The other way was shorter but more difficult. It led southeast through a Sunderan forest that grew thicker and wilder and rose to meet the mountains that formed Monsea’s border with Sunder and Estill. The path became too rocky and uneven for horses. Those who crossed the mountain pass did so on foot. An inn on either side of the pass bought or kept the horses of those who approached the mountains and sold or returned them to those who came from the mountains. This was the route Katsa and Po would take.

Leck City was the walk of a day or so beyond the mountain pass, less if they purchased new horses. The walk to the city wound through valleys grown lush with the water that flowed down from the mountaintops. It was a landscape of rivers and streams, similar to that of inland Lienid, Po told Katsa—or so the Monsean queen had written—which made it a landscape unlike anything Katsa had ever seen.

As they rode, Katsa couldn’t content herself with imagining the strange landscapes ahead. For when she’d awakened to morning in the Sunderan inn, the windstorm of the night before had returned to her mind.

Po’s Grace would protect Po from Leck. And Po would protect her.

With Po, Katsa would be safe.

He’d said it simply, as if it were nothing. But it wasn’t nothing for Katsa to rely on someone else’s protection. She’d never done such a thing in her life.

And besides, wouldn’t it be easier for her to kill Leck immediately, before he said a word or raised a finger? Or gag him, immobilize him, find some way to disempower him completely? Maintain control and ensure her own defense? Katsa didn’t need protection. There would be a solution; there would be a way for her to protect herself from Leck, if indeed he had the power they suspected. She only needed to think of it.

LATE IN THE morning the skies began to drip. By afternoon the drizzle had turned to rain, a cold, relentless rain that beat down and hid the forest road from their sight. Finally they stopped, soaked to the skin, to see what they could do about shelter before night fell. The tangle of trees on either side of the road provided some cover. They tethered the horses under an enormous pine that smelled of the sap dripping from its branches with the rainwater. “It’s as dry a place as we’re likely to find,” Po said. “A fire will be impossible, but at least we won’t sleep in the rain.”

“A fire is never impossible,” Katsa said. “I’ll build it, and you find us something to cook on it.”

So Po set out into the trees with his bow, somewhat skeptically, and Katsa set to work building a fire. It wasn’t easy, with the world around her soaked right through. But the pine tree had protected some of the needles nestled closely to its trunk, and she uncovered some leaves and a stick or two that were not quite waterlogged. With the strike of her knife, a number of gentle breaths, and whatever protection her own open arms could give, a flame began to lick its way through the damp little tower of kindling. It warmed her face as she leaned into it. It pleased her. She’d always had a way with fires. With Oll and Giddon the fire had always been her responsibility.