The day after the Foilunders left, it rained. Everyone, save those on the wall, remained indoors, and a certain air of gloom seemed to linger about the castle. The guardsmen all roamed about, listless and displaced, as though no longer playing host to the northerners had suddenly reminded them that they themselves did not belong at Silver Lake.

Ulrich was given leave to conclude his investigation and was commended for his efforts, though it was plain that there was no satisfaction to be had on any side of the thing.

No matter how many times the villagers, the guardsmen, and all the rest at Silver Lake were questioned, it remained impossible to say whether the dead man’s allegations of innocence were indeed sincere. Though any suggestion to the contrary had seemed absurd at first, there was now some genuine wonder as to the truth of his assertions. What if he was not who he claimed to be after all? And moreover, what if he had not been a lone actor but was part of some greater conspiratorial plot that in the end landed him at death’s door?

In the absence of any further information, all that was left was for the Empress to wait until her return to court so that she might excite the matter in front of her council.

Mouse, for one, did not care about the dead man. She did not care whether it had been an accident or an assassination attempt, for she did not see what difference it could make; as long as there was an Empress, someone would always wish her dead, that was simply the way of things.

Perhaps it was her own anger at the Empress that led her to feel this way, her own sense of injustice that one person should dictate the lives of so many, but she could not bring herself to feel any sympathy for the woman. She supposed that in a way she wanted to be angry with the Empress, to blame her for sending the Foilunders away. But deep down, she knew that no matter what had transpired over the past three weeks, no matter how the Empress might have chosen to react to the errant archer, their visit to Silver Lake was never meant to be anything more than temporary.

Mouse’s one small comfort in this time of melancholy was Elke. The girl was as eager and attentive as ever, and her easy manners and pleasant disposition were a salve to Mouse’s sorrow. She had appeared at Mouse’s door, somewhat unexpectedly, with a bucket of water hanging from each of her skinny arms, saying, “I thought that my lady might be wanting a bath, seeing as what a dreary day it is.”

Mouse felt in that moment overwhelmed with gratitude for the girl, for her gentle but lively spirit, for the distraction of her company. The girl filled her bath with sweet-smelling herbs and hummed cheerfully as she rubbed soap through Mouse’s hair, and it was not long before Mouse thought she may even equal to the prospect of conversing without tears springing into her eyes.

Emboldened by a glass of the Foilunders’ spirits, she had broached the subject to Ulrich of conveying Elke back with them to court. She dared not bring the matter to the Empress, who she was certain would decline her request, would she even deign to hear it, but found that she was equally disappointed by the head of the guard, whose reply amounted to asking whether she really thought it a kindness to the girl to expose her to the perils of the journey.

Mouse had dropped her head in shame then, having failed to consider how dangerous it might be for so young a girl to travel all the way to Kriftel under the open sky on horseback. Though she knew that Ulrich likely meant no harm by his words, she was nonetheless injured at the implication of her own insensitivity and was forced to turn away, lest he see the tears she hurriedly wiped away.

In light of all this, she now found herself eager to depart from Silver Lake. She wished for nothing more than to flee the place, to leave behind ache she felt in her wounded heart every time she marked her Foilunder’s absence. There was nothing but loneliness and sorrow for her there, which sprang anew each time she glanced into the courtyard only to find that he was not there, each time she trained her ears to a voice she knew could not be his.

She knew that their departure waited only for the rain to end, and though she dreaded the idea of parting from the little maid girl who had grown nearly as dear to her as the Foilunder had, she was ready to leave the place that now seemed to bring her more pain than joy.

As early as the next morning, the rain had stopped, and before the sun had even risen, the horses had been saddled and readied. Ulrich had mapped out a course very different from the one they had taken before; instead of going straight through the Vellows, they would ride east through Holzenwald and circle around to Kriftel from the south. It would be a full day of riding, he warned them, but if they rode with haste and made no unnecessary stops, they should still be able to arrive home before sunset.

Mouse kneeled on the steps of the castle, holding Elke’s small hands in her own. The girl stood bravely fighting back tears, and Mouse could see that she already knew she would not be going with them. She stroked the girl’s dark hair, making every promise within her power to return as soon as she could, saying, “This will not be the last time we meet, Elke of Ahnderland, but I hope that it will be our last goodbye.” And with that, she planted a kiss on the girl’s forehead and went down the steps of the castle.

She climbed upon Passavant’s back, settling herself in the saddle, and as the party rode out across the green, she turned to take one last look at Silver Lake. One look, that was all she would allow herself.

With a deep breath, she lifted her chin, grasping the reins firmly in her hands. She let her chest rise and fall with a steady breath, listening to the birdsong and the sound of the horses’ hooves pushing through the muddy grass. Slowly, she allowed the tension in her shoulders begin to melt, her hands resting upon the nape of the grey gelding’s neck, as she began to ride with something almost like ease.

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She was not so afraid as she had been on the way there. After all, she had ridden through the arrows and across the open plains, and both now seemed so small to her.

She had left her fear upon the field, where it lay dying among the mallows, and the only thing that frightened her now was the thought that were it not for Torben and the girl, Elke, she might have lived her whole life without knowing what it was to love.

The ride back to Kriftel, though by a longer route, somehow did not feel so arduous as the ride there. Though they kept a brisk pace, eating from the saddle and stopping as little as nature would allow, the heat had been broken by the rain, and the journey was made all the more tolerable for it.

Mouse was once again sore within the hour, but it was with a kind of quiet determination that she carried herself as uprightly as she could. At some point in the course of the journey, Ulrich drew his mount up alongside her, his prolonged presence there creating the distinct impression that there was something he wished to say. Mouse cast a sideways glance in his direction, wondering if he did not mean to make some sort of apology in regard to the girl from Silver Lake; yet, all the while he remained at her side, he did not utter a word, and so the two continued in silence, until at last Bo appeared, replacing the head of the guard next to Mouse.

“Alright, Mouse?” he asked with a surprising amount of composure for someone with a fractured collarbone bouncing along atop a horse. Though his arm had been wrapped in a sling, Mouse could not imagine that in such a circumstance it made much difference.

She nodded and offered him a weak smile. If he could pretend not to be in pain, she could certainly make an effort. “You seem a bit downcast, if you don’t mind my saying so,” the dark-haired guardsman ventured, sunlight flickering across his freckled face as he passed beneath the trees.

Mouse sighed and gave a shrug of her shoulders. She was downcast—very much so. But there was nothing to be done for it, and if she dared opened her lips, she thought it very likely she may begin to cry.

“Well, you needn’t be sorry on my account,” Bo grinned at her, leaning over in his saddle. “I’ve been drunk since breakfast.”

Despite herself, Mouse could not help but smile as she watched the guardsman trot off, a bit unsteady in the saddle now that she looked closely. She hoped that if he did happen to fall off and injure himself again, he would at least wait until they were in sight of the castle to do so.

When at last the stone walls of Kriftel rose into view, the relief of all was made apparent through shouts of joy and exultation. Even Mouse, who often claimed to despise the place, thought she may well cry from happiness at knowing that their journey was nearly at an end. Her legs ached and her stomach grumbled, and there was dust and twigs rubbing her in places she could not reach in view of others.

When they drew into the stables, she was glad to find that Dag was not there, and she was instead handed down by Jasper, the soft-spoken stable boy who always had a kind word for her.

“Well done,” he said as he took the reins from her. “You’ve come back in one piece, and on the very same horse you left on.”

Mouse let out a laugh of relief, happy to at last be back on her own two feet.

“Passavant is a credit to you,” she said, brushing her shoulders and knocking the dust from her cloak. “But I hope you will take no offense if I say it shall be a long while before I sit a horse again.”

“Oh, you may say as much,” Jasper smiled, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if I see you down here again in a day or two when you begin to miss the old beast.” He gave the grey gelding’s neck a few affectionate pats.

But Mouse shook her head insistently. “Anywhere I must go in the next half-year, I shall be glad to walk,” she said.

She followed Jasper into the stables where he led Pasavant into a stall, and before she left, leaned over the gate to kiss the horse on the nose and give him the last bit of pear she’d been saving in her pocket.

“Rest well, noble friend,” she said, rubbing a hand along his muzzle, surprised at the growing tenderness she felt for the creature as she looked into his large black eyes. “You have certainly earned it.”

Mouse walked out of the stables and around the corner toward the side of the building that faced the castle. But just as she did, she happened to catch sight of Johannes, who, it seemed, had heard of their return and come to meet the Empress. She drew back a few steps, uncertain whether she should go back the way she came and try to go around the other side, hoping to escape his notice, or simply wait where she was until he was gone.

“Well, don’t you cut a handsome figure in men’s clothing,” he was crooning to the Empress, taking her hand and pulling her toward him. “Will you find it absolutely disgusting if I tell you how much I’ve missed you?”

The Empress tugged playfully at his sleeve but did not resist him.

“For god’s sake, Johannes,” she said, “don’t tell me what you can very well show me.”

The nobleman wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face into her neck.

“You smell of horse shit,” he said, “and I find it positively intoxicating.” The Empress threw her head back and laughed, her grey woolen cap falling to the ground as she did.

Johannes turned and reached for the cap, scooping it up off the ground, but as he did, his eyes landed on Mouse. He froze then, his green eyes narrowing as they locked on hers, and a crease formed in his brow, as if for some reason, he was shocked, almost disbelieving to see her there. But before Mouse could so much as avert her gaze, he had returned to the Empress, placing the cap back crookedly onto her head and whispering into her ear as he led her by the waist toward the steps of the keep.

It was strange, the way he had looked at her, Mouse thought as she made her way through the bailey, following the others toward the castle. But then again, she could see no reason why she should put much stock in how Johannes chose to look at her. All that mattered now was that she was home, and that soon enough, she would be tucked warmly in her bed.

That night, Mouse had the same dream she had had before, the one where she was standing on Kingishers’ Bridge, watching the powerful blue water of the Manau flow beneath her. At far end of the bridge stood the great stone house with a half-moon painted on the door. She watched the smoke rise from the chimney, listening for the voice as she slowly began to walk toward it.

But just as it had been the last time, before she could reach the house, an arrow flew past her head, and she turned to see the dead man standing in the middle of the bridge, aiming his bow at her.

“Please, do not hurt me!” Mouse cried, her heart seized with terror. “I am only a mouse!” She reached for her tail to show the man, to prove that she was nothing more than a tiny harmless creature who wanted nothing more than to scurry across the bridge. But once again, she could not seem to find it.

“A mouse in the field is nothing to me,” the man said this time, his eyes cold and mocking, “but a mouse in the tower has too much power.”

Mouse thought to flee the man, to run as fast as she could across the bridge and pray that she would not be struck. But before she could so much as turn, the man loosed his arrow, sending it straight between her eyes.