But Po’s new way with her was also intense. It was a kind of attentiveness in his face, a concentration in his body, directed toward her. When it happened she could feel the stillness of his face and body, attuned to her. She thought that it happened more and more as the days passed. As if he were reconnecting with her, slowly, and pulling her back into his thoughts. He touched her easily now, too, as he’d done before his accident—kissed her hands if she was nearby, or touched her face when she stood before him. And Katsa wondered if it was true, or just her imagination, that he was paying them, all of them, more attention—truer attention. As if perhaps he was less overwhelmed by his Grace. Or less absorbed with himself.

“Look at me,” he said to her once, on one of the rare occasions when they had the cabin to themselves. “Katsa, do I seem to be looking at you?”

They were working with their knives before the fire, shaving the bark from the branches of a tree to make arrows. She turned to him and met his eyes, full on, gleaming directly into hers. She caught her breath and set her knife down, flushed with heat; and wondered, briefly, how long it would be before the others returned. And then Po’s failed attempt to keep from grinning snapped her out of her daze.

“Dear wildcat. That was more of an answer than I reckoned for.”

She snorted. “I see your self-esteem remains intact. And just what were you hoping to achieve?”

He smiled. His hands returned to their work, and his eyes emptied again. “I need to know how to make people think, conclusively, that I’m looking at them. I need to know how to look at Bitterblue so she stops thinking there’s something strange about my eyes.”

“Oh. Of course. Well, that ought to do it. How do you manage it?”

“Well, I know where your eyes are. It’s mostly just a matter of direction, and then sensing your reaction.”

“Do it again.”

Her purpose was scientific this time. His eyes rose to hers, and she ignored the rush of heat. Yes, it did seem as if he saw her—although now that she studied his gaze, she could tell that there were small indications otherwise.

“Tell me,” he said.

She considered him. “The light of your eyes is strange enough, and distracting enough, that I doubt anyone would notice. But you don’t seem quite . . . focused. You’re looking at me, but it’s as if your mind is elsewhere. You understand?”

He nodded. “Bitterblue picks up on that.”

“Narrow your eyes a bit,” Katsa said. “Bring your eyebrows down, as if you were thinking. Yes—that’s pretty convincing, Po. No one you direct that gaze toward will ever suspect a thing.”

“Thank you, Katsa. Can I practice it with you, now and then? Without fear of you throwing me onto my back and forcing me out of my clothes?”