It was the force of his head hitting the water. This Katsa knew: that a man vomited if struck hard enough in the head, that he became forgetful and confused. His head would clear, in time. But they didn’t have time, not if the king was alive. And so she knelt before him and grasped his chin. She ignored his wincing, pained eyes. She thought into his mind. Po. I need to know if the king is alive. I am not going to stop bothering you until you tell me if the king is alive.

He looked at her then, rubbed his eyes, and squinted at her, hard. “The king,” he said thickly. “The king. My arrow. The king is alive.”

Katsa’s heart sank. For now they must flee, all three of them, with Po in this state and with only one horse. In the dark and the cold, with little food, and without Po’s Grace to warn them of their pursuers.

Her Grace would have to serve.

She handed Po her flask. “Drink this,” she said, “all of it. Bitterblue,” she said, “help me pull these wet things together. It’s a good thing you slept today, for I need you to be strong tonight.”

Po seemed to understand when it was time for him to mount the horse. He didn’t contribute to the effort, but he didn’t fight it, either. Both Katsa and Bitterblue pushed him up into the saddle with all their might, and though he almost pitched headlong over the animal and fell to the ground on the other side, some unfocused understanding caused him to grasp Katsa’s arm and steady himself. “You behind him,” Katsa said to Bitterblue, “so that you can see him. Pinch him if he starts to fall off, and call me if you need help. The horse will be moving quickly, as quickly as I can run.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

IN THE DARK on the side of a mountain, no one can move quickly who doesn’t have some particular Grace to do so. They moved, and Katsa did not break her ankles stepping blindly before the horse, as others would have, but they didn’t move quickly. Katsa barely breathed, so hard was she listening behind them. Their pursuers would be on horseback, and there would be many of them, and they would carry torches. If Leck had sent a party in the right direction, then there would be little to stop them from succeeding in their search.

Katsa was doubtful that even on flat land they could have moved much faster, so unwell was Po. He clung to the horse’s mane, eyes closed, concentrating fiercely on not falling off. He winced at every movement. And he was still bleeding.

“Let me tie you to the horse,” Katsa said to him once when she’d stopped at a stream to fill the flasks. “Then you’d be able to rest.”

He took a moment to process her words. He hunched forward and sighed into the horse’s mane. “I don’t want to rest,” he said. “I want to be able to tell you if he’s coming.”