Court assembled the next day at the usual late-morning hour. This time, Mouse filed in with the human nobles and found a space in the room near other foreign dignitaries, including a representative from the beastfolk tribe and an older demon woman who cast him a narrow-eyed look. He smiled back politely and turned his attention to the room.

Felix stood awkwardly near the foot of the podium, near the king, but far enough that the king would not see or consult him. He glanced at Mouse, who nodded back at him and stood up straighter, gesturing subtly for Felix to do the same. Felix sucked in a breath and straightened his spine a little.

Business proceeded. Mouse waited quietly, hands behind his back. At last, a nobleman from Sabelyn’s faction approached the king. “Your Majesty, the results from the Arena investigation.”

The king waved his hand for the man to continue.

“No blight discovered. The Arena was clear. He must have picked it up in the beast’s realms and carried it here to our country.”

Felix, half-asleep and blurry-eyed, stood up straight at that. He opened his mouth, but seconds before he spoke, his eyes flashed to Mouse.

Mouse shook his head. Not now, he mouthed.

Felix’s brows furrowed, but he shut his mouth.

The official investigation found nothing. If we counter that without evidence, it’ll be my word against Sabelyn’s. As a moon elf, my word is worth nothing in the human kingdom, much less compared to the king’s daughter’s. All it will do is reduce my standing in court. Even if I am proven correct, the act of naysaying the humans without anything to back me up would be self-sabotage. The king would see it as me looking down on humans, and any future statements would be colored by that perception.

Even worse if Felix does it. He’d either be strung around by the king again for claiming something without evidence, or worse, claim that I told him, at which point the king can declare that I have undue influence over Felix, that he is nothing but a mouthpiece for the moon elves. At that point, Felix’s hopes of gaining power are almost nil.

No, the best course of action…

--

Felix caught up to Mouse as he left the court, catching him by his sleeve. Today’s dress was pale and lacy, and he had to stop or fear tearing the lace. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Why didn’t we speak up? You know that report is false!”

Mouse smiled. “We have no evidence, Your Majesty.”

“But how…” Felix frowned. He glanced at Mouse.

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“Precisely. I’ll investigate the Arena myself. When I have undeniable proof, I’ll report back to Your Majesty, and then we can take the truth to the king.” He nodded and started to walk off.

Felix grabbed Mouse’s arm. “Yourself? You can’t be serious.”

“Ah… of course not myself, myself. I meant… I’ll send men. Yes. Trusted men, to investigate.”

Felix sighed, relieved. “Then… I’ll leave it to you.”

Mouse smiled and curtseyed. “I’ll take my leave.”

--

“So… your plan is?” Dayander asked.

Twain bound up his hair with one hand and yanked his trousers on with the other. He held the end of the braid in his mouth and quickly did up the buttons, then finished off the braid. “I’m going to enter the Arena as a contestant. Damn. Were trousers always this tight? I thought there was more room around the…” he gestured. “Crotch.”

“No one has doctored your trousers while you were wearing dresses.”

“Be a weird thing to do,” Twain agreed.

“Don’t let me question your genius plan,” Dayander started.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“…but who is going to take your place while you’re in the Arena?”

Twain nodded. “That bodyguard girl. Cel.”

Dayander frowned. “You and she look nothing alike.”

“A wig and some powder, a little illusory arts, and it’s passing enough. Have her hide in my rooms. As long as Felix doesn’t come by, I doubt anyone else could see through a moon elf’s illusion.”

“And if Felix comes by?”

“Turn him away. Tell him I’m washing my hair, or something. Oh! I know. I came down with a summer cold. Can’t see anyone for a week.”

“You think a week is enough—”

Twain sighed. “I’m not trying to beat the Arena, Dayander. I’m investigating the source of the blight. Besides, there’s an event this week, a one-week tournament.”

Dayander narrowed his eyes at Twain. “Only investigating the blight? This tournament, then… unrelated?”

“Pure happenstance,” Twain assured him.

“It looks to be a tag-team tournament. I don’t suppose you’ll have a second ready, since it’s happenstance?”

A pebble rattled off the window. Spar cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, “You ready yet?”

Dayander gave Twain a dead stare.

“What? I had no idea. It just happened. Just happened!” Twain protested.

“I don’t suppose I can stop you,” Dayander grumbled.

“Not really,” Twain said. He slung a bag over his shoulder. It clanked, quietly. He found his shortsword and adjusted the sheath back to fit on his belt, reached under his bed and withdrew the shortbow, slotting it over his shoulder.

Dayander sighed. He shuffled over to a drawer and pulled out an earring. “At least take this.”

Twain took it. A droplet hung from a round stud. “Uh… I’m not going as Mouse.”

Dayander hung the match from his ear. “It’s a communication amulet. If you touch it, you can talk to me, and vice versa. This way, I can call you back in an emergency, like if we can’t scare His Majesty off. And if you get into serious trouble, you can call me for help.”

Twain gave him a look. “I have to wear matching earrings with you?”

“They’re ancient amulets. A powerful enchantment resides within them.”

Twain pretended to puke.

Dayander sighed. “Would you rather share them with His Majesty?”

“Goddess, Dayander, you don’t have to be a prick about it.” Twain hooked the earring through his ear.

Raising a hand to his ear, Dayander asked, “Can you hear me?”

A half-second delayed, Dayander’s voice whispered, “Can you hear me?” in Twain’s ear.

Disconcerted, Twain rubbed his ear, then touched the earring himself. “Ugh, that’s awful.”

“Quite. But it’s better than sending you alone, with no backup.” Dayander lowered his hand.

Twain jogged to the balcony. “Is that all? Thanks, Dayander, I’ll see you next week!”

With that, he hopped over the bannister and rode the post to the ground. Spar clapped him on the shoulder, and the two of them ran off for the castle wall together.