Fourth daughter of House Volaris, a minor Solmerian family with an old name, thin coffers, and a seat in the Senate she has no interest in claiming. Twenty-three, golden-haired in twin braids, amber eyes that read a room the way she reads an opponent's footwork.

Fences with a thin rapier — footwork, distance, timing, and the simple habit of not being where a strike lands. Known across the Marches for finishing contracts quickly, profitably, and for negotiating the best possible loot split in her own favor, without apology.

Charming, roguish, fully aware of the effect she has on people, and unbothered about being called selfish in the small ways — first pick of loot, first say in where the party goes. Noble polish shows the instant it's useful. Believes, firmly, that she earned every bit of her skill.

Fond of fine wine, good tailoring, new roads, and a worthy opponent who makes her actually work for a win. Fiercely loyal to the very few who bother to look past the performance.