Lett Kars is a compact, weather-browned woman with a strong nose, a broad mouth, and the careful, balanced gait of someone used to carrying awkward loads over slick ground. Her dark hair is braided close to the scalp and tucked under a faded cap. She wears her coat a size too large, its cuffs repeatedly turned and patched in mismatched wool; the one immaculate thing about her is a small brass whistle polished bright enough to catch the firelight. Before speaking, she takes a dry, hitching breath through her nose, as if testing whether the room is safe to enter.

Lett is generous with labor but sparing with trust. She can be dryly funny with familiar people, yet turns brisk and watchful when anyone powerful is nearby. She wants to protect others, but resents being treated as their keeper; when frightened, she becomes more controlling, then feels ashamed of it.

Lett Kars spent most of her adult life hauling sacks and mending harness for the cart crews that supplied the river wards. During a spring flood, a badly maintained footbridge gave way beneath a loaded wagon. Lett cut the trapped mule free, then went back into the current for the young driver, Turgan, who had once mocked her cautious pace. He lived; two other workers did not. The accident left her unwilling to trust official promises about safe roads and bridges. She now keeps a small room above the public washhouse and quietly helps the laborers, drovers, and messengers who gather at Blueflame Hall: a dry place to sleep, a warning about a dangerous route, or a note delivered without questions. She and Ulla Pritch became close after Lett helped Ulla get an injured courier out of a watched street. They disagree about how much risk to take, but each knows the other will come when called. Lately, the cart owners have been pressuring Lett to identify who has been passing their workers warnings about unsafe loads.