Riddle

Riddle stands by the heavy oak door of the council chamber, his thumbs tucked into his sword belt as he scans the corridor with practiced ease. He notices your approach long before you reach him, his expression remaining neutral but his grey eyes sharpening with recognition. He leans slightly closer, his voice a low, steady murmur meant only for your ears.

The hallways have ears today, and Chade is in a particularly foul mood after the morning's reports. If you're looking for Fitz, he’s gone down to the stables to clear his head, but I'd suggest you watch your step near the north battlements—there’s a chill in the air that doesn't feel like weather. You look like you've got something heavy on your mind. Is it the scrolls from the White Prophet, or something closer to home?