They climbed past shadowed roofs and doorways. She was beginning to feel her sleepless night, and she would not rest again for hours. She replayed the grandfather’s words in her mind. His accent was like the man’s, the Lienid man’s in the courtyard.

IN THE END, she did carry him, for when the time came she couldn’t wake him up. She passed the horse’s reins to a child crouched beside the wall, a girl whose father was a friend of the Council. Katsa tipped the old man over her shoulder and staggered, one step at a time, up the rubble of the broken stairway. The final stretch was practically vertical. Only the threat of the lightening sky kept her going; she’d never imagined that a man who looked like he was made of dust could be so heavy.

She had no breath to produce the low whistle that was to be her signal to Raffin, but it didn’t matter. He heard her approach.

“The whole city has likely heard your approach,” he whispered. “Honestly, Kat, I wouldn’t have expected you to be capable of such a racket.” He bent down and eased her load onto his own thin shoulders. She leaned against the wall and caught her breath.

“My Grace doesn’t give me the strength of a giant,” she said. “You Ungraced don’t understand. You think if we have one Grace, we have them all.”

“I’ve tasted your cakes, and I remember the needlework you used to do. I’ve no question a good number of Graces have passed you over.” He laughed down at her in the gray light, and she smiled back. “It went as planned?”

She thought of the Lienid in the courtyard. “Yes, for the most.”

“Go now,” he said, “and safely. I’ll take care of this one.”

He turned and crept inside with his living bundle. She raced down the broken steps and slipped onto a pathway leading east. She pulled her hood low, and ran toward the pink sky.

Chapter Three

KATSA RAN past houses and work shacks, shops and inns. The city was waking, and the streets smelled of baking bread. She ran past the milkman, half asleep on his cart, his horse sighing before him.

She felt light without her burden, and the road sloped downward. She ran quietly and fast into the eastern fields and kept running. A woman carried buckets across a farmyard, the handles hanging from a yoke balanced on her shoulder.

When the trees began, Katsa slowed. She had to move carefully now, lest she break branches or leave boot prints and create a trail straight to the meeting place. Already the way looked a bit traveled. Oll and Giddon and the others on the Council were never as careful as she, and of course the horses couldn’t help creating a path. They would need a new meeting place soon.

By the time she broke into the thicket that was their hideout, it was daylight. The horses grazed. Giddon lay on the ground. Oll leaned against a pile of saddlebags. Both men were asleep.