It took another month from when Vell had a premonition of something bad happening or something bad that had happened.
A quiet month.
They were seated in the dining room, around the long oak dining table set with only the finest of food.
Then, without warning, the air cracked.
Not a sound exactly. More a pressure, an invisible shove that made the fireplace flames flinch and the silverware rattle.
Near the hearth, the air shimmered like ripples across still water.
And tore open.
A figure stepped out: tall, dressed head to toe in white formalwear. His skin was polished ivory, nearly translucent; his hair pale gold. His boots barely touched the floor as he moved, and he carried a large scroll in one hand.
The air snapped shut behind him.
Every chair scraped back.
Cadre half-drew a dagger she wasn't supposed to have. The general was up instantly, hand raised, as two guards burst in from the hall, weapons ready.
Vell was the only one who didn't rise. He simply set down his fork.
The pale man inclined his head with cold, perfect grace.
"Forgive the intrusion," he said, his voice low and rich, like a half-remembered song, and he gave a deep bow.
The general's knuckles were white. "Who in the name of the old gods are you to tear through my house like a thunderclap?"
The pale man regarded him with mild interest, as one might a barking dog. "An emissary. A voice for the United Peoples of Elvenkind. I come on solemn business."
"United Peoples of Elvenkind?" the general said, scoffing. "The elves are as united as a sack of cats."
"Recognition is not required. Only understanding." The emissary's expression remained unreadable. "The High Queen is dead."
That quieted the room for a moment. And Vell closed his eyes for a long moment.
Cadre whispered, "Who?"
The general stepped forward, voice sharp. "Dead? If an elven monarch had died, we'd have heard about it."
"It happened very recently. Only ten years have passed. Barely any time at all."
"Ten years?" the general barked. "And only now you bother to tell anyone?"
"It is the blink of an eye. Mourning must be observed before matters of ceremony are seen to. It ended last month. Now that the rites of passage have begun, the ones she named and trusted are being summoned."
The emissary said, "I seek Vellichor, recently also called the Dread Mage. Also known as the Black Wizard."
Vell raised a hand. "That's me."
"You were her sworn confidant. A friend. You are expected at the High Queen's laying to rest ."
The general exhaled hard. "Typical elves. Ever think of using a door?"
"You will find," the emissary said coolly, "that grief makes poor diplomats of us all."
Vell rose slowly, no hurry in him. "When?"
"Since many peoples—not just elves—are expected, and since they seem to value time more than we do," the emissary said with a hint of disappointment, "the procession will begin at the next full moon."
"Two weeks," Vell murmured.
The emissary handed him the scroll. "Everything you need is written here. You may come with me now or appear at court in two weeks."
Vell glanced at Sonder, weighing his next move.