Mouse sat in the small council that had been called to the Empress's cabinet. Across the round walnut table from her was sat Lords Rambert and Toffrey, while to her left was Lord Eadic, and on the far end, the Empress and Lord Alfric.

"A blockade, you say?" said Lord Toffrey, one hand tugging thoughtfully at the whiskers of his chin as his elbow rested upon the table.

"Yes," said Mouse. "But I am afraid that there is little else I can tell you."

"And who exactly was it that told you of this scheme?" Lord Rambert asked.

Mouse turned her attention to the High Marshal

"I cannot say," she replied. "I have given my word not to do so."

Lord Rambert grunted.

"How, then, are we to know if we can trust this information?"

Mouse shrugged her shoulders.

"I do not know," she said.

Lord Rambert's mustache twitched again as he thought.

"Can you tell us nothing about the person?" he asked.

Mouse sighed.

"It is someone I met while at Pothes Mar," said Mouse. "And if it helps, I believe that the man was speaking in earnest."

"Ha!" cried Lord Rambert. "So it was a man."

"That hardly narrows it down," Lord Toffrey said, giving his companion a look of annoyance.

"Yes," said Lord Rambert, "but at least now we know it is not some women's trick."

The Empress, who had been watching Mouse as she spoke, turned her head toward the High Marshal.

"What in god's name is that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

Lord Rambert's face fell, his cheeks beginning to redden beneath his whiskers.

"Nothing, Your Majesty," he blustered. "It was only my attempt at a jest."

The Empress, however, did not appear amused.

"Well, if that is your idea of humor, then I am afraid that not even the mummers will have you," she said. "And if another such tasteless remark again passes your lips, I will have you stripped and ridden out onto the fields where you will be whipped with a crop like the horse's arse that you are."

"Y—Yes, Your Majesty," Lord Rambert sputtered. Mouse could see the suppressed smiles on the other councilors' faces as the High Marshal fumbled his way through an apology.

"So," said Lord Toffrey, breaking the following silence, "what now? March on Pothes Mar? Declare war?"

"Ralist has already done that himself as far as I'm concerned," said the Empress.

"Let us not forget, Your Majesty," interrupted Lord Eadic, "that this all yet remains conjecture, hearsay."

Mouse pursed her lips in annoyance, refusing to look at the councilor. But it made no matter, for she now found herself fixed by the Empress's gaze.

"Tell me," the woman said, her dark eyes peering at Mouse, "was it Conrad who told you of this plan?"

"No," said Mouse without hesitation. "Sir Conrad has nothing to do with this."

The Empress raised her eyebrows.

"That is an interesting claim, and one which I am not certain you are entitled to make. Just because Sir Conrad was not the one to tell you does not mean that he has no knowledge of the thing. He is, after all, Ralist's right hand, and I do not believe it possible for him to be unaware of such a plan if it should, in fact exist."

Mouse considered this.

"I suppose it is possible," she said, "but I cannot believe that Sir Conrad would know of such a thing and say nothing."

"Why?" asked the Empress. "You think that because he is a knight, he is noble?"

Mouse shook her head. She could not believe that Sir Conrad was involved in the General's scheming, if for no other reason than for Leopold's sake. Why would he bring the boy here only if he was planning to betray the Empress? Why hand him over as a hostage under such contentious circumstances?

"Sir Conrad has ambitions of his own," Mouse said. It was a poor choice of words, she knew that, even as they left her lips, but she somehow could not think of a more tactful way to say that Sir Conrad was far more concerned with finding a place to shelter his and Lady Margarethe's bastard son than with taking part in some foolhardy plot against the crown.

"Oh?" the Empress said, raising her eyebrows. "And what sort of ambitions are those?"

Mouse closed her lips. She had already said more than she should have.

"Making little mice into pets?" asked the Empress. "Are those the ambitions you speak of?"

Mouse felt the color rush to her cheeks.

"How do we know this is not some sort of trick, some sort of trap?" Lord Eadic asked suddenly. "And how do we know the girl is not some part of it?"

Mouse turned an angry gaze on the councilor.

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"Are you mad?" she said, unable to hold her tongue. "What would I stand to gain from being part of some scheme against the crown?" She shook her head. "If you do not wish to believe me, sir, then pray, do not. But do not accuse me of a conspiracy in which I have no part."

Lord Eadic leaned forward, attempting to match her outrage.

"You were at Pothes Mar not so very long ago, were you not?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mouse.

"And when you were there, who did you meet with?"

"I met with many people," said Mouse, "as duty demanded."

"Such as?" the councilor challenged.

"You would like a list of names?" Mouse scoffed.

"Did you meet with the General, for example?"

"I did," said Mouse.

"Yes, and you practically castrated him. I heard," said the Empress, interrupting the councilor's interrogation. Mouse blushed. The Empress had made little mention of her visit to Pothes Mar until now.

"Now, Lord Eadic," the Empress continued, "let us perhaps be so bold as to assume that Mouse is not some villainous mastermind conspirator." She allowed a moment for the other councilors to chuckle. "How do we respond to Ralist?"

The question was directed toward Lord Rambert.

"We could send men north in force," the High Marshal said, "but I would advise against doing so. We cannot afford to lose the garrison."

"What then?" asked the Empress.

Lord Rambert sat thoughtfully for a moment.

"Send spies," he said, "scouts. One detachment along the river, one further inland, and one directly to Ralist, to meet him outwardly. In the meantime, we begin mustering as many men as possible."

The room was quiet as those around the table exchanged glances.

"See that it is done," said the Empress. And with that, the meeting was ended and the council adjourned.

Mouse watched as the councilors filed, one by one, out of the room, being sure to follow Lord Eadic with a glare. Lord Alfric, who had been sitting silently twirling his mustaches all the while, now leaned back into his chair, staring into the fireplace, while Mouse, who had been instructed to wait, stood anxiously by the door.

The Empress had gone to her desk the moment the meeting had ended, where she had sat down and pulled out a sheet of parchment and a pen, and as Mouse watched her, she found her eyes drawn to the stack of petitions that had been shoved to the side.

"That was rather interesting," Lord Alfric said, tugging at the ends of his whiskers.

"Yes," murmured the Empress, drawing her pen across the paper, "especially as the Foilunders are already on their way."

The Foilunders? Mouse put a hand to her mouth. She had meant to keep the thought to herself, but she wondered now whether words had managed to escape through her lips.

"That was certainly quick," said Alfric, bouncing one leg idly over the other. "But then again, I knew the Dietric would not be able to deny you." A smile tugged at his lips.

The Empress now replaced her pen and allowed the ink to dry, making no reply to the courtier's remark.

"He will go to directly to Ralist, then?" Alfric asked, glancing first at Mouse and then over his shoulder at the Empress. "Make his offer in person?"

The Empress murmured her assent.

"And with any luck, he'll be gone before our own men arrive. Though the chances of that are beginning to look rather slim." She sighed. "There's nothing to be done for it now, though." She folded the parchment and sealed it with wax. "Things are in motion which cannot be undone." She carried the letter over to Mouse, who still stood anxiously by the door. It had only now occurred to her that the Empress might turn to the Dietric to act as her proxy. But it made sense that he should be the one to conscript the General's army; he had no interests on the continent, save those of the Empress.

"Give this to the courier," the Empress instructed, handing Mouse the letter. "Place it directly into his hand, no one else's." Mouse nodded, taking the letter. But to her surprise, the Empress did not let go. "Is there something you wish to tell me, Mouse?" she asked. Mouse felt the woman's dark eyes bore into her, making her itch with nervousness.

Her eyes flitted to the desk for the briefest of moments, before returning to the letter in her hand. She knows, thought Mouse. She knows what I've done.

"It was Lord Batton," she blurted out. "He is the one who told me of Ralist's plan to blockade the river."

With that, the Empress released the letter, relinquishing it to Mouse's grasp.

"Go," she said. "Now."

Mouse scurried down the hallway. The wave of emotion that had begun as relief when the Empress released her was now turned to guilt. She had betrayed Lord Batton's trust, broken the word she had given him, and all because of her own foolishness, and because her fear, in consequence of her actions, had been too great to overcome.

She made her way down the corridor with hurried steps, not stopping until she got to the top of the stair. There, she paused and looked down at the letter in her hand. It was unmarked, and the seal, likewise, was a plain one. Her brow knit together in thought as she turned the parchment over in her hands.

How was the courier to know where to take it? she wondered.

She stood there a moment longer, hesitating at the top of the step, as some unspoken questioned teased at the corners of her mind. And though she could not say why, she felt a sudden desperation to know what was written in the letter. She lifted her gaze now, looking around the hallway. There were not but a few souls wandering about, a guardsman here, a lady there, but no one who would know where she had come from or where she had been meant to go. She bit her lip, rubbing her fingers against the parchment, as she glanced up and down the sparsely populated corridor. No one would know that she was meant to go to the courier with the letter and not to her own rooms.

With a sudden determination, Mouse turned on her heel and changed course, briskly walking down the hallway toward her chambers. Once inside, she checked to be sure that she was alone, calling out and waiting for a reply that did not come. Having satisfied herself that she was alone, she leaned against the door and, taking the letter in her hands, broke the seal.

Her fingers shook as she carefully unfolded the parchment, her eyes grazing over the letters that stood there like sentinels on the page. Her brow wrinkled in confusion, as she turned the parchment over, but no matter how she hoped, she knew that the words would not multiply themselves. A short laugh now escaped her lips, her arms falling to her sides as she leaned against the door.

Malte's cup, Marrow cross, the letter read, signed B.O.L. That was all that was written. It was just like the letter that Mouse had received at Pothes Mar, the one that had tortured her with its enigma, Adalbert's scythe, Yndis vale, and it told her absolutely nothing.

Mouse shook her head. The letter mocked her. A day and a place and nothing more. And more mocking still, she had no idea whether anything was meant by it, or whether it was merely a diversion, a distraction.

Mouse sighed. She would have to make a copy of the letter, match her writing to the Empress's, seal it, and take it to the courier. And she would have to do so quickly. The original would be fed to the fire, just like the other parchments she had taken.

Mouse took a seat behind her desk and slid open the drawer, taking out a sheet of parchment and her pen. She placed them neatly on the table, and it was then that she noticed the absence of the box that had previously occupied the space. Lette must have heeded her, she realized, must have taken it away. Perhaps she was not so guilty as Mouse had assumed, or perhaps she had only removed the box because guilt demanded it.

Mouse dipped her pen, blotting it carefully. Her hand trembled as she fought against the sudden queasiness that came over her as she recalled the moment of discovery, the moment she had lifted the lid of the box and found what lay inside.

There, within the worn velvet interior, had been a little brown door mouse. Its tail had been severed from its body, and its eyes were white with death. Mouse replaced her pen and pressed a hand to her face. The image of the lifeless creature flooded her mind. It was a warning, a threat. Look what happens to little mice who find themselves among giants. Someone was watching Mouse, someone who meant to intimidate her, to frighten her back into her corner.

Mouse steadied herself with a deep breath, exhaling as she reopened her eyes. She picked up her pen and slowly, carefully, began to draw it across the page. Each letter was a meticulous recreation, artful in its precision.

Giants can kill, she thought to herself as she set down her pen and admired her work, but mice can still bite.

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