“I’ll never make the mistake of challenging you to an archery match.”

There was laughter in his voice. She kept her back to him and reached for another arrow. “You didn’t forfeit our last match so easily,” she said.

“Ah, but that’s because I have your fighting skill. I lack your skill with a bow and arrow.”

Katsa couldn’t help herself. She found that interesting. She turned her eyes to him, his face in shadows. “Is that true?”

“My Grace gives me skill at hand-to-hand combat,” he said, “or sword-to-sword. It does little for my archery.”

He leaned back against the great slab of stone that served as a table for the equipment of the archers. His arms were crossed. She was becoming accustomed to this look, this lazy look, as if he could nod off to sleep at any moment, but it didn’t fool her. She thought if she were to spring at him, he’d react quickly enough.

“Then, you need to be able to grapple with your opponent, to have an advantage,” she said.

He nodded. “I may be quicker to dodge arrows than someone Ungraced. But in my own attack, my skill is only as good as my aim.”

“Hmm.” Katsa believed him. The Graces were odd like that; they didn’t touch any two people in quite the same way.

“Can you throw a knife as well as you shoot an arrow?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You’re unbeatable, Lady Katsa.” She heard the laughter in his voice again. She considered him for a moment and then turned away and walked down the course to the targets. She stopped at one, the one she’d “killed,” and yanked the arrows from its thighs, its chest, its head.

He sought his grandfather, and Katsa had what he sought. But he didn’t feel safe to her, this one. He didn’t feel quite trustworthy.

She walked from target to target, pulling out arrows. He watched her, she felt it, and the knowledge of his eyes on her back drove her to the back of the range, where she put the torches out, one by one. As she extinguished the last flame, darkness enveloped her, and she knew she was invisible.

She turned to him then, thinking to examine him in the light of the equipment room without his knowing. But he slouched, arms crossed, and stared straight at her. He couldn’t see her, it wasn’t possible—but his gaze was so direct that she couldn’t hold it, even knowing he didn’t know she stared.

She walked across the range and stepped into the light, and his eyes seemed to change focus. He smiled at her, ever so slightly. The torch caught the gold of one eye and the silver of the other. They were like the eyes of a cat, or a night creature of some kind.

“Does your Grace give you night vision?” she asked.

He laughed. “Hardly. Why do you ask?”

She didn’t answer. They looked at each other for a moment. The flush began to rise into her neck again, and with it, a surging irritation. She’d grown far too used to people avoiding her eyes. He would not rattle her so, simply by looking at her. She wouldn’t allow it.