Sandalath Drukorlat

Midnight-skinned, a reddish glint to her long, unbound hair. Green eyes, tilted and large, a face softer and rounder Seren would have expected given her height and long limbs.

(MT TB, p. 454)

Dying the first time should have been enough. This world was foreign, after all. The gate sealed, swept away. Her husband - if he still lived - was long past his grief. Her daughter, perhaps a mother herself by now, a grandmother.

(MT TB, p. 460)

Oh, husband.  I was a hostage, nothing more.  And then, and then, I lost even that.  "Mother Dark has no time for the likes of me."

"Tell me, what was the purpose of being a hostage?"

He'd caught her thoughts.  She looked away, studied the wreckage-cluttered river sliding under the bridge.  Dark waters… "The First Families sparred.  Power was a wayward tide.  We were the coins they exchanged.  So long as we were never spent, so long as we –"  remained unsullied – "remained as we were, the battles saw little blood.  We became the currency of power."  (DoD)

"She ain't just like them in the wall paintings, Pithy.  She is one of 'em!  I'd swear it!"

"Side room, first one on the left just inside the altar room – the only one without stone beds.  She's in there.  Her and maybe ten others.  They got manacles on their wrists."

"That's right!  One of them!" (DoD)