Graceling

  She did not forgive him.

  She heard him move a step closer. "How ... how did you know?" he asked. "If you would tell me?"

  She rested her forehead on the glass pane. "And why don't you use your Grace to find the answer to that?"

  He paused. "I could," he said, "possibly, if you were thinking about it specifically. But you're not, and I can't wander around inside you and retrieve any information I want. Any more than I can stop my Grace from showing me things I don't want."

  She didn't answer.

  "Katsa, all I know right now is that you're angry, furious, from the top of your head to your toes; and that I've hurt you, and that you don't forgive me. Or trust me. That's all I know at this moment. And my Grace only confirms what I see with my own eyes."

  She sighed sharply, and spoke into the windowpane. "Giddon told me he didn't trust you. And when he told me, he used the same words you'd used before, the same words exactly. And"—she waved her hand in the air—"there were other hints. But Giddon's words made it clear."

  He was closer now. Leaning against the table, most likely, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on her back. She focused on the view outside. Two ladies crossed the courtyard below her, on each other's arms. The curls of their hair sat gathered at the tops of their heads and bobbed up and down.

  "I haven't been very careful with you," he said. "Careful to hide it. I'd go so far as to say I've been careless at times." He paused, and his voice was quiet, as if he was talking down to his boots. "It's because I've wanted you to know."

  And that did not absolve him. He had taken her thoughts without telling her, and he had wanted to tell her, and that did not begin to absolve him.

  "I couldn't tell you, Katsa, not possibly," he said, and she swung around to face him.

  "Stop it! Stop that! Stop responding to my thoughts!"

  "I won't hide it from you, Katsa! I won't hide it anymore!"

  He wasn't leaning against the table, hands in pockets. He was standing, clutching his hair. His face—she would not look at his face. She turned away, turned back to the window.

  "I'm not going to hide it from you anymore, Katsa," he said again. "Please. Let me explain it. It's not as bad as you think."

  "It's easy for you to say," she said. "You're not the one whose thoughts are not your own."

  "Almost all of your thoughts are your own," he said. "My Grace only shows me how you stand in relation to me. Where you are nearby physically, and what you're doing; and any thoughts or feelings or instincts you have regarding me. I—I suppose it's meant to be a kind of self-preservation," he finished lamely. "Anyway, it's why I can fight you. I sense the movement of your body, without seeing it. And more to the point, I feel the energy of your intentions toward me. I know every move you intend to make against me, before you make it."

  She almost couldn't breathe at that extraordinary statement. She wondered vaguely if this was how it felt to her victims, to be kicked in the chest.

  "I know when someone wants to hurt me, and how," he said. "I know if a person looks on me kindly, or if he trusts me. I know if a person doesn't like me. I know when someone intends to deceive me."

  "As you've deceived me," she said, "about being a mind reader."

  He continued doggedly. "Yes, that's true. But all you've told me about your struggles with Randa, Katsa, I needed to hear from your mouth. All you've told me about Raffin, or Giddon. When I met you in Murgon's courtyard," he said. "Do you remember? When I met you, I didn't know why you were there. I couldn't look into your mind and know you were in the process of rescuing my grandfather from Murgon's dungeons. I wasn't even sure my grandfather was in the dungeons, for I hadn't gotten close enough to him to sense his physical presence yet. Nor had I spoken with Murgon; I'd learned nothing yet from Murgon's lies. I didn't know you'd attacked every guard in the castle. All I knew for sure was that you didn't know who I was, and you didn't know whether to trust me, but you didn't want to kill me, because I was Lienid, and possibly because of something to do with some other Lienid, though I couldn't be certain who, or how he factored into it. And also that you—I don't know how to explain it, but you felt trustworthy to me. That's all, that's all I knew. It was on the basis of that information that I decided to trust you."

  "It must be convenient," she said bitterly, "to know if another person is trustworthy. We wouldn't be here now if I had that capability."

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't tell you how sorry. I've hated not telling you. It's rankled me every day since we became friends."

  "We are not friends." She whispered it into the glass of the window.

  "If you're not my friend, then I have no friends."

  "Friends don't lie," she said.

  "Friends try to understand," he said. "How could I have become your friend without lying? How much have I risked to tell you and Raffin the truth? What would you have done differently, Katsa, if this were your Grace and your secret? Hidden yourself in a hole and dared to burden no one with your grievous friendship? I will have friends, Katsa. I will have a life, even though I carry this burden."

  He stopped for a moment, his voice rough and choked, and Katsa fought against his distress, fought to keep it from touching her. She found that she was gripping the window frame very hard.

  "You would have me friendless, Katsa," he finished quietly. "You would have my Grace control every aspect of my life and shut me off from every happiness."

  She didn't want to hear these words, words that called to her sympathy, to her understanding. She who had hurt so many with her own Grace, and been reviled because of it. She who still struggled to keep her Grace from mastering her, and who, like him, had never asked for the power it gave her.

  "Yes," he said, "I didn't ask for this. I would turn it off for you, if I could."

  Rage then, rage again, because she couldn't even feel sympathy without him knowing it. This was madness. She could not comprehend the madness of this situation. How did his mother relate to him? Or his grandfather? How could anyone?

  She took a breath and tried to consider it, piece by piece.

  "Your fighting," she said, her eyes on the darkening courtyard. "You expect me to believe your fighting isn't Graced?"

  "I'm an exceptional natural fighter," he said. "All of my brothers are. The royal family is well-known in Lienid for hand fighting. But my Grace—it's an enormous advantage in a fight, to anticipate every move your opponent makes against you. Combine with that my immediate sense of your body, a sense that goes beyond sight—you can understand why no one has ever beaten me, save you."

  She thought about that and found she couldn't believe it. "But you're too good. You must have a fighting Grace as well. You couldn't fight me so well if you didn't."

  "Katsa," he said, "think about it. You're five times the fighter I am. When we fight, you're holding back—don't tell me you aren't, because I know you are—and I'm not holding back, not a bit. And you can do anything you want to me, and I can't hurt you—"

  "It hurts when you strike me—"

  "It hurts you for only an instant, and besides, if I hit you it's only because you've let me, because you're too busy wrenching my arm out of its socket to care that I'm hitting you in the stomach. How long do you think it would take you to kill me, or break my bones, if you decided to?"

  If she truly decided to?

  He was right. If her purpose were to hurt him, to break his arm or his neck, she didn't think it would take her very long.

  "When we fight," he said, "you go to great pains to win without hurting me. That you usually can is a mark of your phenomenal skill. I've never hurt you once, and believe me, I've tried."

  "It's a front," she said. "The fighting is only a front."

  "Yes. My mother seized on it the instant it became clear that I shared the skill of my brothers, and that my Grace magnified that skill."

  "Why didn't you know I would strike you," she said, "in Murgon's courtyard?"

  "I did know," he said
, "but only in the last instant, and I didn't react quickly enough. Until that first strike, I didn't realize your speed. I'd never encountered the like of it before."

  The mortar was cracking in the frame of the window. She pulled out a small chunk and rolled it between her fingers. "Does your Grace make mistakes? Or are you always right?"

  He breathed; it almost sounded like a laugh. "It's not always exact. And it's always changing. I'm still growing into it. My sense of the physical is pretty reliable, as long as I'm not in an enormous crowd. I know where people are and what they're doing. But what they feel toward me—there's never been a time when I thought someone was lying and they weren't. Or a time when I thought someone intended to hit me and they didn't. But there are times when I'm not sure—when I have a sense of something but I'm not sure. Other people's feelings can be very ... complicated, and difficult to understand."

  She hadn't thought of that, that a person might be difficult to understand, even to a mind reader.

  "I'm more sure of things now than I used to be," he said. "When I was a child I was rarely sure. These enormous waves of energy and feeling and thought were always crashing into me, and most of the time I was drowning in them. For one thing, it's taken me a long time to learn to distinguish between thoughts that matter and thoughts that don't. Thoughts that are just thoughts, fleeting, and thoughts that carry some kind of relevant intent. I've gotten much better at that, but my Grace still gives me things I've no idea what to do with."

  It sounded ridiculous to her, thoroughly ridiculous. And she had thought her own Grace overwhelming. Alongside his, it seemed quite straightforward.

  "It's hard to get a handle on it sometimes," he said, "my Grace."

  She turned sideways for a moment. "Did you say that because I thought it?"

  "No. I said it because I thought it."

  She turned back to the window. "I thought it, too," she said. "Or something like it."

  "Well," he said. "I imagine it's a feeling you would understand."

  She sighed again. There were things about this she could understand, though she didn't want to. "How close do you have to be to someone, physically, for your Grace to sense them?"

  "It differs. And it's changed over time."

  "What do you mean?"

  "If it's someone I know well," he said, "my range is broad. For strangers, I need to be closer. I knew when you neared the castle today; I knew when you burst into the courtyard and leaped out of your saddle, and I felt your anger strong and clear as you flew up to Raffin's rooms. My range for you is ... broader than most."

  It was darker outside now than it was in her dining room. She saw him, suddenly, in the reflection of the window. He was leaning back against the table, as she had pictured him before. His face, his shoulders, his arms sagged. Everything about him sagged. He was unhappy. He was looking down at his feet, but as she watched him he raised his eyes, and met hers in the glass. She felt the tears again, suddenly, and she grasped at something to say.

  "Do you sense the presence of animals and plants? Rocks and dirt?"

  "I'm leaving," he said, "tomorrow."

  "Do you know when an animal is near?"

  "Will you turn around," he said, "so I can see you while we speak?"

  "Can you read my mind more easily when I'm facing you?"

  "No. I'd just like to see you, Katsa. That's all."

  His voice was soft, and sorry. He was sorry about all of this, sorry for his Grace. His Grace that was not his fault and that would have driven her away had he told her of it at the beginning.

  She turned to face him.

  "I didn't used to sense animals and plants or landscapes," he said, "but lately that's been changing. Sometimes I'll get a fuzzy sense of something that isn't human. If something moves, I might sense it. It's erratic."

  Katsa watched his face.

  "I'm going to Sunder," he said.

  Katsa folded her arms across her stomach and said nothing.

  "When Murgon questioned me after your rescue, it became obvious to me the object you'd taken was my grandfather. It became just as obvious Murgon had been keeping him for someone else. But I couldn't tell who, not without asking questions that would've given away what I knew."

  She listened vaguely. She was tired, overwhelmed by too many things in the present to focus on the details of the kidnapping.

  "I'm beginning to think it's something to do with Monsea," he said. "We've ruled out the Middluns, Wester, Nander, Estill, Sunder—and you'll remember, I've been to most of those courts. I know I was not lied to, except in Sunder. Lienid is not responsible, I'm sure of it."

  She'd lost her fury, somewhere, as they'd talked. She didn't feel it anymore. She wished she did, because she preferred it to the emptiness that had settled in its place. She was sorry for everything that had changed now with Po. Sorry to see it all go.

  "Katsa," he said. "I need you to listen to me."

  She blinked and worked her mind back to the words he had spoken.

  "But King Leck of Monsea is a kind man," she said. "He would have no reason."

  "He might," he said, "though I don't know what it is. Something isn't right, Katsa. Some impressions I got from Murgon that I dismissed at the time, perhaps I dismissed them in error. And my father's sister, Queen Ashen, she wouldn't behave as you told me. She's so stoical, she is strong. She wouldn't have hysterics and lock herself and her child away from her husband. I swear to you, if you knew her..."

  He stopped, his brow furrowed. He kicked the floor. "I've a feeling Monsea has something to do with it. I don't know if it's my Grace, or just instinct. Anyway, I'm going back to Sunder, to see what I can learn of it. Grandfather's doing better, but for his own sake I want him to stay hidden until I get to the bottom of this."

  That was it, then. He was going to Sunder, to get to the bottom of it. And it was good that he was going, for she didn't want him in her head.

  But neither did she want him to go. And he must know that, since she had thought it. And now, did he know that she knew that he knew, since she had thought that, too?

  This was absurd, it was impossible. Being with him was impossible.

  But still she didn't want him to go.

  "I hoped you would come with me," he said, and she stared at him, openmouthed. "We'd make a good team. I don't even know where I'm going, for sure. But I hoped you would consider coming. If you're still my friend."

  She couldn't think what to say. "Doesn't your Grace tell you if I'm your friend?"

  "Do you know, yourself?"

  She tried to think, but there was nothing in her mind. She knew only that she was numb and sad and completely without any clarity of feeling.

  "I can't know your feelings," he said, "if you don't know them yourself."

  He looked to the door suddenly; and then there was a knock, and a steward burst in without waiting for Katsa's response. At the sight of his pale, tight face, it all came flooding back to her. Randa. Randa wanted to see her, most likely wanted to kill her. Before this confusion with Po, she had disobeyed Randa.

  "The king orders you to come before him at once, My Lady," the steward said. "Forgive me, My Lady. He says that if you don't, he'll send his entire guard to fetch you."

  "Very well," Katsa said. "Tell him I'll go to him immediately."

  "Thank you, My Lady." The steward turned and scampered away.

  Katsa scowled after him. "His entire guard. What does he think they could do to me? I should've told the steward to send them, just for the amusement of it." She looked around the room. "I wonder if I should take a knife."

  Po watched her with narrowed eyes. "What have you done? What's this about?"

  "I've disobeyed him. He sent me to torture some poor, innocent lord, and I decided I wouldn't. Do you think I should take a knife?" She walked across to her weapons room.

  He followed her. "To do what? What do you think will happen at this meeting?"

  "I don't know, I don't know. Oh, Po, if he angers me
, I fear I'll want to kill him. And what if he threatens me and gives me no choice?" She threw herself into a chair and dropped her head down on the Council table. How could she go to Randa now, of all times, when there was a whirlwind in her head? She would lose herself at the sound of his voice. She would do something dreadful.

  Po slid into the chair next to her and sat sideways, facing her. "Katsa," he said. "Listen to me. You're the most powerful person I've ever met. You can do whatever you want, whatever you want in the world. No one can make you do anything, and your uncle can't touch you. The instant you walk into his presence, you have all the power. If you wish not to hurt him, Katsa, then you have only to choose not to."

  "But what will I do?"

  "You'll figure it out," Po said. "You only have to go in knowing what you won't do. You won't hurt him, you won't let him hurt you. You'll figure the rest out as you go along."

  She sighed into the table. She didn't think much of his plan.

  "It's the only possible plan, Katsa. You have the power to do whatever you want."

  She sat up and turned to him. "You keep saying that, but it's not true," she said. "I don't have the power to stop you from sensing my thoughts."

  He raised his eyebrows. "You could kill me."

  "I couldn't," she said, "for you would know I meant to kill you, and you'd escape me. You'd stay far away from me, always."

  "Ah, but I wouldn't."

  "You would," she said, "if I wished to kill you."

  "I wouldn't."

  On that senseless note she threw her arms into the air. "Enough. Enough of this." She stood up from the table, and marched out of her apartments to answer the king's call.

  Chapter Fifteen

  HER FIRST THOUGHT when she entered the throne room was to wish she'd brought a knife after all. Her second thought was to wish that Po's sense of bodies had extended to this room, so that he might have warned her of what was waiting for her here, and she might have known not to come.