“It isn’t your whim. It’s the need of your heart. You forget that I’m in a unique position to understand you, Katsa. Whenever you pull away from me I’ll know it’s not for lack of love. Or if it is, I’ll know that, too; and I’ll know it’s right for you to go.”

“But you’re not answering my question. How will you feel?”

There was a pause. “I don’t know. I’ll probably feel a lot of things. But only one of the things will be unhappiness; and unhappiness I’m willing to risk.”

Katsa stared up into the treetops. “Are you sure of that?”

He sighed. “I’m certain.”

He was willing to risk unhappiness. And there was the crux of the matter. She couldn’t know where this would lead, and to proceed was to risk all kinds of unhappiness.

The fire gasped and died. She was frightened. For as their camp turned to darkness, she also found herself choosing risk.

THE NEXT DAY Katsa would have given anything for a clear, straight path, for hard riding and thundering hooves to drown out all feeling. Instead the road wound back and forth, up rises and into gullies, and she didn’t know how she kept herself from screaming. Nightfall led them into a hollow where water trickled into a low, still pool. Moss covered the trees and the ground. Moss hung from the vines that hung from the trees, and dripped into the pool that shone green like the floor of Randa’s courtyard.

“You seem a bit edgy,” Po said. “Why don’t you hunt? I’ll build a fire.”

She allowed the first few animals she stumbled across to escape. She thought that if she plunged deeper into the forest and took more time, she might wear down some of her jitters. But when she returned to camp much later with a fox in hand, nothing had changed. He sat calmly before the fire, and she thought she might burst apart. She threw their meat onto the ground beside the flames. She sat on a rock and dropped her head into her hands.

She knew what it was rattling around inside her. It was fear, plain and cold.

She turned to him. “I understand why we shouldn’t fight each other when one of us is angry. But is there harm in fighting when one of us is frightened?”

He looked into the fire and considered her question evenly. He looked into her face. “I think it depends on what you hope to gain by fighting.”

“I think it’ll calm me. I think it’ll make me comfortable with—with you being near.” She rubbed her forehead, sighing. “It’ll return me to myself.”

He watched her. “It does seem to have that effect on you.”

“Will you fight me now, Po?”

He watched her for a moment longer and then moved away from the fire and motioned for her to follow. She walked after him, dazed, her mind buzzing so crazily it was numb, and when they faced each other she found herself staring at him dumbly. She shook her head to clear it, but it did no good.