The business of her name resolved (and once resolved, forgotten), Petrana has a pretty laugh; she's the sort of woman who would, doll-like and soft and steel, underneath.

“No,” as she sits, sweeping skirts beneath herself neatly and opening the bottle to share it, “I had sooner leap than be pushed, only. I felt it was my duty to ensure that the Inquisition's mages had the voice in their own fate they were promised when they joined its cause, and my colleagues disagreed. Though,” lightly, “when it was his own skin in the game, the Provost was more than happy to expect my aid in doing what he had condemned me for.”

She is matter of fact about it, but that she has not forgotten—ah. She will not soon forget.