“Forgive me, Katsa,” Skye said once, as they hung together above the sea. “But there’s one question I must ask you.”

She had seen the puzzlement in his eyes at times before. She knew what he was going to ask.

“You’re not my brother’s wife, are you?”

She smiled grimly. “No.”

“Then why do the Lienid on this ship call you Princess?”

She took a breath, to ease the jarring of his question against her wound. She reached into the neck of her coat and pulled the ring out for him to see.

“When he gave it to me,” she said, “he didn’t tell me what it meant. Nor did he tell me why he gave it.”

Skye stared at the ring. His face registered astonishment, then dismay, then a stubborn, self-willed sort of denial. “He’ll have some rational reason for it,” he said.

“Yes,” Katsa said. “I intend to beat it out of him.”

Skye laughed a short laugh, and lapsed into silence. A crease of worry lingered low on his forehead. And Katsa knew that the tough scar that formed over the ache within her had as much to do with her future lack of control as her past. She could not make Po be well, any more than she had been able to make herself think clearly in Leck’s presence. Some things were beyond her power, and she had to prepare herself for whatever she found when she reached Po’s cabin at the base of the Monsean mountains.

THE DELAY, once the ship had docked in Monport and the party had disembarked, was unbearable. The captain of the Monport guard and the nobles of Leck’s court stationed in Monport had to be summoned and made to understand the incredible truths Ror presented to them. The search for Bitterblue, still under way, had to be called off, as did the instructions to take Katsa alive and Po dead. Ror’s tone on this last point froze into something very cold.

“Has he been found?” Katsa interrupted.

“Has . . . has who?” the captain of the Monport guard asked, stupidly, his hand to his head, his manner afflicted with a vagueness the Lienid party recognized.

“Have your men found the Lienid prince?” Ror snapped; and then more gently, as the eyes of the captain and the nobles moved confusedly to Skye, “the younger prince. He’s a Graceling, with silver and gold eyes. Has anyone seen him?”

“I don’t believe he’s been seen, Lord King. Yes, I’m quite sure that’s correct. We’ve not found him. Forgive me, Lord King. This story you’ve told . . . my memory . . .”

“Yes,” Ror said. “I understand. We must go slowly.”

Katsa could have torn the city down stone by stone, so wild did it make her to go slowly. She began to stalk back and forth behind the Lienid king. She crouched to the floor and grasped her hair. The conversation droned on. It would take hours—hours—for these men to disengage themselves from Leck’s spell, and Katsa couldn’t bear it.