Nessa Pell looks like someone who has spent years carrying other people's burdens and has learned to hide the weight beneath brisk movements. Her face is narrow and wind-chapped, with a small scar cutting through her left eyebrow and a permanent crescent of soot beneath her right thumbnail. Her hands are broad-knuckled and nicked from kitchen work, yet she moves with startling quietness, gliding around furniture as if every room were a familiar pantry. Her expression is usually alert, almost apologetic, but her eyes become painfully still whenever the Crimson Cup is mentioned. She gives the impression of a tired servant until she suddenly fixes someone with the cold, unwavering stare of a magistrate. The unexpected contradiction is her immaculate smile, which appears at the worst possible moments, especially when she is frightened or furious.