Mouse walked along the edge of the camp, inhaling deeply the fresh morning air. The day was new; the dew was still being coaxed from the grass by the morning sun, and the sky was the color of a young spring peach. But already, the camp was awake and alive with the sounds of men making ready for a day of parade and pageantry. The smell of woodsmoke filled the air, mingling with the scent of grease and lather, while all about the fields rang the sounds of clattering metal, booming voices, and crying horses. There were steeds needing groom and shoe, plate wanting polish, and blades laying ready to be sharpened. At every tent, banners were aired, dancing lightly in the gentle breeze that moved through the camp, and on every corner ran a whetstone. Somewhere a squire was being scolded for not having the lances painted while another was being told to mend the caparisons, and another still taking the blame for a breastplate that no longer fit as it should.

Mouse walked through the out perimeter of the camp, careful not to get in the way of the men running about fetching tins and stones and buckets and nails, borrowing stretchers they would not remember to return and pinching oil they could not afford. She passed by a blue and yellow tent, peering inside to see Sir Gerold of Tuilidge and Falk sitting in the opening, meticulously polishing the hilt of his blade. A squire ran past him, dropping one from his armful of split logs, and earned a look of annoyance from his master.

Mouse was debating whether or not she might stop and greet the knight, not wishing to disturb him if he was busy, but before she could make up her mind, Sir Gerold caught her eye and, carefully laying aside his sword, came out to meet her.

"My lady," he said with a polite bow.

"Sir Gerold," Mouse replied, returning his bow with a dip of her head. "You look well this morning."

"I've managed to have a bath," the knight said, seemingly proud of the fact. "I believe my gratitude is owed you for seeing to the matter of the cisterns."

Mouse lifted her eyebrows in realization of his meaning.

"You were able to find one producing adequately, then?" she asked.

"Indeed," said the knight. "There is a pump to the south that gives water rather than wine."

"Well, I am certainly glad to hear it," smiled Mouse.

"No gladder than I am to tell it," said Sir Gerold.

The two spoke pleasantly, if idly, for a minute or two longer before Mouse begged leave of the knight, citing the fact that she was certain he had much to do in preparation of the day's events and did not wish to further detain him.

"I look forward to seeing you in the pageant, sir," Mouse said in leaving, "and I daresay I will know you, for yours will be the only sober horse."

She continued rambling on throughout the camp some while longer, dodging harried-looking squires and piles of horse dung as she went, before turning her steps toward the armory and finding a seat on the steps. There, she sat and watched the archers send their arrows into a line of Arosian suns, listening to the creak and groan of bending bows in the foreground, while the sounds of the camp echoed in the background. Her mind wanted to stray, to visit all those dark places where plots and secrets and subversion lurked, but she would not allow it, choosing instead to focus on the sound of arrows whistling through the air and thunking their way into targets.

By and by, her eyes were drawn to a little black Cherith bird which came and landed on the branch of a poplar tree that stood just beyond the step. Mouse watched it shake out its wings before coming and landing next to her. "Hello there," she said, looking at the bird with a smile. "I'm sorry I don't have anything for you to eat. But if you come back later, I promise I'll have some bund seeds for you." The bird tilted its head, its slender black beak glistening in the sun. Mouse watched it hop closer, looking for all the world like it had something to say. "If you can talk," she said, "it's alright. Your secret is safe with me." But without replying, the bird once again took wing.

"Alright, Mouse?"

Mouse turned and looked up at the guardsman who stood above her, silhouetted in the morning sun.

"You're up early," she said, shielding her eyes as she watched him lower himself onto the step next to her.

"I'm always up early," Bo said. "I'm a working man, remember?" He gave Mouse a playful nudge with his shoulder.

"Of course you are," said Mouse.

The two sat there in silence, watching the archers at their practice. It was nice to do nothing, Mouse thought, and it was even better to do it in the company of someone you enjoyed. She stretched her shoulders and leaned back on her hands. Though she longed to return to the comfort of her bed, the benefit of rising early each morning was that she had time to herself, time to reflect, or time simply to forget.

As she sat there listening to the whistling and thunking of arrows, Mouse began to realize how much she missed her own bow. She missed the feel of the wood in her hand, the sting of the string on her fingers. But mostly, she missed that momentary sense of control it gave her, the sensation that she was, in some small way, directing the future. If her aim was true, there was little that could change the trajectory of the arrow, whereas in her own life, she was powerless to control the course of events that would shape her life.

It was all she had, she thought, a single piece of carved wood with a string running through it. That and her dream of Foilund—they were the only things that were truly hers, the only two things that no one else could take from her.

"You've heard about Mathilde then?" the guardsman asked, the sound of his voice breaking through Mouse's thoughts.

Mouse shook herself free from her reverie.

"No," she said, "at least I do not think so."

"She's going to marry the Prince of Umbrec. Prince Carl of whatever he's called."

Mouse eyebrows rose in surprise as she sat forward.

"I thought she was already engaged," she said.

"Well, she certainly is now," said the guardsman.

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Mouse bit her lip and leaned back again. If the Prince of Umbrec was engaged to Mathilde, that meant that he would not be marrying Val Hector, and the Chatti would therefore have to look elsewhere for an ally.

"Well, I'm sorry to hear it," Mouse said.

"What for?" Bo asked. "The man's got half the silver on the continent and an entire country to go with it. Good for her, I say."

"But I thought you liked Mathilde," said Mouse. "If she goes to Umbrec, you may never see her again."

The guardsman shrugged his shoulders.

"I like her hair," he said, "and the way she smells. I like the sound of her laugh. But truth is, she never cared much for me." He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. "A man likes to feel wanted, you know." He glanced at Mouse over his shoulder, who nodded her understanding. "It's nice to admired. And it might be nice to be pursued from time to time instead of always being the one to do the pursuing."

"Certainly," said Mouse, smiling at the guardsman's candor. Of course, everyone liked to feel wanted. It was only natural that a man should wish to feel desired, just the same as a woman did. She looked across and studied the guardsman's profile. His wild, dark curls were tucked behind his ear. His hair was getting long, she thought. He would need to see a barber soon. And then, almost as if he could sense her watching, the guardsman turned, his grey eyes catching Mouse's.

"Oi, what's that look for?" he asked.

Mouse smiled and shook her head.

"Nothing," she said. "Just admiring the view."

Mouse hurried up the steps of the keep, as fast as her legs would carry her. She was going to be late for breakfast, despite having already been up for hours, but she had not realized the time as it slipped away. She darted into her rooms in such haste that she did not notice the person standing by the foot of her bed until she already had one boot pried halfway off her foot.

"Pritha," she said in surprise, steadying herself on the chair. "What are you doing here? I mean, where have you been?" She had not seen the gap-toothed serving girls in weeks, months even. "I have not seen you since—"

"Since Jasper was arrested?" Pritha finished for her, turning to face Mouse with a look that could only be described as portentous.

Mouse's face fell, her stomach dropping like a stone as she yanked the boot from her foot.

"Yes," she said, tossing it aside. "Yes, I suppose that is the last time we met, isn't it?"

The serving girl stood there glowering at Mouse, her arms folded across her chest.

"Where is Jasper?" she demanded.

Mouse paused, pressing her lips together.

"I do not know," she said.

"You don't know," Pritha repeated. "Well then, when's he coming back?"

Mouse lifted her other foot to remove her second boot.

"I don't know," she said, dropping her gaze so that she would not have to meet Pritha's angry eye.

"So, you can get people locked up easy enough," the girl said, "but when it comes to getting them free, you're useless."

Mouse winced at the sting of the words, but she tried not to let Pritha see their painful effect.

"What happened was a mistake," she said, prying the stubborn boot from her foot. "And I'm doing everything in my power to remedy it." She tossed the boot aside and looked at the girl. "I hope you believe me when I say that I'm trying my best to ensure that nothing ill befalls Jasper while he awaits release."

"Is that right?" Pritha mocked as Mouse began to loosen the sleeves of her dress and pull it over her head. "Well lucky he has you. Wouldn't want anything ill to befall him."

Mouse threw her dress onto the chair and set her jaw.

"I am very sorry," she said, "but there are certain things which are outside of my control."

"You're not sorry," the serving girl said, her eyes trailing Mouse as she walked to her wardrobe to find a clean dress. "Probably haven't even given it a thought. Probably forgot all about Jasper until I said his name just now."

"That's not true," Mouse snapped, wheeling around to face her friend. She could feel the heat building inside her. She understood that Pritha was angry with her; she could not fault her for that. But she resented the implication that she herself did not live in anything other than constant guilt over her own foolish actions. She felt her jaw tighten and her hands ball into fits and quickly turned back around to face her wardrobe.

"I came to you as a friend," said Pritha. "I came to help you. Jasper too. And look at what you did. Look at the thanks we get."

Mouse did not turn around. She did not want the girl to see the silent tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. She pulled a dress out with shaky hands and quickly began to open the fastenings, hoping to be gone from the room as soon as she could. What Pritha was doing wasn't fair. Mouse knew that she had made a mistake, but it had been an honest one, and she really did believe she had done all that she could.

"You know why I put that worry stone in your bed?" Pritha's voice cut through the silence. "You know why I waited so long to come to you about it? Because I wanted you to know what it feels like to wait. To wait and wait and wait every day without answers."

Mouse stopped unfastening her dress and turned to face the girl.

"You're the one who put the worry stone in my bed?" she said, her hands falling to her sides, the dress with them.

But Pritha did not answer her.

"Did you know that Jasper's mother had five sons before him?" she said. "Five, and they all died before they were old enough to walk. Jasper's the only one who lived, the only one who survived long enough to become a man." A weak smile flickered on her lips. "His mother didn't even bother to name him until he was nearly five years old. She couldn't bear to. She couldn't bear the thought of burying another son, having another little boy's name carved into a pine box so small it was scarce big enough to hold a pair of shoes." She bit her lip. "And then when she did give him a name, she chose 'Jasper,' because in the old tongue, it means 'treasure,' 'gift,' and that's what he was to her." Her eyes found Mouse's. "He was her treasure."

Mouse tried to swallow, but the lump in her throat would not allow it.

"You know how I know that?" Pritha continued. "Because every night, she tells me the same story. Every night she tells me about her baby boy, the one who was too good to be true, the one who grew up and became a man. And then she lies down in bed and cries herself to sleep because someone took him away, and she doesn't know if he's ever coming back."

Mouse could feel the hot tears rolling down her cheeks and realized now that Pritha, too, was crying, even as she stood there looking at Mouse with all the hate of a friend who had been betrayed.

"He's her treasure, Mouse," she said, "her gift. And she needs him back."

Mouse's chin quivered as she tried to open her lips.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice a tremulous whisper. "Please believe me."

Pritha wiped her face with the back of her arm.

"Bring Jasper back," she said with a sniff. "Then you can apologize."

Mouse nodded and dropped her head, her tears cascading onto the floor, tears of sadness, tears of anger, tears of frustration. She shook with silent sobs, until suddenly, she felt something wrap around her, squeezing her tightly. It was Pritha, wrapping her in a hug, enveloping Mouse's sadness and frustration and anger with her own.

The two girls stood there, holding one another and crying. They cried for all the terrible things that had happened, for all the things they knew they could not change, for all the things they feared were yet to come. They leaned on each other and wept, because what else did they have besides one another's grief and one another's strength? What else did any woman have?

When at last their tears subsided and their crying turned to sniffles, Pritha took Mouse's hand in her own.

"You're good, Mouse," she said. "You're a good person. You are. And I'm sorry I abandoned you."

Mouse shook her head, squeezing her friend's hand back.

"You didn't abandon me," she said. "You had every right to stay away. It's a danger being my friend."

Pritha laughed.

"That well may be," she said, leaning in and pressing her forehead into Mouse's, "but it's so worth it."

Together, the two girls took the worry stone from the bed and carried it across the room to the hearth, placing it into the fire so that the flames might burn away all the ill will that had lingered between them. And then, they climbed into Mouse's bed and threw the covers over their heads and talked and laughed until their cheeks ached and their bellies hurt. They both had things to do, places to be, duties to perform, but for now, none of that seemed to matter; in that moment, they were exactly where they needed to be, doing exactly what they needed to be doing: talking and laughing and crying and leaning on one another. And whatever consequences they were made to face for it later, it was so worth it.

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