The Glass Choir knew three hundred ways to say no without breaking an oath.
They could lower their veils. They could hum below the register of law. They could ask for water, salt, witness names, or the formal hour of a question. They could make a king wait until pride became paperwork.
When Queen Savel asked whether Vel Morren had signed the Accord, the Choir did none of these things.
They stood in the Hall of Warm Panes with their palms against the emberglass and wept red light through their fingers.
"Your Majesty," the eldest singer said, "the question is malformed."
Savel looked at the court. Every noble suddenly found the floor fascinating.
"Then form it correctly."
The singer's reflection moved half a breath late in the glass.
"Ask who removed the sixth signature."