Mouse pushed the door of her rooms closed behind her, checking twice to make sure that it was latched. She leaned against the wooden frame, allowing her heart to slow. She had come hurriedly from the apothecary, glancing over her shoulder every few steps, and was glad to be back in the sanctuary of her own rooms. She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. All she need do now was wait, wait and hope that the apothecary would take her at her word and that he would go to the constable rather than to Ulrich.

She might have been sorry to go to the apothecary after promising the Captain not to, and indeed, something stirred in her now, something almost like guilt. But she was governed now by anger, frustration, indignation. Outraged coursed through her veins, for all those injustices born by herself and others like Conrad. And hatred, hatred for those who moved the world to such dark designs.

She followed the warm thread of air drifting through her chambers to the earth and stood staring into the glowing embers. How long would it take? she wondered. How long for the nobleman to be charged and punished for a crime he did not commit and thereby pay penance for all those that he had?

One voice whispered in her mind wicked names. Traitor. Liar. Conspirator. While another whispered the names of all those who had suffered under noble treachery. Jasper. Osgar. Conrad.

Mouse felt her face flush with the heat of the embers and turned away. She did not have the luxury of regret. Her only choice was to keep pressing forward, following a path that had been carved for her by years of abuse and subjugation, weighted by silence and cowardice.

She crossed to her basin and splashed her face with water, drying it on her sleeve before crossing to her desk. Despite having gone to the apothecary, she still had every intention of sending to the surgeon at Hallovie. She sat in her chair and moved to open her drawer when she noticed a crumpled parchment laying atop the desk. She felt a sudden disquiet run through her. She reached for the parchment, gingerly picking it up and carefully unfolding it. Her eyes widened.

Malte's cup, Marrow cross. Signed in the Empress's own hand, B.O.L.

Mouse's stomach dropped, the parchment slipping between her fingers. It was the letter she had given Val Hector.

The sun was shining brightly as Mouse walked briskly across the courtyard, head down in the hopes that she would not be stopped by someone she knew. It was a warm day, the air heavy with damp, and she could feel the moisture collect on her skin as she crossed toward the south wing of the keep.

As she rounded the corner across from the judiciary, she thumped into someone's shoulder.

"I beg your pardon," she said, glancing up and expecting to find a stranger. But instead, she met a familiar face.

"Mouse." The freckles under the guardsman's grey eyes were darker and more prominent than ever. He looked almost surprised to see her.

"Bo." She tried to force a smile to her lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you. I was—" Her voice faltered. The guardsman was looking at her with an odd expression, something tender but marked by worry. Sympathy, Mouse realized. He was looking at her with sympathy.

"Are you alright?" he said in a low voice.

Mouse pressed her lips together and nodded. Already, she could feel the tightness in her throat, the sting at the backs of her eyes. But she didn't want to cry anymore.

"I'm fine." The words were tremulous and unconvincing.

"It's okay if you're not." She felt Bo's fingers brush against hers as he reached for her hand. For a moment, she thought about pulling away, but instead let him take it. The guardsman squeezed her hand in his. "I'm so sorry." His voice was soft, little more than a whisper. It was just enough to make the tears begin rolling down Mouse's cheeks. She felt Bo's arms wrap around her as she fell into his embrace. And for a few brief moments, she felt the guilt and anger and frustration flow out of her as the guardsman held her, catching all the broken pieces of herself that she could no longer carry.

"I've got you," Bo whispered, his breath brushing Mouse's hair as he cradled her. Mouse let herself melt into him, let herself stop being Mouse or Maudeleine or whoever she was, whoever people wanted her to be, and just existed in that moment as someone who had been hurt and didn't want to hurt anymore. She felt the guardsman's arms tight around her, his thumb gently stroking the back of her head.

Did he know? she wondered. Did he know the agreement that had formed between herself and Sir Conrad, the friendship that had blossomed, the regard she had felt for him?

Mouse brushed the tears from her cheeks, stepping out of his embrace. They were standing where everyone could see them, and she felt suddenly vulnerable, naked, such that she could not bring herself to meet the guardsman's eye.

"You're going to be alright."

Mouse didn't know whether the words were meant as an affirmation or a question, but she nodded nonetheless.

"You know, I—" Bo stopped short. "I'm here for you, if you ever want to talk or—" He reached for her hand again, but this time, Mouse pulled away. She knew he meant well, and it was not as though she doubted his sincerity, but she did wonder that someone who had given himself to the favor and desires of the Empress could ever understand her plight.

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"Thank you," she said, dabbing at the last of her tears. She glanced up at the guardsman, finding his soft grey eyes before breaking away once more. There was more that he wanted to say, she could sense it. But whatever it was, it would have to wait.

Mouse clutched her cup nervously, staring across at the raven-haired man opposite her. The earthy aroma of olive wood and oil permeated the air, the warmth of the fire heating one side of her body. Her stomach was in knots, but she knew she must speak sooner or later.

"I would like you to know that I am most grateful for your offer of help," Mouse said, breaking her silence at last, "but I am afraid that I cannot give you Ahnderland."

Marius regarded her with dark eyes that betrayed no emotion.

"A shame."

"But I can give you something else," Mouse said, "information." She noted the way the corner of Marius's mouth twitched.

"I didn't ask for information."

"I know," Mouse said, "but I'm giving it to you nonetheless." She looked down into her lap, her fingers white as they pressed against the sides of the cup. Speak now, before you lose your courage. "As you may be aware," she began, "the Empress has formed an intimate friendship with Sigurd, Dietric of Foilund." She looked to Marius, who said nothing. "But what you may not be aware of is that she has leveraged this friendship to secure certain resources." Her mouth had gone dry, but she willed herself to continue. "Specifically, she has enlisted him to secure military forces to send to Vejle. She means to declare for Darlen Mathis."

The silence that followed was punctuated by a sharp pop from the hearth as the flames coughed up a flurry of sparks. Marius sat contemplating Mouse, one elbow leaned on the armrest of his chair.

"Now, I've no idea if the two are connected," Mouse went on, reaching into her pocket. "In fact, I rather think they're not, but I also found this." She pulled out the crumpled piece of parchment and passed it to the man across from her. "It is written in the Empress's own hand, signed in alias."

Mouse took the few moments Marius spent studying the parchment to swallow a mouthful of wine. It tasted like berries and something else, mint perhaps.

"What is Marrow cross?" Marius looked up at Mouse.

"I believe it refers to the Narrow Pass."

"Show me."

Mouse drew her brow together.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Show me." Marius rose from his chair and crossed to the map stretched out on the table and held down at the corners by statuettes. Mouse stood, setting down her cup, and followed him. She looked at the map, studying the western border.

"Here," she said, tapping a finger on the map, "south of the Adderkops."

She glanced at Marius and saw him nod. He leaned over the map, both hands resting on the table as his dark eyes surveyed the area Mouse had indicated.

"Have there been others?" he asked, looking at her over his shoulder.

Mouse blinked at him.

"Other letters?"

"Others like that one." He nodded to the crumpled parchment he'd left lying on the side table.

Mouse chewed her lip in though.

"Yes," she said, remembering the letter she had received at Pothes Mar, "there was. Adalbert's scythe, Yndis vale."

"And what does that mean?"

"Ingrid's Vale." Mouse tapped a finger in the thin passage that wound through the center of the Adderkop mountain range. "Here."

Marius stared down at the map with a furrowed brow, allowing Mouse to make a quick study of his person. She marked his lithe frame, his manicured beard, the light peppering of thin white hairs scattered throughout his thick head of otherwise dark hair. She wondered what it was he was looking for. At last, he stood up straight and stepped away from the map.

"Thank you," he said, retrieving the rumpled letter from the side table and holding it out for Mouse to take.

"Keep it, if you would," said Mouse. "If you are able to find any use for it, it will be more than I have." She gave him a small smile. She didn't know whether or not what she had told him was in any way useful, but she did not much care; she had relieved herself of a burden she had been carrying too long, a burden that was not hers to bear. So it was with a polite exchange of farewells that she left the Lord of Ahnderland.

Mouse stepped out into the hall, moving quickly to be sure she was not seen lingering near Lord Marius's chambers. She did not know how she had been expecting him to react, but she was surprised and glad, in a way, at the amount of interest he had shown. Maybe it hadn't been for nothing. Maybe the letter which had returned to her had not done so to haunt her but to help her.

She glanced over her shoulder as she walked briskly toward the east wing. She did not expect Marius to hold to his end of their bargain after Mouse had revealed that she could not uphold hers, but she did wish that she had found the courage to at least ask about the letter from Lothar, to see whether or not it truly existed.

She hurried around the bend, making toward the Dove Tree by way of the turret stair, a backward passage that few ever took, when she suddenly froze. There, standing by the foot of the stair, leaning against the wall almost as if waiting for her, was the last person in the world she had hoped to see.

"Going somewhere, little Mouse?" A smile flickered on the chestnut-haired nobleman's lips. Mouse felt her stomach drop, and she began to back away, just as Johannes started to walk toward her. There was malice in his eyes.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were up to no good, scurrying around dark hallways like this."

Mouse continued her slow retreat as Johannes advanced. Did he know? she wondered. Did he know what she had told the apothecary, what she had accused him of? Or was he simply trying to scare her, as usual?

Her stomach twisted as she stumbled backward, tripping over her own feet.

"Leave me alone." Her voice was small and tremulous in the empty hall. "Let me pass."

Johannes smiled and continued to advance, as though he hadn't heard her.

"I've tried to play nice," he said. "I've tried to warn you. But you don't listen, do you?"

Mouse's hand desperately searched the folds of her skirt for her pocket, for the dagger within it as she backed away.

"I suppose I'm just going to have to teach you a lesson, aren't I?" The nobleman's face was a sneer, his green eyes flashing with malice as he closed the distance between them. Run, something inside of Mouse said. Run, now. But her body would not obey. Johannes reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder, his fingers digging into her as he jerked her close.

"Stop it." Mouse tried to twist away. "Let me go."

"Do you know what happens to little mice who get caught making trouble?" Mouse could feel the nobleman's breath hot and sticky against her skin. She jerked free of his grasp and began to run, her heart pounding. But it did not take long for Johannes to catch up to her. He grabbed her by the hair and then the arm, spinning her around and yanking her toward him.

"Do you know what—" He stopped short, his eyes suddenly widening. His grip on Mouse relaxed.

Mouse took a step back, staring at the nobleman with a horror that mirrored his own. Her hand had found her pocket, had found the dagger within it.

The nobleman looked down at the handle of the blade sticking out of his shoulder.

"Good gods, Mouse," he breathed, his face white with shock. "What did you do?"

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