"A rabbit," he said. "A big one."
He started forward toward his buried kill, but had taken little more than a step when a flock of geese swooped down from overhead. He put his hand to his temple and fell to one knee.
Katsa strung two arrows and shot two geese. Then she hauled Po up. "Po, what—"
"The geese. They took me by surprise."
She shook her head. "You could sense animals before, but the sense of them never knocked you down."
He snorted with laughter, and then his laughter fizzled into a sigh. "Katsa. Try to imagine how things are now. My Grace shows me every detail of the mountain above me, and the drop to the forest below me. I feel the movement of every fish in the pool and every bird in the trees. The ice is growing back over our water hole. Snow is forming fast in the clouds, Katsa. In a moment I expect it'll be snowing again." He turned his face toward her now, urgently. "Skye and Bitterblue are in the cabin. Bitterblue's anxious about me, she doesn't think I eat enough. And you're here, too, of course—your every movement, your body, your clothing, your every worry coursing through me. The sighted can focus their eyes. I can't focus my Grace. I can't turn this off. How exactly, when I'm aware of everything above, below, before, behind, and beyond me, am I supposed to keep my mind on the ground beneath my feet?"
He trudged away from her toward the red patch of blood. He yanked tiredly at the arrow in the snow. It came away in his hand, and lifted with it a large, white, bloody rabbit. He plodded back to her, rabbit in hand. They stood there, considering each other; and then flakes of snow began to fall. Katsa could not help herself—she smiled, at the fulfillment of his prediction. A moment later Po smiled too, grudgingly; and when they turned to climb the rocks, he took her sleeve. "The snow's disorienting," he said.
They set out across the slope, and he steadied himself against her as they climbed.
SHE WAS getting used to the new way Po had of considering her, now that he couldn't see her. He didn't look at her, of course. She supposed she would never feel the intensity of his gaze again; she would never again be caught in his eyes. It was something she tried not to think about. It made her stupidly, foolishly sad.
But Po's new way with her was also intense. It was a kind of attentiveness in his face, a concentration in his body, directed toward her. When it happened she could feel the stillness of his face and body, attuned to her. She thought that it happened more and more as the days passed. As if he were reconnecting with her, slowly, and pulling her back into his thoughts. He touched her easily now, too, as he'd done before his accident—kissed her hands if she was nearby, or touched her face when she stood before him. And Katsa wondered if it was true, or just her imagination, that he was paying them, all of them, more attention—truer attention. As if perhaps he was less overwhelmed by his Grace. Or less absorbed with himself.
"Look at me," he said to her once, on one of the rare occasions when they had the cabin to themselves. "Katsa, do I seem to be looking at you?"
They were working with their knives before the fire, shaving the bark from the branches of a tree to make arrows. She turned to him and met his eyes, full on, gleaming directly into hers. She caught her breath and set her knife down, flushed with heat; and wondered, briefly, how long it would be before the others returned. And then Po's failed attempt to keep from grinning snapped her out of her daze.
"Dear wildcat. That was more of an answer than I reckoned for."
She snorted. "I see your self-esteem remains intact. And just what were you hoping to achieve?"
He smiled. His hands returned to their work, and his eyes emptied again. "I need to know how to make people think, conclusively, that I'm looking at them. I need to know how to look at Bitterblue so she stops thinking there's something strange about my eyes."
"Oh. Of course. Well, that ought to do it. How do you manage it?"
"Well, I know where your eyes are. It's mostly just a matter of direction, and then sensing your reaction."
"Do it again."
Her purpose was scientific this time. His eyes rose to hers, and she ignored the rush of heat. Yes, it did seem as if he saw her—although now that she studied his gaze, she could tell that there were small indications otherwise.
"Tell me," he said.
She considered him. "The light of your eyes is strange enough, and distracting enough, that I doubt anyone would notice. But you don't seem quite ... focused. You're looking at me, but it's as if your mind is elsewhere. You understand?"
He nodded. "Bitterblue picks up on that."
"Narrow your eyes a bit," Katsa said. "Bring your eyebrows down, as if you were thinking. Yes—that's pretty convincing, Po. No one you direct that gaze toward will ever suspect a thing."
"Thank you, Katsa. Can I practice it with you, now and then? Without fear of you throwing me onto my back and forcing me out of my clothes?"
Katsa cackled at that and threw the shaft of an arrow at him. He caught it, neatly, and laughed; and she thought for a moment that he looked genuinely happy. And then, of course, he registered her thought, and a shadow settled across his face. He withdrew into his work. She glanced at his hands, at his finger still missing its ring. She took a breath and reached for another branch.
"How much does Bitterblue know?" she asked.
"Only that I'm keeping something from her. She knows my Grace is more than I've said. She's known it from the beginning."
"And your sight?"
"I don't think it's even occurred to her." Po smoothed the edge of a shaft with his knife and swept a pile of bark shavings into the fire. "I'll look her in the eyes more often," he said; and then he withdrew again into silence.
PO AND SKYE teased Bitterblue endlessly about her entourage. It wasn't just the guards. Ror was taking the royal position of his sister's daughter very seriously. Soldiers were always arriving, leading horses piled high with supplies, especially as the winter storms began to wind down. Vegetables, breads, fruits; blankets, clothing, dresses for the queen; and always letters from Ror, asking Bitterblue's opinion on this or that matter, updating her on the plans for the coronation, and inquiring after the health of the various members of her party, particularly Po.
"I'm going to ask Ror to send me a sword," Bitterblue said one day at breakfast. "Katsa, will you teach me to use it?"
Skye's face lit up. "Oh, do, Katsa. I haven't seen you fight yet, and I was beginning to think I never would."
"And you imagine I'll make for an exciting opponent?" Bitterblue asked him.
"Of course not. But she'll have to stage a sword fight with a few of the soldiers, won't she, to show you how it's done? There must be a decent fighter or two among them."
"I'm not going to stage a sword fight with unarmored soldiers," Katsa said.
"What about a hand fight?" Skye sat back and folded his arms, a cockiness in his face that Katsa thought must be a family trait. "I'm not such a bad hand fighter myself."
Po exploded with laughter. "Oh, fight him, Katsa. Please fight him. I can't imagine a more entertaining diversion."
"Oh, it's that funny, is it?"
"Katsa could pound you into the ground before you even raised a finger."
Skye was unabashed. "Yes, exactly—that's what I want to see. I want to see you destroy someone, Katsa. Would you destroy Po for me?"
Katsa was smiling. "Po isn't easy to destroy."
Po hooked his feet to the legs of the table and rocked his chair backward. "I imagine I am these days."
"Returning to the question at hand," Bitterblue said, rather sternly. "I should like to learn to use a sword."
"Yes," Katsa said. "Well then, send word to Ror."
"Aren't two soldiers just leaving?" Po asked. "I'll catch them."
The legs of his chair clattered down to the floor. He pushed away from the table and went outside. Three pairs of eyes lingered on the door that closed behind him.
"The weather's looking less like winter now," Bitterblue said. "I'm anxious to go to my court
and get started with things. But I don't like to until I'm convinced he's well, and frankly, I'm not convinced."
Katsa didn't answer. She ate a piece of bread absentmindedly. She turned to Skye and considered his shoulders, strong and straight like his brother's; his strong hands. Skye moved well. And he was closest in age to Po; he'd probably fought Po a million times growing up.
She narrowed her eyes at the remains of their meal. She wondered what it would be like to fight with no eyes, and distracted by the landscape and the movement of every creature close at hand.
"At least he's finally eating," Bitterblue said.
Katsa jumped. She stared at the child. "He is?"
"He was yesterday, and he was this morning. He seems quite hungry, actually. You didn't notice?"
Katsa let out a burst of air. She pushed her own chair back and headed for the door.
SHE FOUND HIM standing before the water, staring unseeing at its frozen surface. He was shivering. She watched him doubtfully for a moment. "Po," she said to his back, "where's your coat?"
"Where's yours?"
She moved to stand beside him. "I'm warm."
He tilted his head to her. "If you're warm and I'm coatless, there's only one friendly thing for you to do."
"Go back and get your coat for you?"
He smiled. Reaching out to her, he pulled her close against him. Katsa wrapped her arms around him, surprised, and tried to rub some warmth into his shivering shoulders and back.
"That's it, exactly," Po said. "You must keep me warm."
She laughed and held him tighter.
Po said, "Let me tell you something that's happened," and she leaned back and looked into his face, because she heard something new in his voice.
"You know I've been fighting my Grace all these months," he said, "trying to push it away. Trying to ignore most of what it shows me and concentrate on the little bit I need to know."
"Yes."
"Well, a few days ago in a fit of, well, self-pity, I stopped."
"You stopped?"
"Fighting my Grace, I mean. I gave up, I let it all wash over me. And you know what happened?" He didn't wait for her to guess. "When I stopped fighting all the things around me, all the things around me started to come together. All the activity, and the landscape, and the ground and the sky, and even people's thoughts. Everything's trying to form one picture. And I can feel my place in it like I couldn't before. I mean, I'm still overwhelmed. But nothing like before."
She bit her lip. "Po. I don't understand."
"It's easy, Katsa. It's as if when I open myself up to every perception, things create their own focus. I mean, think of us now, standing here. There's a bird in the tree behind me, do you see it?"
Katsa looked over his shoulder. A bird sat on a branch, plucking at the feathers under its wing. "I see it."
"Before, I would have tried to fight off my perception of the bird, so as to concentrate on the ground under my feet and you in my arms. But now I just let the bird, and everything else that's irrelevant, wash over me; and the irrelevant things fade away a bit, naturally. So that you are all of my focus."
Katsa was experiencing an odd sensation. It was as if a nagging ache had suddenly lifted and left her with a stunning absence of pain. It was relief and hope together. "Po. This is good."
He sighed. "It's a great comfort to be less dizzy."
She hesitated, and then decided she might as well say it, seeing as he probably already knew it. "I think it's time you started fighting again."
He smiled slightly. "Oh? Is that what you think?"
She rose nobly to the defensive. "And why not? It'll bring back your strength, improve your balance. Your brother makes a perfect opponent."
He touched his forehead to hers. His voice was very quiet. "Calm yourself, wildcat. You're the expert. If you think it's time I started fighting, then I suppose it's time I started fighting."
He was smiling still, and Katsa couldn't bear it, because it was the smallest and the saddest smile in all the world. But as he raised his fingers to touch her face, she saw that he was wearing his ring.
Chapter Thirty-nine
IT BECAME a kind of school. Katsa made up drills for Skye and Po that were first and foremost a challenge to Po's strength. Skye was satisfied, for the drills favored him. Katsa was satisfied, for she could see Po's progress. She set them always to wrestling, rarely to proper hand fighting, and reminded Po constantly, in his mind and out loud, to muscle rather than Grace his way out of every scrape.
Alongside the grappling brothers, Katsa taught Bitterblue to hold a sword, and then to block with one, and then to strike. Position and balance, strength and motion, speed. The child was as awkward at first with the sword as she had been with the knife, but she worked stubbornly, and like Po she made progress.
And Katsa's school grew. The guards and messengers couldn't resist the spectacle of the Lady Katsa teaching swordplay to their young queen, or the Lienid Graceling and his brother wrestling each other into the ground. They gathered round, asking this and that question about a drill she fabricated for the princes, or a trick she taught Bitterblue to compensate for the queen's lack of size and strength. Before Katsa knew it she was teaching the trick to a pair of young soldiers from Monsea's southern shore, and devising a drill to improve the opposite-hand swordplay of Bitterblue's guards. Katsa enjoyed it thoroughly. It pleased her to watch her students grow stronger.
And Po did grow stronger. He continued to lose at wrestling, but each time his defeat took longer, and still longer. His balance, his control, improved. The battles became increasingly amusing, partly because the brothers were so evenly matched and partly because as the snow melted the yard turned into a morass of mud. Of course they liked nothing better than to smear the mud in each other's faces. If it weren't for Po's eyes, most days the brothers would have been indistinguishable.
THE DAY CAME when one of the mud-covered princes pinned the other to the ground and shouted his victory and Katsa looked over to find that the brother on top was, for the first time, Po. He leaped to his feet, laughing, and shot a wicked grin at Katsa. He wiped mud from his face and crooked his finger at her. "Come here, wildcat. You're next."
Katsa leaned on her sword and laughed. "It took you half an hour to pin your brother, and you think you're ready for me?"
"Come mud wrestle with me. I'll flatten you like a spider."
Katsa turned back to the exercise she was teaching Bitterblue. "When you can beat Skye easily, then I'll mud wrestle with you."
She spoke sternly, but she couldn't hide from him her pleasure. Nor could he hide his own. He comforted his poor moaning brother, who recognized, from his vantage point on the ground, the beginning of the end.
KATSA FOUND HIM changed as an opponent—less because of the sight he'd lost than because of the sensitivity he'd gained with his growing Grace. When they fought now he could sense not just her body and her intention but the force of her blows before they struck, the direction of her momentum. Her balance and imbalance, and how to capitalize on it. He was not back to full strength yet, and sometimes his own balance still tricked him. But there were times now when he caught her by surprise, something neither of them was used to.
He was going to be as good a fighter as he'd been before, if not better. And this was important. The fights made Po happy.
Bitterblue did not stay long past the start of spring. Skye followed her sometime thereafter, summoned by his father to Leck City to assist with the imminent coronation. And finally Katsa and Po made the journey themselves to the city that was soon to assume Bitterblue's name. Po bore the traveling well, a bit like a child who's never traveled before and finds every experience fascinating, if slightly overwhelming. And indeed, when it came to traveling with his new way of perceiving the world, Po was an infant.
In their room in Bitterblue's castle, on the morning of the great event, Katsa suffered herself to put on a dress. Po, in the meantime, lay on the bed, grinning endl
essly at the ceiling.
"What are you grinning at?" Katsa demanded for the third or fourth time. "Is the ceiling about to cave in on my head or something? You look like we're both on the verge of an enormous joke."
"Katsa, only you would consider the collapse of the ceiling a good joke."
There was a knock at the entrance to their room then, and Po actually began to giggle. "You've been in the cider," Katsa said accusingly as she went to the door. "You're drunk."
And then she swung the door open and almost sat down on the floor in astonishment, because before her in the hallway stood Raffin.
He was muddy and smelled like horses. "Did we get here in time for the food?" he asked. "The invitation said something about pie, and I'm starving."
Katsa burst into laughter, and then into tears, and once she started hugging him she couldn't stop. Behind Raffin stood Bann, and behind Bann stood Oll, and Katsa hugged them and cried over them as well. "You didn't tell us you were coming," she kept saying. "You didn't tell us you were coming. No one ever even told me you were invited."
"And you're one to speak of sending word," Raffin said. "For months we didn't hear a thing from you—until one day Po's brother appeared at our court with the wildest story any of us had ever heard."
Katsa sniffled and wrapped her arms around her cousin again. "But you understand, don't you?" she said to his chest. "We didn't want to get you mixed up in it."
Raffin kissed the top of her head. "Of course we understand."
"Is Randa with you?"
"He didn't care to come."
"Is the Council well?"
"It's moving along swimmingly. Must we stand here clogging the hallway? I wasn't joking about starving to death. You're looking well, Po." Raffin peered doubtfully at Katsa's short hair. "Helda's sent you a hairbrush, Kat. Much use it'll be."
"I'll cherish it," Katsa said. "Now come inside."