Mouse sat on the ledge of the window, looking down at the archery pitch below. Men were standing shoulder to shoulder with bows in hand, the heads of their arrows gleaming in the late morning sun. Ahead of them on the butt was a row of Arosian suns, pricked by the darts that sailed toward them.

  It felt as though it had been ages since Mouse had last sat here, but the reality was that it had only been a matter of weeks. In fact, the last time she had spoken to Ludger was when she had come to tell her that she was no longer interested in the story he had told her, the story of the girl who had lived her life as one thing only to find out some nineteen years later that she was something else entirely. Her breath collected on the window, forming and dissipating with every rise of her shoulders, until she turned to face the old man. She watched him as he took a bottle of tincture from the page who attended him. The boy’s hair had grown past his ears and was in desperate want of trimming.

  “Are you not going to ask me what I think of the new law?” Mouse asked, watching as the old man rubbed the tincture into his bony knuckles.

  “Well, it seems you wish to tell me. So far be it from me to stop you,” the old man said.

  It had been decided in Council that morning that a new series of trade regulations should be imposed upon the free merchants of Aros, specifically, those who sold their wares abroad. The idea behind the thing was not only to collect more coin in the form of taxes, tolls, and permits, but to force a temporary halt in overseas trade, the result of which would be a decrease in demand that would serve to drive down labor wages. Furthermore, this temporary stoppage would give merchants the opportunity to consider whether they would not fare better selling their goods domestically, perhaps even wholesale to local lords. These lords, who were conveniently exempt from the new regulations, would then turn around and assume the work of trade themselves. The largest merchant companies would be like to suffer little; they could afford the increased costs of maintaining operations abroad, and equally importantly, would be more than happy to bribe their way into expedited permits. The smallest companies, however, would be forced to sell, likely outright, and either become employees or give up the business altogether. Those in the middle would be left to either strike agreements with their lords, promising them a percentage of profits, or hope to be acquired by a larger company.

  These regulations addressed mounting concerns that merchants were becoming too wealthy in their trade and laborers too powerful in their ability to negotiate wages, redistributing some of this wealth and power to the noble class, while putting money in the purse of the crown which it desperately needed if were not to enter into deficit.

  “I think it is utter foolishness,” said Mouse. “It will accomplish nothing besides putting a few more coins in the royal purse, and in the process, will both cut the legs out from under industry and cripple foreign trade.”

  The old man glanced up at her, returning the tincture to the page and dismissing the boy with a nod.

  “Hmm,” he grunted. “So, am I to take it that you do not agree with Lord Eadic’s creed?”

  “That a thriving merchant class is the death of its monarchy?” Mouse scoffed. “Hardly. Trade is the basis for many of our foreign relations, and free merchants are an invaluable part of it. Not to mention the fact that they have a far better understanding of such matters than any of these illiterate, money-hungry lords.”

  The old man’s mouth twitched in amusement as he opened a bound ledger sitting upon his desk and took up his pen.

  “What could motivate you to say such a thing, I wonder,” he said, licking his thumb and turning through the pages.

  “I’ve sat at the negotiation table,” said Mouse, “and I’ve watched arrogant men lose everything. I’ve watched them be tricked and deceived into faulty arrangements, to give up much and ask for more, all in the name of diplomacy. But diplomacy—real diplomacy—requires an understanding of people, not just politics.”

  The old man said nothing, only perused the ledger before him before making a note on one of the pages.

  “We need our merchants,” Mouse continued, “just as we need our laborers. And we do ourselves no favors in persecuting either.”

  “Careful, child,” said the old man, his grey eyes glimmering even as he stared down at his ledger, “you are beginning to sound rather democratic.”

  Mouse smiled before dropping her gaze into her lap. It was true, she was feeling rather incendiary. But not just because of the new trade regulations, which she truly believed would prove an enormous feeling, but because of those documents she had read the night before, the ones that now lay black and brittle in the bottom of her fireplace.

  She had worried in coming here that Ludger's manner toward her might have altered with her refusal of his version of the truth. She knew that she had disappointed him, and had no wish to be reminded of it. But her fears, at least on that front, seemed largely unfounded, for the old man was just as aloof and withholding as ever. She sat quietly another moment before speaking again.

  “What is it that makes an empire?” she asked at last, her eyes still in her lap rather than on the old man. “Is it conquest? Subjugation?”

  There was a slight hesitation before the old man answered.

  “That is a good question, child” he said. “But I suppose that the defining characteristic, that is what truly makes an empire is that it is ruled over by someone who calls themself Emperor. Or Empress, as it were.”

  Mouse felt a smile twitch upon her lips.

  “You know what I mean,” she said.

  “No,” said Ludger, blotting his pen with one hand and holding up his sleeve with the other, “I am not certain that I do.”

  Mouse sighed and turned her gaze to the window, staring out across the fields.

  “I mean,” she hesitated, “is it not something that can be brought about peaceably?”

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  She heard the old man’s chair groan as he shifted his weight.

  “The formation of a state is many things,” he said, “but it is rarely peaceable. Any time more than one is gathered, there will necessarily be dissent, and dissent often leads to war.”

  Mouse considered these words as her eyes grazed the horizon. The old man was right, she supposed. So long as men lived among one another, they would seek to oppress one another. Or at least that was what her experience had been. An emperor had his kings, a king had his lords, and a lord had his knights. Until war came, and then none of them had anything.

  Mouse sighed. She had hoped that in coming here she would find herself with the courage to talk to Ludger about what she had read, what she had done. But she realized now that she could not. She had committed treason, and that was her burden alone to bear. She swallowed down the dread that was the realization of what she had done and allowed her mind to travel elsewhere.

  Throughout the course of the night, her concerns had somewhat shifted, and what worried her most was no longer her betrothal to Johannes and his subsequent oppression of the Chatti, but the coming war in Vejle. Just that morning, a letter had been sent to the Dietric of Foilund. It was he who the Empress would ask to go to Ralist and commission his men to fight. And while it worried Mouse that the idea was being acted upon at all, what worried her more was who had proposed it.

  Alfric had said that a general necessarily wanted war, and Mouse was inclined to agree with him. But if that were the case, then what should an exiled prince want but a crown? Would it not be all too easy to march into Vejle with the General’s men only to then seek to control the outcome of the war? she wondered. And would it then not be all too tempting to try and install their own ruler? Mouse chewed her lip as she thought. The real danger, she thought, was not that someone like Alfric would be given rule of Vejle, but that Vejle would turn against the Empire and bring the war to Aros.

  Mouse sat there, lost in thought, until she realized that she had been quiet a long while and turned back to find the old man’s gaze upon her. It was though he was trying to read her mind, to pry out those secrets she found practically too terrible to speak aloud. But she must, Mouse thought. She must say the difficult thing and bring the dark dwellings of her mind out into the light of day.

  Her fingers busied themselves with the loose thread of a cushion as she contemplated how to broach the subject. She wished the old man would say something, would ask her what was wrong, but she knew that he would not. She knew that she must be the one to speak.

  “Ludger,” she said at last, “I’m afraid.” She looked up to find the old man’s gaze. “I’m afraid that the Empire may be in danger, and I’m afraid that its greatest threat may be the person sitting on the throne.”

  Mouse walked along the alure with Val Hector by her side, the heads of the men turning as they passed. It was not uncommon to bribe one’s way onto the wall, but it was less common for two women to do so, and less common still that they should be let up by the Captain himself. The Val stopped now to look out toward the east, her gaze surveying the horizon in wonderment.

  “You would think that it would appear larger from below,” she said, “but in reality, you cannot truly comprehend the scope of it until you are up here.” She shook her head. “I am convinced as ever that the whole of the Chatti could live comfortably within these walls.”

  “Perhaps you should send for them, invite them all to join us,” Mouse smiled.

  Val Hector laughed, a light and pleasant sound.

  “Indeed,” she said, “if we are to live surrounded by Arosians, we might as well do so in comfort.”

  Mouse shared in her smile, and the two resumed walking, rounding the western part of the wall where the tents had been erected showing the colors of a hundred or more houses.

  “Have you brought any men who might compete in the tournament?” Mouse asked, squinting into the sun as she turned to look at the Val.

  “Heavens, no,” answered the girl. “I’ve brought only scholars and councilmen, fool that I am. Besides, I thought the tournament was only for knights and nobles.”

  “Ordinarily, yes,” said Mouse, shielding her eyes with her hand, “but this year, Toths of lower birth are being allowed to participate. Well, a few, at least.” Val Hector raised her eyebrows in interest. “I’m certain there must be some Chatti who can trace their lineage to the Toths.”

  Val Hector laughed again.

  “Do you think so?” she asked. “I suppose it’s possible that there may be some Toth blood somewhere in our veins, but even so, we do not keep records of these things in the same way that you do.”

  “How so?” asked Mouse, lowering her hand as she looked forward.

  “When two Chatti families join together, they leave one name behind,” said the Val. “And we have no centralized records of marriages. Those are kept among the clans, primarily to serve against disputes.”

  “I see,” said Mouse. One or two of the guardsmen had turned full ‘round to watch the women as they passed, and Mouse found herself quickening her pace.

  “Speaking of marriages,” said the Val, “are you not to be wed soon?”

  Mouse froze, her cheeks turning a violent shade of red.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, a sudden tightness seizing her throat. The Val’s face fell as she marked Mouse’s expression.

  “Only that I have heard rumor of Sir Conrad begging your hand,” she said, her eyes fixed on Mouse. It was clear that she regretted speaking. “Lady Maudeleine, I am so sorry,” she said. “I have presumed too much. Pray, forgive me. I did not mean to—”

  “Nonsense,” said Mouse, shaking her head in relief as she returned to her usual color. “I am only surprised that you should mention it. You see, I have only recently learned of the thing myself.”

  Though Mouse’s terror had passed, it was Val Hector’s turn to look mortified.

  “I really did not mean to pry,” the girl said, looking rather contrite. Mouse smiled at her.

  “Do not think further on it,” she said. “But to answer your question, I do not know if it will come to anything.” The Val tilted her head in interest but said nothing. “Not that I would be disappointed if it did,” Mouse continued, seeking now to fill the awkward silence. “Sir Conrad is a good man.” She looked way over the crenellations. “Though I do not know what he would expect to gain from our union.”

  The two women stood there for some minutes, taking in the side of men building up the yards and lining the paths with planks where they had become sodden.

  “I’ve met with the Prince of Umbrec,” the Val said suddenly. Mouse’s head snapped around to look at her. “Nothing is certain yet,” said the Val, “but I feel that there is reason to hope for their support.”

  Mouse blinked in surprise, unsure of how to respond to the news.

  “I know I have kept you in the dark,” Val Hector said. “And I’m grateful for your patience while I,” she sighed, “work through things.”

  “Not at all,” said Mouse. “But I am happy that you should feel comfortable enough to tell me.”

  “Well, that is not all,” said the Val, stepping closer to Mouse. “You see, the reason I have been courting Umbrec to begin with is because of a discovery that has been recently made.”

  “A discovery?” asked Mouse. “In the Chatti lands?”

  The Val nodded, lacing her hands behind her back.

  “I have told you before that I was speaking to the Prince’s secretary in regard to certain geographic commonalities our two regions have, and that much is true.”

  Mouse searched her mind, trying to think of what could be so important about the geographic commonalities between the Chatti lands and Umbrec.

  “Are you familiar with Umbrec’s chief export?” Val Hector asked, her eyes locked on Mouse as she spoke.

  “Silver,” answered Mouse. “But—”

  Her eyes widened as she looked at the Val, a smile breaking across the girl’s face as she nodded her head.

  “In the western hills,” she said, her voice low so that no one might overhear. “They might be full of it for all we know.”

  “Goodness,” Mouse breathed, scarce daring to believe what she had just heard. “No wonder you’re so eager to be rid of the Arosian soldiers.”

  Val Hector laughed.

  “Now you understand what is at stake,” she said.

  Mouse looked out past the walls, the smile fading from her face as the sudden remembrance of the edict against the Chatti hit her like a blow to the stomach.

  “Yes,” she said. And now I know just how much you will lose.