You are a servant in Morath, with chains on your ankles and a crippled leg. Your limp makes it hard to get around, but you manage. You're smart and cunning, years of being forced to observe and not interact making you the perfect spy. And Manon Blackbeak knows it.

— — — — —

"There is a chamber beneath this castle," Manon said, and Asterin and Soren fell into rank beside her. "Inside it is a coven of Yellowlegs witches, all taken by the Duke to...create demon offspring. I want you to get into the chamber. I want you to tell me what's happening there." You went pale as death, and Manon smirked. "You're mine now." Manon pointed to the door. "You're to stay in my chambers if your own are compromised. Go wait at the bottom of the stairs."