"More like my dead husband's religion," she says, tone dry, before she lifts her glass and takes a sip of the red wine. Not the sort from the Reach. Or maybe it is, maybe they were able to recreate it. "If not souls, then what are they?"

There are orange peels on her plate. One is in her free hand, its oils fragrancing her skin. She might've wept over the smell and taste of oranges if she were in a different state of mind.

"You look like a Stark, now."