And the child’s companion was no less of a problem. Katsa didn’t make as convincing a boy in daylight as she did in the dark. And she would have to cover her green eye somehow. A feminine boy with one very bright blue eye, an eyepatch, and a Lienidish child charge would attract more attention in daylight than they could possibly weather. And they couldn’t afford to travel only at night. And even if they made it as far as Monport without being seen, once they were seen they would be recognized instantly. They would be apprehended, and she would have to kill people. She would have to commandeer a boat, or steal one, she who didn’t know the first thing about boats. Leck would hear of it and know exactly where to find them.

Her eyes dropped from the princess to the map on the ground before her. It was a map of the Sunderan-Monsean border, the impassable Monsean peaks. If Po were here he would suspect what she was thinking. She could imagine the monstrous argument they would be having.

She imagined the argument, because it helped her to come to her decision.

When they’d eaten their dinner she rolled up the maps and fastened their belongings to the saddle. “Up you go, Bitterblue. We can’t waste this night. We must move on.”

“Po warned you not to run the horse ragged,” Bitterblue said.

“The horse is about to enjoy a very thorough rest. We’re heading into the mountains, and once we get a bit higher we’ll be setting him free.”

“Into the mountains,” Bitterblue said. “What do you mean, into the mountains?”

Katsa scattered the remains of their fire. She dug a hole with her dagger to hide the bones of their dinner. “There’s no safety for us in Monsea. We’re going to cross the mountains into Sunder.”

Bitterblue stood still beside the horse and stared at her. “Cross the mountains? These mountains, here?”

“Yes. The mountain pass at the northern border will be guarded. We must find our own passageway, here.”

“Even in summer, no one crosses these mountains,” the girl said. “It’s almost winter. We have no warmer clothes. We have no tools, only your dagger and my knife. It’s not possible. We’ll never survive.”

Katsa had a response to that, though she knew none of the particulars. She lifted the girl into the saddle and swung onto the horse behind her. She turned the animal west.

She said, “I will keep you alive.”

THEY DIDN’T really have only one dagger and one knife to bring them over the Monsean peaks into Sunder. They had the dagger and the knife; a length of rope; a needle and some cord; the maps; a fraction of the medicines; most of the gold; a small amount of extra clothing; the ratty blanket Bitterblue wore; two saddlebags; one saddle; and one bridle. And they had anything that Katsa could capture, kill, or construct with her own two hands as they climbed. This, first and foremost, should include the fur of some beast, to protect the child from the nagging cold they encountered here and the dangerous cold that awaited them—and that Katsa wouldn’t dwell on, because when she dwelled she began to doubt herself.