"Bellamew is dead," said Po. "Holt stole your sculptures. Holt brought them to Hava, Bellamew's daughter, but Hava told Holt, no, the sculptures had to go back to the queen. So Holt brought them back, with Hava supervising."
"What! Why?"
"Holt puzzles me," said Po, musing. "He may or may not be mad. He's certainly confused."
"I don't understand!" said Bitterblue. "Holt stole from me, then changed his mind?"
"I think he's trying to do the right thing," said Po, "but is confused about what the right thing is. I understand that Leck used Bellamew, then killed her. Holt feels that Hava is the rightful owner of the sculptures."
"Is Giddon the one who told you about Hava?" asked Bitterblue. "Shouldn't something be done about Hava if she's floating around the castle? She tried to kidnap me!"
"Giddon doesn't know about Hava."
"Then how did you figure all this out?" cried Bitterblue.
"I just—did," said Po, looking sheepish.
"What do you mean, you just did? How can I be sure it's all true on the basis of 'you just did'?"
"I'm quite certain it's all true, Beetle. I'll explain why another time."
Bitterblue studied his battered face as he smoothed the glider against his leg. It was clear to her that he was upset about something he wasn't saying. "What are Helda and Katsa arguing about?" she asked quietly.
"Babies," he responded, flashing her a tiny grin. "As usual."
"And what are you and Katsa arguing about?"
His grin faded. "Giddon."
"Why? Is it about Katsa not liking him? I would love someone to explain that to me."
"Bitterblue, don't pry into the man's business."
"Oh, such commendable advice, coming from a mind reader. You can pry into his business whenever you like."
Po raised his eyes to her face. "As he well knows," he said.
"You told Giddon," she said, understanding everything now; understanding when he hung his head. "Giddon hit you," she continued. "And Katsa is angry with you for telling Giddon."
"Katsa is frightened," said Po quietly. "Katsa is too aware of the strain I'm under. It frightens her, knowing how many people I'd like to tell."
"How many people would you like to tell?"
This time, when he raised his eyes to her face, Bitterblue was also frightened. "Po," she whispered. "Please start small. If you're going to do this, tell Skye. Tell Helda. Maybe tell your father. Then wait, and get advice, and think. Please?"
"All I'm doing is thinking," he said. "I can't stop thinking. I'm so tired, Beetle."
His problems were so peculiar. Bitterblue's heart reached out to this cousin who slumped on the sofa looking weary, disgruntled, and sore. "Po," she said, going to him. She smoothed his hair and kissed the top of his head. "What can I do?"
Sighing, he said, "You could go comfort Giddon."
A VOICE ANSWERED her knock. When she entered Giddon's rooms, Giddon was sitting against the wall on the floor, in rapt contemplation of his left hand.
"You're left-handed," Bitterblue said. "I suppose I should have noticed that before."
He flexed the hand and spoke grimly, not looking up. "I spar sometimes with my right, just for practice."
"Have you hurt yourself?"
"No."
"Is left-handedness an advantage in fights?"
He shot Bitterblue a sardonic glance. "Against Po?"
"Against normal people."
A disinterested shrug. "Sometimes. Most fighters are better trained to defend against a right-handed assault."
Even Giddon's grumpy voice was nice in timbre. "Shall I stay?" Bitterblue asked lightly. "Or shall I go?"
He dropped his hand then and looked up at her, looked straight at her. His face softened. "Stay, Lady Queen." Then, seeming to remember his manners, he made a move to stand up.
"Oh, please," Bitterblue said. "It's a stupid custom," and she lowered herself to the floor beside him, putting her back to the wall for symmetry's sake, commencing an inspection of her own hands.
"Less than two hours ago," she said, "I sat beside a friend, just like this, on the roof of a shop in the city."
"What? Really?"
"We'd been chased there by people who wanted to kill him."
"Lady Queen," Giddon said, almost choking, "are you serious?"
"Don't tell anyone," Bitterblue said, "and don't interfere."
"You mean that Katsa and Po—"
"Don't think of him and think of it at the same time," Bitterblue said calmly. "Don't ever bring him up in any conversation or contemplation you don't wish him to be a part of."
Giddon made a noise of disbelief; then went quiet, working that over for a while. "Let's discuss what you've just told me another time, Lady Queen," he said, "for my thoughts are rather singlemindedly on Po right now."
"The only point I wanted to make," Bitterblue said, "is that I have an irrational terror of heights."
"Heights," Giddon said, sounding lost.
"On occasion," she said, "it is profoundly humiliating."
Giddon went quiet again. When he next spoke, he was not lost. "I've shown you my worst behavior, Lady Queen, and you respond with kindness."
"If that's really the worst you've got," Bitterblue said, "then Po has an excellent friend, indeed."
Giddon stared into his hands again, which were broad and big as plates. Bitterblue resisted the urge to hold hers up to his and marvel at the difference in size.
"I've been trying to decide which is the most humiliating," he said. "That I was only able to hit him because he let me—he stood there like a punching bag, Lady Queen—"
"Mm? And you know, you won't get the credit for it," said Bitterblue. "Everyone will think Katsa made a mistake in one of their practice fights. No one will believe you managed it."
"Don't feel the need to spare my feelings, Lady Queen," he said dryly.
"Go on," Bitterblue said, grinning. "You were enumerating the points of your humiliation."
"Yes, you're very thoughtful. Second, it's not pleasant to be the last person to know."
"Ah," Bitterblue said. "I'll just point out that you're far from the last person to know."
"But you understand me, Lady Queen. I spend more time with Po than any of the rest of you. Even Katsa. Though really, there's no contest."
"What do you mean?"
"The truest humiliation," he said, then stopped, suddenly stiff-jawed and miserable, drawing his arms and shoulders close to his body, as if it were a thing he could protect himself from physically, like a blow, or like cold weather. Which, of course, it wasn't.
Bitterblue stretched her legs out straight and made a quiet show of smoothing her trousers, to spare him the embarrassment of being watched. She said simply, "I know."
He nodded, once. "I've opened so much of myself to him. Especially in the early years, when I had no suspicions and never thought to take care with my thoughts—and also happened to hate him. He knew every point of resentment I bore against him; every jealous thought, he knew. And now I'm remembering all of it, every single piece of malice, and the humiliation is double, because as I relive it, he does too."
Yes. This was the worst, the most unfair and humiliating thing about any mind reader, especially a secret mind reader. It was the reason Katsa was so frightened: a great wellspring of wrath and humiliation, all focused on Po, especially if Po began telling his truth indiscriminately.
"Katsa has told me that she was also humiliated when Po first told her," Bitterblue said, "and furious. She threatened to tell everyone. She never wanted to see him again."
"Yes," Giddon said. "And then she ran away with him."
He spoke those words mildly, which interested her. Bitterblue considered his tone for an instant, then decided to seize it as justification for asking an utterly inappropriate question about something she'd been wondering. "Are you in love with her?"