The legs of his chair clattered down to the floor. He pushed away from the table and went outside. Three pairs of eyes lingered on the door that closed behind him.

“The weather’s looking less like winter now,” Bitterblue said. “I’m anxious to go to my court and get started with things. But I don’t like to until I’m convinced he’s well, and frankly, I’m not convinced.”

Katsa didn’t answer. She ate a piece of bread absentmindedly. She turned to Skye and considered his shoulders, strong and straight like his brother’s; his strong hands. Skye moved well. And he was closest in age to Po; he’d probably fought Po a million times growing up.

She narrowed her eyes at the remains of their meal. She wondered what it would be like to fight with no eyes, and distracted by the landscape and the movement of every creature close at hand.

“At least he’s finally eating,” Bitterblue said.

Katsa jumped. She stared at the child. “He is?”

“He was yesterday, and he was this morning. He seems quite hungry, actually. You didn’t notice?”

Katsa let out a burst of air. She pushed her own chair back and headed for the door.

SHE FOUND HIM standing before the water, staring unseeing at its frozen surface. He was shivering. She watched him doubtfully for a moment. “Po,” she said to his back, “where’s your coat?”

“Where’s yours?”

She moved to stand beside him. “I’m warm.”

He tilted his head to her. “If you’re warm and I’m coatless, there’s only one friendly thing for you to do.”

“Go back and get your coat for you?”

He smiled. Reaching out to her, he pulled her close against him. Katsa wrapped her arms around him, surprised, and tried to rub some warmth into his shivering shoulders and back.

“That’s it, exactly,” Po said. “You must keep me warm.”

She laughed and held him tighter.

Po said, “Let me tell you something that’s happened,” and she leaned back and looked into his face, because she heard something new in his voice.

“You know I’ve been fighting my Grace all these months,” he said, “trying to push it away. Trying to ignore most of what it shows me and concentrate on the little bit I need to know.”

“Yes.”

“Well, a few days ago in a fit of, well, self-pity, I stopped.”

“You stopped?”

“Fighting my Grace, I mean. I gave up, I let it all wash over me. And you know what happened?” He didn’t wait for her to guess. “When I stopped fighting all the things around me, all the things around me started to come together. All the activity, and the landscape, and the ground and the sky, and even people’s thoughts. Everything’s trying to form one picture. And I can feel my place in it like I couldn’t before. I mean, I’m still overwhelmed. But nothing like before.”

She bit her lip. “Po. I don’t understand.”

“It’s easy, Katsa. It’s as if when I open myself up to every perception, things create their own focus. I mean, think of us now, standing here. There’s a bird in the tree behind me, do you see it?”