Maren removed the celebration glasses from storage before breakfast.
There were twelve of them, wrapped in cloth and kept on the highest shelf because Ashveil used crystal only for formal declarations, alliance dinners, and the rare council decision people intended to remember as unanimous even when it was not.
Wren looked from the glasses to the service request on the preparation table.
“Who ordered those?”
“Edric’s office.”
“For Thursday?”
“Immediately after the vote.”
The final vote was four days away.
Wren read the request. Sparkling wine. Dusk winter cordial. Twelve formal glasses. Savory pastries for the council chamber antechamber. No conditional language. No instruction to hold service until a result was confirmed.
The order assumed there would be something to celebrate.
