And Po did grow stronger. He continued to lose at wrestling, but each time his defeat took longer, and still longer. His balance, his control, improved. The battles became increasingly amusing, partly because the brothers were so evenly matched and partly because as the snow melted the yard turned into a morass of mud. Of course they liked nothing better than to smear the mud in each other’s faces. If it weren’t for Po’s eyes, most days the brothers would have been indistinguishable.

THE DAY CAME when one of the mud-covered princes pinned the other to the ground and shouted his victory and Katsa looked over to find that the brother on top was, for the first time, Po. He leaped to his feet, laughing, and shot a wicked grin at Katsa. He wiped mud from his face and crooked his finger at her. “Come here, wildcat. You’re next.”

Katsa leaned on her sword and laughed. “It took you half an hour to pin your brother, and you think you’re ready for me?”

“Come mud wrestle with me. I’ll flatten you like a spider.”

Katsa turned back to the exercise she was teaching Bitterblue. “When you can beat Skye easily, then I’ll mud wrestle with you.”

She spoke sternly, but she couldn’t hide from him her pleasure. Nor could he hide his own. He comforted his poor moaning brother, who recognized, from his vantage point on the ground, the beginning of the end.

KATSA FOUND HIM changed as an opponent—less because of the sight he’d lost than because of the sensitivity he’d gained with his growing Grace. When they fought now he could sense not just her body and her intention but the force of her blows before they struck, the direction of her momentum. Her balance and imbalance, and how to capitalize on it. He was not back to full strength yet, and sometimes his own balance still tricked him. But there were times now when he caught her by surprise, something neither of them was used to.

He was going to be as good a fighter as he’d been before, if not better. And this was important. The fights made Po happy.

Bitterblue did not stay long past the start of spring. Skye followed her sometime thereafter, summoned by his father to Leck City to assist with the imminent coronation. And finally Katsa and Po made the journey themselves to the city that was soon to assume Bitterblue’s name. Po bore the traveling well, a bit like a child who’s never traveled before and finds every experience fascinating, if slightly overwhelming. And indeed, when it came to traveling with his new way of perceiving the world, Po was an infant.

In their room in Bitterblue’s castle, on the morning of the great event, Katsa suffered herself to put on a dress. Po, in the meantime, lay on the bed, grinning endlessly at the ceiling.

“What are you grinning at?” Katsa demanded for the third or fourth time. “Is the ceiling about to cave in on my head or something? You look like we’re both on the verge of an enormous joke.”