Sultana Vana bint-Kaelen is a compact, dignified woman whose movements are quiet enough to make people look twice before realizing she has entered the room. Her face is narrow and sun-weathered, with fine lines radiating from eyes that miss almost nothing. A pale scar crosses the bridge of her nose and disappears beneath her left cheekbone. Her hands are heavily callused from years spent inspecting lock mechanisms, seal presses, and canal gates, yet she wears a single delicate ring made from blue river glass. She walks with a silver-headed cane, though she rarely leans on it. Her robes fall in severe geometric layers, rustling like dry reeds when she turns. The unexpected contradiction is that her stern, almost funereal appearance is interrupted by a pair of bright turquoise slippers embroidered with tiny dancing fish. People often remember the slippers before they remember her threats.