Po narrowed his eyes then. “What do you mean?”

“About what? Isn’t the Queen of Monsea your father’s sister?”

“What’s she done, my father’s sister?”

“The word is, she stopped eating when she heard of your grandfather’s disappearance. You didn’t know? And then she closed herself and her child into her rooms. And wouldn’t let anyone enter, not even the king.”

“She wouldn’t let the king enter,” he repeated, puzzlement in his voice.

“Nor anyone else,” Katsa said, “except a handmaiden to bring them meals.”

“Why did no one tell me about this before?”

“I assumed you knew, Po. I’d no idea it would matter so much to you. Are you close to her?”

Po stared at the table, at the mess of melting ice and their half-eaten meal. His mind was elsewhere, his brow furrowed.

“Po, what is it?”

He shook his head. “It’s not how I would’ve expected Ashen to behave,” he said. “But it’s no matter. I must find Raffin, or Bann.”

She watched his face then. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “How long will you be away on Randa’s errand?”

“It’s not likely to be more than a few days.”

“When you return, I must speak with you.”

“Why don’t you speak with me now?”

He shook his head. “I need to think. I need to work something out.”

Why were his eyes so uneasy? Why was he looking at the table and the floor, but never into her face?

It was concern, for his father’s sister. It was worry for the people he cared about. For that was his way, this Lienid. His friendship was true.

He looked at her then. The smallest of smiles flickered across his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t feel too kindly toward me, Katsa. Neither of us is blameless as a friend.”

He left her then, to find Raffin. She stood and stared at the place where he’d just been. And tried to shake off the eerie sense that he had just answered something she’d thought, rather than something she’d said.

Chapter Thirteen

NOT THAT IT was the first time he’d left her with that feeling. Po had a way about him. He knew her opinions, sometimes, before she expressed them. He looked at her from across a table and knew she was angry, and why; or that she’d decided he was handsome.

Raffin had told her she wasn’t perceptive. Po was perceptive. And talkative. Perhaps that was why they got along so well. She didn’t have to explain herself to Po, and he explained himself to her without her having to ask. She’d never known a person with whom she could communicate so freely—so unused was she to the phenomenon of friendship.

She mused about this as the horses carried them west, until the hills began to even out and give way to great grassy flatlands, and the pleasure of smooth, hard riding distracted her. Giddon was in good humor, for this was his country. They would visit his estate on their way to one just beyond his. They would sleep in his castle, first on their outward journey and then again on their return. Giddon rode eagerly and fast, and though Katsa didn’t relish his company, for once she couldn’t complain of their pace.