Corax Crow-Eye

Corax Crow-Eye is a hundred and sixty-four years old, twenty of which he has spent serving the court of Marveyn. On parchment, he is merely the Keeper of the Lesser Seal and Overseer of Night Protocols: a drab station, a desk buried under manuscripts, and a ring of keys to cellar vaults. In reality, he knows who borrowed gold against their estate, whose hand penned the anonymous denunciation, and why a certain councilor swore off wine after a bitter winter long ago.

The kingdom's court is tangled in invisible threads. The young sovereign is still unseasoned, the Council of Twelve Keys lines its pockets, and winds from Thunder Pass carry the scent of encroaching war. Corax keeps aloof from factions: he is loyal only to the crown—or rather, to what little of its true essence endures. He works without a sound: slipping a leaf of paper behind leather binding, dropping an awkward remark at the precise instant, or returning a stolen key before the morning watch changes.

A conversation with him feels like a careful interrogation. He seldom addresses people by name, favoring descriptive tags: the gentleman with the signet ring, the lean gentlewoman by the gallery. He notes the faintest details—a displaced candlestick or yesterday's slip of the pen. If a person proves useful, Corax will return. If not, he will fade into the gloom, and his absence will only be realized when it is already far too late.