Sprite inside was spinning in frantic circles, her wings a blur, pointing at a crack in the floor.
Her spark-stone had rolled right under it. She was too round to squeeze through.
Elia reached up and plucked one long silver feather from Cinder's wing. Cinder blinked slowly and shook her mane. Elia slid the feather into the crack, angled it carefully, and — tick — nudged the spark-stone back into the light. The Sprite snatched it up, struck it once, and the lantern blazed orange. One window glowing.
The second tower smelled of burnt ribbon. The Sprite there had tangled herself completely in her own light-ribbon — arms pinned, wings pinned, spinning slowly like a little parcel someone had wrapped too enthusiastically. Elia poked a finger through the window latch and turned the Sprite three times clockwise until the ribbon unwound with a pop. Two windows glowing.
The third Sprite had accidentally sparked herself to sleep. She was curled on her spark-stone, snoring in a high, thin whistle. Cinder lowered her great nose through the window opening and gave one warm breath. The Sprite shot upright, blinked six times, and lit her lantern before she was even fully awake. Three windows glowing.
The fourth tower was easy — the Sprite's spark-stone had flipped upside-down and was sparking the wrong direction, sending tiny pops of light at the ceiling instead of the lantern wick. Elia tapped the glass once, the Sprite looked up, looked at the stone, looked back at Elia, and turned it over with both hands, deeply embarrassed. Four windows glowing.
The fifth tower was different. When Elia pressed her nose to the glass, no one was there. Just an empty ledge, a cold lantern, and a small square of paper covered in loopy handwriting.
Gone to find Elia, it said.
Elia laughed out loud — a real laugh, that made Cinder's ears flick forward. She turned around.
There in Cinder's mane, sitting between two silver feathers with her legs dangling and her spark-stone clutched to her chest like a prize, was the fifth Sprite. She'd been hitching a ride since the very first tower.
The Sprite held up her spark-stone and raised one tiny eyebrow.
"Go on then," said Elia.
One strike. The fifth lantern cracked open with gold light, and below, the castle blazed — all five windows burning bright, their reflections rippling in the moat like five small moons.
Cinder folded her wings and settled on the ledge. Elia tucked herself into the soft space between them, her back warm against the feathers, her boots hanging over the edge. The fifth Sprite curled up in Cinder's mane, still holding her spark-stone. Five lit windows below. A sky going slowly, quietly dark above.
