“Thank you, Cedric,” Mouse said to the guardsman as he handed her down from her horse, a sense of relief sweeping over her the moment her feet landed on the grass of the bailey. She shook the dirt from her skirts. “I could kiss you if I thought no one were looking.”

“Another time, then,” the guardsman smiled, taking the reins of her mount.

Mouse patted the mare on the neck. The Great Dread Leonor turned a wary eye to her but neither bared her teeth nor threw her head.

”As for you,” Mouse said, producing a small green apple which she had stowed away in her pocket, “I’ll thank you to remember your manners from now on.”

She held the apple out in her palm, which the mare gratefully gobbled up before blowing through her nose.

It had been late morning when they had set out across the emerald fields of Pothes Mar. The sun had crept slowly westward across the sky, illuminating the soaring peaks of the Fjaelles and glittering upon the Yar as it spun its way north through the lush green landscape. But now the day had begun to grow thin, and Mouse found herself in anticipation of its end. Sore and exhausted as she was from the day’s exercise, she knew there was little that could not be remedied by a warm bath, a hot meal, and a nice, long sleep.

She had spent much of her time in the saddle reflecting on the object of her stay at Pothes Mar. She had been given charge of speaking with the General on a few key matters, but she had yet to secure an audience with the man and was beginning to worry whether she might go her entire stay at Pothes Mar without ever exchanging more than a few words with him.

He seemed determined to put her off, as he had done since her arrival, but whether this was a result of his apparent disdain for the Empress or some failing of Mouse’s was difficult to say. She supposed it might also be attributed to ill breeding or merely the affectation of a detached manner too long entertained by his own household, but this seemed the least likely to Mouse, for even a man as removed from the court as the General would know to conduct himself with a due sense of decorum, especially in the presence of his sovereign.

When Mouse had tired of this deliberation, her thoughts turned to the letter. Adalbert’s scythe, Yndis Vale, she had repeated to herself under her breath time and again, hoping that something about the words might strike out at her if she were to say them aloud. But alas, this ponderance too came to little, and Mouse soon found herself given to thoughts of a more pleasing nature.

The warmth of the sun on her skin and the sound of the Cherith birds in the trees had called to mind her time at Silver Lake and the happy days she had spent there in the company of the Foilunder. She missed him terribly, as she had never missed anyone before, and wondered where he might be now. Still riding north, she supposed, or east along the narrow sound. Or perhaps he was already back in his homeland, sitting in the large stone house by Kingfishers’ Bridge, the one with the half-moon painted on the door, waiting for her.

Though Mouse was at times grateful for the solitude provided her by a mount too foul-tempered to be approached by any other rider, there were times when her heart began to ache so terribly with longing for the Foilunder that she would have welcomed any sort of distraction.

At least, she thought, she was not locked up in some stuffy Council chamber, listening to a gaggle of old men bicker while anything fruitful failed to pass among them. At least she was not there to hear them rail, as they undoubtedly would, against the presence of Lord Marius in the court at Kriftel. And though Mouse was eager to be away from the disobliging General and out from under the dark, shrewd eyes of Lady Signy, she found herself in little hurry to return home, where her torments were more numerous still than that which they were here.

Mouse now stood in the bailey awaiting her guard. Ladies Signy and Agatha had dismounted ahead of her, but remained in one another’s confidence, some distance from Mouse, as they had for much of the day.

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The cast of the sun was turning a warm copper as it streaked in through the divide of the mountains, painting the walls of the castle a rich gold, and many of the men who had been at practice out on the fields were now riding in through the wall.

Mouse watched them as they came in, one by one, bathed in the glow of the late-day sun. Their shining plate reflected the warm rays sent down from the heavens, and they looked almost as though they had been dipped in gold.

It was a mesmerizing sight, thought Mouse, and one she could have gladly watched for a long while, were she not interrupted by someone calling her name.

“Lady Maudeleine,” the voice called, and Mouse turned to see a man in plate who had just come down from a tall, tawny destrier smiling at her as he undid his bevor.

“Sir Hugo,” Mouse said in surprise as she took in the man. The knight’s brown hair was unkempt from the removal of his helm and cap, clinging to his damp skin in some places and sticking out at odd angles in others, and a long pink scar extended downward beneath his left ear.

Sir Hugo handed his helm to his squire and took a swallow from his skin before clapping the boy on the should and turning to walk toward Mouse.

Mouse could always tell an untested knight from one who had seen battle; it was in the way they treated their men. A knight who had never seen combat took for granted those who labored beneath him, but a man who had known the dangers of the battlefield understood just how much his life depended upon his gleve.

Sir Hugo was one of those knights who had seen his share of battle, but even when he had been too young to fight, Mouse had known him to be a kind and decent man who always treated servants with the same degree of respect and dignity as he would a nobleman and nearly always called Mouse by her proper name.

He had been in the Empress’s service as one of her guard, as evidenced by the gilded gadlings he wore on his gauntlets, but Mouse had not seen him since he had gone north to the Chatti lands and wondered what on earth he was doing at Pothes Mar.

“You look well, sir,” said Mouse as the knight drew near. “Lord Ralist must be feeding you well.”

Sir Hugo laughed.

“That he is,” he replied, smiling down at Mouse through light brown eyes. “Are you quite well, My Lady?” he asked. “I have not seen you in some many months.”

“Indeed,” said Mouse, “I believe it has been near on a year since we have last met.” Her eyes traveled over the knight’s face. He looked little changed since she had last seen him, though the soft boyishness of his face had become somewhat more rugged and his skin had grown a shade or two darker.

“Pray, sir,” ventured Mouse, “why have you not come back to the capital?” She knew it might not be the most delicate question for her to ask, but she felt she would be remiss if she did not inquire into the knight’s seemingly unexplained absence. She liked Sir Hugo, and she should like to know why he had left.

“I would,” Sir Hugo said, raising his eyebrows, “most gladly, if Her Majesty would have me.”

Mouse shook her head. She did not understand what the man could mean.

“I beg your pardon,” she said to the knight, “but I am not certain I take your meaning. If there is any doubt as to whether your post with Her Majesty’s guard awaits you, I can guarantee you that it most eagerly does.”

Sir Hugo looked at her, a small smile gracing his lips.

“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “I was given to the impression that my service to Her Majesty was no longer required. That is the only reason I have taken a posting here.”

Mouse furrowed her brow.

“Who could peddle such nonsense,” she murmured before allowing her expression to soften into a smile. “You know, if I bring you back to Kriftel myself, I’ll be hailed as a hero. What say you, sir?”

“I must speak with my master, of course,” the knight said, “but otherwise, I am graciously at My Lady’s disposal.” He bowed.

Happy news for me, thought Mouse. Now if fail in my task of interviewing Lord Ralist, at least I will not return an utter failure.

Mouse had enjoyed speaking with Sir Hugo, however briefly, and he had given her much to think on, but she was now under the distinct impression that it was her who the rest were waiting on, and she did not wish to cause them any further delay in their retirement.

“I should tell you,” said Mouse before parting from the knight, “that I am not here as Maudeleine Toth, but rather as Empress Idalia Aemilia Toth, so when you come looking for me, you had better ask for the latter.”

“Ah!” said Sir Hugo, his face alighting at the realization. “I certainly will do. And you can expect my answer no later than Adalbert’s scythe.”

Mouse froze, her mind seizing upon the knight’s final words.

“I beg you pardon?”