Rain pattered down onto the oiled hood of Mouse's cloak as she crossed through the courtyard, her boots slick against the wet stones of the flagging. The Chatti had been quartered in the west wing of the keep, near the golden tower, while the rest of the ladies stayed near the royal apartments, a part of the keep known as the Dove Tree. The courtyard was by no means the driest route on such a day, when the thick wall of dark clouds coming from the west had quickly turned the threat of rain to promise, but it was the fastest.

She shook the cloak from her shoulders and quickly ascended the step, passing the guard who stood outside the Chatti girl's rooms with little hindrance. She hesitated on the threshold. This was the hour, she told herself, when she cast her fears on the pyre of resolution and let them burn.

Until now, the thing that had scared her most was the question of whether she would come to regret her decision, knowing, as she did, that no matter what she chose, she would be betraying someone. But there was no right and wrong, only justification, and this knowledge somehow made things easier.

She fortified herself with a breath and entered the room.

The compartment was small and tidy with a large window facing south, a table, and two beds. There was a tapestry on the wall of a scene Mouse did not know, a few small brass statues, and the whole place smelled of lavender.

The Val herself was sitting by the fire where a censer hung, her long red hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

"Maudeleine," the Val said, the look of surprise on her face giving way to a smile, before falling at the sight of Mouse's somber expression. "What is it?" she asked.

Without speaking, Mouse pulled the small square of parchment from her sleeve and handed it to the Val, taking the chair opposite. She watched the Val's lips move as she read the words scrawled across it.

"What is this?" Val Hector asked, looking up at Mouse.

"It's assurance," said Mouse, "protection. Or what we in the capital call blackmail."

The Val untucked her legs from beneath her.

"I don't understand," she said.

"I stole that letter from the Empress," Mouse nodded to the parchment in the Val's hand. "They'll have my head if they find out. Give it to your councilors and they will have all they need to condemn me in case there is fault in anything that I say."

"Condemn you?" the Val repeated with an expression bordering on amusement. "Why would they wish to condemn you?"

"In case they believe this to be some sort of trick. A trap."

The Val furrowed her brow, setting the parchment on the table beside her.

"Believe what's a trap?"

Mouse smiled to herself. It had been easy to forget that the Val had not spent her life in politics, bound to a world where few could be trusted and everything was subject to suspicion. Of course she would assume that her own faith in Mouse as enough; she had no reason to think otherwise. Mouse drew a deep breath. She hated to be the one to disabuse the Val of any illusions she might have in regard to the Empire's integrity, but if she did not, the warning would come too late.

"The Empress is planning to install a chancellorship in the Chatti lands," she said, letting the words fall from her mouth before she could take them back.

The Val's eyes widened, a mix of desperation and disbelief in her voice.

"They mean to annex us?" she said. "But they can't. We're a free territory."

"Yes," said Mouse, "but they mean to regardless."

The Val shook her head.

"How—" she left the question unfinished.

"I've read the edict," Mouse said. "One of the conditions of my position is sometimes knowing more than I wish I did, but I suppose in this case, it's come in rather useful."

"I should certainly say so," said the Val.

"Now," said Mouse, "do you trust your councilors?"

"Of course," said the Val.

"Then send them north. Your people need to start making preparations. Legislation reform to demonstrate a more conforming system of government, aggregation of labor registries, tax registries, market prices of all the goods and services exchanged between the Chatti and the Empire for at least the last two decades."

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The Val nodded.

"Should I go with them?" she asked.

"No," said Mouse. "You'll do better to remain here. Besides, it would be suspicious if you left suddenly."

"And will it not be suspicious if my council leaves?"

Mouse shook her head.

"It's difficult to say," she said, "but I think this is one of the times we can be grateful that the Chatti delegation has not garnered more attention."

Mouse hesitated on the next words. She almost did not want to speak them, lest she breathe life into them.

"Tell your people that they should prepare for the worst," she said. "Tell them to prepare for war. And then pray that it does not come to that."

The Val paled.

"We cannot go to war with the Empire," she said.

"I know," said Mouse. "But it is better to be prepared for a thing that does not happen then to let a thing happen without any preparation."

The Val nodded.

"One more thing," said Mouse. "It's about Alfric."

"Alfric Gilcrist?"

"I know that he seems charming and kind and clever," said Mouse, "and he is, clever, at least, but he is also cunning and possibly worse, an intimate of the Empress."

If the Val mean to disguise her surprise at hearing this, she did a poor job of concealing it.

"Do you think he is scheming against us?" she asked.

"I do not know," said Mouse, "but I would not be in the least surprised to learn that he has less than your best intentions at heart."

The Val gave a shake of her head.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised," she said. "Most people who look like that cannot be trusted."

Mouse smiled. Though she had nowhere else to be, she had decided that it was best not to linger, lest she come to regret her decision to speak with the Val.

"I have to go now," she said, rising from her chair. "But we will speak more soon, I'm sure."

The Val reached out and caught her hand.

"Thank you," she said, squeezing Mouse's hand tightly, "truly. I know you've risked much in telling me all this." Mouse felt a warmth bloom in her heart at the gesture. "How one person can have so much goodness in their heart, I will never understand."

Once safely inside her rooms, Mouse released the breath that she felt as though she had been holding the entire time. The rush of nerves that had flooded her on the way to the Val now began to slowly seep away. She had taken the long way back , rather than brave the rain, and though she felt a decided sense of relief, a burden of conscience lifting from her shoulders, this was replaced by something equally heavy, the knowledge that now there was witness to her treason. It was a thought that should have terrified her, and it did, in a way, but it also bestowed upon her a sense of a conviction. She was no longer a frightened little mouse scurrying around beneath the feet of giants. She was a force, an invisible thread stringing up the edge of a web, a part of something precarious but purposeful.

She shrugged off her cloak and draped it on a chair by the fire to dry, prying off her rain-drenched boots and changing into a clean pair of stockings, the warm woolen kind, before crossing to her desk. This was her fortress, the home of her rebellion, and she had just given a piece of it away. All she could do was hope that it had gone toward something greater.

Mouse felt the force of the blow travel up her arms and into her hands.

"Shed and riposte, Mouse," the guardsman said. "You know better."

Mouse tried to force a step forward, driving her weight behind the push.

"Not like that."

Mouse stepped back, dropping her guard, and ran a tired arm across her brow. As frustrated as she was with herself, she could only imagine the guardsman's irritation. She should be improving with practice, and if anything, she was getting worse.

"Let's have it then," Bo said.

"Have what?" asked Mouse.

"Whatever's bothering you."

Mouse shook her head.

"Nothing's bothering me," she lied.

The guardsman scoffed and looked away.

"Why are you cross with me?" Mouse asked, a sudden feeling of defensiveness coming over her.

Bo turned to her.

"I've given you opening after opening, Mouse, and you won't take one," he said. "Why?"

Mouse stared back at him, finding in his grey eyes something at once firm and yielding. Was he still talking about the riposte?

"I'm tired is all," she muttered, dropping her gaze to stare down at the grass between her feet. She didn't want to look up, didn't want to see the look she knew the guardsman was giving her, and it was only after a silence made uncomfortable by its duration that either of them spoke.

"Take a rest, why don't you," Bo said.

Mouse looked up now, shaking her head in protest.

"I don't need a rest," she said.

The guardsman shrugged.

"Well, I beg to differ," he said. He drove the tip of sword into the grass and let it stand, going to fetch the skins of water that sat against the side of the outbuilding. He came back and proffered one to Mouse, who reluctantly accepted it. Then together, they sat down in the grass, back to back, as they always did. The earth was damp, having soaked up the rain despite being under cover of shelter, but neither minded, either that or they were both too stubborn to say anything about it.

Mouse took a draw from her skin, leaning into the guardsman. Equal to the warmth emanating from his body, she could feel the tension in his back, his shoulders hunched forward as he sat with his arms draped over his knees. Mouse stole a glance at him, allowing her eyes to travel over the dark curls that hung against his brow, the hair that stuck to his cheek. He still hadn't gotten it cut.

I'm sorry, she wanted to say. I'm sorry I can't tell you. For the truth was there was so much she wanted to tell him, so much she wanted to say. He was one of the few people in the world she felt as though she could trust, truly, wholly trust, one of the few people who made her feel safe. And yet, she bit down on her lip, and yet, she could not tell him. Not only because he was inextricably tied to the one person who was the source of much of her torment and turmoil, but because there were things she could not say to anyone.

Why did it have to be this way? Mouse wondered. It was all so heavy, and what she wanted more than anything in the world was to not feel so alone.

She moved to brush a tear from her cheek. The rain had stopped for a time, but the darkening sky and heavy grey clouds above hinted hat the reprieve would not last long.

Mouse felt the guardsman's weight shift against her, his hair tickling her neck as he turned.

"Oi," he said, "I'm not cross with you. I just—I wish you'd talk to me."

Mouse wiped at another tear. I wish I'd talk to you, too, she wanted to say. But the words would not leave her lips. So instead, she swallowed down the lump in her throat and turned to the side, laying her head against the guardsman's shoulder. It was enough to make her feel a little bit lighter, a little bit less alone, at least for the moment.

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