“What in the gods’ names are you prattling on about?” the Empress demanded. Lord Hildimar lifted a cloth to his forehead, wiping away the drops of sweat that had gathered there. It was not just the heat; even from where she sat along the far wall, Mouse could see how uncomfortable the High Councilor was.

“As I said, Your Majesty, marriage licenses have become quite common practice in the eastern regions, and—”

“Lord Hildimar,” interrupted the Empress, “I understand that you have been quite earnest in your travels, but for the love of Lord Cook’s portly paunch, remove that scraggly shrew’s hide from your head before we are all compelled to tie ourselves to a rock and let the ravens take our eyes.”

Lord Hildimar gaped at the Empress, blustering about in his shock but was unable to utter a single coherent word. He had recently returned from the hinterlands and beyond, where he had met with several delegations from those along the eastern border, including many foreign dignitaries, and apparently had been keen to adapt to local fashion. The result of this was not only a garish fringe of green which he had tied about his collar, but he had also brought back with him another souvenir of sorts, which now sat awkwardly atop his head, hanging limply down to his brow.

“How you have not as of yet perished of embarrassment, I am certain I do not know,” the Empress continued, interposing upon his unintelligible protests, “but I assure you that you cannot be long off. Now, stop your blubbering and take the damned thing off before I have you thrown in the dungeons for crimes enacted against all of humanity.”

A few of the other High Councilors chortled behind their sleeves, though this did little to conceal their amusement, and even Mouse found it difficult not to laugh. Lord Hildimar’s hairpiece, though a valiant attempt to cover the badly balding scalp beneath, was so hideously cut and fitted that it was hard to imagine that the effect he achieved in wearing it was anything he could possibly have hoped for.

At last, he seemed to grasp the severity of the Empress’s pronouncement, and sorrowfully slid the thin black tuft from his head, placing it in his lap and looking it down at it contritely. Peticru, who had been sniffing about Lord Hildimar’s leg curiously since he had entered the room, took this as an opportunity to try and seize the hairpiece from its owner, and it wasn’t until Lord Hildimar sat on the thing that the lanky blue hound lost interest.

“That’s better, now isn’t it,” the Empress said, smiling more at the dog than at the chastened councilor. Seeing the look on his face, Mouse could not help but feel a little sorry for Lord Hildimar. She was certain he only wanted to impress the council, but his time away from court must have caused him to forget how cruel the Empress could be. He muttered some sort of apology, mopping at his brow once again, before the Empress demanded that he stop wasting everyone’s time and say something useful.

“You see, in the eastern regions,” Lord Hildimar began again, regaining himself, “marriage licenses have been increasingly common and not only allow for the stately consolidation of households but also serve as a means of drawing additional funds, the sum of which, I am pleased to report, is not inconsequential.”

The Empress nodded slowly at this. “And what exactly is a marriage license?” she asked, fixing the anxious Lord Hildimar with a piercing gaze.

“Yes, Your Majesty, of course, I will gladly explain,” Lord Hildimar continued. “A marriage license is a permission by the state issued for two individuals to wed.”

“Permission to wed?” the Empress asked flatly, almost disbelievingly.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the High Councilor replied. “I have found that many of our neighbors, in the east, that is, have adopted this notion, and it is now required for two individuals to secure the permission of the crown, that is, to obtain a marriage license in order to wed.”

The Empress sat up straighter in her chair, her interest clearly piqued by Lord Hildimar’s report.

“Furthermore,” Lord Hildimar went on, encouraged by the Empress’s attention, “the license forms a sort of contract between the two families, forming a legal basis for any future disputes.”

The room was quiet, and for a long moment, no one spoke. The councilors looked from one to another and to the Empress, who sat contemplatively in her high-backed chair.

At last, she spoke: “By gods, I almost cannot believe it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty?” Lord Hildimar prompted eagerly, hoping, Mouse could see, for a word of praise that might absolve the sins of his fringe. The Empress’s eyes were bright with animation.

“One of my councilors has actually said something intelligent.”

“I do not understand how one can require a license to marry,” said Mouse, still puzzling over what had passed in the council chamber as she walked beside Ludger toward the Golden Tower.

“You had better wait until we are behind closed doors to not understand it,” Ludger replied dourly, his staff ringing against the floor. Mouse heeded his advice but waited no longer than for the large wooden door of his compartments to clang shut before resuming her ponderance.

“I mean, how can they stop people from wedding freely?” she asked. But the old man only shook his head.

“Who knows how they intend to enforce such a thing,” he said. “But then, the state is always finding new ways to overstep its margins and encroach upon its people.” He seated himself behind his polished wooden desk, sighing in relief to be off his feet. “There is always another coin to be squeezed from them, and the crown will not be satisfied until every last scrap of silver, until everything that even shines like silver, is under its jurisdiction.” Mouse wondered if he was referring to the Empress of Aros in particular, or if the same could be said for any sovereign land. Ludger sat quietly in his chair for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, before turning his attention to Mouse.

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“What do you think of the business?” he asked gruffly. Mouse pondered this question. She thought it was entirely absurd, if she was to be honest, but she was hesitant to say as much to Ludger. Recently, she felt a growing pressure to answer cleverly when he asked her for her thoughts. No, not just cleverly, learnedly, proficiently, as though she was beginning to understand that there might be some purpose to these relentless interviews.

“I think,” Mouse began slowly, “that for something so—” she paused for a moment, “—so novel, so radical to succeed, it must readily demonstrate its value to the people if it is not to be rejected immediately upon its attempted implementation. It is not enough that it may offer some sort of legal protections in the future. That would take too long to prove.”

Ludger nodded at this. “And what would you suggest as a means to this end?” he asked, his grey eyes watching Mouse closely. Mouse shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She was sitting across from Ludger’s desk, rather than at her usual spot in the window, and she found it only increased the sense of scrutiny she felt herself to be under.

“There could be some kind of privilege,” Mouse tried, “something afforded only to those holding the appropriate license.

“Such as?” Ludger prompted.

Mouse shook her head. “It should be something that would incur no cost to the crown, or it would be self-defeating,” she replied. “Perhaps an audience at court or some sort of special visitation.” She did not feel this answer was quite sufficient, but she did not think it so entirely stupid, either.

“You think that would be sufficient incentive?” Ludger asked, studying his pupil. Mouse rubbed her hands against the carved arms of the wooden chair. No, it would likely not be sufficient she supposed. So then, what? What could the crown possibly offer in exchange for requiring its people to pay for something they had always done for free?

“A stipend,” Mouse said, the words leaving her mouth almost before the idea had formed. “A yearly allotment of grain or some other low cost-per-pound foodstuff. There would be some expenditure on the part of the crown, yes, but it would be far outweighed by the cost of the license.” Now that did not sound like such a terrible idea, Mouse thought to herself. In fact, it might be quite a good one. “The cost might be further reduced by consolidating the deliveries.” she said.

“Would not delivery of the goods be costly?” Ludger inquired, raising a bushy white eyebrow.

“Yes,” replied Mouse. “That is why those carrying it away themselves would receive ten percent more. But it cannot be expected that every man should have the means to—"

“And would these deliveries you speak of be consolidated all at once?” the old man prodded.

“No,” said Mouse, shaking her head. “No, that would require too great a surplus. They would be consolidated by region with deliveries made monthly, or bi-monthly if need be.”

“Where do you propose to obtain such a surplus?” the old man asked pensively.

“From the royal stores,” Mouse answered readily. “To be replaced gradually over the course of the year.” To this, Ludger said nothing, and the longer he sat in silence, the more Mouse became convinced that she had done it, that she had finally said something that Ludger could not argue with.

“And what if that proved to be insufficient?” Ludger asked. “What of your court? And what of those who did not receive their stipend before the stores were exhausted? How long do you think they might wait to receive that which they were promised?” Mouse hesitated. She had not had the chance to think that far ahead. Perhaps she had underestimated the volume of remuneration that might be required. Her plan was too short-sighted, she realized, and once again, she felt the weight of her inadequacy settle over her, pushing her down lower into her chair.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and a gangly-looking page with a round face appeared.

“My lord, my lady,” he said, bowing awkwardly as he entered. Ludger looked at him impatiently.

“Speak, boy,” he demanded. “What have you come for?” The page’s eyes drifted to Mouse.

“My lady is wanted,” he said, his voice cracking between octaves.

“Is she?” Ludger grunted, doing nothing to disguise his annoyance at being interrupted. “And who is it that’s wanting her?”

The page cleared his throat. “Her Majesty, my lord.” Ludger’s grey eyes fixed stonily upon the boy, and he gave another grunt before waving him away. But the boy remained, clearing his throat once more before speaking.

“I thought my lady should know that Her Majesty is waiting at the stables,” the page said, his eyes moving between Ludger and Mouse, unsure of whom he should be addressing.

“Yes, yes, very good, boy. Now, be gone,” grumbled Ludger. The boy shifted uncomfortably but still did not leave the room.

“That is, she is waiting, erm, eagerly,” he said, this time looking to Mouse.

“You’ve made yourself heard,” Ludger bellowed, his voice rising in irritation. “The girl will be there, but if you must linger, you’ll do it on the other side of the door.” With that, the round-faced page bowed again, casting one more look at Mouse before leaving the way he came.

Mouse watched the old man tug absently at the white hairs on his chin, happy for any delay in bearing out the boy’s orders, but she knew she could not keep the Empress waiting long.

“You have not brought the box,” Ludger observed gruffly to her. Mouse shook her head.

“I did not think I should carry it with me to Council,” she replied, “but I can certainly go and—"

“No, it is just as well,” the old man sighed. “It is clear that now is no time for such a conversation. Her Majesty awaits you, eagerly, or so I am told.” Mouse cursed herself for leaving the box tucked beneath her mattress. Discovering its contents was the only thing she had to look forward with any kind of anticipation, and now she would be forced to continue waiting.

“I will let you attend to your Empress presently,” Ludger said, folding his hands over the paunch of his waist, “but bear in mind, child, duty takes many forms.” Mouse sat forward in her chair, waiting for the old man to continue, but he said nothing more, and only dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“Duty takes many forms,” Mouse echoed to herself as she made her way down the steps of the castle, searching the words for some hidden meaning. But she knew that, like as not, it was only another of the old man’s riddles, meant to do nothing more than confuse and confound. As she made her way across the grounds, her pace slowly began to ebb. She knew that there was only one reason she would be called down to the stables, but she clung to the hope that perhaps the Empress had some message or errand for her to carry out that did not involve sitting atop a great galloping beast. As she drew nearer the stables, the smell of straw and dung grew stronger with each step, and her mind drifted back to Ludger’s parting words. Duty, indeed, took many forms; she only prayed that hers would not take the shape of a horse.