Mouse shivered in the cold water of the lake, her skin raising against the chill. She muttered a curse under her breath, sputtering as she stretched her arms out in front of her to push her way through the reeds, hoping that Elke would not hear her unladylike choice of words. The day was hot, hotter than all the others before, and Mouse found that she could not endure it without at least trying to argue her way into Silver Lake’s namesake. And though it had taken a good deal of persuading, she had ultimately succeeded in her object, owing at least in part, she was certain, to Elke’s insistence that the lake was quite safe for swimming, and that she knew it well enough herself to know where her lady would be most shielded from view.

Ulrich had thus eventually relented, and properly attended, Mouse had been permitted to enter the lake. Hard won as it had been, she now felt that it was incumbent upon her to enjoy herself, or at least pretend to. But the truth was that the water was too murky to be serene, too cold to be refreshing, and too deep for Mouse to do anything but shudder at the thought of what manner of strange creatures might lurk in the dark of its depths.

On the shore stood the dark-haired guard with freckles under his eyes keeping watch as the two girls swam. “Oi!” he shouted to Mouse. “Catch us an eel while you’re in there, won’t you?” Mouse flinched upon hearing these words, not certain if the sudden sensation of something slippery sliding past her leg was real or imagined. The guardsman, Bo he was called, laughed. “Go on, then!” he shouted. “I’m getting tired of carp.”

“Do not worry, my lady,” Elke said reassuringly, as she paddled through the water past Mouse. “The lake has no eels, naught but fish and a few frogs.”

Mouse tried to smile, as though she had not taken to heart the guardsman’s jest, but as it was, it was all she could do to keep from swimming to shore as fast as she could and running all the way back to the castle.

“Do you swim in the lake often?” she asked the little kitchen maid who drifted through the water with ease, seeking not only to change the topic of conversation but also to hide her discomfort.

“From time to time, my lady,” Elke replied, “when the heat grows strong and my duties are light.”

“And you find the water to be…pleasant?” Mouse asked, shivering as she kicked her legs against a weed that had tangled them.

“Not so pleasant as the water where I come from,” the girl confessed, turning gracefully onto her back to look up at the sky.

“And where is it you come from?” Mouse asked, a note of genuine interest in her voice. She had naturally assumed the girl to be from Loquin, if not from the village of Silver Lake itself.

“I was born in Ahnderland, as a matter of fact,” the girl replied, waving her arms out to her sides to keep afloat.

“Ah,” said Mouse, brightening at this. “So you are Elke of Ahnderland then.” The girl smiled sheepishly, sunlight dancing across her face and reflecting in her dark eyes. Though it came as something of a surprise that she should hail from as far away as Ahnderland, it certainly did explain her dark features and the unfamiliar tunes she was wont to hum as she attended Mouse.

“In a manner of speaking, my lady,” she replied. “My mother named me for Elke of Ahnderland, the real one, that is.”

“Emperor Lothar’s wife,” Mouse said, “the royal consort.”

“Indeed, my lady,” said Elke, wiping lake water from her face. “My mother loved her dearly, and even before I was born, she always knew I would be named for her.” Mouse raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Your mother knew Elke of Ahnderland?” she asked, her curiosity now truly serving to distract her from her former discomfort.

“Yes, my lady,” the girl answered with a hint of pride in her voice. “She was her handmaiden.”

It now began to make sense to Mouse not only how a kitchen maid from Ahnderland had come to live at Silver Lake but how she had come to speak so eloquently, to bear such distinguished manners. The girl, she realized, had probably been raised with the ambition of someday becoming a lady’s maid, if not to the Empress, then to another member of the nobility.

“May I ask where your mother is now?” Mouse asked, kicking her way slowly through the water.

“Sadly, my lady, she is gone,” Elke replied with only a touch of sadness in her voice. “Her and my father went together last year.”

Mouse lowered her face into the water, feeling an unexpected twinge in her heart at these words. For a girl so young to lose both her parents at once—well, if anyone understood how difficult it could be, it was Mouse.

“I am so sorry to hear it,” she said solemnly. “It is a terrible thing to lose one’s parents.”

Mouse now herself turned over onto her back, gazing up at blue sky unbroken by clouds and watching a cherith bird fly overhead. If the girl had no parents, she thought to herself, perhaps there was no reason that she should be required to stay at Silver Lake. Perhaps she was free to go elsewhere. Though the idea had occurred to Mouse more than once how lovely it might be to bring the girl back with her to Kriftel, close as they had become, she had not considered that it might be a real possibility.

“Elke,” Mouse said gently, turning her head to look at the girl, “I hope that you know that you have given your parents every reason to be proud of you.”

“You are too kind, my lady,” the girl smiled, ducking her head beneath the water before bringing it back up and pushing the water from her face. Mouse wished that she could share her hope with the girl that they might return to Kriftel together, where Elke could become her handmaiden, the way the girl’s own mother had for Elke of Ahnderland. But she did not want to be premature in her plans, for the last thing she wanted was to make a promise which she may not be able to keep. So instead, she said nothing of the matter, and merely continued to allow herself to drift across the silver-blue water of the lake.

However, it was not long before the cold once again begin to grip her, and she pushed a few wet strands of hair from her face as glanced toward the shore where Bo the guard stood watch.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Elke,” she said, a mischievous smile beginning to form on her mouth, “why don’t we find our way out of the water? We can check the bushes for berries, and you can thank Bo for keeping watch by giving him a nice big hug.”

Mouse’s hair laid across her shoulders, soaking the back of her linen gown as the cart bumped along through the grass, pulled by a makeshift rig fixed to Bo’s dark gelding, Shergar. The sun upon her crown and shoulders provided a welcome wave of warmth, and even Elke, who had not seemed to mind the cold of the lake, looked grateful for the bright rays that now bathed them both, closing her eyes and turning her face upwards to meet the sun.

As they drew nearer the castle, Mouse noticed two figures on horseback just outside the wall. And though she could not make out their features at such a distance, she could tell Wind’s Whip the moment she laid eyes on the dark blue roan. It was the Empress and the Dietric, she realized, feeling a sense of unease begin to settle over her.

“Bo,” she called up to the guardsman, eager to avoid any unnecessary encounter with either of the party that stood between them and the castle. “Might you not carry us into the village? I have as of yet seen little of it, and we are certainly in no hurry to be locked away indoors on so fine a day.” The dark-haired guardsman looked back at her with a raised brow.

“A fine day it may be to you,” he quipped, “but to those of us in plate, it is little short of torment.” Mouse bit her lip. She could not argue against a heat that had been intense enough to seduce her into the lake.

“Not for long,” she entreated. “I should only like to see the square and the mill.”

The guardsman laughed.

“Are you really so desperate to avoid seeing that northern suitor of yours that you would have me risk my post?” he asked. Mouse felt her cheeks burn at this remark, and she glared at the back of Bo’s dark head. Torben could hardly be called a suitor, and besides this, she had no wish to avoid him, or at least no conscious wish. But she could not deny that she was beginning to grow wary of the fact that the regard which she felt for the man seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

She would have liked to make some to clever reply to the guardsman’s provocation but could think of nothing, and at last, she gave up on this and turned to a new tactic.

“If you oblige my request,” she began, “I shall make it worth your while.”

“And how precisely do you mean to do that?” the freckled guard smirked over his shoulder as the cart continued to jostle over the grass toward the castle.

“I will put in a good word for you with Lady Mathilde,” Mouse said with something of a cloying smile. Now it was Bo’s turn to blush. Even from where Mouse sat in the little cart that bumped along behind the horse, she could see his ears turn pink.

Bo made no reply to this, but instead of turning in toward the lane that led to the castle, he drove his horse onward, until at last they entered the village. Two victories in one day, thought Mouse, congratulating herself upon her cleverness. Perhaps the cherith bird had brought her luck.

Once in the village, the ride became even bumpier than it had been upon the open field, but Bo was a strict master and would not allow either of the girls to step so much as a foot outside of the cart. The village itself was small and unremarkable, but Mouse did not mind.

“There is the larder,” said Elke, pointing to a small building on the right, “and the candle maker.” Mouse nodded, as if all the buildings did not look the same. “And there is the bourrelier.” Mouse felt her interest pique at this, craning her neck to try and see into the saddle maker’s workshop, as if some dark secret hiding within might suddenly burst forth through the windows. But as it was, it appeared as any other little-used workshop might—dark and dusty and in something of ill repair.

They had drawn through the village square and were about to head back toward the castle when Mouse suddenly called for Bo to stop. One of the Foilunders was there, on the far side of the square near a narrow alley, a wooden sword in his hand. Mouse recognized the man, though she did not know his name, and while she did not wish to draw undue attention, she was curious to see what he was about.

In front of him, stood a skinny boy with dirty knees holding a wooden sword of his own. The Foilunder, it seemed, was trying to teach him how to riposte, but the boy could not seem to move past the parry.

“My lady likes the Foilunders, does she not?” asked Elke, looking up at Mouse, who was watching the fair-haired giant of a man make himself small to meet the boy’s wooden blade.

“I do,” Mouse said, “on the whole. I think them fine men with sound minds and sturdy hearts,” she said. “And despite what some might think, they are not so different from us.” Elke seemed to consider these words as she looked at the man who towered in the front of the boy who was probably no taller than herself.

“Come now,” Bo called, suddenly jumping down from his mount and drawing the attention of nearby villagers and the Foilunder alike. “Let us show the boy how it is done.” He unbelted his sword and walked round to the side of the cart to hand it to Mouse.

“Not a word,” he said, as she took it from him, his grey eyes gleaming puckishly as he lifted an arm so that she might begin to undo his fastenings. Mouse worked quickly, eager to see how the confident young guardsman might fair against a man a head taller than himself.

Bo strode up to the Foilunder, taking the wooden sword from the hand of the awe-stricken boy and swinging it about with a flourish before taking his stance.

“Before we begin,” said the Foilunder, his eyes as bright with animation as Bo’s own, “might I ask the punishment for striking a man of the royal guard?”

“That is not something I think you will need to worry about, my friend,” smiled Bo.

It was clear even before they began that neither man was seeking to demonstrate anything that might actually be of use. All they wanted was an excuse to spar, and now they had it.

A lunge was deflected, and a slash was parried and on and on, all with the villagers looking on excitedly. Even Elke could not help but to lean herself halfway out of the cart to watch.

It was funny, Mouse thought as she watched the two men strike at each other time and again, for though each was highly skilled and had undergone years of rigorous training, the swords in their hands were little more than toys.

Mouse wondered if they might not go on forever, so light were their weapons and so little fatiguing, but it was at precisely that moment that a loose stone turned under Bo’s foot, knocking him off his balance. He might have regained himself quite easily, had this not caused his parry to fail, but as it happened, the Foilunder’s weapon came down upon his collar with a fierce crack.

Bo winced in pain at the blow, the sword falling at once from his hand and clattering upon the ground, while the Foilunder drew back in shock. It was clear by the look on his face that he would not have brought down his weapon with such force had he not expected the blow to be blocked.

Mouse at once leapt from the cart, hastening herself to the injured guardsman.

“Get back in the cart, Mouse,” he groaned. “It’s not broken.” He inhaled sharply through his teeth. “At least I don’t think so.”

Mouse put a hand under his elbow, lifting it to test the truth of his words.

“Enough of that,” he grimaced, lifting a hand in concession to the Foilunder who had put down his own sword and looked by all accounts truly sorry for what he had done.

“Back to the castle,” Mouse said to the northerner over her shoulder. “Quick as you can, and call for the surgeon.”

“I meant the man no harm,” the Foilunder began, but Mouse cut in before he could say anything more.

“I know,” she said curtly. “It’s for your own good, sir.” The northerner knit his brow in confusion, before glancing about at the villagers who stood staring at him. The faces that had looked at him with admiration mere moments ago now looked at him with distrust and anger. He was no longer a Foilunder; he was a foreigner, a towering, sword-wielding stranger who had struck one of the Empress’s men.

The Foilunder nodded at Mouse, dropping his eyes before turning and hastening away. Mouse was glad to know that his pride was not enough to impinge upon his conscience, but still, she felt sorry for him, though not as sorry as she felt for Bo. The injured guardsman squeezed his eyes shut in anguish, breathing sharply as she helped him back to the horse and cart.

“Do not worry,” she said, guiding him gently by the waist as he muttered curse after curse to himself. “I will make the whole affair sound much more heroic when I tell the story to Mathilde.”