Ladies in the court had screamed; one had fainted. When they’d lifted him from the pool of blood on the floor and he’d turned out to be dead, the court had grown silent, backed away. Frightened eyes—not just those of the ladies now, but those of the soldiers, the sworded underlords—all directed at her. It was fine to eat the meals of the king’s chef, who was Graced with cooking, or send their horses to the king’s Graced horse doctor. But a girl Graced with killing? This one was not safe.

Another king would have banished her, or killed her, even if she was his sister’s child. But Randa was clever. He could see that in time his niece might serve a practical purpose. He sent her to her chambers and kept her there for weeks as punishment, but that was all. When she emerged, they all ran to get out of her path. They’d never liked her before, for no one liked the Graced, but at least they’d tolerated her presence. Now there was no pretense of friendliness. “Watch for the blue-eyed green-eyed one,” they would whisper to guests. “She killed her cousin, with one strike. Because he complimented her eyes.” Even Randa kept out of her way. A murderous dog might be useful to a king, but he didn’t want it sleeping at his feet.

Prince Raffin was the only one who sought her company. “You won’t do it again, will you? I don’t think my father will let you kill anyone you want.”

“I never meant to kill him,” she said.

“What happened?”

Katsa sent her mind back. “I felt like I was in danger. So I hit him.”

Prince Raffin shook his head. “You need to control a Grace,” he said. “Especially a killing Grace. You must, or my father will stop us seeing each other.”

This was a frightening notion. “I don’t know how to control it.”

Raffin considered this. “You could ask Oll. The king’s spies know how to hurt without killing. It’s how they get information.”

Raffin was eleven, three years Katsa’s senior, and by her young standards, very wise. She took his advice and went to Oll, King Randa’s graying captain and his spymaster. Oll wasn’t foolish; he knew to fear the quiet girl with one eye blue and one eye green. But he also had some imagination. He wondered, as it had occurred to no one else to wonder, whether Katsa hadn’t been just as shocked by her cousin’s death as everyone else. And the more he thought about it, the more curious he became about her potential.

He started their training by setting rules. She would not practice on him, and she would not practice on any of the king’s men. She would practice on dummies that she made out of sacks, sewn together and filled with grain. She would practice on the prisoners that Oll brought to her, men whose deaths were already decreed.

She practiced every day. She learned her own speed and her own explosive force. She learned the angle, position, and intensity of a killing blow versus a maiming blow. She learned how to disarm a man and how to break his leg, and how to twist his arm so severely that he would stop struggling and beg for release. She learned to fight with a sword and with knives and daggers. She was so fast and focused, so creative, she could find a way to beat a man senseless with both arms tied to her sides. Such was her Grace.