Mouse stood frozen, staring at the door through which the guardsman had just disappeared, a cold dread beginning to soak into her bones.

They were coming to arrest her.

Her mind raced with thoughts. The necklace. The letter. The vial. Everything she had done, everything she had feared. The edict. The dagger. The tome. It was all coming back to haunt her. She felt as though she was going to be sick, and she pressed a hand to her mouth, convince for a moment that she would be.

But as the door clicked closed, she was she was suddenly brought back to herself, to the present moment, and wasting no more time, sprung into action.

She emptied first the contents of her desk and then her table, gathering up all those things which she deemed necessary and important, not forgetting to pack that which she might sell should it become necessary, and in the end, her collection yielded parchment, pen, and inkpot, a small purse of coins, the tafl piece and letter from the Foilunder, a handful of silver hairpins, a brass-handled brush, and the will which had been left on her desk. All of this was tied up into a linen along with a pair of clean shifts.

She went to her wardrobe, tearing off her gown and putting on a warm woolen traveling dress which she paired with thick hose and leather boots. Over it, she donned her gambeson before fastening a hooded cloak around her shoulders.

Before she left, she tucked the small dagger she always traveled with into a pocket, pausing at the door just long enough to say a silent goodbye to the place she had called home for nineteen years.

When she stepped out into the hall, Bo was waiting for her.

"Ready?"

Mouse nodded. Together, they hurried down the hall. They took the turret, avoiding the main step, hastening down the narrow, cramped staircase until they came out on the southeast corner of the keep. Across the bailey they went, where a dark grey gelding stood tied and waiting. It was Passavant. Mouse looked up at the guardsman, but he said nothing, helping her into the saddle before climbing up behind her. He put his heels into the horse, and off they went.

"Hood up, head down," Bo said. It was the first he had spoken since they'd left Mouse's rooms. She obeyed, pulling the hood of her cloak up so that it covered her face. They trotted toward the south gate. There was a wicket, but it was not large enough for them to pass through on horseback, and they turned at the last minute, ignoring the carl who called out to them and taking a small guard entrance that led into the town.

The streets were all but empty, and Bo spurred the horse into a gallop until they'd reached the far side. Once back outside the wall, he drew on the reins and climbed down, but he did not take Mouse's hand when she reached for him, instead beginning to fiddle with his sword belt.

"You're going to ride east along the byway," he said, his fingers busy, "all the way to Aethelsbrook." He shot a glance up at Mouse to make sure that she was listening. "You're going to stop at the first inn you see, and you're going to give them my name, not yours."

"Guldbransen," Mouse said. Bo nodded.

"You're going to stay clear of the Holloway and keep to the main road." He unclasped his belt and motioned for Mouse to lean down. "And no matter what you do, no matter what happens, you're not going to get off your horse until you're in the yard of the inn." He slung the sword belt over her shoulder. "Do you understand?"

Mouse nodded.

"Do you have money?"

"Yes," Mouse answered.

"Good. If someone tries to stop you, you give them some." He finished fastening the belt over her shoulder. "And if that doesn't work," he nodded to the sword that now hung over Mouse's back, "you use that."

Mouse blinked and looked at the guardsman, the realization sinking in. He wasn't coming with her.

"You understand me?" Bo asked. Mouse swallowed, dropping her eyes, and gave a short nod of her head. She didn't want to go alone. But she knew she didn't have a choice. "Oi," Bo said, drawing her gaze back to him. "I'll come for you, Mouse. I promise."

Mouse's throat was tight, her hands trembling as the guardsman pushed the reins into them. She founded his steady grey gaze, holding onto it for as long as she could before he struck her horse and sent her on her way.

Warm wind whipped against Mouse's face as they tore down the packed dirt road. The sound of the horse's hooves thundering against the ground was almost enough to drown out the voices inside of Mouse's head, the ones shouting at her about how everything she had done had been for naught, and now she was going to pay the price for her foolishness.

Her legs were pressed into the horse's side, already beginning to ache, and her shoulders were hunched as she clung to the pommel, fearful as ever of falling.

How had it come to this, with her galloping down the road, running for her life while the capital was under siege? They came upon a bend, and Mouse squeezed her legs even tighter to the saddle. But as the road began to straighten, she caught sight of something. There was a light in the distance, some two hundred yards off.

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Mouse felt her lips part in a smile. It was Aethelsbrook, the pinprick of light the lit window of a gatehouse. She felt the grip of fear begin to loosen its hold on her. She had made it.

Before she could reach the gatehouse, however, Passavant suddenly shied, raising his two front legs up off the ground as he danced away from whatever had startled him. For a moment, Mouse thought that she would fall, but she managed to keep her seat.

"There now," she said, her heart hammering as she tried to calm the frightened horse. "There now, you're alright." Passavant shook his head and blew through his nose, trying to turn back in the direction from which they had come. "You're alright," Mouse said, stroking his neck as she tried to keep him from bolting. Slowly, he began to calm.

"I've frightened your horse."

Mouse looked up with a start. She hadn't noticed the man who had appeared from the shadows and now stood in the middle of the road. He began to walk slowly toward them.

"No matter," Mouse said. "He seems to have recovered, and we're only going as far as Aethelsbrook."

The man walked straight up to them, giving Passavant leave to turn his head away before placing a hand gently on his muzzle.

"Aethelsbrook, hm? And what are you doing there?"

Mouse felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as she watched the man stroking her horse. There was something not right about him.

"Visiting family," she said. "My father is a reeve."

A smile flickered on the stranger's lips.

"You're father's a reeve?" His tone was teasing, as though he did not believe her.

"Yes," said Mouse, setting her mouth in a straight line. "And now I'm afraid I must go. They're going to close the gates soon."

A smile once again flickered on the stranger's lips. He looked up at the clouds. The last of the daylight was bleeding from the sky, the sun beginning to sink below the horizon.

"Yes, it's getting dark. No time for a young lady to be traveling alone."

Mouse felt her muscles tense, every part of her body on alert.

"I wish you a good evening," she said. She gave Passavant a kick, but all the horse could do was take a step to the side. The man had taken hold of his bridle. "Could you not let go of my horse?" Mouse said.

The man's eyes flashed up at her, a crooked, ugly smile forming on his lips. Mouse felt her stomach begin to turn.

"Let me pass," she said, "please." The man ignored her, holding Passavant's bridle fast. "Let me pass," Mouse said again, this time, putting her mettle into the words.

Still the man did not heed her. Mouse reached up and over her shoulder, wrapping her fingers around grip of the sword and pulling it loose of its sheath.

"Let go of my horse, and let me pass." She held the sword out in front of her, the blade no more than a hand's length from the man's neck. He looked first at it and then at her, frowning somewhat. For a moment, Mouse wondered whether he might not try and take it from her, and she put her other hand on the sword, wrapping both tightly around the handle until her knuckles turned white.

The man released Passavant's bridle, giving the horse one last stroke on the nose, before raising both hands in surrender and slowly backing away. Mouse watched him retreat. Her arms were trembling, but she did not dare lower the sword until the man was at least thirty yards away. Only then did she allow her arm to fall to her side and a sigh of relief escaped her lips.

But relief had scarce taken her when she heard something behind her, and before she could turn, she felt something tighten around her waist as she was dragged from her horse.

"No!" She did not wait to see who had taken hold of her before she began kicking furiously at anything within striking distance. She did not need to see. She knew what was happening. "Let me go!" She flailed with all her might, struggling against the man who pulled her from the saddle and now held her. But it was to no avail. Her neck was pushed forward and a cry of pain burst from her lips, pain searing through her shoulder, as her arms were wrenched behind her. A coarse rope was tied around her wrists, pressing into her skin, before she was thrust back onto her horse. Tears of anger and frustration, both at the men and at her own foolishness, began to well in her eyes, blurring her vision as the pinprick of light, her last hope, faded from view.

A jagged fir branch scraped along Mouse's neck as they passed from the gully into a shallow wood. They were somewhere north of Aethelsbrook now, and Mouse had busied herself in the hour they had spent walking studying her captors and trying to remember every landmark they passed. A discarded wagon wheel and a bush shaped like a hedgehog with little thorny branches sticking out of the top were among these, clues that she would follow back to the road as soon as she had her chance to escape.

There were a half dozen men in all, including the one who had distracted her by startling her horse. And if she could get to her dagger, she could kill at least one or two of them. It was one of the first things every young lady learned, right after how to do a chain stitch.

The problem was that Mouse's dagger was in her pocket, and her hands were tied behind her back. Moreover, the rope that was used to bind her wrists had been tied to the cantle, such that even if she were to throw herself from the horse, she would have no chance of escape.

The sun had now disappeared completely below the horizon, dusk fading into night, such that they had to move slowly to pick their way through the trees. But after a time, faint pricks of light began to appear, flickering between the trees.

It was a camp. Mouse squinted into the darkness, trying to make out the number of tents, her brow furrowing as she counted.

A watchman came up and exchanged words with one of Mouse's captors, disappearing briefly as she wondered over the size of the camp. It was too large to be a band of brigands. They traveled in groups of one or two dozen at Mouse, and there were at least three times as many tents.

The watchman returned, accompanied by another man, one who appeared different from the rest of the men, better dressed, better groomed, and with a certain air of authority that told Mouse he was someone important, at least in his little part of the woods.

He looked up at Mouse with bright, curious eyes, and she turned away to avoid meeting his gaze.

"What's your name?" he asked. His voice was low and gravely, and there was the trace of an accent in it, something distinctly un-Arosian but not entirely foreign.

Mouse clenched her jaw, biting down so hard that the pain traveling up into her temples. She would not answer him.

The man took a step closer, studying her, and despite herself, Mouse found herself looking back at him. There was a familiarity to him, she realized as she looked him over, noting his posture, the line of his jaw, the hints of red that shone in his hair, something she recognized. Had she not seen him somewhere before?

"Your name," the man repeated. But Mouse only clenched her jaw all the harder.

"Very well," the man sighed. "I'll go first." He bent at the waist. "My name is Darlen Mathis. But you may call me the Heir of Vejle."

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