"YOU BELIEVE Leck cuts those animals up himself," she said to him one day while they were riding. "Don't you?"
He glanced back at her. "I realize it's a disgusting accusation. But yes, that's what I believe. And I also wonder about the sickness that man spoke of."
"You think he's killing people off."
Po shrugged and didn't answer.
Katsa said, "Do you think Queen Ashen closed herself away from him because she figured out that he's Graced?"
"I've wondered about that, too."
"But how could she have figured it out? Shouldn't she be completely under his spell?"
"I've no idea. Perhaps he went too far with his abuses and she had a moment of mental clarity." He raised a branch that hung in their path, and ducked under it. "Perhaps his Grace only works to a point."
Or perhaps there was no Grace. Perhaps it was no more than a ridiculous notion they'd come up with in a desperate attempt to explain unexplainable circumstances.
But a king and queen had died, and no one had called foul. A king had kidnapped a grandfather, and no one suspected him.
A one-eyed king.
It was a Grace. Or if it was not, it was something unnatural.
THE PATH grew thinner and more overgrown, and they walked with the horses more than they rode. And now all the trees seemed to change color at once, the leaves orange and yellow and crimson, and purple and brown. Only a day or two to go before they reached the inn that would take their horses. And then the steep climb into the mountains, with their belongings on their backs. There would be snow in the mountains, Po said, and there would not be many travelers. They would need to move cautiously and watch for storms.
"But you're not worried, are you, Katsa?"
"Not particularly."
"Because you never get cold, and you can bring down a bear with your hands and build us a fire in a blizzard, using icicles for kindling."
She would not humor him by laughing, but she couldn't suppress a smile. They had encamped for the evening. She was fishing, and when she fished he always teased her, for she didn't fish with a line, as he would have. She fished by removing her boots, rolling up the legs of her trousers, and wading into the water. She'd then snatch up any fish that came within range of her grasp and throw it to Po, who sat on shore laughing at her, scaling and gutting their dinner, and keeping her company.
"It's not many people whose hands are faster than a fish," he said.
Katsa snatched at a silver pink glimmer that flashed past her ankles, then tossed the fish to Po. "It's not many people who know that a horse has a stone caught in its hoof even when the horse shows no signs of it, either. I may be able to kill my dinner as easily as I kill men, but at least I'm not conversing with the horses."
"I don't converse with the horses. I've only started to know if they want us to stop. And once we've stopped, it's usually easy enough to find what's wrong."
"Well, regardless, it seems to me that you're not in a position to marvel at the strangeness of my Grace."
Po leaned back on his elbows and grinned. "I don't think your Grace is strange. But I think it's not what you think it is."
She grabbed at a dark flash in the water and threw a fish to him. "What is it, then?"
"Now, that I don't know. But a killing Grace can't account for all the things you can do. The way you never tire. Or suffer from the cold, or from hunger."
"I tire."
"Other things, too. The knack you have with fire in a rainstorm."
"I'm just more patient than other people."
Po snorted. "Yes. Patience has always struck me as one of your defining characteristics."
He dodged the fish that flew at his head, and sat back again, laughing. "Your eyes are bright as you stand in that water, with the sun setting before you," he said. "You're beautiful."
Stop it. "And you're a fool."
"Come out of there, wildcat. We've enough fish."
She waded to shore. Meeting her at the edge of the water, he pulled her up onto the moss. Together they gathered up the fish and walked to the fire.
"I tire," Katsa said. "And I feel cold and hunger."
"All right, if you say so. But just compare yourself to other people."
Compare herself to other people.
She sat down and dried her feet.
"Shall we fight tonight?" he asked.
She nodded, absently.
He set the fish above the flames and hummed and washed his hands, and flashed his light at her from across the fire. She sat—and thought to herself about what she found when she compared herself to other people.
She did feel cold, sometimes. But she didn't suffer from it as other people did. And she felt hunger sometimes; but she could go long with little food, and hunger did not make her weak. She couldn't remember ever feeling weak, exactly, for any reason. Nor could she remember ever having been ill. She thought back and was certain. She'd never even had a cough.
She stared into the fire. They were a bit unusual, these things. She could see that. And she knew there was more.
She fought and rode and ran and tumbled, but her skin rarely bruised or broke. She'd never broken a bone. And she didn't suffer from pain the way other people did. Even when Po hit her very hard, the pain was easily manageable. If she was being honest, she'd have to admit that she didn't quite understand what other people meant when they complained of pain.
She didn't tire as other people did. She didn't need much sleep. Most nights she made herself sleep, only because she knew she should.
"Po?"
He looked up from the fire.
"Can you tell yourself to go to sleep?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, can you lie down and make yourself fall asleep? Whenever you want, instantly?"
He squinted at her. "No. I've never heard of such a thing."
"Hmm."
He studied her for a moment longer, and then seemed to decide to let her be. She barely noticed him. It had never occurred to her before that the control she had over her sleep might be unusual. And it wasn't just that she could command herself to sleep. She could command herself to sleep for a specific amount of time. And whenever she woke, she always knew exactly what time it was. At every moment of the day, in fact, she always knew the time.
Just as she always knew exactly where she was and what direction she was facing.
"Which way is north?" she asked Po.
He looked up again and considered the light. He pointed in a direction that was loosely north, but not exactly. How did she know that with such certainty?
She never got lost. She never had trouble building a fire, or shelter. She hunted so easily. Her vision and her hearing were better than those of anyone she'd ever known.
She stood abruptly. She strode the few steps back to the pond and stared into it without seeing it.
The physical needs that limited other people did not limit her. The things from which other people suffered did not touch her. She knew instinctively how to live and thrive in the wilderness.
And she could kill anyone. At the slightest threat to her survival.
Katsa sat on the ground suddenly. Could her Grace be survival?
The instant she asked it, she denied it. She was just a killer, had always been just a killer. She'd killed a cousin, in plain view of Randa's court—a man who wouldn't have hurt her, not really. She'd murdered him, without a thought, without hesitation—just as she'd very nearly murdered her uncle.
But she hadn't murdered her uncle. She'd found a way to avoid it and stay alive.
And she hadn't meant for that cousin to die. She'd been a child, her Grace unformed. She hadn't lashed out to kill him; she'd only lashed out to protect herself, to protect herself from his touch. She'd forgotten this, somewhere along the line, when the people of the court had begun to shy away from her and Randa had begun to use her skill for his own purposes, and call her his child killer.
Her Grace was not killing. Her Gr
ace was survival.
She laughed then. For it was almost like saying her Grace was life; and of course, that was ridiculous.
She stood again and turned back to the fire. Po watched her approach. He didn't ask what she was thinking, he didn't intrude; he would wait until she wanted to tell him. She looked at him measuring her from across the flames. He was plainly curious.
"I've been comparing myself to other people," she said.
"I see," he said, cautiously.
She peeled back the skin of one of the roasting fish and sliced off a piece. She chewed on it and thought.
"Po."
He looked up at her.
"If you learned that my Grace wasn't killing," she said, "but survival..."
He raised his eyebrows.
"Would it surprise you?"
He pursed his lips. "No. It makes much more sense to me."
"But—it's like saying my Grace is life."
"Yes."
"It's absurd."
"Is it? I don't think so. And it's not just your own life," he said. "You've saved many lives with your Grace."
She shook her head. "Not as many as I've hurt."
"Possibly. But you have the rest of your life to tip the balance. You'll live long."
The rest of her life to tip the balance.
Katsa peeled the flesh of another fish away from its bones. She broke the flaky meat apart and ate it, and thought about that, smiling.
Chapter Twenty-two
THE TREES gave way suddenly, and the mountains came upon them all at once; and with the mountains, the town that would take their horses. The buildings were made of stone or of heavy Sunderan wood, but it was the town's backdrop that stopped Katsa's breath. She'd seen the hills of Estill, but she'd never seen mountains. She'd never seen silver trees that climbed straight up into the sky, and rock and snow that climbed even higher, to peaks impossibly high that shone gold in the sun.
"It reminds me of home," Po said.
"Lienid is like this?"
"Parts of Lienid. My father's city stands near mountains like these."
"Well," Katsa said. "It reminds me of nothing, for I've never seen anything like it. I almost can't believe I'm seeing it now."
There was no camping and no hunting for them that night. Their meal was cooked for them and served by the rough, friendly wife of the innkeeper, who seemed unconcerned with their Graceling eyes and wanted to know everything they'd seen on their journey, and everyone they'd passed. They ate in a room warm from the fire in a great stone fireplace. Hot stew, hot vegetables, hot bread, and the entire eating room to themselves. Chairs to sit on, and a table, and plates and spoons. Their baths afterwards warm; their bed warm, and softer than Katsa had remembered a bed could be. It was luxury, and they enjoyed it, for they knew it was the last such comfort they were likely to experience for some time.
THEY LEFT before sunlight broke over the peaks, with provisions wrapped by the innkeeper's wife, and cold water from the inn's well. They carried most of their belongings, all that they had not left behind with the horses. One bow and one quiver, on Katsa's back, as she was the better shot. Neither of their swords, though both carried dagger and knife. Their bedrolls, little clothing, coins, the medicines, the maps, the list of Council contacts.
The sky they climbed toward turned purple, then orange and pink. The mountain path bore the signs of the crossings of others—fires gone cold, boot impressions in the dirt. In some places huts had been built for the use of travelers, empty of furniture but with crude, functional fireplaces. Built by the combined efforts of Sunder, Estill, and Monsea, in a time long ago when the kingdoms worked together for the safe passage of travelers across their borders.
"A roof and four walls can save you, in a blizzard in the mountains," Po said.
"Were you ever caught in the mountains during a blizzard?"
"I was once, with my brother Silvern. We were out climbing, and a storm surprised us. We found the hut of a woodsman—if we hadn't, we'd likely be dead. We were trapped for four days. For four days we ate nothing but the bread and apples we'd brought along, and the snow. Our mother almost gave us up for lost."
"Which brother is Silvern?"
"My father's fifth son."
"It's a shame you hadn't the animal sense then that you have now. You could've gone out and unearthed a mole, or a squirrel."
"And lost myself on the way back to the hut," he said. "Either that, or returned to a brother who'd think it was awfully suspicious that I'd managed to hunt in a blizzard."
They climbed over dirt and grass that gave way at times to rock, climbed always with the mountain peaks rising before them. It felt good to be out of the forest, to climb, to move fast. The vast, empty sky glinted its sun onto her face and filled her lungs with air. She was content.
"Why have you never trusted your brothers with your Grace?"
"My mother forbade me when I was a child, absolutely forbade me to tell them. I hated to keep it from them—particularly Silvern, and Skye, who's closest in age to me. But now I know my brothers as men, and I see my mother was right."
"Why? Aren't they to be trusted?"
"They are, with most things. But they're all made of ambition, Katsa, every one of them, constantly playing off each other to gain favor with my father. As things stand now, I'm no threat to them—because I'm the youngest and have no ambition. And they respect me, for they know it would take all six of them together to beat me in a fight. But if they knew the truth of my Grace they'd try to use me. They wouldn't be able to help themselves."
"But you wouldn't let them."
"No, but then they'd resent me, and I'm not sure one of them wouldn't give in to the temptation to tell his wife or his advisers. And my father would learn ... It would all fall apart."
They stopped at a trickle of water. Katsa drank some and washed her face. "Your mother had foresight."
"Above all, she feared my father learning of it." He lowered his flask into the water. "He's not an unkind father. But it's hard to be king. Men will trick power away from a king, however they can. I would've been too useful to him. He couldn't have resisted using me—he simply couldn't. And that was the greatest thing my mother feared."
"Did he never want to use you as a fighter?"
"Certainly, and I've helped him. Not as you've helped Randa—my father isn't the bully Randa is. But it was my mind that my mother feared him using. She wanted my mind to be my own, and not his."
It didn't seem right to Katsa that a mother should have to protect her child from its father. But she didn't know much of mothers and fathers. She hadn't had a mother or a father to protect her from Randa's use. Perhaps rather than fathers, it was kings that were the danger.
"Your grandfather agreed that no one should know the truth of your Grace?"
"My grandfather agreed."
"Would your father be very angry, if he learned the truth now?"
"He'd be furious, with me, my mother, and my grandfather. They'd all be furious. And rightfully so; it's a huge deception we've pulled off, Katsa."
"You had to."
"Nonetheless. It would not be easily forgiven."
Katsa pulled herself onto a jumble of stones and stopped to look around. They seemed no closer to the tops of the peaks that rose before them. It was only by looking back, to the forest far below, that she knew they'd climbed; that, and the drop in temperature. She shifted her bags and stepped back onto the trail.
And then the thought of queens protecting children from kings registered more deeply in her mind.
Po. Leck has a daughter.
"Yes, Bitterblue. She's ten."
Bitterblue could have a role in this strange affair. If Leck was trying to hurt her, it would explain Queen Ashen hiding away with her.
Po stopped in his tracks and turned to look at her anxiously. "If he cuts up animals for pleasure, I hate to think what he would want with his own daughter."
The question hung in the air between them,
eerie and horrible. Katsa thought suddenly of the two dead little girls.
"Let's hope you're wrong," Po said, his hand to his stomach as if he felt ill.
"Let's move faster," Katsa said, "just in case I'm right."
They set off almost at a run. They followed the path upward, through the mountains that separated them from Monsea and whatever truth it contained.
THEY WOKE the next morning on the floor of a dusty hut to a dead fire and a winter cold that seeped through the crack under the door. The frozen stars melted as Katsa and Po climbed, and light spread across the horizon. The path grew steeper and more rocky. The pace of their climb pushed away the chill and the stiffness that Katsa didn't feel but that Po complained of.
"I've been thinking about how we should approach Leck's court," Po said. He climbed from one rock to another and jumped to a third.
"What were you thinking?"
"Well, I'd like to be more certain of our suspicions before meeting him."
"Should we find an inn outside the court, and stay there our first night?"
"That's my thought."
"But we shouldn't waste any time."
"No. If we can't learn anything helpful in one night, then perhaps we should go ahead and present ourselves to the court."
They climbed, and Katsa wondered what that would be like—whether they would pose as friends to the court and infiltrate it gradually, or whether they would enter on the offensive and instigate an enormous fight. She pictured Leck as a smirking, insincere man standing at the end of a velvet carpet, his single eye narrowed and clever. She imagined herself shooting an arrow into his heart, so that he crumpled to his knees, bled all over his carpet, and died at the feet of his stewards. At Po's command, her strike. It would have to be at Po's command, for until they knew the truth of his Grace, she couldn't trust her own judgment. Po? That's true, isn't it?
He took a moment to gather her thoughts. "I've some ideas about that as well," he said. "Once we're in Monsea, would you consent to do what I say, and only what I say? Just until I have a sense of Leck's power? Would you ever consent to that?"
"Of course I would, Po, in this case."
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