The banquet that was laid that night was a testament to the skill of the cook, for very little notice had been given and less still instruction as to how it might be prepared. Boiled potatoes with parsley and curdled milk sat alongside freshly roasted perch and brown bread, while the carp that had been caught that same day had been cooked into a pie and served with egg and mustard sauce. The table itself was covered in a fine embroidered cloth that bore the mallow of Toth, and the chandelier had been lit without sparing a candle.

Mouse had not realized, amid all the excitement of their guests’ arrival, just how hungry she was, but with the aroma of warm bread hot from the ovens and fresh herbs wafting through the air, she now found it difficult to think of anything else.

The Dietric had insisted upon having the Empress’s men join them at banquet, answering her protestations by saying, “If we wished to dine only among Foilunders, we would have remained in Foilund.”

They had traveled a long way, several weeks, by Mouse’s estimation, and she could understand why after such a time they would wish to enjoy a more varied company. Salt herring chewed upon nightly with the same twenty men was certain to lose its flavor in little time indeed. The Empress, however, was loathe to oblige the Dietric in this, lamenting that it would reflect poorly upon her hospitality to have her own men at table while some of the Foilunders still held the wall.

“They will earn their keep,” Sigurd had insisted. “Besides, they have been riding too long at leisure, enjoying your fair country, and they are in want of useful employment.”

The Empress was thus forced to acquiesce, if only for fear that if she did not, the Foilunder was like to go into the village until he had sought out enough Arosians to fill out the table. Mouse, however, did not care who she dined with, so long as she would not be prevailed upon to converse above a minimum so that she might enjoy as much of the mouthwatering feast as she could stomach. She preferred country food to the rich, elaborate meals of court, and as far as she was concerned, there was little that could best potatoes and curdled milk.

She had been seated between two of Sigurd’s men, in the name of varied company, and though she knew that it was her duty as a lady to make herself amenable to her guests, each time she glanced at the towering Foilund men on either side of her, she found it difficult to produce anything to say or the nerve with which to say it. She took comfort in knowing they seemed hardly to notice her, but at last could no longer ignore the duty incumbent upon her.

“Pray, sir, how have you found your travels?” Mouse began to the man who sat on her left.

“Long,” he answered, taking a lengthy drink from his own cup before replacing it upon the table. Mouse dutifully picked up the jug that stood between them and refilled his cup.

“You must be weary,” she said, ignoring the brevity of his reply. “I hope you have not found the heat too oppressive.” The Foilunder seemed to study her as she gently set the jug back upon the table, his expression every bit as stoic and impassive as the Dietric’s.

“Heat is heat,” he shrugged. “In the south, there is more of it.” Mouse forced herself to smile. She was beginning to form the impression that the Foilunders were not known as particularly verbose conversationalists.

“Well, you know what they say—” She said, pausing a moment. “Warm weather makes for warm people.” The fair-haired northerner stared at her, no trace of a smile upon his lips.

“So then what does cold weather make for?” he asked, his thick northern accent coloring the phrase. Mouse froze. She was not sure how to answer this. Foilund was located in the far north, a notoriously cold place. The Foilunder raised an eyebrow in anticipation of her reply. “Or perhaps there is no saying for this?” he prompted.

Mouse took a sip of wine from her cup, attempting to drink away some of the awkwardness and buy herself some time to come up with a clever reply.

“Cold weather,” Mouse said, “makes for long nights.” She looked at the Foilunder and smiled. “And long nights make for fast friends.” She lifted her cup to him. The Foilunder looked at her for a moment, seeming to consider whether what she said was worth drinking to, before raising his own cup, and together, they drank. Mouse congratulated herself on her effort, even if it had come with little reward, and returned again to her meal, satisfied that she had done her duty.

It was some time later and after many minutes of silence that Mouse found herself startled by the address of the Foilunder who sat to the other side of her.

“You are hungry,” he observed. Mouse felt the color creep into her cheeks as she swallowed a mouthful of potato and replaced her fork.

“Indeed, sir,” she said, blushing with embarrassment. “You will please forgive my manners, for I find they tend to desert me when I am so—” But here, she paused, unable to think of an eloquent word to convey the extent of her voracious appetite.

“Ravenous?” the northerner prompted, continuing to watch her as she pressed a cloth delicately to her lips. Mouse could think of no reply other than to smile at him and hope that he would not notice her humiliation.

“I hope you have found your time in Aros pleasing,” she began now anew, taking in the Foilunders bright blue eyes that shimmered in the candlelight. “It must be many weeks that you have been traveling.”

“Yes,” he replied, “Though my own journey was not so perilous as your own.” Mouse looked at him for a moment in confusion, unsure of his meaning. “Or perhaps it is every day you ride through arrows across open plains?” he said. “It may be nothing more than sport to you.”

“Oh!” cried Mouse in sudden understanding, for it was only upon hearing these words that she suddenly recalled to mind the trials of earlier that day, the arrow that flew sharply past her ear as another stood in the ground, the horses galloping across the open field to the castle. “I suppose there was a certain excitement in it,” she laughed.

“Is excitement what you call it?” the Foilunder asked, his eyes alight with amusement. “You must be brave. Perhaps you Arosians must do fear death the way we Foilunders do.”

Mouse studied the northerner’s face. Though he appeared stoic to an Arosian eye, much the way Sigurd had, his voice carried feeling and depth, and his eyes were lively and animated.

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“I assure you, there was no bravery, only haste and a mind occupied elsewhere,” she answered. The Foilunder lifted a brow in question. “For as you have already observed,” smiled Mouse, “I was indeed quite ravenous.” The Foilunder laughed at this. It was a laugh so deep, Mouse thought she may very well drown in it, and a prickle of warmth ran over her skin. The Foilunder reached across the table, lifting the jug of wine to refill both their cups.

He was tall and broad like the rest, observed Mouse, and he wore gold in both his ears, the rich color of it bringing a kind of warmth to his complexion. His pale blond hair, though not so long as some of the others, fell just above his shoulders, a single plait twisting back from one side of his face. It was a rather a pleasing face, Mouse thought.

“You are called Mouse,” the Foilunder said, replacing the jug. “Tell me, how did you come upon such a name?”

Mouse looked down at her plate. She did not want to tell the Foilunder the truth, that she was called Mouse because the Empress thought little of her, because she was small and stupid and of hardly any consequence. But neither did she wish to mislead him. How then should she answer?

“I suppose,” she said at last, “that it is because I am so fond of curdled milk.” The Foilunder laughed again, and Mouse felt a blush bloom on her cheek to know that he enjoyed her jest.

Their conversation carried well into the night, and Mouse found herself unusually delighted by the northerner’s company. Torben, she learned he was called. His manner was easy and open, and Mouse was surprised to discover a cleverness in him that she had not expected. He had traveled many places, more places than Mouse had and certainly more interesting ones, and had been to lands of which she had somehow never heard.

“You southerners concern yourselves too much with your own country,” he explained. “But I can hardly fault you this,” he said, his eyes traveling over Mouse’s face, “for there are many beauties here to behold, the likes of which I have never before seen.” Mouse felt herself blush so deeply at this that she had to turn away, lest the northerner see her cheeks burning red as summer fruits.

The wine that night was sweeter than any Mouse could recall, the taste of it fresh and bright on her tongue, like grass and forest berries, and when at last it came time for the party to separate, her heart felt so light that she was almost surprised that she did not float all the way up to the ceiling.

“Let us pray that the night passes quickly,” the Foilunder said, pressing her hand gently to his lips, “for I long to see how bright this jewel of Aros shines in the light of day.” And with that, he left her.

Mouse had passed from the great hall, her head swimming with wine and sweet words, when she suddenly remembered herself. She was not here on her own accord; she was here as the Empress’s lady. She ran hurriedly back to the great hall, wondering how she could have let herself become so swept away by Torben’s attentions as to forget the Empress entirely.

She felt a sudden fear run through her. What if the Empress had been wanting her all the while? How long had Mouse kept her waiting? Her breath shortened in her chest as she rounded the corner, slipping through the door of the great hall as quietly as she could. She was about to push aside the curtain, when she heard the sound of voices, and stopped where she stood.

What was she to do—announce her presence and risk drawing undue notice to the fact that she had absconded without the Empress’s leave? Or slip back out the door and pretend that she had been wanted for some innocuous task by one of the maids? She stood behind the curtain, biting her lip in indecision.

She supposed that before she decided on a course of action, she should first ascertain who remained in the hall. The voices that spoke were low, but not so low that she could not make them out.

“Will you not tell me, now that you have been fed and watered, the real reason for your visit?” It was unmistakably the Empress speaking now. “I know you have not traveled all this way just to gaze upon me with those impassive eyes of yours.”

Here, there was a pause, and Mouse held her breath, waiting to hear who answered.

“I come asking for salt,” came the reply. It was the Dietric, as well as may be expected, thought Mouse. Or at least someone who sounded very much like him, though she could not imagine who it would be other than the man himself. “Winter comes earlier in the north than it does here,” he said. The Empress laughed.

“Indeed, take all the salt you wish,” she said. “But do not think me a fool. I know that when a Foilunder asks for salt, it is not salt he wants.”

There was another pause.

“Majesty,” the Foilunder said in a low, even voice, “I have observed in my travels the great many forests that grace your lands. And as you know, we require a great deal of wood for our ships.”

“Ah,” said the Empress knowingly. “You’ve used up all your own forests and now you wish to cut mine down as well.”

“That would be a very selfish thing to do,” the Dietric answered. “And to ask Majesty to cut down her forests would be as foolish as any attempt a man could make to carry those forests all the way to Foilund.”

“We could not be more in agreement,” the Empress replied. “So then, tell me, what is it you ask of me?”

“The forests that grow in the north of Tepp are equal to those that grow in the south, are they not?” the Dietric asked. There was a pause, likely where the Empress nodded her assent, before the Foilunder continued. “We have already spoken with the Chatti on this matter, but their answer was much the same as yours.”

The Chatti, though protected under the law and sword of Aros, did not consider themselves true Arosians. They were a tributary of sorts, a free territory tied to the empire by a longstanding agreement. The land that they occupied was not only the northern most part of Aros, but also the northern most part of the continent, and as such, was closest to Foilund, separated only by a narrow sound.

“So, what do you wish me to do?” the Empress scoffed. “The Chatti do not answer to me. If they have said no, there is little I can do.”

“The northern borders are strong,” the Dietric replied. “Majesty gives many of her own men to those who do not answer to her.”

There followed a long silence, during which Mouse pondered the Dietric’s words, heavily laden with meaning. Could he really mean to ask what she thought? It seemed bold, outlandish, even for a Dietric. And yet, she could think of no other way to interpret his words. The Dietric, it seemed, was asking the Empress to weaken the borders, to remove her men so that he might come in and rob the Chatti of that which they would not willingly give.

But even if the Empress had no love for the Chatti, as many knew she did not, she was still sworn to protect them, and Mouse could not believe that she would be willing to jeopardize the oath she made to them when she took the throne.

“You ask too much,” the Empress sighed at last.

“Majesty,” Sigurd replied, “there is much my people can offer you. I pray you will at least consider my request.”

“Your request?” the Empress snapped. “Come to me with an offer, and I will consider it. But do not waste my time with requests.”

Mouse felt a sudden chill run through her. Certainly, the Empress would not truly consider what the Foilund Dietric had asked. It would be a betrayal to the Chatti people and a violation of an accord that had been in place for some hundred years. It was practically treasonous.

Suddenly, Mouse found that she could stay within no longer. In fact, she wished she hadn’t come back at all. She slipped out through the door, quietly as she had come, and walked briskly down the hall, willing herself to forget what she had just born witness to. She had no illusions about the Empress’s morality, she never had. She had long sat in her meetings, listened to conversations that would make one wonder as to the soundness of the monarchy altogether, but such cunning, she could never have expected.

She climbed the stairs to her chambers as swiftly as she could, rushing past the guards outside her door and closing it fast behind her.

How could a night so sweet suddenly turn so bitter? She tore off her gown and without further preparation or delay, threw herself into the bed. Perhaps it had all been a dream, she told herself, squeezing her eyes tightly shut. The only thing to do now was to wait until morning to find the truth of it.