“We weren’t even a day in Suncliff,” the captain told her. “You’re lucky, Lady Princess. You have my Grace to thank for it.”

“And for our speed,” Katsa said. For it was a stormy winter at sea, and though they changed course so often their path must look like some odd dance across the water, they managed to avoid the worst of it. Their progress west was steady.

Katsa had told the captain of Leck’s Grace and the reasons they fled, in the first few days when Bitterblue had been very sick and Katsa had had nothing to do but care for the girl and think. She’d told the captain because it had occurred to her, with a sinking feeling, that the forty-some men aboard this ship knew exactly who she and Bitterblue were and exactly where they were going. That made forty-some informants, once Katsa and Bitterblue were delivered to their destination and the ship returned to its trade route.

“I can vouch for the confidence of most of my men, Lady Princess,” Captain Faun said. “Most, if not all.”

“You don’t understand,” Katsa said. “Where King Leck is involved I can’t even vouch for my own confidence. It’s not good enough for them to swear to say nothing to no one. If one of Leck’s stories touches their ears, they’ll forget their vows.”

“What would you have me do then, Lady Princess?”

Katsa hated to ask it, and so she stared at the charts on the table before them, pursed her lips, and waited for the captain to understand her. It didn’t take long.

“You want us to remain at sea, once we’ve left you in Lienid,” the captain said, her voice sharp and growing sharper as she spoke. “You want us to hold at sea, out of the way, all winter—longer, perhaps indefinitely—until you and Prince Po, who aren’t even in communication, have found some way to immobilize the King of Monsea. At which point I suppose we must wait for someone to come in search of us and invite us back ashore? What’s left of us, because we’ll run out of supplies, Lady Princess—we’re a trade vessel, you know, designed to sail from port to port and replenish our food and water at each stop. It’s strain enough that we go now straight back to Lienid—”

“Your cargo hold is full of the fruits and vegetables of your trade,” Katsa said, “and your men know how to fish.”

“We’ll run out of water.”

“Then ride your ship into a storm,” Katsa said.

The captain’s face was incredulous. Katsa supposed it was an absurd suggestion—all of it absurd, for her to expect this ship to turn circles in some frozen corner of the sea, waiting for the approach of news that might never come. All for the safety of one young life. The captain made a noise part disbelief and part laughter, and Katsa prepared for an argument.

But the woman stared into her hands, thinking; and when she finally spoke, she surprised Katsa.