The guests took their places, one by one, until the great flower-shaped platform was full.
At the center rested the coffin.
Long and pale, it bore no carvings, no crown, no ornament, nothing. Just smooth, flawless crystal.
It had no lid, and the High Queen lay in the open.
It was the first time Sonder had seen her.
For the first time, Sonder could see what she looked like.
She was as beautiful as any elf Sonder had ever seen, but her beauty was different.
Softer, like a mother's. Less sculpted to impress, more like a beauty made for, and meant to be, loved.
There was something almost human about her.
Her hands rested gently over her chest. Her hair, long and silver, spread around her like a halo across a bed of snow.
She was untouched. There was not a single mark on her. Not a single wrinkle. As if she were merely sleeping. As if she might rise again if woken up.
And somehow, in her heart, Sonder had pictured her just like this. A queen, yes, but not unreachable. Not untouchable.
A lone figure stepped forward, approaching the foot of the crystal coffin.
She was another Kalandir elf. Tall, draped in a robe of deepest black that flowed like ink against her pale skin. Her feet were bare. Her hair was bound with tiny bells, bells that did not ring.
She stood there for a long while, saying nothing, as if waiting for the moment to open.
Then she began to sing.
No instrument joined her, but her voice was more than enough.
It was a song of the Kalandir. A mourning hymn reserved for a sorrow beyond all others.
Few in the valley could understand its words. The language was ancient, known only to the Kalandir and a few whom they had trusted enough to teach.
But meaning was not bound in syllables.
The melody itself carried the weight.
It was grief made music. Love without hope. Memory without comfort.
Her voice quivered at times, rising and falling in uneven waves. There was no polish in it, no perfection.
This was not a song rehearsed, but one remembered. One was never meant to be sung.
And now, it had been.
Sonder didn't understand a single word of the song, but it didn't matter. She wept in silence. No sobs, no sounds, just a deep ache in her chest that refused to move.
No tears came, not really. But it still felt like crying.
She hadn't known the queen. She didn't know what this death meant to the world, to the elves, or to history itself. But in that song, she understood something else:
What it felt like to lose something that was supposed to last forever.
She reached up and wiped her cheek anyway, out of instinct more than need, and saw others doing the same.
Some wept openly. Others sat motionless, their faces crumpled by emotion. A few trembled. Some covered their mouths or their eyes, unable to face what they were feeling.
Even Vell. His face was streaked with tears, his gaze locked on the coffin, unmoving. There was no attempt to hide it. No shame in it.
Everyone, no matter their title or tongue, could feel the beauty and sorrow in that song, a song of mourning that was never supposed to be sung.
The singer reached the final verse.
Her voice became a breath, barely more than a whisper.
The last note wavered like a candle in the wind, then went out.
And with it, silence returned.