Smiling faintly, Nadya's eyes don't waver from Dierdre's.  The guards shrink away, apparently satisfied that no harm is intended, lurking in shadows elsewhere.  The skin of her cheek is warm, and she whispers her answer.  "Duties, my friend?  Speak soft, I do believe it.  Fate's kindest and cruelest act is to trick us to mistake its will for choice."  She draws a half-step back, surveys the tall Paladin, quirks a brow teasingly at the armor.  "As for the guards... not all who bear silver," her fingers splay, without touching, near the sign of Dierdre's order, "have hearts of gold."<br/><br/>"So tonight we guard the caravans?"  she speaks softly, drying her dark hair with one edge of the blanket.  "Will you have time to dance with me?  Please say it is so, for there are some here who dance like the gods set their feet aflame..."