“How will we find a Lienid ship?” Bitterblue asked.

“Not just a Lienid ship,” Katsa said. “A Lienid ship that hasn’t recently been to Monsea.”

“I could check around,” Bitterblue said, “while you hide.”

“Absolutely not. Even if you weren’t who you are, this place would be unsafe. Even if it weren’t night. Even if you weren’t so small.”

Bitterblue wrapped her arms tightly around herself and turned her back to the wind. “I envy you your Grace.”

“Let’s go,” Katsa said. “We must find a ship tonight, or we spend tomorrow hiding under the noses of thousands of people.”

Katsa pulled the girl into the protection of her arm. They worked their way across the rocks to the streets and stairways that led down to the docks.

THE DOCKS were eerie at night. The ships were black bodies as big as castles rising out of the sea, skeleton masts and flapping sails, with voices of invisible men echoing down from the riggings.

Each ship was its own little kingdom, with its own guards who stood, swords drawn, before the gangplank, and its own sailors who came and went from deck to dock or gathered around small fires on shore. Two boys moving among the ships, bundled against the cold and carrying a couple of worn bags, were far from noteworthy in this setting. They were runaways, or paupers, looking for work or passage.

A familiar lilt in the conversation of one group of guards caught Katsa’s ear. Bitterblue turned to her, eyebrows raised. “I hear it,” Katsa said. “We’ll keep walking, but remember that ship.”

“Why not speak to them?”

“There are four of them, and there are too many others nearby. If there’s trouble I’ll never be able to keep it quiet.”

Katsa wished suddenly for Po, for his Grace, so they might know if they were recognized, and if it mattered. If Po were here, he would know with a single question whether those Lienid guards were safe.

Of course, if Po were here their difficulty of disguise would be multiplied manyfold; between his eyes and the rings in his ears, and his accent, and even his manner of carrying himself, he would need to wear a sack over his head to avoid drawing attention. But perhaps the Lienid sailors would do anything their prince wished, despite what they’d heard? She felt his ring lying cold against the skin of her breast, the ring with the engravings that matched his arms. This ring was their ticket if any Lienid ship was to serve them willingly, and not in response to the threat of her Grace or the weight of her purse. Though she would capitulate to her Grace or her purse if necessary.

They slipped past a group of smaller ships whose guards seemed to be involved in some kind of boasting match between them. One group Westeran and another—

“Monsean,” Bitterblue whispered, and though Katsa didn’t change her gait, her senses sharpened and her whole body tingled with readiness until they’d left those ships behind and several more beyond them. They continued on, blending into the darkness.