Katsa cackled at that and threw the shaft of an arrow at him. He caught it, neatly, and laughed; and she thought for a moment that he looked genuinely happy. And then, of course, he registered her thought, and a shadow settled across his face. He withdrew into his work. She glanced at his hands, at his finger still missing its ring. She took a breath and reached for another branch.

“How much does Bitterblue know?” she asked.

“Only that I’m keeping something from her. She knows my Grace is more than I’ve said. She’s known it from the beginning.”

“And your sight?”

“I don’t think it’s even occurred to her.” Po smoothed the edge of a shaft with his knife and swept a pile of bark shavings into the fire. “I’ll look her in the eyes more often,” he said; and then he withdrew again into silence.

PO AND SKYE teased Bitterblue endlessly about her entourage. It wasn’t just the guards. Ror was taking the royal position of his sister’s daughter very seriously. Soldiers were always arriving, leading horses piled high with supplies, especially as the winter storms began to wind down. Vegetables, breads, fruits; blankets, clothing, dresses for the queen; and always letters from Ror, asking Bitterblue’s opinion on this or that matter, updating her on the plans for the coronation, and inquiring after the health of the various members of her party, particularly Po.

“I’m going to ask Ror to send me a sword,” Bitterblue said one day at breakfast. “Katsa, will you teach me to use it?”

Skye’s face lit up. “Oh, do, Katsa. I haven’t seen you fight yet, and I was beginning to think I never would.”

“And you imagine I’ll make for an exciting opponent?” Bitterblue asked him.

“Of course not. But she’ll have to stage a sword fight with a few of the soldiers, won’t she, to show you how it’s done? There must be a decent fighter or two among them.”

“I’m not going to stage a sword fight with unarmored soldiers,” Katsa said.

“What about a hand fight?” Skye sat back and folded his arms, a cockiness in his face that Katsa thought must be a family trait. “I’m not such a bad hand fighter myself.”

Po exploded with laughter. “Oh, fight him, Katsa. Please fight him. I can’t imagine a more entertaining diversion.”

“Oh, it’s that funny, is it?”

“Katsa could pound you into the ground before you even raised a finger.”

Skye was unabashed. “Yes, exactly—that’s what I want to see. I want to see you destroy someone, Katsa. Would you destroy Po for me?”

Katsa was smiling. “Po isn’t easy to destroy.”

Po hooked his feet to the legs of the table and rocked his chair backward. “I imagine I am these days.”

“Returning to the question at hand,” Bitterblue said, rather sternly. “I should like to learn to use a sword.”

“Yes,” Katsa said. “Well then, send word to Ror.”

“Aren’t two soldiers just leaving?” Po asked. “I’ll catch them.”