“How old is that girl, do you think?” Katsa asked. “Do you think she’s married?”

Po watched the table of merchants and sipped from his drink. “Sixteen or seventeen, I’d guess. She’s not married.”

“How do you know?”

He paused. “I don’t. It was a guess.”

“It didn’t sound like a guess.”

He drank from his cup. His face was impassive. It hadn’t been a guess, this she knew; and it occurred to her suddenly how he could know such a thing with such certainty. She took a moment to nurse her irritation on behalf of every girl who’d ever admired Po and thought her feelings private. “You’re impossible,” she said. “You’re no better than those merchants. And besides, just because she has her eyes on you doesn’t mean—”

“And that’s not fair,” Po protested. “I can’t help what I know. My error was in revealing it to you. I’m not used to traveling with someone who knows my Grace; I spoke before thinking how unfair it would be, to the girl.”

She rolled her eyes. “Spare me your confessions. If she’s unmarried, I don’t understand why her father sends her out to serve these men. I’m not certain she’s safe among them.”

“Her father stands at the bar, most of the time. No one would dare harm her.”

“But he’s not there always—he’s not there now. And just because they don’t assault her doesn’t mean they respect her.” Or that they would not seek her out later.

The girl circled the table of merchants, pouring cider into each cup. When one of the men reached for her arm, she recoiled. The merchants burst into laughter. The man reached out to her then and drew back, reached out and drew back, taunting her. His friends laughed harder. And then the man at the girl’s other side grabbed her wrist and held on, and there was a great whoop from the men. She tried to pull away, but the laughing man wouldn’t let go. Red with shame, she looked into none of their faces, only pulled at her arm. She was too much like a dumb, confused rabbit caught in a trap, and suddenly Katsa was standing. And Po was standing, too, and he had Katsa by the arm.

For an instant Katsa appreciated the strange symmetry; except that unlike the serving girl, she could break from Po’s grip, and unlike the merchant, Po had good reason to hold her arm. And Katsa wouldn’t break from the grip of his fingers, for she didn’t need to. Her rise to her feet had been enough. The room froze into stillness. The man dropped the girl’s arm. He stared at Katsa with a white face and an open mouth—fear, as familiar to Katsa as the feel of her own body. The girl stared, too, and caught her breath and pressed her hand to her chest.

“Sit down, Katsa.” Po’s voice was low. “It’s over now. Sit down.”

She did sit down. The room let out its breath. After a few moments, voices murmured, and then talked and laughed again. But Katsa wasn’t sure that it was over. Perhaps it was over with this girl, and these merchants. But there would be a new group of merchants tomorrow. And these merchants would move on, and find themselves another girl.