Po rose, too—did he check his balance? She wasn’t sure, but she thought he might have. He took her hand and smiled. “Come out hunting with me, Katsa,” he said. “You can try the bow I made.”

His voice was light, and Skye and Bitterblue were smiling. Katsa felt that she was the only person in the world with any idea that something was wrong. She forced a smile. “Of course,” she said. “I’d love to.”

“WHAT’S WRONG?” she asked, the instant they’d left the cabin behind.

He smiled slightly. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Katsa climbed hard and bit back her feeling. They tromped through a path in the snow she supposed Po had broken. They passed the pool. The waterfall was a mass of ice, with only the slightest living trickle in its middle.

“Did my fish trap work for you?”

“It worked beautifully. I still use it.”

“Did his soldiers search the cabin?”

“They did.”

“You made it to the cave all right, despite your injury?”

“I was feeling much better by then. I made it easily.”

“But you would have been cold and wet.”

“They didn’t stay long, Katsa. I returned to the cabin soon after and built up the fire.”

Katsa climbed a rocky rise. She grasped a thin tree trunk and pulled herself onto a hillock. A long, flat rock jutted up from the untouched snow. She plowed over to it and sat down. He followed and sat beside her. She considered him. He didn’t look at her.

“I want to know what’s wrong,” she said.

He pursed his lips, and still he didn’t look at her. His voice was carefully matter-of-fact. “I wouldn’t force your feelings from you, if you didn’t want to share them.”

She stared at him, eyes wide. “True. But I wouldn’t lie to you, as you’re lying now when you say nothing’s wrong.”

A strange expression came over his face. Open, vulnerable, as if he were a child of ten years, trying to keep from crying. Her throat ached to see that look in his face. Po—

He winced, and the expression vanished. “Don’t, please,” he said. “It makes me dizzy, when you talk to me in my mind. It hurts my head.”

She swallowed, and tried to think of what to say. “Your head still hurts, from your fall?”

“Occasionally.”

“Is that what’s wrong?”

“I’ve told you, nothing’s wrong.”

She touched his arm. “Po, please—”

“It’s nothing worth your worry,” he said, and he brushed her hand away.

And now she was shocked and hurt, and tears stung her eyes. The Po she remembered didn’t flick away her concern, he didn’t flinch from her touch. This wasn’t Po; this was a stranger; and there was something missing here that had been there before. She reached into the neck of her coat and pulled the cord over her head. She held the ring out to him.

“This is yours,” she said.

He didn’t even look at it; his eyes were glued to his hands. “I don’t want it.”