Midwinter

They dined on one of the southern terraces. Geracy sat at the head of the table, drinking too much wine and talking loudly. Kallmer sat next to Mauritane, gnawing on a piece of meat. Across the table sat the Lady Geracy and her daughter Elice, both sitting uncomfortably silent in the presence of a known traitor. A few paces away, four of Kallmer's guardsmen stood with crossbows at the ready.

Mauritane looked up at the daughter, whose attention was fixed on her nearly empty plate. Behind her, the fog-clad summit of Oak and Thorn made a halo around her head, her golden hair glinting in the fading sunlight.

"I think it's important to expose a young girl to many things," Geracy was saying to Kallmer, indicating his daughter with the point of his dinner knife. "The children of today ought to be aware of things. They must grow up too fast nowadays."

"I'm sure you're correct, Baron," said Kallmer. He'd had a few glasses of wine himself and had spent the entire meal making eyes at the girl, who seemed to Mauritane barely out of puberty.

"Given any thought to my deal, Mauritane?" said Kallmer, as though asking about the weather. He leaned in and whispered. "I'd hate for you to have to watch your friends suffer. Especially that tempting half-breed girl. My, my." Kallmer wiped his mouth with a thick cloth napkin.

Mauritane said nothing. He pushed his plate away, inadvertently spilling a glass of wine onto the tablecloth.

"You always were a difficult son of a whore," said Kallmer.

A bell rang somewhere in the house. A few moments later, an armor-clad courier stepped out onto the terrace bearing a tiny parcel. He bowed deeply, his breath heavy beneath his closed helmet.

"I am for Mauritane," he said.

Kallmer twisted in his chair, looking at the baron with surprise. "Since when is his mail being delivered here?" He rose. "I'll take that," he said.

"Apologies, sir," said the courier, his voice tinny behind his faceplate. "I am for Mauritane only."

The baron scowled. "This is most irregular, Kallmer," he said. "No one is supposed to know he's here. Whom have you told?"

"I've told no one!" said Kallmer, defensively. "Who sent you?"

The courier bowed. "I come from the Chamberlain Marcuse himself, sir, in the City Emerald."

Kallmer had no response.

"Get on with it, then," said the baron. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair.

Mauritane rose slowly and accepted the package. He took a pen from the courier and affixed his signature to a paper receipt.

"What are you waiting for?" said Kallmer, when the courier did not leave. "A gratuity?"

The courier was impassive. "I am to wait until the package is opened by Captain Mauritane."

Mauritane sat at the table, confused. The parcel was small, no wider than the palm of his hand, wrapped in rough paper and tied with twine. He undid the knot and tore the wrapping away, revealing a small wooden box, inlaid with diamonds and painted with a bright blue lacquer. The box had no latch and opened easily. Inside was a smaller velvet box and a note. The note read, "This belonged to a relative of yours. Your Queen now asks that you earn one for yourself, after the same fashion." It was signed and sealed by the Chamberlain Marcuse.

Mauritane opened the tiny velvet box. Inside, nestled on a padded cushion, was a bronze medal, black with age. He recognized it immediately; the blue striped ribbon and bronze star were the hallmarks of a Special Commendation from the Seelie Royal Guard. Mauritane had himself awarded dozens of them. He turned the medal over and read the inscription on the back. It was faded but legible: "To Bersoen, son of Berwan, for distinguished service."

Mauritane raised his head. His eyes caught those of the girl, Elice. Like everyone else at the table, she was gawking at him, only hers was a look of… was it anticipation?

"I saw this in a dream," Elice whispered to Mauritane over the table. "I thought I recognized you…"

"Silence, child!" shouted the baron. "You'll speak when spoken to." He stood and turned on the courier. "Your man has opened his bauble. I suggest that you now be on your way."

The courier nodded and made for the wide double doors, making no reply.

Kallmer tore the box and the medal from Mauritane's hands. "What is this about?" he said. He handed the items to the baron. "What is this about?"

The baron scanned the note and dangled the medal in front of his eyes. "I can make no sense of it." He pursed his lips. "I do not like the looks of this, Kallmer. I fear you may have gone too far…"

The baron's words were cut short by a cry from inside the palace. A moment later, the courier staggered back onto the terrace, a knife's hilt protruding from his belly just beneath the chest plate of his armor.

"You are under attack," the courier groaned. He sank to one knee, clutching his stomach, then fell face forward onto the tiles.