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“If there’s anyone I wish to stun at dinner, I’ll hit him in the face.”
His eyes came back into focus then and looked into hers. And then something mischievous in his eyes, and a grin. Almost as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, exactly what she’d decided about his claims to vanity. Katsa’s face closed, and she glowered at him.
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.
“It’s the only possible plan, Katsa. You have the power to do whatever you want.” She sat up and turned to him. “You keep saying that, but it’s not true,” she said. “I don’t have the power to stop you from sensing my thoughts.” He raised his eyebrows. “You could kill me.” “I couldn’t,” she said, “for you would know I meant to kill you, and you’d escape me. You’d stay far away from me, always.” “Ah, but I wouldn’t.” “You would,” she said, “if I wished to kill you.” “I wouldn’t.”
And I really do worry about your horse.”
“The Grace of confusing people with lies, lies that spread from kingdom to kingdom. Imagine it, Katsa—people carrying his lies in their own mouths, and spreading them to believing ears; absurd lies, erasing logic and truth, all the way to Lienid. Can you imagine the power of a person who had such a Grace? He could create whatever reputation for himself he wished. He could take whatever he wanted and no one would ever hold him responsible.”
She began to have a conception of a power that spread like a bad feeling, like a sickness itself, seizing all minds that it touched. Could there be a Grace more dangerous than one that replaced sight with a fog of falseness?
“But you’re not worried, are you, Katsa?” “Not particularly.” “Because you never get cold, and you can bring down a bear with your hands and build us a fire in a blizzard, using icicles for kindling.”
“Yes, I can see them, now that you mention it. It’s gorgeous, Katsa. Have you ever seen a sight so gorgeous?” She laughed at his happiness. For a moment, as they looked down on Monsea, the world was beautiful and without worry.
He sat back on his heels. He tilted his head. “The world is filling in around me,” he said, “piece by piece. The fuzziness is clearing. To be honest, it’s a bit disorienting. I’m ever so slightly dizzy.”
Katsa stared at him. There was nothing to say in response to this; his Grace was showing him winterberries, and he was ever so slightly dizzy. Tomorrow he would be able to tell her about a landslide on the other side of the world, and they would both faint. She sighed and touched the gold in his ear. “If you put your feet into the stream, the snow water will soothe your toes, and I’ll rub the warmth back into them when you’re done.”
He slowed then and came beside them. He looked into her face, and something strong in his silver and gold eyes comforted and reassured her. Po was neither weak nor defenseless. He had his Grace and his strength. He reached for her hand. When she gave it to him, he kissed it. He rode ahead, and they continued on.
“Don’t be ashamed,” Po whispered. “Your sadness is dear to me. Don’t be frightened. I won’t die, Katsa. I won’t die, and we’ll meet again.”
“Oh, Katsa. Wildcat.” He touched her face. He smiled, so that it hurt her to look at him, and she was sure she couldn’t leave him alone. He pulled her close and kissed her, and he whispered something into her ear. She held on to him so hard that his shoulder must have ached, but he did not complain. Katsa didn’t look back as they rode away. But she gripped Bitterblue tightly; and she called out to him, his name bursting inside her so painfully that for a long while, she could feel nothing else.
