"They've withdrawn. What, all of them?"

Mouse set the tea tray on the small table next to the Empress. The other servants had taken their leave, and all who remained now, besides the two women, were the scout, the guard, and Lord Alfric.

"Every man," Eivind said. "We started as far south as Kettlebrook and saw no more than empty camps and snuffed out fires all the way until Hilthrich."

Peticru's tail thumped against the table as the Empress lowered a hand to the head of the lanky blue hound and scratched behind his ears.

"That is most peculiar," said the woman. "Where can they have gone, I wonder?"

It was an invitation for Eivind to say more, but instead of doing so, the scout glanced over his shoulder, nodding at the man by the door who waited attended by a guard.

"This is Osbert," Eivind said as the man came forward, "a messenger from Ralist."

The messenger was of similar proportions to the scout, narrow and spry, old enough to be a father but not old enough for his own sons to have children. He was dressed simply, in the crimson of his lord's house.

"Your Majesty," he bowed. "Please allow me to begin by first apologizing on behalf of my lord for any misunderstanding arising from his recent actions. You see, when we received word of riders from the north—"

"A misunderstanding?" the Empress interrupted. "Is that all this has been?"

The messenger shifted uneasily.

"Indeed, Your Majesty," he said. "I believe that—"

"Well, how wonderful. And to think, I nearly burned his estate to the ground and sent his children over the wall in a trebuchet."

Alfric chuckled at the remark, one hand tugging at the end of his mustaches.

"Continue," said the Empress. "Let us see just how great of a fool your master takes me to be."

The messenger hesitated.

"Secondly," he said carefully, "I should like to beg on behalf of my lord for the return of his sons."

The lowered the tea cup from her lips, a dark glimmer entering her eye.

"Tell me, where does your lord ride now?" she asked.

The messenger's eyes darted between the scout and the Empress.

"East, Your Majesty," he said.

"East where?" the Empress arched a brow.

"If I may, Your Majesty," began the messenger.

"East where?"

It was too direct a demand to ignore.

"Toward the Vale, Your Majesty," said the messenger. "Toward Vejle."

The Empress carefully replaced the cup on the table beside her.

"You've done it," said Alfric in a low voice. "You've won."

The Empress's eyes flashed at him, a triumphant smile that did not reach her lips.

"Now this business about Lord Ralist's sons," she leaned back in her chair and faced the messenger. "I would be more than happy to give him Leopold."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," the messenger blustered, bowing. "It is most gracious of you." However, my lord has particularly hoped for the return of the elder, that is, his heir, Bertram."

The Empress's dark eyes gleamed.

"Why did you not say so, you silly man?" she said. "Of course I will send Bertram back."

A momentary relief passed over the messenger's face.

"Now, it was not my intent to return Bertram until he was of an age to become overlord of Pothes Mar, but I will give you a choice: Lord Ralist can have his son now, with his head in a basket for his pony to carry, or he can have him later, with his head on his shoulders where it belongs. Which do you think he would prefer?"

Mouse slid her hand into her pocket, her thumb rubbing against the handle of the dagger.

A light, earthy aroma hung in the air, the smell of olive wood and oil. The small south-facing room had been fitted with rough-hewn furnishings, a writing desk and sideboard on one side, and on the other, a large table upon which a map had been stretched. It was Ahnderland, Mouse saw as she hovered over it, its landscape characterized by low, jagged peaks, rolling hills, and olive groves, and in its center was marked the citadel of Puente Qalina.

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She could see now for the first time the pattern of watchtowers that spread out in concentric circles across the country, with more clustered around the eastern borders and around the disputed lands between Vejle and Braque. To the north, beyond the scope of the map, would be Umbrec, Rumein, and Caldiff, and to the south, the sea.

Mouse traced a finger along the dark line of the Gheny as it ran north to south, separating Ahnderland from the rest of Aros, charting an imaginary course between the two worlds, the one she knew and the one she did not. To the west were strongholds every Arosian knew, Cirsina, Ves Hail, Thisselau, Macrin, while to the east lay ones more mysterious, Romia, Passess, Calygra.

The corners of the map were held down by statuettes, foresters. Mouse picked one up to study it, but just as she did, the door opened, and the statuette dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor. She knelt down, quickly scooping it up, and rose just in time to meet the eye of a stranger.

The man had the warm, deep complexion of a southerner and dark hair and eyes, just like the Empress. Just like Mouse.

He stopped when he saw her, apparently equally struck by her appearance as she was by his. They were strangers, yes, in every way but one.

Mouse opened her lips to speak, but her mouth had gone dry. It was all she could manage to bow her head in polite greeting, a gesture which the man did not return, instead staring at her a moment longer before crossing to the sideboard where he turned over two cups.

Say something, Mouse willed herself, as she watched the man lift a jug in long, elegant fingers and fill the cups.

"I—" she started. "Thank you."

The man shot a glance up at her.

"For the letter," Mouse said. "The one you brought from Puente Qalina, from Torben, the Foilunder."

The man replaced the jug and carried over the cups, placing one into Mouse's hand and nodding over her shoulder.

"Sit," he said.

Had he not heard her, Mouse wondered, or had he simply chosen to ignore her?

She took a seat in one of the empty chairs that stood clustered around the hearth, watching as her host followed suit. He was older than she had seen him pictured but younger than she had imagined he might look. His hair was thick and lustrous, combed back with oil, his beard neatly trimmed, and his eyes, there was something bright and burning in them.

"Pray, sir," said Mouse, gathering up her courage once more, "how do you find the capital?"

The man drew his cup to his lips.

"Hot," he said, "and full of Toths."

Mouse bristled at the remark.

Marius of Anderland's reputation had changed little over the years. He had been known as an angry, vindictive, hot-headed young man who hated the Toths and everything they stood for. And why should he not? They had taken everything from him. His sister, Elke, had been wed to Emperor Lothar the moment she had become a woman, and in this alliance, Marius had lost his crown, his kingdom, a pain made worse still when his sister died shortly after childbirth.

Marius had sworn his revenge, a promise of yet unfulfilled. Understandably, everyone had balked at his coming to the capital, but as it was the Empress herself who had sent for him, there was little to be done for it.

"Lord Marius," Mouse tried again, "I hope you do not think me ungrateful for—"

"Why are you here?"

Mouse looked at the man who Ludger would have her believe was her uncle. He had warned her that the man might be difficult, that old grudges were difficult to bury, and he was right, it seemed. The passion of his youth may have diminished with age, but anger burned still in Marius's dark eyes, embers that even twenty years' time could not extinguish.

She swallowed. Because Ludger told me to come. Because I had no choice. Because you may be my only chance of salvation.

"Because I need your help."

Marius frowned.

"How so?"

Mouse shifted uneasily in her seat.

"I require evidence of my—my provenance."

The dark-eyed man smirked at her.

"Your provenance," he repeated. "Tell me," he set down his cup on the table beside him, "how is it that someone who looks like you could live for so many years alongside the Empress without any guessing at your," he waved a hand, "provenance?"

Mouse shook her head.

"I do not know," she said. "Perhaps because even distant relations may look similar. Or perhaps because the resemblance does not hold upon close inspection. I could not say."

Marius leaned an elbow on his armrest.

"No one has ever suggested it? Questioned it?"

"If someone slept with a snake in their bed, would you think it like to have any venom?"

Mouse saw a glimmer of amusement pass through Marius's dark eyes.

She had always assumed that the Empress's brashness had come from her father, but she now considered whether it had not come from the other side of the family.

"Ludger said that you might have a letter," she said, "from Lothar. One that would prove who I am. Who my—" the words stuck in her throat "—who my parents were."

Marius nodded his head slowly, studying Mouse with the same intensity that she had been studying him, as though looking for some sign of familiarity, some hint that they were, in fact, blood.

Marius was not much taller than her, certainly of a smaller stature than most Arosian men, but there was no hint of weakness in him. There was no timidity, no uncertainty, no subservience. Would that the folly of her youth been anger and not obedience, thought Mouse, and then perhaps she would not be in this position.

"Why should I help you?" Marius asked, a pensive look on his dark face.

Mouse flushed at the question, though she had known to expect it.

"Something was taken from my rooms," she said, rehearsing the answer she had prepared, "something dangerous. And I fear that it will be used to make accusations against me. In the absence of a witness, it will come down to my character. If someone should testify against me, the best defense I will have is my own reputation. If I can provide evidence of my bloodline—"

"Why," he repeated the question more slowly this time, "should I help you?"

Mouse furrowed her brow, puzzling out his meaning. She had told him why she needed his help, but she had not told him why he should help her.

"Are you innocent?" Marius prompted.

Mouse bit her lip. No. No, she was not innocent. The poison had not been her doing, but there were other crimes of which she was indefensibly guilty. What, then, could she say to convince him, that they were family? That they shared a common enemy?

"Help me," she said, settling on a plea, "help me, and I shall do anything, anything I can to oblige you."

Marius weighed her in the stifling silence before taking up his cup and tapping his finger against the side of it, pondering its contents.

"She was your age, you know," he said. "Elke."

Mouse watched him consider his drink a moment longer, before raising the cup to his lips and draining it. He was right. Elke had been Mouse's age when she died.

Marius replaced the cup on the table beside him.

"I'll help you," he said, "but I won't do it for nothing."

Mouse felt surprise, relief, and gratitude sweep over her all at once.

"Of course," she said. "Anything. Just tell me what it is you want."

Marius looked up at her, fire burning in his dark eyes.

"I want my country back," he said. "I want Ahnderland."

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