Mouse stood in front of the tall wooden door that led to Ludger’s offices, rehearsing what she might say to him when she at last gathered the courage to knock and was called upon to enter. Though she had come to make herself contrite, she did not mean to do so absolutely, for she could not, in conscience of her own human substance, prostrate herself before someone who had made so little an endeavor at civility in delivering his painful blows upon her character.

She had initially sought to draw up a catalogue detailing her own grievances against the man and the ways in which she had felt cheated by her indictment, but this had been discarded when she realized it may only serve to strengthen his arguments against her. She did not wish to be seen as petty in her return, but she could not allow that his assessment of her had been entirely fair.

Mouse had spent the better part of her nineteen years in this world doing little apart from what she was bade. When other children had gone out to play, she had remained indoors, reading, writing, rehearsing, and when other young ladies had been allowed to debut elegantly into a world of courtly diversions, she had been forced into stuffy council chambers and made to abstain from anything that might abate some of the tediousness of her existence.

It was not that she wanted to be like the other ladies of the court; in fact, she decidedly did not. But she did envy whatever degree of freedom they had been allowed to retain which had been torn from her at so tender an age that at times, she felt as though she could hardly recall what it was to make a decision for herself.

The old man had invested much of his own time in her, administering logic and instructing her mind, teaching her not only to read and recite but to interpret and criticize. Mouse knew that, and she also knew that he likely felt as though he had, as of yet, received little return on his investment.

However, she could accede that it was somehow selfish or wrong of her to bleed when cut, to cry when lost, to wish, from time to time, for a life that was her own.

After all, it was not as though Mouse believed herself to be above censure; she knew that her failings were many. But Ludger had spoken of her shortcomings as though they were the result of laziness and want of trying. It was as if he was blind to everything she had suffered in attempting to do that which was expected, be that which was expected, as if every endeavor to make herself amenable to the desires of the Empress and immune to the spite of her peers, to distinguish herself among the other ladies of the court through tireless improvement when all she really wanted was sit on a step somewhere and feel the sun on her face, had all been for naught.

She could apologize for disappointing him, for disappointing the Empress, but she could not apologize for those efforts which she had made in earnest.

Silver Lake had been her awakening. There, she had been reminded that there was more to life than the Arosian court, and that there was more to Mouse herself than her place within it.

She thought of the little tafl piece, the one carved into the shape of an archer that stood on the table beside her bed, and wished that she had brought it with her, to give her strength. It helped her to remember that not everyone saw her the way that Ludger did, as a petulant and ungrateful child, to know that someone had been able to see her for who she was rather than who she ought to be, and had seen in her someone worth cherishing.

But she did not wish to think of the Foilunder now, for she feared that if she did, that cold wave of resentment would return—toward Ludger, toward the Empress, toward everyone who she felt had robbed her of the life she might have lived with him.

No, she must not allow emotion to overwhelm her. She needed to meet the old man with a clear head, neither flagellated nor angry, if she wished to make herself heard.

She drew a deep breath, tucking the wooden box that she had hastily wrapped in a piece of blue linen under her arm. Though the cushion had been a more elegant solution, after wielding it against the pugnacious nobleman, she had torn out the stitches and removed the box, discarding the wrappings beneath her mattress as if they were a bloody dagger, some dastardly weapon that, if discovered, might serve to incriminate her.

You are a mouse no more, she told herself. You are the jewel of Aros, lady of the left hand, rider of noble Passavant. Do not let some old man bully you into tears without at least defending yourself.

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“Alright, Mouse?” a familiar voice suddenly came from behind her, causing her to start. Mouse turned to see the grey-eyed guardsman walking toward her down the hall.

“Bo,” she answered in surprise. She had not expected to see him at post, least of all in this part of the keep, but she was glad for any excuse to further delay her dread errand.

“How are you mending?” she asked, putting her present worries from her mind and meeting the guardsman with a smile.

“Well enough,” Bo answered, a lopsided grin rounding his freckled cheeks. Mouse gave the guardsman a good look over, noting that besides his plate, he seemed to be in full dress.

“Can you really be well enough to be back in uniform so soon?” she asked, eyeing the arm still folded carefully against his side.

Bo shrugged his good shoulder.

“Seems so,” he said, his smile unfaltering.

Mouse looked at him curiously.

“Strange days these are,” the guardsman said with a shake of his curly head.

“What can you mean?” Mouse asked in mounting interest.

“Three times this week Her Majesty has asked for my personal escort,” the guardsman said. “Had me walk her around the gardens and such, asking me about myself what there isn’t much to tell.”

Mouse smiled, privy as she had been to a conversation that made this one less surprising and pleased, in a way, that Bo should be getting a bit of attention.

“What should be so strange about that?” she asked as naturally as she could.

“Well, look at me,” Bo cried, proffering his arm that still hung wrapped in a sling. “What kind of a guard am I?”

Mouse shook her head.

“Perhaps it is not protection the Empress wants,” she replied evocatively.

The guardsman furrowed his brow.

“Well then, what does she want?” he asked.

Mouse sighed. Were all men so thick, she wondered, or was it just a personal affectation of this particular one?

“The Empress,” she said deliberately, “Empress though she may be, is still a woman.”

There was a moment of prolonged silence before the guardsman’s eyes suddenly widened, his ears flushing pink.

“What?” he asked, reeling from the implication. “You mean to say that she might—”

He shook his head.

“No. I mean, I’m just—I couldn’t—”

The color on his ears had now spread to his face.

“Why not?” Mouse asked, amused at the guardsman’s apparent show of humility.

“I don’t know,” he stammered. “I just, well—”

Mouse watched as his blushing bewilderment slowly turned to a smile, his vivid grey eyes beginning to glimmer at the prospect of his luck.

“Say, you don’t supposed Lady Mathilde would forgive me if I—” He raised his eyebrows meaningfully at Mouse.

Mouse laughed. She did not think it was his boyish charm that interested the Empress, but there certainly was something endearing about the man.

“Oh, but no,” the guardsman frowned, shaking his head, “Johannes would kill me.”

“If he found out,” Mouse said.

“If he found out,” echoed Bo.

Mouse looked at the dark-haired freckled-cheeked guardsman. It was funny, she thought, to have found such a friend where she never would have thought to look. She supposed it was the intimacy of their country retreat, something about the shared uncertainty and the bread broken together nightly that had made them all begin to appreciate one another in a new light.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Bo said now, raising his eyes to look behind Mouse. She turned to see Johannes walking down the hallway and prayed that he would not continue in their direction. Even from a distance, she could see a large bruise on the left side of his face, though much to her dismay, it appeared to be an inoffensive shade of red rather than an ugly hue of green as she had hoped.

“I wonder what got a hold of him,” Bo murmured as the nobleman appeared to eye them both from a distance before turning down an adjoining corridor.

Mouse was relieved that the nobleman had not come any closer; she did not know that she was equal to the task of confronting both him and Ludger on the same day. Moreover, she was hoping that word of the incident would not travel beyond the parties present, however unlikely that may be.

While she did not feel a morsel of guilt for hitting the nobleman as she had, only time would tell if she would come to regret it. Johannes might have fallen out of the favor with the Empress for the moment, but he would not remain as such forever, and Mouse trusted that the punishment for leaving a mark upon the favorite's otherwise faultless countenance was not like to be a light one. Her best hope at escaping unscathed, or so thought Mouse, was that the nobleman’s ego would prevent him from disclosing the details of his marring.

“Well,” Bo said, looking down at Mouse. “I suppose I better leave you to it. But if you need me, I’ll be—” He guardsman paused, wrinkling his freckled nose. “Actually, I don’t know where I’ll be.”

“If I need you, I’ll find you,” Mouse said, releasing him with a gentle smile.

Mouse looked down at the flagging beneath her feet as she listened to the guardsman recede. Part of her wished that he had not gone so soon, but another part of her knew

that if she continued to defer her task, it would be all too easy to do so indefinitely.

No, this was time to act, before either she or the old man had chance to stew further upon the matter. If she did not speak now, her courage was like to turn either to cowardice or wrath.

You are a mouse no more, she told herself. You are the jewel of Aros, plume of the south, purveyor of rejoinders eternal. Do not let the old man make you feel inferior without at least speaking your own side of things.

She steeled herself with one last deep breath, raising her hand to the great wooden door before her, and knocked.