“Lord Batton,” said Mouse, “I cannot say how delighted I am to see you again.”

  The Lord of Esterwich smiled. He had found Mouse coming from the constable’s offices after having registered Sir Gerold’s complaints about the cisterns on the western side of the castle, specifically, that they were producing nothing but wine. And while such a thing would generally not be regarded as an offense, it would not very well do to have the horses ride into pageant drunk.

  “The sentiment is quite mutual, Lady Maudeleine, is it?” Lord Batton said.

  Mouse blushed. She had first met the Lord of Esterwich at Pothes Mar, and though meeting him again now as herself rather than the Empress was not quite so painful as her reunion with Sir Conrad had been, she still found something profoundly awkward in it.

  “I pray you will forgive my former pretense, my lord,” she said as the two passed from an archway out into the sun of the courtyard. “I do hope it will bear no damage on our future relationship."

  “Nonsense,” said Lord Batton, a smile wrinkling his face. “I understand perfectly well. The only cause I should have to begrudge is that I should have liked to be the first to suggest to you a career in politics.” He gave Mouse a thorough look over. “But I can see that I am too late for that.”

  It was crowded in the courtyard as they continued their walk along the garden path. A bard had taken up his lute and planted himself near the rosebushes where he was entertaining a group of ladies with silk scarves tied about their wrists. Lord of Esterwich, eyeing the musician, directed their path in his general direction.

  “Has Henrich come with you?” Mouse asked as they walked along the graveled path hedged by flowering shrubs.

  “Henrich,” said Lord Batton, stepping out of the way of another group of young ladies passing by, “is on his way east, to Praeden Peak. There, he is to call upon the daughter of Lord Olif.”

  Mouse lifted her eyebrows in interest.

  “Is there to be a match?” she asked.

  “We can only hope,” said Lord Batton. He clasped his hands behind his back, his stooping shoulders following. “I should have liked to go with him, but I think this is something he must do on his own, a show of his independence.”

  “I think that very wise,” said Mouse. “A woman likes to know that a man can act without his father’s hand guiding him.”

  “Precisely,” said Lord Batton. “Even if it was I who ordered the carriage and arranged the meeting.”

  Mouse smiled. She liked Lord Batton. He was a good conversationalist, easy and wont to make himself agreeable.

  “Lord Batton,” she said, as they drew nearer the lutist and the crowd that had gathered around him. “I do hope it is not an impertinence, but I must confess that I am somewhat surprised to see you here. I am sure you are aware of the current contretemps between Lord Ralist and the Empress.”

  The Lord of Esterwich smiled.

  “That is precisely why I am here,” he said. He paused, listening to one of the bard’s verses before directing his steps toward a more deserted corner of the courtyard, one which lay in shadow and which was being shunned for want of sun. “You see, Ralist and I may be old friends, but my loyalties are with the crown.”

  “Well, I am certainly relieved to hear that,” said Mouse. She had never doubted Lord Batton, but still, it would good to have the thing confirmed.

  The Lord of Esterwich glanced around, spotting a bench and gesturing for Mouse to sit before joining her.

  “Now, Ralist makes himself a menace, I am not blind to that,” he said. “But nor do I pretend to have no understanding of his reasons. In fact, there are many in the north who might agree with his sentiments.”

  “And what sentiments are those?” asked Mouse, trying not to let her countenance sour as she recalled some of the more untoward remarks the General had made about the Empress.

  “They believe that sovereignty,” Lord Batton said, “even that of the crown, should not be without its limits. They believe in delegation of power.”

  Mouse shook her head.

  “The rule of the crown is absolute,” said Mouse. “That is the way of Aros, the way it always shall be.”

  “Of course,” said Lord Batton, folding his hands into his lap. “And that is why I bring a warning.”

  Mouse felt her face fall.

  “A warning?” she echoed.

  The Lord of Esterwich inclined his head.

  “Perhaps you have heard of the recent raids on Ralist’s estate,” he said, lowering his voice so that even Mouse strained to hear. “Now, there is a reason that they were so easily carried out, a reason there were met with so little resistance.”

  “Oh?” said Mouse, her heartbeat quickening as she waited to hear more.

  “Ralist,” said Lord Batton, “seeks to form a blockade on the river.”

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  Mouse’s eyes widened.

  “He is going to blockade the river?” she repeated.

  Lord Batton once again inclined his head.

  “That is what I am given to understand,” he said, “though unfortunately, I am not privy to more information than that which I have already given.”

  Mouse swallowed. There was only one reason a person would seek to blockade a river.

  “Do you think he means to starve the capital?” she suggested. But Lord Batton only shook his head.

  “I cannot say,” he said. But he did not need to.

  The Yar, which ran directly through Pothes Mar, further south became the Ho Varde. It was a significant source of trade in the area, and with the General already attacking the roads and seizing grain shipments, it was more vital than ever as a means of transport.

  “I have made you speechless,” said Lord Batton. “It cannot often be said that I have that effect on women.”

  Mouse smiled and raised her eyebrows, shaking her head.

  “I do not know what to say, Lord Batton,” she said, “except to thank you for this valuable information.”

  The Lord of Esterwich appeared rather pleased to hear this.

  “I can trust you to take this message to Her Majesty then?” he asked.

  “Certainly,” said Mouse. “That is, if you do not prefer to tell her yourself.” Truth be told, she did not like to be the bearer of such news.

  But Lord Batton shook his head.

  “If it is all the same,” he said, “I think I should rather like to remain anonymous. You never know when this sort of dog will come back to bite you.”

  Mouse nodded.

  “I quite understand,” she said. “And in that case, I will go to the Empress at once.”

  The two rose from the bench, going back the way they had come and passing now from shadow out into the sun.

  “I really cannot tell you the extent of my gratitude,” said Mouse, “the Empress’s gratitude.”

  Lord Batton smiled and swept his gaze over the gardens.

  “If history bothers to remember old Batton,” he said, “let it never be said that he did not do his duty to his country.”

  The bard was singing some horrible maudlin ballad as they walked by, and Mouse was glad when they had passed out of hearing.

  “They may well write a song about you after this,” she said to her companion. “The Hero of Aros,” she smiled.

  Lord Batton laughed.

  “And what of Lady Maudeleine Toth?” he asked. “What will she call me, I wonder?”

  “She, I think,” said Mouse, “will be happy to call you ‘friend.’”

  Mouse slipped in through the door her rooms. She had been on her way to the Empress, just as she had promised Lord Batton, when she had discovered a loose thread unraveling the fabric of her coat. It would not take more than a minute or two to change, she told herself, but in truth, she would have seized upon any chance to delay her task. The Empress was not like to receive the news of Ralist’s treachery well, and moreover, Mouse dreaded the idea of looking the woman in the eye with the guilt of having stolen the parchments still weighing heavily on her conscience.

  She closed the door behind herself before turning to see Lette, the maid, sweeping out the hearth. Mouse felt a lump form suddenly in her throat. Had the woman seen the parchments lying black and twisted in the ashes? she wondered. Or had they been swept up unnoticed?

  The woman glanced over her shoulder as Mouse came in, and Mouse gave her a nervous smile.

  “I shall not disturb your work, Lette,” she said. “I have only come for a change of coat. This one must have caught on a thorn, and I fear it shall it unravel.”

  The maid returned Mouse’s smile.

  “Why should you disturb me, my lady?” she asked. “It is your apartments, after all.”

  “Yes,” murmured Mouse, stripping off her coat. “No, you are right.” She went to her wardrobe and took out a new coat, this one blue with white fir trim. The Empress liked blue; perhaps if Mouse wore it, she would be less inclined to scathe her. As her fingers traveled nimbly over the fastenings, her eyes caught sight of something lying on her desk, some object which she herself had not left there.

  “What is this?” she asked aloud as she crossed to her desk to inspect the object.

  “’Twas left outside your door, my lady,” the maid replied over her shoulder without looking at Mouse.

  It was a box, Mouse saw, a wooden one—neither so small as the one she kept hidden in the tome, the one which contained the vial of the nightshade, nor so large as the one that Ludger had given her, which had contained the golden chain of mallows—and much older and uglier than both.

  “Do you not know who left it?” she asked, studying the engraving on the lid, which had been done in suns and stags.

  “I do not, my lady,” the maid replied. “As I said, it was there when I came.”

  Mouse’s eyes went to the woman on the other side of the room, still busy at the hearth, before returning to the box. The wood was dark and the brass latch worn. It would have been beautiful had it been better cared for, thought Mouse, tracing a finger along the etchings, but as it was, age and lack of repair had not done it any favors. She pulled her hand back and cursed as a splinter of wood caught her finger.

  She hooked her thumb under the latch, and with one last furtive glance at the maid, lifted the lid. A gasp of horror escaped her lips, and the lid of the box fell through her fingers, slamming shut. She felt the blood drain from her face, and for a moment, she thought she was going to be sick.

  “Lette,” Mouse said, her voice hollow and frightened in her own ears. “Who left this box?”

  “I told you, my lady, I do not know,” the maid replied, continuing about her work.

  Mouse slowly lifted her eyes to the woman, her gaze hardening into a glare.

  “That’s a lie,” she said, unable to stop the accusation before it had passed her lips. The maid turned now and gave her a look of surprise. “Some days ago,” said Mouse, “I saw Lord Johannes leaving my rooms, and you denied seeing him. Why?”

  Her voice was hard and cold.

  “I am certain I do not know what you are talking about,” the maid said, averting her gaze from Mouse’s. “—my lady,” she added quickly.

  Mouse scoffed and shook her head. She was growing angry now. The woman was lying, she knew it. But what she did not understand was why.

  “Lette,” she said, “I have no wish to punish you. But I would like to know who has done this. Now, if someone has threatened you, if someone has promised you something or—"

  “Nothing of the sort,” the maid said, “I assure you, my lady. Nothing of the sort at all.”

  Mouse pursed her lips. The more violent the maid’s denial, the more vehement her opposition, the more convinced Mouse was of her guilt. But if the woman would not answer her, what could she do?

  At last, Mouse huffed a sigh of exasperation and finished the work of fastening her coat. There was no sense in fighting a losing battle. She had not the time nor the energy for it.

  “In future,” she said, gathering what composure she could, “I should like if you would tell me if someone comes into my rooms when I am not here.”

  “Of course, my lady,” Lette said.

  “And you are not to accept anything, boxes or otherwise, delivered to my doorstep.”

  The maid nodded.

  “I understand, my lady,” she said.

  “I would like that gone before I return,” Mouse said, nodding toward the box.

  The maid looked at her nervously.

  “What am I to do with it, my lady?” she asked.

  “Burn it,” said Mouse. “Bury it. I do not care. But I do not wish to see it again.” She paused. She could hear the anger in her own voice, the imperiousness, and for a moment, she did not recognize it as her own. But it was her own. This was her anger, and it was in every way justified.

  She looked at the box. So many little boxes, she thought, all full of secrets.

  But not this one. This one contained a threat.