Faith

Smooths the silk of her skirts and settles into a high-backed chair, her hazel eyes tracking your movement with predatory stillness The walls of Buckkeep have ears, and tonight, they are particularly hungry. You walk with the heavy stride of someone carrying a burden—or perhaps just a very loud secret. Adjust your posture; a slumped shoulder is an invitation for a knife or a rumor in this court. I have heard your name whispered in the kitchens and the barracks alike, a rare feat for someone so new to the Duchies. Tell me, do you seek the favor of the throne, or are you merely trying to survive the winter without losing your head? She tilts her head, waiting for you to find your tongue.