My King,

Tortall and it's rulers are fairing well, as am I. I am both humbled and flattered by your letter to me, and I only hope that both your majesty and Maren are faring as well as I.

As per your inquiry, all is peaceful in Tortall. Why, so peaceful that a garrison of four-hundred or so is able to camp by the River Drell without fear of attack; peace is holding, the capital is bustling with Midwinter celebrations, and their majesties are in good health.

I am your devoted servant,

Violet L'Cerisier

Midwinter passed as a swirling, fantastic storm of lights and gaiety. On Jasson's strong arm nearly the entire time, I enjoyed the celebrations immensely, and after sending a short letter to Iven, I was relieved. I could concentrate on having fun and enjoying life.

But as Midwinter drew to a close, I found out that everything must end, even joy.

Two weeks after the annual squire to knight transformations, awful news arrived at the palace, borne on the back of a tired warhorse. I was giving Jasson a piano lesson in the big music room when a frenzied page came dashing in.

"Your Highness! Prince Jasson!" The boy cried, breathless. There was a high-pitched clank as Jasson's fingers slipped on the keys, and he glared up at the boy.

"Well? What is it?" He demanded, every inch the imperious prince. I looked at the boy, curious. What could this be about?

"Something... something's happened... the king... he wants to see you..." Poor boy. He seemed frightened out of his wits. He had probably dashed from the other side of the palace to deliver whatever news he had.

Jasson stood up, alarmed. He began to walk to the door, turned around, planted a firm kiss on the crown of my head, and set off at a swift pace. The page still stood in the doorway, panting.

I stood and walked over to him. I gave him a moment to breath, then asked, "What's happened?"

The boy looked up at me, his big grey eyes troubled. "News from the fort in the Drell River Valley, lady." My blood ran cold as he continued. "There was a surprise attack; almost a hundred raiders coming from the south. They weren't ready, and almost two-hundred men were killed." He excused himself, saying he had to get back to his lessons, as I stood, staring into space, a mingling of shock and dread crowding my thoughts.

The Drell River Valley had been attacked. From the south, too. As I broke out in a cold sweat, I ran to my rooms, where I barricaded myself in my bedroom, to think.

A cold wind shook the tree outside my window, a draft creeping into my room through the seam of the glass.

The next day Jasson found me in the library, halfheartedly flipping through a book on Copper Isles fashion. He pulled a chair up next to mine and sat, holding one of my hands.

"The garrison at the Drell River Valley was attacked five days ago." His face was troubled, and I could not hold his gaze. "They were raiders, from the south. Almost one-hundred fifty. They managed to kill nearly two-hundred of our men." He took a deep breath, and continued. "Those that weren't killed died from a powerful suicide spell the minute anyone tried to question them. We don't know anything about who did it."

I couldn't say anything. He leaned over and rested his head on my shoulder, burying his face in the soft wool of my dress. I stroked his hair, glad not to have to look him in the eye.

"Two-hundred, Violet. Men and boys. It was a massacre; they surprised them, on a foggy night." He sounded heartbroken. For all his roguish behavior, he felt quite acutely.

I ventured a word in quietly. "They were soldiers, Jasson. They knew that they might die."

"I know... believe me, I know. It just seems so wrong, to sneak up like that..."

"They died honorably, at least. They're with the Black God now, who will treat them well." I tried to comfort him, and he lifted his face up to mine, a kind look in his eyes.

"Tender heart," he said, quietly. "You're right. What's done is done. Now all we need to do is find out who did this, and retaliate."

As he leaned in to kiss me, it was all I could do to keep the guilty tears in my eyes.

Returning that night to my room, I felt guilty, but with the door closed and the cruel wind shaking my windowpane, I felt suddenly and inexplicably angry.

That grasping, slimy serpent of a man! What right had he to do this? What right had he to exploit my happiness, and use it to kill others? Without thinking, I grabbed the jar of expensive ink from my desk and threw it to the ground, the glass breaking into thousands of tiny pieces, the ink spreading like black blood across the wood floor. It splattered the bottom of my pale pink dress, and I cursed under my breath.

My anger suddenly fading, I sat down on the bed, the rage replaced by a tiredness deep in my bones. I buried my face in my ink-stained hands, and cried for a long time.