Graceling (Graceling Realm #1)(38)
Author: Kristin Cashore

You’d do best to sneak up on him in the forest while he’s searching for the child, and shoot him. From as far away as possible.

Po rode before them, his back straight. His arms steady, despite his tiredness and the cold and his lack of a coat.

And then run away as fast as you can.

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.

Bitterblue sat quietly before her. She had stiffened when Po came near; but if she thought their silent exchange odd, she said nothing.

———

They came to a place where the land dropped away to the left and formed a deep gul y with a lake that shone far below them. To the right the path rose to a cliff that overhung the lake.

“If we cross over to the far side of that cliff and hide there,” Katsa said, “anyone coming after us will either have to cross the cliff as we did or climb up from the gul y. They’l be easily seen.”

“I had the same thought,” Po said. “Let’s see what’s there.” And so they climbed. The cliff path sloped rather unnervingly toward the drop, but it was a wide path, and the horses clung to its top edge. Pebbles slid from under their hooves and rolled down the slope, clattering over the edge and plummeting down into the lake, but the travelers were safe.

On the far side they found little more than rock and scrub and a few scraggly trees growing from crevices. A shal ow, hard cave with its back to the gul y and the cliff path seemed the best choice for their camp. “It won’t make for a soft bed,” Po said, “but it’ll hide our fire. Are you hungry, cousin?”

The girl sat on a rock, quietly, her hands gripping her knife. She hadn’t complained of hunger, or of anything else, for that matter. But now she watched with big eyes as Po unwrapped what little food they had, some meat from the night before, and one small apple carried all the way from the inn at the Sunderan foot of the mountains. Bitterblue’s eyes watched the food, and she barely seemed to be breathing. She was ravenous, anyone could see that.

“When did you last eat?” Po asked, as he set the food before her.

“Some berries, this morning.”

“And before that?”

“Yesterday. Yesterday morning.”

“Slowly,” Po said, as Bitterblue took the meat in her hands and tore a great piece off with her teeth. “Slowly, or you’l be sick.”

“I’ll climb down to the gul y and find us some meat,” Katsa said. “The sun will set soon. I’ll take a knife, Po, if you’l keep a lookout for me.”

Po slid a knife from his boot and tossed it to her. “If you hear the sound of an owl hooting, run. Two hoots, run south. Three hoots, run back up here to the camp.”

She nodded. “Agreed.”

“Try the rushes to the south of the lake,” he said. “And pick up a few pebbles on your way down. I think I may have seen some quail.”

Katsa snorted but said nothing. She glanced at the girl, who saw only the food in her hands. Then she turned, worked her way around boulders, and began to forge a path down into the gul y.

———

When Katsa returned to camp with a stringful of quail, plucked and gutted, the sun was sinking behind the mountains. Po was piling branches near the back of the cave. Bitterblue lay nearby, wrapped in a blanket.

“I gather she hasn’t slept much in the last few days,” Po said.

“She’l be all right now that her clothes are dry. We’l keep her warm and fed.”

“She’s a calm little thing, isn’t she? small for ten years old. She helped me gather wood, until she was practical y col apsing from exhaustion. I told her to sleep until we had more food. She’s got her fingers wrapped around that knife.

And she’s stillscared of me – I get the feeling she’s not used to men showing her kindness.”

“Po, I’m beginning to think I don’t want to know what this is all about. I can make no sense of it. I can’t factor your grandfather into it at all.”

Po shook his head and looked at the girl, who was huddled on the ground in her blankets and coats. “I’m not sure how much any of this has to do with sanity or sense. But we’l keep her safe, and we’l kill Leck. And eventual y we’l learn whatever truth there is to know of it.”

“She’l make for an awful y young queen.”

“Yes, I’ve thought of that, too. But there’s no helping it.”

They sat quietly and waited for the darkness that would mask the smoke of their fire. Po pulled another shirt over the one he already wore. She watched his face, his familiar features, his eyes, which caught the pink light of the day’s end.

She bit her lip against her worry, for she knew it would not be helpful to him.

“How will you do it?” she asked.

“As you said, most likely. We’l talk about it when Bitterblue wakes. I expect she’l be able to help.”

Help to plot the murder of her father. Yes, she probably would help, if she could. For such was the madness that rode the air of this kingdom as they sat in their rocky camp at the edge of the Monsean mountains.

———

The light of the fire, or its crackle, or the smel of the meat sizzling above it woke Bitterblue. She came to sit with them by the flames, her blanket around her shoulders and her knife in hand.

“I’ll teach you how to use that knife,” Katsa told her, “when you’re feeling better. How to defend yourself, how to maim a man. We can use Po as a model.”

The child’s eyes flicked to Katsa’s shyly, and then she looked into her lap.

“Wonderful,” Po said. “It’s quite boring really, the way you beat me to death with your hands and feet, Katsa. it’ll be refreshing to have you coming at me with a knife.”

Bitterblue glanced at Katsa again. “Are you the better fighter?”

“Yes,” Katsa said.

“Far better,” Po said. “There’s no comparison.”

“But Po has other advantages,” Katsa said. “He’s stronger. He sees better in the dark.”

“But in a fight,” Po said, “always bet on the lady, Bitterblue. Even in the dark.”

They sat quietly, waiting for the quail to roast. Bitterblue shivered and pulled her blanket more tightly around her shoulders.

“I would like to have a Grace,” she said, “that all owed me to protect myself.”

Katsa held her breath and forced herself to wait patiently and not ask questions.

After a moment, Bitterblue said, “The king wants me.”

“What for?” Katsa asked, because she could not prevent herself.

Bitterblue didn’t answer this. She bent her chin to her chest and brought her arms in close to her sides, making herself very small. “He has a Grace,” she said. “My mother told me so. She told me he can manipulate people’s minds with his words, so that they believe whatever he says.

Even if they hear it from someone else’s mouth; even if it’s a rumor he started that’s spread far beyond him. His power weakens as it spreads, but it does not disappear.” She stared unhappily at the knife in her hands. “She told me he’s the wrong kind of man to have been born with a Grace like this.

He makes toys of small and weak people. He likes to cause pain.”

Po dropped his hand to Katsa’s thigh, which was the only thing that kept her from shooting to her feet with rage.

“My mother has suspected all of this,” Bitterblue continued, “from time to time, ever since she first knew him. But he’s always been able to confuse her into forgetting about it. Until a few months back, when he began to take a particular interest in me.”

She stopped speaking and took a few small breaths. Her eyes settled on Katsa’s, flickering with something uncomfortable. “I can’t say what he wants me for, exactly. He’s always been… fond of the company of girls. And he has some strange habits my mother and I came to understand. He cuts animals, with knives. He tortures them and keeps them alive for a long time, then he kill s them.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t think it’s only animals he does this to.”

Kindness to children and helpless creatures, Katsa thought, fighting back tears of fury. Her whole life she’d believed Leck’s reputation for beneficence. Did he convince his victims, too, that he was doing them a kindness, even while he cut them with his knives?

“He told my mother he wanted to start spending time with me alone,” Bitterblue said. “He said it was time he got to know his daughter better.

He was so angry when she refused. He hit her. He tried to use his Grace on me, tried to get me to go to his cages with him, but whenever I saw the bruises on my mother’s face I remembered the truth. It cleared my mind, just barely – enough that I knew to refuse.”

Then Po had been right. The deaths at Leck’s court began to make even more sense to Katsa. Leck probably arranged for many people to die – people whose use had become more trouble than it was worth, because he’d hurt them so grievously that they’d begun to comprehend the truth.

“So then he kidnapped Grandfather,” Bitterblue said, “because he knew there was no one my mother loved more. He told my mother he was going to torture Grandfather, unless she agreed to hand me over. He told her he was going to bring him to Monsea and kill him in our sight. We hoped it was all just his usual lies. But then we got letters from Lienid and knew Grandfather was really missing.”

“Grandfather was neither tortured nor kill ed,” Po said. “He’s safe now.”

“He could have just taken me,” Bitterblue said, her voice breaking with sudden shril ness. “He has an entire army that would never defy him. But he didn’t. He has this… sick patience. It didn’t interest him to force us. He wanted to hear us say yes.”

Because it was more satisfying to him that way, Katsa thought.

“My mother barricaded us inside her rooms,” Bitterblue said. “The king ignored us for a while. He had food and drink brought to us, and water and fresh linen. But he would talk to us through the door sometimes. He would try to persuade my mother to send me out. He would confuse me sometimes. Sometimes he would confuse her. He would come up with the most convincing reasons why I should come out, and we had to keep reminding ourselves of the truth. It was very frightening.”

A tear ran down her face now, and she kept talking, quickly, as if she could no longer contain her story. “He began to send animals in to us, mice all cut up, dogs and cats, stillalive, crying and bleeding. It was horrible. And then one day the girl who brought our food had cuts on her face, three lines on each cheek, bleeding freely. And other injuries, too, that we couldn’t see. She wasn’t walking well . When we asked her what happened, she said she couldn’t remember.