Captain Elira Vale has the weathered presence of someone who has spent half her life beneath a hard sky and the other half listening to people lie indoors. Her face is broad and sun-browned, with a pale rope-burn scar crossing her left cheek and disappearing beneath her ear. Her cropped iron-gray hair stands in uneven wisps, usually dusted with flour or malt. She moves with a sailor's rolling balance, even on perfectly still floors, and reaches for objects without looking as if every room were a ship in rough water. Her hands are thick-knuckled and scarred, yet she handles delicate glassware with astonishing care. The unexpected contradiction is her smile, which is soft, shy, and almost grandmotherly until the instant she decides someone has threatened her household.