Mouse stood in the middle of Kingfishers' Bridge looking down at the river below. The mighty Manau surged a milky blue, its coursing current like a heartbeat, thrumming and pulsing, moving all things toward some unknown purpose.

There was an impossible permanence here, a beauty that could not exist anywhere else, as though the world itself hung on a string from the yellow half-moon that dangled in the sky. Mouse felt a heaviness in her heart as she stood there, breathing in the mist-filled air and listening to the rush of the river. For a moment she thought of jumping in, allowing herself to be carried on the current and tumbled like a stone until all her rough edges had been worn down.

But then she heard a sound, a voice, a song, strange and familiar. There were words she did not know, but she felt it deep inside of her, stirring her. She turned and followed the sound of the voice. It was coming, as always, from the great stone house that stood at the end of the bridge, the one with smoke rising from the chimney, the one that she knew without even looking would have a half-moon painted on the door.

Mouse walked down the bridge until she arrived outside of the house. There, she stopped and listened, lifting her hand to trace a finger along the yellow half-moon painted on the door. A tear rolled down her. She wanted so badly to go inside, to see the person who lived there, but she was afraid, afraid that once the door opened, the person on the other side would not recognize her.

She let her arm fall to her side, and just then, the singing stopped and the voice called out.

"Who is there?" it said.

Mouse lifted her head, her heart fluttering with hope, and opened her lips to answer. "It's me," she wanted to say.

But "me" was not a name.

She looked down at her empty hands. Why could she not remember her name?

"Who is there?" the voice called again.

Mouse looked up.

"No one."

Mouse woke in the pale light of morning, the wooden tafl piece still clutched firm within her grasp. She was back in the broken now. She unwrapped her fingers from the little archer and found the shape of the bow imprinted in the soft flesh of her palm. She examined the lines pressed into her skin, pink and tender, like a map to all the parts of herself she kept hidden from the world.

She watched the slivers of light creep under the curtains, reaching like fingers for the valance of her bed, and pulled the blankets tighter around herself. No sooner had the dream faded than the memory of the night before, of her encounter with the nobleman, returned. His words had stuck in her mind like a thorn, sharp and painful. And yet, Mouse touched the small pink bruise on her wrist where he had grabbed her, she could not deny that there had been some truth in them.

Someone had been lying to her, filling her head with stories, leading her down a path of doubt and questions. The question was who?

She looked down at the little wooden archer held between her fingers. Everything that she had ever known, everything she had ever been told about herself, about her family, about her life pointed to one thing: that the nobleman was right, that she was no one. What Ludger had told her seemed almost to offend reason.

Or at least that was how it had seemed.

The more Mouse had sat with Ludger's words, the harder she had pushed against them, the harder they seemed to push back. They had seeped into her subconscious, until they began to sway her in ways so subtle that she had not even realized it.

She flung back her blankets and climbed from her feathers, recoiling at the feel of the cold floor against her naked feet as she scurried to her wardrobe to dress in haste. She washed her face at her basin and went to her table where she began to comb out her long, thick hair. She looked into the glass, at the somber young woman who looked back at her with round, dark eyes. Were they her birthright, she wondered, or her curse?

Just then, there was a knock at the door and Mouse rose to answer it.

"Val Hector," she said, surprised to find the Chatti girl outside her room.

"May I come in?"

Mouse stepped aside and allowed the Val to enter. She had not expected to see her friend until breakfast. In fact, she was surprised that she had known where to find Mouse. She took the chair from her table to draw over by the hearth.

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"Do not trouble yourself," the Val said. "I won't be long." She took a seat on the edge of Mouse's bed. "I'm leaving, Maud."

Mouse stopped and looked at the girl in confusion.

"I'm leaving the capital," Val Hector clarified.

Mouse's eyes widened.

"You're leaving," she echoed. "But why?"

"It's too dangerous for me to stay here," the Val said. "Thurea will remain in my stead. She will represent the Chatti emissary from now on."

Mouse shook her head, her brow furrowed in concern.

"I do not understand."

"I know," said the Val, "and I'm sorry. But there are certain risks, certain threats," she shook her head. "I won't be used as a weapon against my people."

"What about Thurea?" asked Mouse. "Does she not face the same threats?"

"No," said the Val. She pressed her lips together. "Thurea does not share my lineage."

Mouse felt the weight of the realization settle over her.

"Well," she said, "if you are certain that this is what the best. If you think it no greater danger to travel by open road than to stay. But I fear the Empress will not take it very kindly."

"No," said Val Hector, a smile hooking her lip, her sea glass eyes glimmering, "I daresay she will not. But there is no alternative."

Mouse sat down on the bed beside her friend. There was a question she wanted to ask but dared not.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked instead.

"You've done quite enough already, thank you," the Val said, a rueful smile on her lips. She reached over and took Mouse's hand in her own, meeting her eye. "I am so lucky to have met you," she said. "And I know this will not be the last time we meet." Still holding a Mouse's hand, she slid one of the brass bangles from around her wrist onto Mouse's. "We're sisters, you and I."

Mouse felt something tug at her heart, and when she looked up from the bracelet to the Val, there were tears in her eyes.

"Will you be alright on the way?" she asked, the words nearly catching in her throat.

"Yes," said the Val, giving Mouse's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Will you be alright here?"

Mouse nodded.

Val Hector stood, releasing Mouse's hand.

"There is one last thing you could do," she said. "Don't tell anyone we've gone. Wait as long as you can. We could use a head start."

Mouse smiled.

"Of course," she said. She watched the Val cross to the door, and just as the girl walked out the question leapt from her mind into her mouth: "Who was your father?"

But the door had already shut, and the girl had already gone.

"Sir Conrad," the Empress called across the room. "I have not seen your name in the lists. What can be the explanation?"

The morning sun poured in through the high windows of the breakfast room, dancing across the table, the smell of smoked duck and ripe oranges lingering in the air. The number of attendees was thrice that of usual, joined as they were by several visiting knights and lords, not least of which was Sir Conrad and the General's two eldest sons.

"I beg your pardon, Your Majesty," the knight replied with an incline of his head. "I have come only with the expectation to spectate."

The Empress's held out her cup to be refilled.

"Nonsense," she said. "How can you hope to win your lady's favor if you do not compete? Mouse, are you going to let him get away with that?"

Mouse colored at the sudden mention of her name and turned her head just enough to address the knight.

"I beg your pardon, sir," she said, in a low voice meant for only him. "I assure you that I have no part in this design and no expectation of prevailing upon you to do something that you do not wish to do."

Sir Conrad looked at her, his eyes traveling over her face, regarding her as she spoke.

"Likewise," he said, "I would not wish to ask anything of you that you do not wish to give."

"Oh, but Mouse has already given her favor to another," the Empress interrupted before anything further could be said. "Sir Gerold, was it not?" Her dark eyes gleamed dangerously. "No matter," she lifted her cup to her lips. "I dare say it would not be the first time you tempted a woman away from another man."

There were chuckles among some of the men, but Sir Conrad did not rise to the slight.

"What say you, Leopold?" the Empress's eyes flicked to the little fair-haired boy who clung to Sir Conrad's sleeve. "Would you like to see your Uncle Conrad ride in the joust? Or perhaps your brother, Bertram?" she smiled pretendingly. "He is practically tall enough to be a knight. Do you think him brave enough to face Sir Axel?"

Leopold peeked over at his brother, who was sat next to Sir Erik. Though only newly twelve, Bertram had already been taken on as a squire.

"The men of Pothes Mar never back away from a good fight," said Sir Conrad, bolstering Bertram with a look, "no matter the odds."

The Empress's smile curdled at this.

"Yes," she said, "even when it is to their detriment, I fear."

It was a strange way of making friends, Mouse thought, the incendiary remarks, the condescension. In fact, if she did not know better, she would say that the Empress had just made an enemy of the man.

She crossed the open courtyard toward the south wing now, stopping at the large tapestry that hung on the wall. It was the one that depicted the namesake of the Feast of the Fourteen, the one she had visited with Val Hector when the two had first met.

She looked down at the brass bangle that hung around her wrist and felt a twinge in her heart. They had only just become friends, and now the Val had left. She let out a sigh and turned to go, but as she did, she noticed a man standing behind her, watching her.

She knew him, Mouse realized. Well, she did not know him, but she had seen him before. The man slowly approached. He was wearing the same crimson tunic as when he had been watching her from the stands of the joust. His soft brown hair fell in waves and his bright green eyes made it difficult to look elsewhere.

"I beg your pardon, my lady," he said, making a small bow. "I am afraid that we have not had the privilege of a proper introduction." A gentle smile parted his lips, making his already lovely face even handsomer. "But I know you from when you were at my lord's estate in Pothes Mar."

"Oh?" Mouse furrowed her brow. She was utterly confused, until her eyes fell on the familiar silver chain that hung around his neck.

"My name is Frederick Agneu," the young man said, "and I have come for Lady Agatha."

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