Mouse’s morning had gone from strange to stranger. It had begun with her being informed that the Empress had already made her departure, despite having only been at Pothes Mar for a total of three days, and that all the knights formerly in her service would be expected to return to the capital at the same time as Mouse. How this was to be arranged was left to the imagination of all, especially seeing as how the rest of the party was to return on the morrow.

Cedric had stepped in, just as Mouse was beginning to panic, and assured her that he and his men would see that things were handled, so long as she did not require an escort for the whole of the day. Mouse, grateful for the help, therefore abandoned her plans to go into the town, offering up her own amusement as a sacrifice to the gods of industry.

Following this, Mouse had returned to her rooms, where she found that she had been left with only one maid between herself and Agatha and had again begun to panic when she noticed the state of disarray that the place had fallen into and began to conceive of the amount of work it would take to tidy the chambers, which she had frequented less and less in the Empress’s presence, and see that everything was gathered and packed away into the trunks.

She had begun a collection of scarves and other objects she was fairly certain had been borrowed from Lady Signy and had every intention of delivering them herself, when Agatha had come into the room, after having been gone all the morning, and made a most unexpected pronouncement.

She would not be going back to Kriftel, she told Mouse, and in fact she should not expect to ever see her again. For Agatha had decided, in all the wisdom of her seventeen years, that she was going to run away and marry Sir Frederick.

Mouse had blinked dumbly for a moment, trying to decide if this were not some sort of jape, before sending the maid away and attempting to talk reason into the girl. She had never heard of Sir Frederick before now, but she certainly learned a good deal in the next five minutes.

Sir Frederick, as it turned out, was one of the General’s knights. He was a skilled swordsman, a decent shot, and the faster swimmer of all the men at Pothes Mar. He had been knighted at one and twenty by Sir Strauss of Kenbruck and had won his first melee that same year. He could read, write, and even composed poetry from time to time.

He was the oldest son of Lord Agneu, and though he had no brothers, he had two younger sisters, both of whom had already wed. He would inherit his father’s lands and titles and also stood to inherit a quarry from his uncle.

However, all of this naturally paled in comparison to the fact that he was terribly handsome.

Mouse had not been surprised to learn that Agatha had managed to fall in love with a man previously unknown to her in a period of less than a fortnight, but how she had found the time to do so, Mouse could hardly imagine. As far as she knew, the girl had spent all of her time not attending to Mouse’s failed attempts at diplomacy in the company of Lady Signy. But she supposed that there was much that may have escaped her notice.

“That is all very good,” said Mouse with all the patience of her nineteen years once Agatha had concluded her speech, “and I should like you to know that I have no reason to wish for anything apart from your happiness and well-being any more than I have reason to believe Sir Frederick undeserving of your fondness.” Here, she paused to allow the girl a blushing smile. “But have you perhaps forgotten that you are already engaged to be wed?”

Here, Agatha had pouted and protested, saying that to deny her heart would be an offense most grave, until Mouse had reminded her that to deny the Empress may be an offense even greater.

“Even if you cannot think of your own future,” argued Mouse, “I would urge you to think of Sir Frederick’s, for should you choose to defy the Empress’s will, you will both be complicit in the thing.”

Agatha chewed her lip thoughtfully as Mouse continued.

“Should she decide to hold Sir Frederick in contempt, his knighthood may very well be revoked, and furthermore, his father’s lands may be given away so that his son will have nothing to inherit.”

Upon such arguments did Agatha at last relent to reconsider her decision, and it was with a conscience only partially obstructed that Mouse went to return the borrowed items to Lady Signy.

Mouse stood now in one of the cavernous halls of Pothes Mar, frowning up at a tapestry of King Ceadda’s ascent through the Fjaelles. It was a lovely tapestry, thickly woven with vibrant thread, but it was one that Mouse had already passed by twice.

How was it, she wondered, that in all her time here, she had not managed a better orientation of the place? It seemed just as labyrinthine to her now as it had the first day she had arrived.

It was as she stood here puzzling over which hall she might try next in the hopes that it would not lead her to the tapestry for a third time when a young maid approached.

“Lady Maudeleine?” the girl said tentatively, as she walked slowly up to Mouse.

Mouse turned and smiled at the girl, who bowed slightly and held out a small parcel wrapped in red linen.

Stolen novel; please report.

“My lady sends a gift for you,” she said.

Mouse lifted her eyebrows in surprise as she took the parcel from the girl, setting down the objects she had been carrying so that she might open it. She had not expected to receive a gift, and she found that she was quite excited.

Inside the linen wrapping was a small wooden box that fit easily into Mouse’s hand, and inside of this was a small glass vial filled with some dark glossy liquid.

“It is a beauty tincture,” the maid explained, as Mouse took the vial from the box to study it, “popular among the women in the eastern courts.”

Mouse held the vial up so that the light might pass through it. It had appeared almost black as it lay inside the box, but in the soft glow of the braziers, it looked more a dark shade of violet.

“It is called nightshade,” the maid said, as Mouse turned the vial from side to side, admiring the way the color seemed to change. “A drop in the eyes or upon the cheek is said to give one a fetching glow.”

“It is beautiful,” Mouse murmured before placing the vial back inside the box. “Do be sure to give your mistress my thanks.”

“Certainly, my lady,” the girl smiled with a small bow.

Mouse watched the maid go before taking the vial back out of the box to admire it once again. She was fascinated by the color of it, and even though she did not think herself like to use it, she thought it may make a pretty decoration for her table. It was a lovely gift, she thought to herself as she gathered up those objects which she had set upon the ground. She only wished she had thought to ask who had sent it.

The final act of Mouse’s strange day took place that evening in the great hall. The tables had been cleared away from the dais where a puppet theater had been erected, and the benches had been arranged neatly so that all might see.

The play that night was that of Sir Sigfrid and King Ceadda. It was one which Mouse had seen a thousand times but one which she would gladly watch a thousand more.

The story began in Ribe, just south of the Zauberwald, where King Ceadda had joined his wife, Asta, to witness the birth of their first child. After the child had been born, the king and his knights began their return to the capital. But it was not long into their journey that the king and his men were set upon and driven apart by a band of Braquish soldiers.

The king managed to escape into the woods with Sir Sigfrid by his side, where two men took refuge in an abandoned watch tower. Knowing that the enemy was not far behind them, King Ceadda bid Sir Sigfrid slay him, that he might die at the hands of a noble and steadfast Arosian knight rather than that of his foe. However, Sir Sigfrid refused the command, saying that he had another plan.

Donning the king’s robes, Sir Sigfrid fastened King Ceadda into his armor and told him to hide in the wood. He then went out of the tower, just as the enemy was approaching, and relinquished himself to their charge. The Braquish soldiers, thinking they had captured the king of Aros, spent the night making merry in their camp, while Sir Sigfrid patiently bided his time.

Throughout the course of the night, Sir Sigfrid learned that the enemy was planning a siege on the capital, and when the moment was right, he struck, freeing himself using one of his captor’s own swords and making his escape to the Yar, where he plunged himself into the river, cloak and all.

The Braquish soldiers, seeing this, counted it no loss, for they knew that the man was good as dead. After all, the current of the Yar was so mighty and the robes the man had been wearing so heavy that there could be no chance of his survival.

But Sir Sigfrid, strengthened by years of wearing heavy plate, managed to keep himself afloat long enough to reach the shores of Hallovie. There, he told the villagers what had passed, and men were sent north to find out the king while others rode with Sir Sigfrid to the capital to warn of the impending siege.

By the time the Braquish soldiers arrived at the walls of the capital, both King Ceadda and Sir Sigrid were awaiting them, along with an army of ten thousand men. The enemy, surprised to see the king alive and the city so well guarded, lost the will to fight at once, and having lost faith in their general for being so deceived, willingly gave themselves over to the king.

Like all Arosian tales, the story was only as true as its parts, and like most, there was more than one way it could be said to end.

In another version of the story, King Ceadda had been found by the Braquish soldiers, wearing Sir Sigfrid’s armor, and killed. Upon learning of this, Sir Sigfrid had decided that rather than grant the enemy the satisfaction of knowing that they had killed king of Aros, he would continue the ruse indefinitely.

With the blessing of Queen Asta, he lived his remaining days as the man whom he had served, carrying with him to his grave the secret of his identity.

Most people tended to prefer the first ending; it was more patriotic, in a way, and certainly a deal more uplifting. But tonight’s performance, Mouse was surprised to find, featured the second ending.

Mouse had a funny sort of feeling as she watched it, a feeling that followed her to bed. She could not explain what it was, but it was very much like the feeling she had had the first time she had watched a man fall from his horse. It was the aching in her bones the day before she caught a chill, the moment of imperceptible fear before a dog unexpectedly bit the hand that was stroking it.

She tossed and turned all night, the funny feeling niggling at her and making it difficult to sleep. Agatha was late to return again, and Mouse found herself wondering whether the girl had changed her mind and decided to run away after all.

At one point she woke up suddenly, unsure of what had roused her, and found that she had thrown her blankets off. She grabbed at them and pulled them up to her chin, shivering in cold of her drafty rooms.

It was still dark out, she could tell even from behind the bed hangings, but she had the most unsettling sensation that someone was there in the room with her on the other side of the curtains. The hair on her arms stood up, as though alerting her to some foreign presence that was lingering close by.

Mouse wrenched the blankets up over her head and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, curling herself into a ball and willing herself back to sleep.

When at last the morning came, Mouse found that that same funny feeling had followed her all the way into tomorrow. She lay quietly for a few minutes, hoping that the feeling would pass, but when it did not, decided she must rise nonetheless.

She pushed aside the bed curtains and climbed from her feathers, the floor squishing beneath her feet as she did so.

Mouse looked down in confusion, the sensation beneath her toes strange and unexpected, before looking up to survey the scene before her in something of wonder. There, scattered all across the floor of her rooms, were a thousand small white flowers.

Mouse blinked, uncertain whether what she was seeing was real or imagined, before bending down to retrieve one of the flowers. Five delicate round petals trimmed in pink looked back at her.

It was a mallow.