“Don’t you?” Leck asked. “That’s unfortunate. For I do wish to talk of Po.”

He tapped the arm of his chair for a moment, thoughtfully.

“He’s a strong young man, our Po,” he continued. “Strong and brave. A credit to his family. But he’s not without his secrets, is he?”

Katsa felt, suddenly, her nerves jangling to the tips of her fingers.

Leck watched her. “Yes,” he said. “Po’s a bit of a problem, isn’t he?” He lowered his eyebrows and pursed his lips; and then he seemed to come to a decision. He looked around the room, at the various members of Po’s family, and beamed. He spoke pleasantly.

“I had thought to keep something to myself,” he said. “But it occurs to me now that Po is indeed very strong; and he may appear someday on our doorstep. And perhaps, in anticipation of that event, it would be best for me to tell you all something that may”—he smiled shortly—“have some bearing on how you receive him. For you see, my Lady Katsa,” he said, his eye locking into hers, “I’ve been thinking quite a lot about our dear Po, and I’ve developed a theory. A theory that you’ll all find fascinating, if a bit upsetting. Yes,” he said, smiling into the puzzled faces that watched him. “It’s always a bit upsetting to learn that one has been double-crossed, and by a member of the family. And you’re the very person to test my theory on, Lady Katsa, because I think you may be in possession of Prince Po’s truth.”

Po’s father and his brothers shifted in their chairs and furrowed their eyebrows; and Katsa’s mind was numb with panic and confusion.

“It’s a theory about Prince Po’s Grace,” Leck said.

Katsa heard a small breath beside her, from the woman who was Po’s mother. The woman took one step toward Leck, and put her hand to her throat. “Wait,” she said. “I don’t know—” She stopped. She turned her eyes to Katsa, puzzled, afraid. And Katsa was on fire with bewilderment and with desperate alarm. She felt—she understood—she could almost just barely remember—

“I believe your Po has been hiding a secret from you,” Leck said. “Tell me if I’m right, Lady Katsa, that Prince Po is actually—”

It was then, at last, that a bolt of certainty struck Katsa. In that moment she moved. She dropped the child, snatched the dagger from her belt, and threw. Not because she remembered Leck must die. Not because she remembered the truth of Po’s Grace. But because she remembered that Po did have a secret, a terrible secret, the revelation of which would hurt him in some horrible way she felt deeply but couldn’t remember—and here this man sat, the secret on the tip of his tongue. And she must stop him, somehow stop him; she must silence this man, before the ruinous words were said.

In the end, Leck should have stuck to his lies. For it was the truth he almost told that killed him.