Mouse looked at the jagged grey stone that lay in the middle of her bed. It was taunting her, she could not help but feel. Go ahead, move me, it said. I dare you.

  But Mouse did not dare move the thing; she dared not even touch it. For despite the fact that she did not think herself a particularly superstitious person, she knew as well as anyone the consequence of removing a worry stone from one’s own bed before its purpose had been served. The first symptom would be nightmares, the wicked, violent kind that followed you all the way into the day, and that was if one could even sleep at all. Of course, climbing into bed next to the thing was likewise out of the question, for that guaranteed a similar fate. The only way to be rid of a worry stone was to have the person who had put it there in the first place remove it, and this they would only be obliged to do once their grudge had been settled.

  Mouse chewed her lip, studying the stone as it stared back at her. It was an ugly thing, the size of a man’s fist, rough and misshapen, not one of the stones tumbled smooth in the river, plucked out and placed conveniently in the garden. No, this was more rock than stone, menacing, somehow, in its crudeness. And whoever had placed it in Mouse’s bed had gone out of their way to find it.

  Mouse could think of no more than three people who might have a quarrel with her, two of whom she had made testimony against and one of whom blamed her for a broken heart, and while she did not think Lord Alfric or Johannes like to bother themselves over such a thing, it was equally difficult to imagine Agatha fetching the jagged stone and bringing it all the way up the steps of the keep to Mouse’s rooms, in her thin, delicate hands.

  But Mouse had no time to ponder over such things at present. She quickly changed her dress and combed her hair, taking a moment to ensure that both book and vial remained undisturbed before slipping out of her rooms and scurrying off to supper.

  “Inheritance in Aros is largely primogeniture,” said Mouse. “It favors the first-born in most cases, with agnatic-cognatic inheritance the most common type. The crown, however, passes full cognatic, meaning that even if the Empress had brothers, she would still inherit, so long as she was the oldest.”

  The Val nodded her understanding.

  “I see,” she said. “Now, is that only because it is an empire? How does it work somewhere like Vejle?”

  Mouse scoffed good-naturedly.

  “Do not look to Vejle as an example,” she said. “What a mess they are in. Seventeen bastards and no legitimate heir,” she shook her head. “And still King Persephus will not name a successor.”

  The Val furrowed her brow.

  “Why is that, do you suppose?”

  “Arrogance,” said Mouse with a sigh, “selfishness.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Who can say what would possess a man to leave his kingdom without an heir.” She took up her cup of wine from the table and brought it to her lips.

  “The Empress does not have an heir,” said Val Hector.

  Mouse pressed a cloth to her lips to keep from spitting out her drink.

  “That,” she said, ignoring the stare of Lord Plinard, who looked over his shoulder at her, “is a matter that we may discuss another time.”

  The servants now carried in the trays brought from the kitchens, bringing with them the smell of braised meat and gravy. Val Hector looked at the platter set in front of her stacked high with venison.

  “You eat game all year ‘round?” she asked, taking a slab with her knife and bringing it to her trencher.

  Mouse looked at the girl in surprise.

  “Do you not?” she asked.

  The Val shook her head, the knot atop her head bobbing with the movement.

  “It is considered wasteful among my people,” she said, sawing off a portion of the meat and sinking her teeth into it. “Or in other words, we cannot afford to.” She chased her bite with a swallow of wine. “No, most of our meat is put into store for the cold months, save for certain occasions.”

  “Such as?” prompted Mouse, taking a slab of venison for herself.

  “Weddings, funerals,” replied the Val, “hungry Arosian soldiers.”

  Mouse did not know whether or not she was meant to laugh at this. And though she had several more questions on the topic of food—what the Chatti ate if not meat, how they rationed their stores, what methods of preservation they used—she did not think them particularly polite to ask, especially given the implication that the Arosian soldiers were wont to take what even the Chatti denied themselves. Her eyes flicked around the table now, in search of some other diverting topic.

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  It was a somewhat private supper they sat at now, with no more than thirty in all, tucked away in one of the smaller dining halls. It had been meant to introduce some of the people’s champions before more important guests had arrived, but seeing as they had all but one been delayed, it consisted now of those lords and ladies of the eastern marshes who had come earlier in the week.

  “Tell me, Val Hector,” said Mouse, “have you made any friends lately? There’s certainly no shortage of new and interesting faces about at present.”

  The Val tipped her head, her sea glass eyes shining playfully in the candlelight.

  “I was not aware that I was allowed to make friends,” she said, cutting another bite from the meat on her trencher.

  Mouse looked at the girl curiously.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, her curiosity piqued by the statement.

  The Val lifted her eyes, allowing them to fall on the Empress momentarily before returning to Mouse.

  “I was advised, rather strongly, I might add, against forming any sort of relations or attachments not put forward by the crown itself,” she said.

  Mouse’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

  “In other words,” continued the Val, “I am to keep to myself.”

  Mouse gaped at the girl. It seemed a bold thing to invite someone to install an embassy in the royal court only to then inform them they were not to talk to anyone while they were there.

  “What can be the purpose of it?” Mouse asked, as much to herself as to the Val.

  “The purpose,” said Val Hector, “is to prevent the formation of any alliances that might compromise Chatti dependency upon the Empire.”

  Mouse shook her head in wonderment.

  “But why—” She stopped short, suddenly gaining the acute sensation that someone was watching her, listening to her conversation. She dropped her eyes to the table and fell quiet.

  “Do not misunderstand me,” said the Val after a few moments’ silence. “It is not as though we are ungrateful for the Empire’s help, but,” she paused, “after a time, it becomes quite costly to house what is essentially a foreign military. We bear the responsibility for feeding the men, for housing and clothing them, and in part, for paying their wages. In the meantime, we are unable to pursue any new trade agreements with powers outside of the Empire, so though we are already indebted to the crown in service, we soon are like to be in coin as well.”

  “I had no idea,” murmured Mouse, looking up at the Val. She cast a furtive glance to her right, but Lord Plinard was safely engaged in a conversation of his own.

  “You thought the crown was generous, benevolent, perhaps to the point of excess,” Val Hector said. “That is what you’re meant to think. That is what everyone is meant to think.” She took up her cup. “The mighty Empire of Aros coming to the rescue of the poor, defenseless Chatti,” she said. “It’s a fine story, except that it isn’t true—at least not entirely.”

  “So you do not want the men there?” Mouse asked, still wary of being surveyed. “The knights, the soldiers?”

  “We do not need them,” said the Val, “not anymore.”

  Mouse nodded slowly. She had been fooled, it seemed, just like everyone else. Here she had thought that the Chatti relied on the Empire, that they were desperate for whatever help they might receive, and she believed that the Empire had complied with their requests for aid out of duty, if not kindness. She wondered now how the truth of such a thing had escaped her. Surely it was the sort of matter that would be discussed in Council. But then, how many Council sessions had Mouse spent falling asleep, waiting for the bite of Ludger’s staff to awaken her instead of paying attention. Perhaps she had been more blind than she cared to admit, or more apathetic, at that.

  “We will always remain feal to the Empire,” said the Val, “but the Chatti people must be allowed to stand on our own, to test ourselves.” She replaced her cup upon the table. “We are ready,” she said. “The question is whether the Empire is.”

  When Mouse returned to her chambers, she was greeted once again by the unwelcome sight of the worry stone, that harbinger of contempt that still lay in her feathers, ugly, grey, and mocking. Mouse let out a sigh, for so long as the stone remained, she would have to make her bed elsewhere. She therefore set about gathering what loose articles she could from around the room and made a nest for herself by the hearth. Her gambeson would serve as a pillow, thick and padded as it was, and a woolen cloak as her blanket. She did not bother to take off her chemise before climbing into her little makeshift bed, wrapping her head in a scarf to protect against the draft, and before she knew it, the coziness of the fire, along with the exhaustive trials of the day, soon joined together in lulling her into a deep slumber.

  As Mouse slept, the fire crackling quietly beside her, she dreamt that she was ascending a mountain. There was something near the top that she needed to see, something she needed to find. She could not reason what it was, but she was desperate to succeed. Up and up and up she climbed, the sweat gathering on her brow. She grabbed at tree branches and roots that sprung from the earth, anything that might help her way forward. Just a little higher, she told herself. But after a time, the ground began to grow loose, and the next thing she knew, the very earth beneath her feet was moving, rocks tumbling all around, tripping her as they cascaded down the face of the mountain. Mouse tried to keep her footing, to stop herself from being carried down the mountain, but there was little she could do; she was falling. Down and down and down she tumbled. She reached her arms out desperately groping for something to break her fall, and by luck, managed to catch a tree, a small, scraggly thing which she grabbed by the trunk and clung to for dear life. But that was not enough, for as she clung to the thing, dust and perspiration stinging her eyes, the rocks began to collect around her, burying her, crushing her under their weight.

  She was stifled, crushed. She could not get free, and she could not cry out. Her only choice was either to continue to cling to the tree and be crushed by the rocks, or to let go and allow herself to fall all the way to the bottom of the mountain, hoping that the rocks would not follow her there and finish the work they had started of suffocating her. Either way, she was like to die.

  Mouse awoke, breathless and drenched in sweat. The fire had all but gone out, reduced by neglect to a pile of smolder, and Mouse shivered in the remaining chill, pulling her cloak tightly around herself. She looked up at the ceiling, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dim grey of a dawn not yet broken. Strange, she thought, how the weight of a thousand stones could be equal to the one that could not be moved.