Wisdom's Kiss by Catherine Gilbert Murdock

interjected his companion, stepping possessively to Trudy's other side.
    "Oh—thank you..." At least the men would bear her closer to her goal.
    Which they did, one on each arm, and into Trudy's ears they poured a relentless assessment of their own fighting prowess, pausing in their grandiloquence only to belittle each other. It's like village boys with their wrestling, Trudy thought. So, knowing all too well the capacity and reasoning of village boys, through inquiries and flattery she played one off the other, thus deflecting attention from herself, until they reached a vast tented compound, bright with flaming torches, that could only belong to the emperor.
    "We would speak to your man Tomas!" announced the first soldier to the entrance guard. "Tomas Miller!"
    "Tomas
Müller
," whispered Trudy, noting that her escort's bluster heightened an impression of internal quailing.
    "No one here by that name," the guard replied. He turned to someone inside the gate. "Get the captain, will you?"
    Trudy's escorts blanched, the first gulping audibly. Trudy blanched as well, for whatever was about to happen looked quite horrible to her sight.
    All too soon a grizzled warrior appeared, sword and polishing cloth in hand. "You again ... Here for another beating, or to bring me this wench in tribute?"
    "I beg your pardon!" the first soldier exclaimed. "You have insulted grievously this fine lady, and as duke's representative I demand you—"
    The captain sighed. "Shut it, will you? I've more important business—"
    "You have insulted a lady!"
    "Her? Lady?" The captain snorted. "Move on, all of you, before I smack you again."
    The two soldiers flinched, but Trudy flinched still more. She could not tell what wounded her more: the imperial captain's dismissal—accurate, to be sure, but so humiliating!—or the deeper hurt at failing to locate Tips.
    To their great credit, the duke's men escorted her back through the night to Phraugheloch Palace, though now without prattle. Trudy scarcely noticed. The man said
Tomas
wasn't there, but perhaps Tips still used his nickname. Or perhaps he didn't use Müller—given his brothers, it wouldn't be surprising ... She should have used his master's name—what was it? Felix? No, Felis.
    But she could not ask now. She couldn't ask
ever.
Not these soldiers, anyway, or that captain. And soon, too soon, she would return to Bacio ... and might never see Tips again! Well, she'd see him someday, but not for years, and until that point she'd be all alone...
    They arrived at last at an entrance, and Trudy, thanking the soldiers as best she could for their assistance, made her way with much stumbling and misdirection upstairs. Her weeping could no longer be restrained. Sopping at her nose—with Wisdom's handkerchief!—Trudy doddered down yet another corridor. They all looked alike. The passageways, the soldiers, the gentlewomen in their horrid fancy clothes ... And nowhere, nowhere, Tips!
    A servant girl passed, and Trudy turned away, reflexively shielding herself from prying eyes.
    "This way, m'lady," the girl whispered, pointing to a door.
    Mumbling thanks, Trudy let herself in—then ducked as a glass statuette shattered against a nearby wall.
    "I will not listen!" Wisdom shouted at Ben, and hurled herself into the adjoining room, thunderously slamming the door behind her.
    Ben stooped, creaking, to extract glass fragments from the carpet. She glanced at Trudy and sighed. "Welcome back, child."
From the Desk of the Queen Mother of Montagne, & Her Cat

My Dearest Temperance, Queen of Montagne,
Granddaughter, what a night it has been. Our twilight arrival at Phraugheloch (how long ago it seems!) must by now be the talk of all the empire—I do think Escoffier is due a medal for bravery in the face of an incensed duchess and her dog! Much as I wanted to, I could not sing the cat's praises while yet in the company of Wilhelmina, so instead I sent him to bed and, feigning ignorance of our little duel of wits—or