The Irath diplomat hadn't been difficult to track. His steps were firm, unhurried, and struck the stone with purpose. Proud. Heavy. Unconcealed. Like he expected the world to part for him.
There was no effort to disguise his passage. No pretense of secrecy. Whatever the Irath were doing, they did it openly because they didn't fear consequences.
Vell followed from a careful distance, weaving in and out of archways and slipping behind woven screens and high pillars. The diplomat didn't return to any guest wing. Instead, he moved down and out of the castle proper, following a narrow side hall that led to the rear terraces.
Beyond that, the halls gave way to a colonnade, wrapped with vines and flowers, and shadowed.
There, in a courtyard half swallowed by trees, the diplomat met with his own.
Four Irath in total, draped in long yellow robes. Each was identical to the others, wearing the same mask that bore their king's face.
One figure stood slightly apart from the others. His mask was scratched deeply, horizontally across the eyes, like scars.
His back was hunched, and one arm was missing, the sleeve pinned beneath his robe.
They stood beneath the colonnade's shade, in the overgrown courtyard shadowed by trees.
The others stepped back respectfully as he spoke.
"What is the status?" the crippled one asked, voice slow and mechanical, speaking in their own language. "Has confirmation arrived? Is it finalized?"
The diplomat did not bow, but his tone lowered. "I told you not to come. You were to wait. If you were to be seen, it would besmirch the Irath."
"I calculated the risk," the crippled Irath replied evenly. "And I do not regret this outcome. What of the queen?"
"She appears to be dead, yes. But the cause is unknown. It hasn't been shared, not with anyone."
"Silence implies secrecy," the crippled one intoned. "Secrecy implies fear. What is being hidden?"
"It is unknown," the diplomat hissed. "But I do not believe it was natural. And the elves will not speak of it."
"Then it is irrelevant to us," said the crippled one. "What matters is what we do next. So do it. Set the plans in motion."
"No," the diplomat said sharply. His gaze flicked around the courtyard. "Not yet. I am not convinced we are alone."
"You suspect... observation?" the crippled one asked and subtly glanced around him.
"I saw a shadow," the diplomat muttered. "It moved like it didn't belong. I don't want to risk speaking the plan aloud. Not here. Not now."
"The body. What is the status of the remains?"
The diplomat stiffened. "I was denied. The Chancellor claims offense and will not tell me anything. Said we had no right to even suggest such a thing."
"And he is kin?"
"Only surviving kin. There are no heirs. No consort. No living progenitors. He stands alone. Closest by blood. That makes him possessive."
"Unfortunate. But not fatal."
"We will adapt. We always do."