“Yes, well, and I’d prefer that also, believe me. But I grant you permission to knock me out, if ever you need to.”

“I wish you wouldn’t. You know how impulsive I am.”

“I don’t care.”

“If you grant me permission, I’ll probably do it, Po. I’ll probably—”

He held up his hand. “It’s an equalizer. When we fight, you hold your Grace back. I can’t hold my Grace back. So you must have the right to defend yourself.”

She didn’t like it. But she could not miss his point. And she could not miss his willingness, his dear willingness, to give over his Grace for her. “You will always have a headache,” she warned.

“Perhaps Raffin included his salve for headaches among the medicines. I should like to change my hair, now that you’ve changed yours. Blue would suit me, don’t you think?”

She was laughing again, and she swore to herself that she wouldn’t hit him; she wouldn’t, unless she were entirely desperate. And then the candle on the floor beside them dimmed and died. Their conversation had gotten entirely off track. They were leaving for Monsea early in the morning, most likely, and it was the middle of the night and everyone in the inn and the town slept. Yet here they were, sitting on the floor, laughing in the dark.

“We leave for Monsea tomorrow, then?” she said. “We’ll fall asleep on our horses.”

“I’ll fall asleep on my horse. You’ll ride as if you’ve slept for days—as if it’s a race between us to see who reaches Monsea first.”

“And what will we find when we get there? A king who’s innocent of the things of which he’s guilty?”

He rubbed his head. “I’ve always thought it strange that my mother and father have no suspicions about Leck, even knowing his story. And now these men seem to think him blameless in the kidnapping, even knowing he’s not.”

“Can he be so kind in the rest of his life that everyone forgives his crimes, or fails to see them?”

He sat for a moment, quietly. “I’ve wondered . . . it occurs to me recently . . . that he could be Graced. That he could have a Grace that changes the way people think of him. Are there such Graces? I don’t even know.”

It had never occurred to her. But he could be Graced. With one eye missing, he could be Graced and no one would ever know. No one would even suspect, for who could suspect a Grace that controlled suspicions?

“He could have the Grace of fooling people,” Po said. “The Grace of confusing people with lies, lies that spread from kingdom to kingdom. Imagine it, Katsa—people carrying his lies in their own mouths, and spreading them to believing ears; absurd lies, erasing logic and truth, all the way to Lienid. Can you imagine the power of a person who had such a Grace? He could create whatever reputation for himself he wished. He could take whatever he wanted and no one would ever hold him responsible.”