‘The ring. Your gold ring.’

‘Of course, my ring.’ His bandages rustle with his breath. ‘I remember that day, you know, the day I met you. Your face was so different from everyfolk else’s. Open, if you will.’

My tears come a little harder, but so does my smiling. It’s my daydream of how a lord and a common girl might meet come to life. Come to my life.

‘Kind,’ I say. ‘Another virtue.’

‘Charitable,’ he answers. ‘That’s one for you.’

‘Not always,’ I say.

He coughs or laughs; I can’t tell which. ‘Good, I don’t want to look poorly by comparison. I’ve thought of another sin.’

‘Honesty,’ I say back. ‘Another virtue.’

‘Mmm,’ he warns. ‘I’m a thief. I’ve stolen a cat.’

‘A cat?’

‘A kitten,’ he amends. ‘This town, it’s a hard sort of place.’

‘I’ve always lived here.’

‘I can tell you, there are other places. Winter’s still winter. Plague still comes. But folk wish each other well, if you know what I mean. Here it’s not like that.’

‘So you stole a cat?’

‘Kitten.’ He shifts his head and breathes hard for a moment. ‘I imagine I’ll return home now. I’m surely not fit for a queen now, if I ever was.’ I look at his shoulder. At the very least he’ll be deeply scarred, worse than Paul’s face. ‘What’ll become of the kitten when I go? Or if I die?’

He says it easily like he doesn’t really believe it might happen. I want to tell him death does happen. Every day, I see it. More regular than rain. Into my head comes a picture of what his coffin lid would look like. I think another thought to get away from the picture. ‘The kitten survived the fire?’

‘She did at that. I tucked her into my shirt. Is she about?’

I look over the couch, but there’s no kitten. But then there she is, underneath, asleep on the floor rushes.

‘Did you find her?’ the Country Mouse asks. ‘She would be a comfort.’

I scoop her up. She has grey fur and grey eyes. She sniffs about my clothes, pulling at them with needle claws.

‘Wait.’ His breath catches. ‘Have you touched her?’ There’s fear in his voice.

Drops of water fall into the basin behind me. My daydream fades away.

‘My touch won’t curse her,’ I say quiet.

‘Are you certain?’

‘I am.’

‘Oh . . . fine, then,’ he says, but his voice falters. It says this moment is made of paste, like the jewel in the necklace my da mended. But I don’t want the Country Mouse to be false.

‘Faith,’ I say hotly. ‘Another virtue.’

There’s a moment before he speaks again. ‘Do you ever think we’re living the wrong life? Like if we could choose for ourselves, we’d choose better than the one we’ve got?’