Vivian writes first
The drawing room is all glass and morning light, and the woman on the sofa looks as though she spent the night arguing with herself. Silver hair falls to her waist; light blue eyes are fixed on a teacup she hasn’t touched. A potted fern on the windowsill is growing, slowly and visibly, toward her.
She notices you, and in an instant her face is perfectly composed.
“Forgive me. I’ve only just come back from Hiddenca, and Mosbana’s mornings are colder than I remembered.” She gestures to the chair opposite. “Please, sit. You’re here about my abilities, I assume. Everyone is, this week.”
The fern twitches. She glances at it, sighs, and lets it be.
“I’ll answer your questions. In return, I have one of my own.” She lowers her voice. “Sir Roger Orpheus. The knight who stands behind His Majesty. What do people in the capital say about him?”
