A group of Kalandir priests stepped forward after the singer withdrew.
They were clad in robes of muted silver and white, and they moved with solemn grace, forming a circle around the queen's coffin. Their hands rose in unison, and they began to chant.
Just like the song of the singer, the chant was in the language of the Kalandir, its meanings lost to the audience.
As the final notes of the chant faded, an elven attendant approached the center, addressing the assembled guests.
"Those who wish to speak in remembrance of the High Queen may now come forward."
As it was said, it seemed that it was the guests' turn to speak, but the first speech was reserved for the closest kin of the queen, meaning the Lord Chancellor.
He began to step forward when a sudden, sharp chime echoed through the valley. All eyes turned toward the crystal teleportation platforms, where a new arrival materialized.
The man who appeared was also draped in clothing as white as the crystal, the same as the other elves. His presence was commanding, with features that bore a striking resemblance to the queen.
The Lord Chancellor, halfway up the steps to the pedestal, stopped.
"Who—?" someone murmured.
The man raised a hand, palm outward, and the hush deepened.
"I am Qualtagh," he said, even though he spoke softly. "Of her line. Of her blood. Of her house. Her brother."
The statement received gasps and murmurs.
"She had no siblings," someone protested aloud—a younger elf, clearly not of the Kalandir, rising to his feet in objection.
"She did," Qualtagh said calmly, not even glancing in the speaker's direction. "Long before, before her rise. Then she exiled me, wiped my name from the archives, and spoke of me no more."
He took several slow, deliberate steps toward the center. No one stopped him.
Not the stewards and servants. Not the priests. Not even the Kalandir.
And their silence gave his words weight.
"Before her reign, before her coronation, I stood with her, inseparable," he said. "We were both chosen. Two names on the lips of the court. I loved her, deeply so. And I hated her. Because when the time came, they chose her. Not me."
He stopped at the edge of the platform, just short of the coffin.
"She exiled me when she deemed me too much of a threat to stability. Banished by law and presence. Letting only her light shine forth, consuming the room. There was no place left for mine. So I left. And I waited."
Sonder glanced sideways at Vell, who didn't move, didn't blink, and was deep in thought.
"I waited as the world loved her," Qualtagh continued. "As you all came to kneel before her. To praise her peace. But peace is not strength. And love does not last."
His voice was calm, but it rang like a distant blade with some menace behind it.
"She ruled well for some, yes. But she weakened us. She bound us to mortals and the lesser immortals and made us share our fate with theirs. She forgot what it means to be eternal. What it means to be Kalandir, of our kind."
Now he stepped up onto the platform. The priests backed away. Even the Lord Chancellor did not stop him.
"This age has ended. And a new one begins." He turned and raised his voice, proclaiming loud and proud. "I claim the throne she left behind."
A wave of unease moved through the crowd.
From the far side, one of the Kalandir archmages rose, long-robed and composed. "You have no right," he said flatly. "The throne is not passed by blood or inherited. It is granted by a council. You cannot take it."
"It is chosen by power," Qualtagh said, "and I am the only one here strong enough to wield it."
Another Kalandir laughed once, dry and sharp. "You think we'll follow you just because you speak loudly? The Kalandir are all equal in mind and power. If we decline this… offer of leadership, how could you force your way to the throne?"
"I believe," Qualtagh replied, slowly now, "you will follow me... because I know something none of you do."
"And what's that?" The question came with an unimpressed tone.
Qualtagh stepped back to the edge of the crystal coffin and placed a hand on its side. He looked at each of them in turn, then out to the wider gathering.
"Because unlike you," he said, quiet but lethal, "I know how the High Queen died."
That stilled everything. Even the wind seemed to stop.
He looked at the rows of Kalandir now, his voice rising.
"And now you wonder if I could bring you the same death."