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The dappled gray mare looked at Toki with huge black eyes. He brushed her coarse hair back and leaned his forehead against hers. He heard a snorting sound above him. It was Jean, the gangly stableboy. He had done nothing all day, and simply sat from the rafters with his legs dangling, scratching his hair.

"What ams so funny?" snapped Toki, clutching Skjelve's bridle. But he knew. He had spent the past two days in the stable, treating his horse like a baby.

Jean pursed his lips together. He hopped from the rafters, and a shower of hay fell over Toki's head. Toki howled and reached out to grab Jean, but he darted away, laughing louder.

"I have to learn control my servants," said Toki in harsh Norwegian, picking the hay from his hair. Skjelve, ever sensitive, backed away quickly.

"No, not you, darling." He kissed her forehead, and slipped a sugar cube from her pocket. She looked at him gently, and, blinking her eyes, scooped up the sugar with her velvety muzzle. "There, that's a good girl."

Toki was absurdly grateful to the mare. He had concentrated all his attention on her the past two days, and it allowed to him to obscure all that occurred in that room when the sun was setting and Skwisgaar was leaning over him. Skjelve, for all her nervousness, had submitted to several baths and now her hair was done up in ribbons and flowers. But for all his efforts, he still struggled with an aching loneliness. He missed laughter and friends and chatter. He wanted to lounge in the shade with Yolande or stuff himself with cakes in Marie's salon while she waxed about her upcoming parties. His mind wandered to Cornichon, and his drunken antics, but no, Cornichon wasn't his friend, he was Skwisgaar's friend, and Skwisgaar…

When he said the name, even to himself, it was as though the lips were on his again, the hands were tracing his sides, and he had to fight all over again, or he would be lost. No, he couldn't return to court, not while he was there, not while he might even hear the name.

He shook his head, and stroked Skjelve. Jean appeared again, and Toki frowned at him. No matter what he did, the stupid boy never really respected him as a master.

The boy bowed low as though he had been an ideal servant all along. When it came to anything truly formal, Jean was a master- he should have been an actor. Toki resolved to send him off to a traveling theater troupe as soon as possible. "You have company, my Lord," said Jean with ridiculous gravity.

He felt his limbs go cold. No- it couldn't be. He couldn't face Skwisgaar again.

Jean gave him a toothy grin. "Monsieur Cornichon or some such." he said.

Toki clutched the bridle and heaved a sigh- of relief? He couldn't be sure. But what was the drummer doing here?

"Serve hims coffees," he said. "I needs to gets these hays out of my clothings." He added sharply. Jean gave a quick nod and scrambled off, joyful at the opportunity.

Toki patted Skjelve's cheek and went to his dressing room. He studied himself in the mirror, almost forgetting how he was supposed to look. It was so nice to wear old clothes sometimes, and to let his hair hang free.

He ran his fingers through the long brown strands and shook out the hay. It was he who should be judging Cornichon, and not the other way around: he was a Count after all, while Cornichon was a peasant with a lucky skill.

But he couldn't see it that way, not after his humiliation. It seemed now that there was no greater nobility than to play, and play well. He glanced mournfully at his spare guitar that hid among his winter boots. It was dusty and even boasted a few cobwebs. But no matter: he wasn't a guitarist anymore, but a count, a stupid leech of a nobleman.

He slid into a brown coat and jacket. The material was wool, and very fine too, but it was simple, not some gaudy product of Versailles.

When he entered the drawing room he bowed low. Cornichon returned his bow but quickly sprang up, a big grin on his face. "Count Wartooth, god, it's so nice to see ya again." He was only a little drunk this time, and mostly kept his balance. It felt that Cornichon's elation was rubbing off on him- Toki was already lighter and happier. It felt so good to be with a person again, a real person, not like Skwisgaar who always put him on edge.

Cornichon walked over to the couch and slumped over. Toki pulled up a chair. "How ams everybodys?" he asked eagerly. "Marie? Yolande?"

"Aw, they're all great. Just great. Marie's planning a masquerade- and Yolande-" Cornichon frowned, and looked nervously at Toki.

"What ams it?"

"Well, I don't know for certain. She's been at it with that husband of hers."

"At it?" asked Toki doubtfully. Sometimes he had trouble understanding French words.

"You know. Fighting. Or he's fighting her." Cornichon sighed and hiccupped simultaneously. "She doesn't defend herself. What that Duke really needs is a kick in the balls."

Toki stood up, frustrated. He couldn't let this happen- but how could he go back? And the name came to his head, the reckless, unwanted name- Skwisgaar. But Skwisgaar had already got what he wanted from Yolande. Why would he deign to help her again?

"Are you alright?" Cornichon looked at him surprise, and Toki realize he had been screwing up his features. Toki sat down and forced himself to relax his face, though his anxiety was spoiling the pleasure he had in Cornichon's company.

"What ams you here for?" He asked.

"Well I can tell you, but let's have a drink first," said Cornichon. He tried to wink and only succeeded in blinking both eyes.

"Jean!" called Toki, and the boy appeared. Toki could barely believe what he saw.

The little rat was wearing his clothes, all silk, and the powder in his hair could only have come from his chamber. Jean walked with his nose in the air like a true palace servant.

"My Lord," he said with a flourish of his hand. Either his voice had dropped an octave, or he was faking it.

Cornichon raised his eyebrows. "You sure keep it classy up here," he said, impressed.

Toki opened his mouth to scream at the boy, and then closed it. It was his fault after all. Even Skjelve knew he couldn't control his servants.

"Brings us some-"

"Cognac," finished Cornichon.

"Yes, my Lord," said the boy, and he marched off.

"Ahh, that will be better." Cornichon leaned deep into the couch. "But I have to talk to you, Count." His pupils contracted, and he seemed to grow much more aware. "More than that, I have to give you something."

Toki tilted his head. "Give me somethings?"

"Yeah. I've been thinking about it all the way up here, but I can't seem to figure out why he wanted you to have it."

"He?" asked Toki, afraid of the answer.

"Baron Skwigelf."

Toki shivered. His features stiffened. "I do not knows what the Barons could possibly haves to give me."

Cornichon chuckled. "I could think of a thing or two," he said, and Toki's face paled. Was Skwisgaar talking about him at court, talking about what had happened?

Cornichon gave a wry smile. "You don't have to look at me that way. I may have a slight problem with, um, being tipsy sometimes, but I know how to keep a secret."

"He tolds you?" Toki could sense the fury in his voice.

Cornichon shrugged. "We're like brothers. I've told him some secrets too." A dreamy look passed over his face, and faded just as quickly. "Anyway, you have the wrong idea about Skwisgaar."

The rage had passed, but the hesitation, the raw doubt remained. Jean came and left, but he was just a blur to Toki. "I thinks I haves exactly the rights idea about him. He ams a cold man, a man who woulds-" and he paused, his face going red.

"Screw anything?" Cornichon laughed and took a deep swig, straight from the bottle. "You may be right there, but I know the man. I think he hardly knows what to do with you."

Toki did not know what to make of that.

"Now want to see what Skwisgaar sent you?" He smiled. "You might change your mind."

Toki found himself nodding, slowly. Cornichon stumbled to the corner of the room and pulled out a long box and placed it on the table. He opened the lid, and Toki pulled back in shock.

"It ams not possible!" He said, reaching out his arm.

It was Thunderhorse. It was lacquered and beautiful as always, but utterly destroyed. The guitar's neck had broken off. Five strings were split, and only one held the whole piece together.

"He gives this to me?" he asked, holding back tears.

"That's what he said. It's a shitty gift if you ask me, but he insisted."

"The stupids, stupids bastard," said Toki. Toki remembered his younger years when Thunderhorse had seemed almost mythical in its scope. His parents had always shunned news from the outside, so he had run to town to read the newspapers, or better yet, hear the tales from traveling merchants and sailors. There was always word of Thunderhorse, a guitar that could pierce through the heart with a single chord, and Skwigelf, the only man who could wield it. Toki had imagined owning an instrument so great, and now he did, but it only left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"He brings you here to mock me," Toki almost yelled. "He really doesn't cares about anything." He turned away.

Cornichon looked at Toki, and at the guitar, and back at Toki again. A light seemed to glow in his eyes. He laughed, and Toki resented him for it. "No. No, Count. That's not it. Not at all. Don't you get it?"

"No," said Toki, a hint of ferocity in voice.

"You've heard of this guitar?" asked Cornichon.

"Of course I haves," said Toki, annoyed by the question. "It ams nearly as famous as he ams."

"Yep. The famous Thunderhorse, Now just two pieces of wood. You think it was easy for him?"

Toki ran a finger over the side of the guitar, "He probably just get angrys because he doesn't get his way."

Cornichon looked at him with his sharp green eyes, and it was clear that he was suppressing a smile. He cleared his throat, and his face became somber. The two of them stood in silence, as though in mourning, and finally Toki spoke. "He smashed it?" he asked. It was a dramatic flourish that some electric guitarists resorted to, but it wasn't popular among elite players.

Cornichon shook his head. "No, count. It wasn't like that at all. He was super steady about it. Just took it and placed it on his knee. He looked at me, nodded, and then cracked it in two."

Toki's jaw dropped. "Just likes that?" He loved that guitar. He shrugged. " He must haves been very prouds of himself."

"No, I don't think he was. He didn't look like himself- just kind of sad and pathetic. Like you."

Toki opened his mouth in protest, but he didn't have a good response.

Cornichon grabbed his arm. "You're one stupid kid, you know that?" Toki pushed him, but it didn't phase him in the least. He landed lightly on the couch, his arms behind his head. "And Skwisgaar's a stubborn bastard. You can't get the words from his lips. You really can't. But yeah, this is the most important thing to him, and it was the only way to show you."

Toki felt a strange warmth pulse through his body. "The only way to show me-"

Cornichon burst into laughter. "That he's fucking in love with you, kid."

Toki didn't mean for it to happen, not really. And he wasn't sure at first, if it was pain or pleasure, so stealthily did it creep up upon him. But an unfamiliar elation swept through him like an arrow, a happiness he was suddenly aware was his birthright, more than any wealth or land or county. It was fully contained on the inside, grasped like a hoarded jewel; he didn't have the words or the strength or the will to express it. He stared at Cornichon with his mouth half open before his eyes lit up and stupid grin spread across his face.

Cornichon put his arm over his shoulder. He was shorter and had to reach-he even dragged Toki down a bit- but it somehow felt right, like the small drunken man was his older brother.

"Come on," he said, nudging at Toki's ribs. "It's time to get you home."