"And if someone had it in mind to provoke the Lienid royal family," Oll said, "wouldn't they reveal themselves eventually? Otherwise, the power play becomes pointless."
"Has Tealiff said anything more?" Giddon asked.
"He's said they blindfolded him," Po said, "and drugged him. He's said he was on a boat for a long time, and their land travel was shorter in comparison, which suggests his captors took him east by boat from Lienid, possibly to one of the southern Sunderan ports. And then up through the forests to Murgon City. He's said that when he heard them speak, he believed their accents to be southern."
"It does suggest Sunder, and Murgon," Giddon said.
But it didn't make sense. None of the kings had reason, but Murgon even less. Murgon worked for others, and his sole motivation was money. Everyone at the table, everyone in the Council, knew that.
"Po," Katsa said. "Your grandfather had no argument with your father, or any of your brothers? Your mother?"
"None," Po said. "I'm sure of it."
"I don't see how you can be so sure," Giddon said.
Po's eyes flashed to him. "You'll have to take my word, Lord Giddon. Neither my father nor my brothers nor my mother nor anyone else at the Lienid court was involved in the kidnapping."
"Po's word is good enough for the Council," Raffin said. "And if it wasn't Birn, Drowden, Thigpen, Randa, or Ror, that leaves Murgon."
Po raised his eyebrows. "Have none of you considered the King of Monsea?"
"A king with a reputation for kindness to injured animals and lost children," Giddon said, "come out of his isolation to kidnap his wife's aging father? A bit unlikely, don't you think?"
"We've made inquiries and uncovered nothing," Oll said. "King Leck is a peace-loving man. Either it's Murgon, or one of the kings is keeping a secret even from his own spies."
"It may have been Murgon," Katsa said, "or it may not. Either way, Murgon knows who's responsible. If Murgon knows, then the people closest to him know. Couldn't we find one of Murgon's people? I could make him talk."
"Not without revealing your identity, My Lady," Oll said.
"But she could kill him," Giddon said, "after she questioned him."
"Now, hold on." Katsa held up her hand. "I said nothing of killing."
"But it's not worth the information, Katsa," Raffin said, "for you to interrogate someone who'll recognize you and speak of it to Murgon afterward."
"Greening should be the one to do it, anyway," Giddon said, and Po's cool eyes flicked to him again. "Murgon wouldn't question the motivation of a Lienid prince. Murgon would expect it of him. In fact, I don't see why you haven't done it already," Giddon said to Po, "if you wish so much to know who's responsible."
Katsa was too irritated to care about her strategic seating plan. She leaned around Raffin and Bann to address Giddon. "It's because Murgon can't know that Po knows Murgon is involved," she said. "How would Po explain that knowledge, without incriminating us?"
"But that's just why you can't question Murgon's people, Katsa, unless you're willing to kill afterwards." Giddon thumped his hand on the table and glared at her.
"All right," Raffin said, "all right. We're going in circles."
Katsa sat back, seething.
"Katsa," Raffin said, "the information isn't worth the risk to you or to the Council. Nor, I think, is it worth the violence."
She sighed, inwardly. He was right, of course.
"Perhaps it'll be worth it someday in the future," Raffin said. "But for now, Grandfather Tealiff is safe, and we've seen no sign from Murgon or from anyone else that he's being targeted again. Po, if there are steps you wish to take, that's your affair, though I'd ask you to discuss it with us first."
"I must think on it," Po said.
"Then the matter is closed for now," Raffin said, "until we learn something new, or until Po comes to a decision. Oll? Is there anything else on the table?"
Oll began to speak then of a Westeran village that had met a Nanderan raiding party with a pair of catapults, given to them by a Westeran lord who was friend to the Council. The Nanderan raiders had fled, thinking they were being attacked by an army. There was laughter at the table, and Oll began another story, but Katsa's thoughts wandered to Murgon and his dungeons, to the Sunderan forests that likely held the secrets of the kidnapping. She felt Po's gaze, and she glanced at him across the table. His eyes were on her, but he didn't see her. His mind was elsewhere. He got that look sometimes, when they sat together after their fights.
She watched his face. The cut on his forehead was no more than a thin red line now. It would leave a scar. She wondered if that would rankle his Lienid vanity, but then she smiled within herself. He wasn't really vain. He hadn't cared a bit when she'd blackened his eye. He'd done nothing to hide the gash on his forehead. And besides, no vain person would choose to fight her, day after day. No vain person would put his body at the mercy of her hands.
His sleeves were rolled to his elbows again. His manners were so careless. Her eyes rested on the shadows in the hollows of his neck, then rose to his face again. She supposed he would have reason to be vain. He was handsome enough, as handsome as Giddon or Raffin, with his straight nose and the set of his mouth, and his strong shoulders. And even those gleaming eyes. Even they might be considered handsome.
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.
The meeting ended, and chairs scraped. Raffin pulled her aside to speak of something. She was grateful for the excuse to turn away. She wouldn't see Po again until their next fight. And the fights always returned her to herself.
Chapter Twelve
THE NEXT MORNING Randa came to their practice for the first time. He stood at the side, so that everyone in the room was compelled to stand as well and watch him instead of the fighters they'd come to see. Katsa was glad to fight, glad for the excuse to ignore him. Except that she couldn't ignore him. He was so tall and broad, and he stood against the white wall in bright blue robes. His lazy laugh carried into every corner of the room. She couldn't shake the sense of him—and there must be something he wanted. He never sought out his lady killer unless there was something he wanted.
She had been running through a drill with Po when Randa had arrived, a drill that was giving her some trouble. It began with Katsa on her knees and Po behind her, pinning her arms behind her back. Her task was to break free of Po's grip and then grapple with him until she had trapped him in the same position. She could always fight her way free of Po's grip. That wasn't the problem. It was the counterpin that frustrated her. Even if she managed to knock him to his knees and trap his arms, she couldn't keep him down. It was a matter of brute strength. If he tried to muscle himself to his feet, she didn't have the force to stop him, not unless she knocked him unconscious or injured him seriously, and that wasn't the point of the exercise. She needed to find a holding position that would make the effort of rising too painful to be worth his while.
They began the drill again. She knelt with Po at her back, and Po's hands tightened around her wrists. Randa's voice rose and fell, and one of the stewards responded. Flattering, fawning. Everyone flattered Randa.
Katsa was ready for Po this time. She twisted out of his grip and was on him like a wildcat. She pummeled his stomach, hooked her foot between his legs, and battered him to his knees. She yanked at his arms. His right shoulder—that was the one he was always icing. She twisted his right arm and leaned all her weight against it, so that any attempt to move would require him to wrench his shoulder and bring more pain to it than she was already causing him to feel.
"I surrender," he gasped. She released him, and he heaved himself to his feet. He massaged his shoulder. "Good work, Katsa."
"Again."
They ran through the drill again, and then once more, and both ti
mes she trapped him easily.
"You've got it," Po said. "Good. What next? Shall I try it?"
Her name cut through the air then, and her hackles rose. She'd been right. He hadn't come only to watch; and now, before all these people, she must act pleasant and civil. She fought against the frown that rose to her face, and turned to the king.
"It's so amusing," Randa said, "to see you struggling with an opponent, Katsa."
"I'm glad it gives you amusement, Lord King."
"Prince Greening. How do you find our lady killer?"
"She's the superior fighter by far, Lord King," Po said. "If she didn't hold herself back, I'd be in great trouble."
Randa laughed. "Indeed. I've noticed it's you who comes to dinner with bruises, and not she."
Pride in his possession. Katsa forced herself to unclench her fists. She forced herself to breathe, to hold her uncle's gaze even though she wanted to scratch the leer from his face.
"Katsa," the king said. "Come to me later today. I have a job for you."
"Yes, Lord King," she said. "Thank you, Lord King."
Randa leaned back on his heels and surveyed the room. Then, with his stewards rushing into their places behind him, he exited with a great swish of blue robes, and Katsa stared after him until he and his entourage had vanished; and then she stared at the door the stewards slammed behind him.
Around the room, slowly, lords and soldiers sat down. Katsa was vaguely aware of their movements. Vaguely aware of Po's eyes on her face, watching her, silently.
"What's it to be now, Katsa?"
She knew what she wanted. She felt it shooting down her arms and into her fingers, tingling in her legs and feet. "A straight fight," she said. "Anything fair. Until one of us surrenders."
Po narrowed his eyes. He considered her tight fists and her hard mouth. "We'll have that fight, but we'll have it tomorrow. We're done for today."
"No. We fight."
"Katsa. We're done."
She stalked up to him, close, so that no one else could hear. "What's the matter, Po? Do you fear me?"
"Yes, I fear you, as I should when you're angry. I won't fight you when you're angry. Nor should you fight me when I'm angry. That's not the purpose of these practices."
And when he told her she was angry, she realized it was true. And just as quickly, her anger fizzled into despair. Randa would send her on another strong-arm mission. He would send her to hurt some poor petty criminal, some fool who deserved to keep his fingers even if he was dishonorable. He would send her, and she must go, for the power sat with him.
THEY ATE in her dining room. Katsa stared at her plate. He was talking about his brothers, how his brothers would love to see their practices. She must come to Lienid one day and fight with him for his family. They'd be amazed by her skill, and they'd honor her greatly. And he could show her the most beautiful sights in his father's city.
She wasn't listening. She was picturing the arms she'd broken for her uncle. The arms, bent the wrong way at the elbow, bone splinters sticking through the skin. He said something about his shoulder, and she shook herself, and looked at him.
"What did you say?" she asked. "About your shoulder? I'm sorry."
He dropped his gaze and fiddled with his fork. "Your uncle has quite an effect on you," he said. "You haven't been yourself since he walked into the practice room."
"Or maybe I have been myself, and the other times I'm not myself."
"What do you mean?"
"My uncle thinks me savage. He thinks me a killer. Well, isn't he right? Didn't I become savage when he entered the room? And what is it we're practicing every day?" She tore apart a piece of bread and threw it onto her plate. She glared at her meal.
"I don't believe you're savage," he said.
She sighed, sharply. "You haven't seen me with Randa's enemies."
He raised his cup to his lips and drank, then lowered it, watching her. "What will he ask you to do this time?"
She pushed the fire down that rose up from her stomach. She wondered what would happen if she slammed her plate on the ground, how many pieces it would break into.
"It'll be some lord who owes him money," she said, "or who refused to agree to some bargain, or who looked at him wrong. I'll be told to hurt the man, enough so that he never dishonors my uncle again."
"And you'll do what he tells you to do?"
"Who are these fools who continue to resist Randa's will? Haven't they heard the stories? Don't they know he'll send me?"
"Isn't it in your power to refuse?" Po asked. "How can anyone force you to do anything?"
The fire burst into her throat and choked her. "He is the king. And you're a fool, too, if you think I have choice in the matter."
"But you do have choice. He's not the one who makes you savage. You make yourself savage, when you bend yourself to his will."
She sprang to her feet and swung at his jaw with the side of her hand. She lessened the force of the blow only at the last instant, when she realized he hadn't raised his arm to block her. Her hand hit his face with a sickening crack. She watched, horrified, as his chair toppled backward and his head slammed against the floor. She'd hit him hard. She knew she'd hit him hard. And he hadn't defended himself.
She ran to him. He lay on his side, both hands over his jaw. A tear trickled from his eye, over his fingers, and onto the floor. He grunted, or sobbed—she didn't know which. She knelt beside him and touched his shoulder. "Did I break your jaw? Can you speak?"
He shifted then, pushed himself up to a sitting position. He felt at the side of his jaw and opened and closed his mouth. He moved his jaw left and right.
"I don't think it's broken." His voice was a whisper.
She put her hand to his face and felt the bones under his skin. She felt the other side of his face to compare. She could tell no difference, and she caught her breath with relief.
"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."
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?"