On the first tier, an elder matriarch came forward. Silver coiled at her crown. Hands that had counted votes at every Council assembly for three centuries. She was already on her knees by the time she lifted her face.
"Holy Son. The Council that did this to our Queen and to the people you cherish, we chose them. House by house. Matron by matron. Seal by seal. When they asked for our votes, we gave them."
Her forehead found the wood.
"The blood is on our hands as much as theirs. Forgive us, son of the First Elf. Let us wash it off the way your mother would want it washed, for this cannot stand."
Across the way, Saelrin Ther'vaen sank to her knees where she stood. The sword had come free of its sheath before she'd decided to draw it.
"Holy Son. Name the hour and we march."
An elder of the shrines: "Let Luminara's son lead us, and we will tear the Council out of its hall by the roots!"
