“What in the Middluns are you talking about? It’s your ring.”

“You should keep it.”

She stared at him, disbelieving. “Po, what makes you think I would ever keep your ring? I don’t know why you gave it to me in the first place. I wish you hadn’t.”

His mouth was tight with unhappiness, and still he stared into his hands. “At the time I gave it to you, I did so because I knew I might die. I knew Leck’s men might kill me and that you didn’t have a home. If I died I wanted you to have my home. My home suits you,” he said, with a bitterness that stung her, and that she couldn’t understand.

She found that she was crying. She wiped tears from her face, furiously, and turned away from him, because she couldn’t stand the sight of him staring stone-faced into his hands. “Po, I beg you to tell me what’s the matter.”

“Is it so wrong that you should keep the ring? My castle is isolated, in a wild corner of the world. You’d be happy there. My family would respect your privacy.”

“Have you gone raving mad? What are you going to do, once I’ve taken your home and your possessions? Where are you going to live?”

His voice was very quiet. “I don’t want to go back to my home. I’ve been thinking of staying here, where it’s peaceful, and far away from everyone. I—I want to be alone.”

She gaped at him, her mouth open.

“You should go on with your life, Katsa. Keep the ring. I’ve said I don’t want it.”

She couldn’t speak. She shook her head, woodenly, then reached out and dropped the ring into his hands.

He stared at it, then sighed. “I’ll give it to Skye,” he said, “to take back to my father. He can decide what to do with it.”

He stood, and this time she was certain he checked his balance. He trudged away from her, his bow in hand. He caught hold of the root of a shrubbery and pulled himself onto a ledge of rock. She watched as he climbed into the mountains, and away from her.

DURING THE NIGHT, the sound of breathing all around her, Katsa tried to work it out. She sat against the wall and watched Po lying in a blanket on the floor beside his brother and the Monsean guards. He slept, and his face was peaceful. His beautiful face.

When he’d come back to the cabin after their conversation, with his bow in one hand and an armload of rabbits in the other, he’d unloaded his quarry contentedly on his brother and shrugged himself out of his coat. Then he’d come to her, where she sat brooding against the wall. He’d crouched before her, taken her hands in his and kissed them, and rubbed his cold face against them. “I’m sorry,” he’d said; and she’d felt suddenly that everything was normal, and Po was himself, and they’d start again, fresh and new. Then over dinner, as the others bantered and Bitterblue teased her guards, Katsa watched Po withdraw. He ate little. He sank into silence, unhappiness in the lines of his face. And her heart ached so much to look at him that she walked out of the cabin and stumped around for ages alone in the dark.