“Perhaps we could see to some horses, Father,” Skye murmured, “and be on our way?”

Katsa shot to her feet. “Yes,” she said. “Yes, in the name of the Middluns, please.”

Ror glanced from Skye to Katsa, and then to Bitterblue. “Queen Bitterblue,” he said, “if you’ll trust me to manage this situation in your absence, I see no reason to delay you.”

“Of course I trust you,” the child said, “and my men will defer to your judgment in all things while I’m gone.”

The captain and the nobles stared openmouthed at their new queen, half Ror’s height, dressed like a boy, and utterly dignified. They furrowed their eyebrows and scratched their heads, and Katsa was ready to scratch her own eyes out. Ror turned to her.

“The sooner you reach Po, the better,” he said. “I’ll not keep you.”

“We need two horses,” Katsa said, “the fastest in the city.”

“And you need a Monsean guard,” Ror said, “for no one you pass will realize what has happened. Any Monsean soldiers who sight you will try to capture you.”

Katsa flicked her hand impatiently. “Very well, a guard. But if they can’t keep up with me, I’ll leave them behind.” She swung toward Skye. “I hope you ride as well as your brother.”

“Or you’ll leave him behind as well?” Ror said. “And the Monsean queen—if she’s weighing down your horse, will you leave her behind? And the horse itself, I suppose, once it collapses from exhaustion and disuse?” He had drawn himself up very tall, and his voice was sharp. “Be rational, Katsa. You will take a guard, and it will ride before you and behind you. For the entire journey, is that clear? You carry the Queen of Monsea, and you travel with my son.”

Katsa practically spit back at him. “Do you imagine that I need a guard to protect them from the soldiers of Monsea?”

“No,” Ror snapped. “I have no doubt that you are more than capable of bringing the Monsean queen and my son and the rest of my sons and a hundred Nanderan kittens through an onslaught of howling raiders if you chose to.” He drew himself up even taller. “You will listen to sense. It does none of us any good at this juncture for you to barrel through Monsea with the queen of the kingdom on your horse, killing her soldiers left and right. What exactly would that accomplish? You will travel with a guard, and the guard will make your explanations and ensure that you’re not attacked. Am I clear?”

He didn’t wait to know if he was clear. He turned abruptly to the captain, who flinched at the entire exchange as if it hurt his head. “Captain, the four fastest horsemen in your guard,” he said, “and your six fastest horses, immediately.” He swung back on Katsa and glared down at her. “Have you regained your reason?” he roared.

It was her temper she had lost, not her reason—or if it was her reason, it returned to her now, with the promise of four fast horsemen, six fast horses, and a thundering ride to Po.