The sun shone brightly overhead, the warm cast of its light broken only now and again by a passing cloud that swallowed the earth below it in shadow. The gently sloping foothills spread out in every direction, while to the west, the Fjaelles rose severely, the rocky, jagged mountainsides dotted in clusters of spruce and cedar. Somewhere high above, the rush of a waterfall fought to make itself heard above the lapping of the Yar, flowing ever south.

The day was warm and pleasant as the party rode across the grounds of Pothes Mar, and though midsummer had come and gone, the heat was like to last at least another month. Mouse, for one, was grateful of it, for she was a child of spring and always preferred a long summer day, no matter how hot, to the cold, dark days of winter.

The path which Lady Signy led them on had run first south and east, nearing the road by which they had come, before turning west and passing through a large orchard. Here, they had taken up a leisurely pace, giving the horses rein to eat that fruit which had fallen early. But unfortunately, no one had told Malger that it was not yet the season for apples until the man had eaten half a dozen of the small, hard green things and was forced to turn back to castle, doubled over in pain and red-faced from embarrassment.

The rest of the party had continued on until they met a small stream that ran parallel to the Yar, whereupon they then turned north and rode along it, crossing into the training fields, from time to time, when the brush could not be overcome.

At last, they stopped near a copse of young sycamores, where blankets had been laid and Lady Signy had ordered a picnic to be brought. Cold venison and brown bread, forest berries and soft cheese, along with a few flasks of red Arosian wine all awaited the party who looked upon the scene in grateful delight.

Upon dismounting, the men saw the horses watered, while Lady Signy crossed to the bank, taking up a rope that had been thrown over a tree branch and hauling upon it, until her efforts produced a large bucket, dripping wet, which she caught and lowered carefully to the ground.

From it, she produced several bottles of ale, cooled by the waters of the stream, which she dried upon the hem of her skirt before distributing.

Mouse had given her horse over to Cedric, and in doing so, had said, “I should not in the least blame you, sir, if my horse should happen to be tied too loose and manage to break away.”

The guard had laughed, but Mouse had made the remark only partly in jest. The Great Dread Leonor had proven a trial of her nerves, pinning her ears and showing her teeth to any other horse that passed, striking and kicking at those who drew too near, and when Mouse was deemed to have fallen too far behind, took it upon herself to amend this by any means.

Luckily, Lady Signy had been riding out in front all the while, leading the others, and so the only witness to Mouse’s distress, apart from her own men, was Lady Agatha, who rode neither with the composed ease of Lady Signy or the restrained trepidation of Mouse, but merely bounced along gaily with a smile ever upon her lips.

Once all had settled themselves comfortably in the shade, Lady Signy had raised a toast to Her Majesty’s health, and for the next long while, everyone was quiet as they satiated themselves with food and drink.

“Tell me, Lady Signy,” Mouse said, breaking the silence as she reached for a bit of brown bread and a thumb of cheese, “how long have you been at Pothes Mar?”

“It must be near on eight years, Your Majesty,” the girl replied. “It was in my ninth summer that my cousin sent for me.”

Mouse smiled as she spread the cheese on the bread.

“You must be practically Arosian by now then,” she said, looking up at the girl as she placed the bread into her mouth.

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“Indeed, Your Majesty,” Lady Signy said, returning her smile as she leaned back on her hands. “In fact, I often think of Aros as more my home than Caldiff ever was.”

Mouse swallowed, chasing the bread with a sip of wine.

“Do you never miss it?” she asked, preparing herself another bite.

Lady Signy paused for a moment.

“No,” she said at last. “That is, I never think of it, Your Majesty.”

Mouse nodded thoughtfully as she chewed.

She knew enough about Lady Signy to know that the girl was telling the truth, at least in part. She had come to Aros at such a time when the Caldiff royal court was in a state of heavy decline. The crown had steadily been losing power for some time, and, flooded by a generation vying for succession rights by whatever means possible, had become overcrowded with young princes and princesses. For a girl like Signy who was so low in the order of things, there was little to be gained from remaining there.

She was the only cousin Lady Margarethe had bothered to send for, and though she had had to give up her title of Princess of Caldiff and any future claims she might make to it in the future, she had likely secured for herself a much better future here at Pothes Mar than she might have had otherwise.

After all, Lord Ralist was a powerful man with extensive holdings and considerable wealth, not to mention his own army, and though he and his ladywife had several children of their own, they were all yet under the age of twelve, meaning Signy was the only one whose prospects were presently being considered.

Moreover, if the girl ended up being more politically minded, if she were both clever enough and ambitious enough, she might avail herself of her cousin’s connections and see herself one day placed in the court at Kriftel.

“And what of your family?” Mouse asked, watching the girl’s face closely. She knew she may be treading on sensitive territory, but she was curious to see how the girl would answer. “Have they all remained in Caldiff or have they gone elsewhere?”

Lady Signy gave a shake of her head.

“I am afraid I do not know, Your Majesty,” she said.

Mouse forced a smile at the girl. Whatever else could be said about Lady Signy, it could now also be said that she was a very good liar.

Mouse leaned her head back against the tree, savoring the fullness of her stomach and the sweet taste of forest berries still on her tongue. The men had taken up a game of pitch pot, using sticks rather than arrows and baskets rather than jars, while Ladies Agatha and Signy lay side by side on the blanket, whispering and giggling amongst themselves as they looked out onto the fields and plucked up small yellow flowers from the grass which they spun between their fingers and tucked into one another’s hair.

How lovely, thought Mouse, to sit so carelessly upon a blanket under the shade of a sycamore with no other thought than how much one has eaten. How lovely to sit anywhere other than upon a horse.

She closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the stream behind her, the birdsong carrying through the air and echoing in the mountains, the faint clash of swords across the open fields. She listened to the sound of men laughing and girls whispering and sticks clattering. And for a few blessed moments, she felt totally at peace.

She allowed every thought of her life as Mouse, the Empress’s lady-in-waiting, Mouse, the Empress’s decoy, Mouse, the girl who didn’t know who she was drift down the stream and be carried away on the gentle breeze that teased her hair and tickled her neck.

She listened to the sound of the water, flowing steadily, lapping against the rocks, and allowed her breath to deepen, until she found herself in that same familiar place, standing in the middle of Kingfishers’ Bridge.

She looked down at the mighty Manau flowing beneath her before lifting her gaze to the far end of the bridge. There stood the large stone house with smoke rising from the chimney.

Mouse cast a glance over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her before continuing toward the house. On she walked, listening as the sound of someone singing grew slowly louder. It was a strange song, one she did not know, but which was familiar nonetheless. Every few steps, she stopped and turned, waiting to see some grim figure chasing after her. But every time she turned, she found that she was alone.

At last, she found herself just outside the stone house, but as she looked upon the door, she frowned, and she found she could not go in.

This is the wrong house, she said to herself, looking at the shape painted upon the door. It was a yellow crescent against a dark blue background. It should have been a half-moon, but there something that was not right about it. Mouse shook her head, her brow knitting itself together. That is no moon, she said to herself, it is a scythe.

Mouse did not know what roused her, but when she woke, the first thing she saw was Lady Signy’s shrewd, dark eyes watching her over her shoulder. She tried to shake the dream from her head, to chase it away with a sip of wine, but something about it remained with her, holding fast to the corners of her mind.