“It’s not broken,” he said, “though it seems it should be.”

“I pulled back,” she said, “when I realized you weren’t fighting me.” She reached up to the table and dipped her hands into the water pitcher. She scooped blocks of ice onto a cloth and wrapped them up. She brought the ice to his jaw. “Why didn’t you fight back?”

He held the ice to his face and groaned. “This’ll hurt for days.”

“Po . . .”

He looked at her, and sighed. “I told you before, Katsa. I won’t fight when you’re angry. I won’t solve a disagreement between us with blows.” He lifted the ice and fingered his jaw. He moaned, and held the ice to his face again. “What we do in the practice rooms—that’s to help each other. We don’t use it against each other. We’re friends, Katsa.”

Shame pricked behind her eyes. It was so elemental, so obvious. It wasn’t what one friend did to another, yet she’d done it.

“We’re too dangerous to each other, Katsa. And even if we weren’t, it’s not right.”

“I’ll never do it again,” she said. “I swear to it.”

He caught her eyes then, and held them. “I know you won’t. Katsa. Wildcat. Don’t blame yourself. You expected me to fight back. You wouldn’t have struck me otherwise.”

But still she should have known better. “It wasn’t even you who angered me. It was him.”

Po considered her for a moment. “What do you think would happen,” he said, “if you refused to do what Randa ordered?”

She didn’t know, really. She only imagined him sneering at her, his words crackling with contempt. “If I don’t do what he says, he’ll become angry. When he becomes angry, I’ll become angry. And then I’ll want to kill him.”

“Hmm.” He worked his mouth back and forth. “You’re afraid of your own anger.”

She stopped then and looked at him, because that seemed right to her. She was afraid of her own anger.

“But Randa isn’t even worth your anger,” Po said. “He’s no more than a bully.”

Katsa snorted. “A bully who chops off people’s fingers or breaks their arms.”

“Not if you stop doing it for him,” Po said. “Much of his power comes from you.”

She was afraid of her own anger: She repeated it in her mind. She was afraid of what she would do to the king—and with good reason. Look at Po, his jaw red and beginning to swell. She’d learned to control her skill, but she hadn’t learned to control her anger. And that meant she still didn’t control her Grace.

“Should we move back to the table?” he said, for they were still sitting on the floor.

“You should probably go see Raff,” she said, “just to be sure nothing’s broken.” Her eyes dropped. “Forgive me, Po.”

Po heaved himself to his feet. He reached for her hand and pulled her up. “You’re forgiven, Lady.”

She shook her head, disbelieving his kindness. “You Lienid are so odd; your reactions are never what mine would be. You, so calm, when I’ve hurt you so badly. Your father’s sister, so strange in her grief.”