"He must love you very much," the queen said, so simply that Katsa started. Katsa ducked her head.
"I was very angry," she said, "when first he told me. But I have... recovered from my anger."
It was a woefully inadequate description of her feelings, this Katsa knew. But the queen watched her, and Katsa thought the woman understood some of what she didn't say.
"Will you marry him?" the queen asked, so plainly that Katsa started again; but this she could answer as plainly. She looked into the queen's eyes.
"I won't ever marry," she said.
The queen's forehead creased in puzzlement, but she didn't say anything. She hesitated, and then spoke. "You saved my son's life in Monsea," she said, "and you saved it again today. I'll never forget it."
She stood, bent forward, and kissed Katsa's forehead, and for the third time since this woman's arrival, Katsa started with surprise. The queen turned and left the room, her skirts sweeping through the doorway. As the door closed behind her, and Katsa stared at the blankness where Po's mother had been, the image of Leck rose again into her mind.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Katsa kept to a far corner of the deck as Bear and Red and a number of other men hauled the ropes that swung Leck's coffin on board. She wished to have nothing to do with it, wished even that the ropes would snap and pitch Leck's body into the sea, to be torn apart by sea creatures. She climbed up the mast and sat alone in the riggings.
It was a grand procession of royalty that charted a course now to Monsea. For not only was Bitterblue a queen, but Prince Skye and King Ror attended her. His sister's child, Ror had pointed out, was a child. And even if she weren't, she returned to an impossible situation. A kingdom deeply under a spell; a kingdom that believed its king to be virtuous and its princess to be ill, weak, possibly even mad. The child queen could not be sent off trippingly to Monsea to announce that she was now in charge, and denounce the dead king an entire kingdom adored. Bitterblue would need authority, and she would need guidance. Both of these Ror could provide.
Ror would send Skye to Po. Silvern, Ror had sent on a different ship to the Middluns, to collect Grandfather Tealiff and bring him home. His remaining sons Ror had sent home to their families and their duties, turning a deaf ear to each son's insistence that his proper place was in Ror City, managing Ror's affairs. Ror left his affairs instead to his queen, as he always did when circumstances took him away from his throne. The queen was more than capable.
Katsa watched Ror, day after day, from her place in the riggings. She became familiar with the sound of his laughter, and his good-natured conversation that set the sailors at ease. There was nothing humble or compromising about Ror. He was handsome, like Po, and confident, like Po, and so much more authoritative in his bearing than Po could ever be. But – and this Katsa came gradually to understand – he was not drunk on his power. He might never dream of helping a sailor to haul a rope, but he would stand with the sailor interestedly while the sailor hauled the rope, and ask him questions about the rope, about his work, his home, his mother and father, his cousin who spent a year once fishing in the lakes of Nander. It struck Katsa that here was a thing she'd never encountered: a king who looked at his people, instead of over their heads, a king who saw outside himself.
Katsa took easily to Skye. He climbed occasionally into the riggings, gasping, his gray eyes flying wide with laughter every time the ship plunged into the trough of a wave. He sat near her, never quite as relaxed in his perch as she was in hers, but quiet, content, and good company.
"I thought, after meeting your family, that Po was the only male among you capable of silence," Katsa said to him once, when they'd sat for some time without speaking.
A smile warmed his face. "I'd jump into an argument quick enough if you wanted one," he said. "And I have a thousand questions I'd like to ask you. But I figure if you felt like talking – well, you'd be talking, wouldn't you? Instead of climbing up here nearly to be hurled to your death every time we crest a wave."
His company, and the friendly rumble of Ror's voice below. The small kindnesses of the sailors toward Bitterblue when the girl came onto the cold deck for exercise. Captain Faun, who was so competent and so steady, and who always met Katsa's eyes with respect. All these things comforted Katsa, and a tough little skin began to stretch across the wound that had opened in her when her dagger had hit Leck.
She found herself thinking of her uncle. How small Randa seemed now, how baseless in his power. How silly that such a person had ever been able to control her.
Control. This was Katsa's wound: Leck had taken away her control. It had nothing to do with self-condemnation; she couldn't blame herself for what had happened. How could it not have happened? Leck had been too strong. She could respect a strong opponent, as she'd respected the wildcat and the mountain. But no amount of humility or respect made it any less horrifying to have lost control.
"Forgive me, Katsa," Skye said once, as they hung together above the sea. "But there's one question I must ask you."
She had seen the puzzlement in his eyes at times before. She knew what he was going to ask.
"You're not my brother's wife, are you?"
She smiled grimly. "No."
"Then why do the Lienid on this ship call you Princess?"
She took a breath, to ease the jarring of his question against her wound. She reached into the neck of her coat and pulled the ring out for him to see.
"When he gave it to me," she said, "he didn't tell me what it meant. Nor did he tell me why he gave it."
Skye stared at the ring. His face registered astonishment, then dismay, then a stubborn, self-willed sort of denial. "He'll have some rational reason for it," he said.
"Yes," Katsa said. "I intend to beat it out of him."
Skye laughed a short laugh, and lapsed into silence. A crease of worry lingered low on his forehead. And Katsa knew that the tough scar that formed over the ache within her had as much to do with her future lack of control as her past. She could not make Po be well, any more than she had been able to make herself think clearly in Leck's presence. Some things were beyond her power, and she had to prepare herself for whatever she found when she reached Po's cabin at the base of the Monsean mountains.
———
The delay, once the ship had docked in Monport and the party had disembarked, was unbearable. The captain of the Monport guard and the nobles of Leck's court stationed in Monport had to be summoned and made to understand the incredible truths Ror presented to them. The search for Bitterblue, still under way, had to be called off, as did the instructions to take Katsa alive and Po dead. Ror's tone on this last point froze into something very cold.
"Has he been found?" Katsa interrupted.
"Has... has who?" the captain of the Monport guard asked, stupidly, his hand to his head, his manner afflicted with a vagueness the Lienid party recognized.
"Have your men found the Lienid prince?" Ror snapped; and then more gently, as the eyes of the captain and the nobles moved confusedly to Skye, "the younger prince. He's a Graceling, with silver and gold eyes. Has anyone seen him?"
"I don't believe he's been seen, Lord King. Yes, I'm quite sure that's correct. We've not found him. Forgive me, Lord King. This story you've told... my memory..."
"Yes," Ror said. "I understand. We must go slowly."
Katsa could have torn the city down stone by stone, so wild did it make her to go slowly. She began to stalk back and forth behind the Lienid king. She crouched to the floor and grasped her hair. The conversation droned on. It would take hours – hours – for these men to disengage themselves from Leck's spell, and Katsa couldn't bear it.
"Perhaps we could see to some horses, Father," Skye murmured, "and be on our way?"
Katsa shot to her feet. "Yes," she said. "Yes, in the name of the Middluns, please."
Ror glanced from Skye to Katsa, and then to Bitterblue. "Queen Bitterblue," he said, "if you'll trust me to manage this situation in your abs
ence, I see no reason to delay you."
"Of course I trust you," the child said, "and my men will defer to your judgment in all things while I'm gone."
The captain and the nobles stared openmouthed at their new queen, half Ror's height, dressed like a boy, and utterly dignified. They furrowed their eyebrows and scratched their heads, and Katsa was ready to scratch her own eyes out. Ror turned to her.
"The sooner you reach Po, the better," he said. "I'll not keep you."
"We need two horses," Katsa said, "the fastest in the city."
"And you need a Monsean guard," Ror said, "for no one you pass will realize what has happened. Any Monsean soldiers who sight you will try to capture you."
Katsa flicked her hand impatiently. "Very well, a guard. But if they can't keep up with me, I'll leave them behind." She swung toward Skye. "I hope you ride as well as your brother."
"Or you'll leave him behind as well?" Ror said. "And the Monsean queen – if she's weighing down your horse, will you leave her behind? And the horse itself, I suppose, once it collapses from exhaustion and disuse?" He had drawn himself up very tall, and his voice was sharp. "Be rational, Katsa. You will take a guard, and it will ride before you and behind you. For the entire journey, is that clear? You carry the Queen of Monsea, and you travel with my son."
Katsa practically spit back at him. "Do you imagine that I need a guard to protect them from the soldiers of Monsea?"
"No," Ror snapped. "I have no doubt that you are more than capable of bringing the Monsean queen and my son and the rest of my sons and a hundred Nanderan kittens through an onslaught of howling raiders if you chose to." He drew himself up even taller. "You will listen to sense. It does none of us any good at this juncture for you to barrel through Monsea with the queen of the kingdom on your horse, killing her soldiers left and right. What exactly would that accomplish? You will travel with a guard, and the guard will make your explanations and ensure that you're not attacked. Am I clear?"
He didn't wait to know if he was clear. He turned abruptly to the captain, who flinched at the entire exchange as if it hurt his head. "Captain, the four fastest horsemen in your guard," he said, "and your six fastest horses, immediately." He swung back on Katsa and glared down at her. "Have you regained your reason?" he roared.
It was her temper she had lost, not her reason – or if it was her reason, it returned to her now, with the promise of four fast horsemen, six fast horses, and a thundering ride to Po.
———
They rode fast and passed few people. The Port Road was wide, its surface a mixture of dirt and snow tramped down under the hooves of innumerable horses. Banks of snow rose on either side of the road, and fields of snow beyond them. Far to the west, they could just make out the dark line of the forest, and the mountains beyond. The air was icy, but the child on the horse before her was warm enough, and content to be pushed harder than was comfortable. The queen on the horse before her, Katsa thought, correcting herself. And Queen Bitterblue was very changed from the skittish creature she and Po had cajoled from the inside of a hollow log months ago. Bitterblue would make a good ruler someday. And Raffin a good king; and Ror was strong and capable and would live a long time. That was three of the seven kingdoms in good hands. Three of seven, however inadequate it seemed, would be a vast improvement.
———
There were towns along the Port Road, towns with inns. The party stopped occasionally for a hasty meal, or to seek shelter from the bitter late-winter nights. Their guard was the only thing that made this possible, for every soldier in every room they entered jumped up at the sight of them, hand to weapon, and remained in that guise until the explanations of the guard, and some words from Bitterblue, relaxed his vigilance. At one inn, the guard's explanations came too slowly. A marksman across an empty room fired an arrow that would have hit Skye, had Katsa not jumped on the prince and knocked him to the floor. She was up again before Skye had even registered his fall, her body blocking the queen's and her own arrow drawn; but the guards had intervened, and by then it was over. Katsa had hauled Skye up. She'd looked into his eyes and understood what had happened.
"He thought you were Po," she said to Skye. "That archer. He saw the hoops in your ears, the rings, and the dark hair, and he fired before he saw your eyes. You should wait until the guards have spoken, from now on, before entering a room."
Skye kissed her forehead. "You saved my life."
Katsa smiled. "You Lienid are very outward in your affection."
"I'm going to name my firstborn child after you."
Katsa laughed at that. "For the child's sake, wait for a girl. Or even better, wait until all your children are older and give my name to whichever is the most troublesome and obstinate."
Skye burst into laughter and hugged her, and Katsa returned his embrace. And realized that quite without her intending it, her guarded heart had made another friend.
The party was swept upstairs to the briefest of sleeps. The archer was taken away, most likely to be punished soundly for loosing an arrow so close to a small gray-eyed girl who happened to be Bitterblue. And if the people living in the towns and traveling the roads did not yet know the details of Leck's death, or suspect his treachery, at least it began to be understood in Monsea that Bitterblue was safe, Bitterblue was well, and Bitterblue was queen.
———
The road was clear and swift, but the road didn't lead straight to Po. The party turned west eventually into fields piled high with ice and snow, and Katsa felt the slackening of their pace severely. The horses labored to break a path through snow that reached sometimes to their shoulders.
Days later the party burst under the cover of the forest, and this was easier going. And then the land began to rise, and the trees to peter out. Soon they were climbing. They swung down from their mounts, all except for the queen, and picked their way uphill on foot.
They were nearly there, nearly there; and Katsa drove her companions fiercely, dragging the horses, emptying her mind of everything but their ferocious progress forward.
"I believe we've lamed one of the horses," Skye called up to her, early one morning when they were so close she could feel her body humming with it. She stopped and turned to look back. Skye gestured to the horse he was leading. "See? I'm sure the poor beast is limping."
The animal's head drooped, and it sighed deeply through its nostrils. Katsa grasped for her patience. "It's not limping," she said. "It's only tired, and we're nearly there."
"How can you say that when you haven't even seen it take one step?"
"Well, step, then."
"I can't until you've moved."
Katsa glared at him, murderously. She clenched her teeth. "Hold on tight, Lady Queen," she said to Bitterblue, who sat on her horse. She gripped the animal's halter and yanked the beast forward.
"Still doing your best to ruin the horses, I see."
Katsa froze. The voice came from above rather than behind, and it didn't quite sound like Skye. She turned.
"I thought it was supposed to be impossible to sneak up on you. Eyes of a hawk and ears of a wolf and all that," he said – and there, he was there, standing straight, eyes glimmering, mouth twitching, and the path he'd plowed through the snow stretching behind him. Katsa cried out and ran, tackling Po so hard that he fell back into the snow and she on top of him. And he laughed, and held her tight, and she was crying; and then Bitterblue came and threw herself squealing on top of them; and Skye came and helped them all up. Po embraced his cousin properly. He embraced his brother, and they messed up each other's hair and laughed at each other and embraced again. And then Katsa was in his arms again, crying hot tears into his neck, and holding him so tightly he complained he could not breathe.
Po shook the hands of the smiling, exhausted guards and led the party, lame horse and all, up to his cabin.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The cabin was clean, and in better repair than it had been when they'd found it. A stack of wood s
tood outside the door; a fire burned brightly in the fireplace; the cabinet still stood crookedly on three legs, but the dust was gone: a handsome bow hung on the wall. Katsa absorbed all this in a glance. And that was enough of that, for it was Po she wanted to fill her eyes with.
He walked smoothly, with his old ease. He seemed strong. Too thin, but when she commented on it, he said, "Fish aren't particularly fattening, Katsa, and I've eaten little but fish since you left. I can't tell you how sick to the skies I am of fish." They brought out bread for him then, and apples, and dried apricots and cheese, and spread it across the table. He ate, and laughed, and declared himself to be in raptures.
"The apricots come from Lienid," Katsa said, "by way of Suncliff, and Lienid again, and a place in the middle of the Lienid seas, and finally Monport."
He grinned at her, and his eyes caught the light of the fire in the fireplace, and Katsa was very happy. "You have a story to tell me," he said, "and I can see it has a happy ending. But will you start at the beginning?"
And so they started at the beginning. Katsa supplied the major points, and Bitterblue the details. "Katsa made me a hat of animal furs," Bitterblue said. "Katsa fought a mountain lion." Katsa made snowshoes. Katsa stole a pumpkin. Bitterblue listed Katsa's achievements one by one, as if she were bragging about her older sister; and Katsa didn't mind. The amusing parts of the tale made it easier to relate the grim.
It was during the story of what had happened at Po's castle that Katsa's mind caught on something that had nagged at her. Po was distracted. He watched the table instead of the people speaking; his face was absent, he wasn't listening. At the very moment she recognized his inattention he raised his eyes to her. For an instant he seemed to see her and focus on her, but then he stared emptily into his hands again. She could have sworn a kind of sadness settled into the lines of his mouth.
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