You wouldn't catch me wearing that many rings.
He laughed, turned her hands over, and kissed her palms and her wrists. "I wouldn't catch you doing anything you didn't want to do."
And here was what was rapidly becoming her favorite aspect of Po's Grace: He knew, without her telling him, the things she did want to do. He dropped to his knees before her now, with a smile that looked like mischief. His hand grazed her side and then pulled her closer. His lips brushed her neck. She caught her breath, forgot whatever retort she'd been about to form, and enjoyed the gold chill of his rings on her face and her body and every place that he touched.
"You believe Leck cuts those animals up himself," she said to him one day while they were riding. "Don't you?"
He glanced back at her. "I realize it's a disgusting accusation. But yes, that's what I believe. And I also wonder about the sickness that man spoke of "
"You think he's killing people off."
Po shrugged and didn't answer.
Katsa said, "Do you think Queen Ashen closed herself away from him because she figured out that he's Graced?"
"I've wondered about that, too."
"But how could she have figured it out? Shouldn't she be completely under his spell?"
"I've no idea. Perhaps he went too far with his abuses and she had a moment of mental clarity." He raised a branch that hung in their path, and ducked under it. "Perhaps his Grace only works to a point."
Or perhaps there was no Grace. Perhaps it was no more than a ridiculous notion they'd come up with in a desperate attempt to explain unexplainable circumstances.
But a king and queen had died, and no one had called foul. A king had kidnapped a grandfather, and no one suspected him.
A one-eyed king.
It was a Grace. Or if it was not, it was something unnatural.
The path grew thinner and more overgrown, and they walked with the horses more than they rode. And now all the trees seemed to change color at once, the leaves orange and yellow and crimson, and purple and brown. Only a day or two to go before they reached the inn that would take their horses. And then the steep climb into the mountains, with their belongings on their backs. There would be snow in the mountains, Po said, and there would not be many travelers. They would need to move cautiously and watch for storms.
"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."
She would not humor him by laughing, but she couldn't suppress a smile. They had encamped for the evening. She was fishing, and when she fished he always teased her, for she didn't fish with a line, as he would have. She fished by removing her boots, rolling up the legs of her trousers, and wading into the water. She'd then snatch up any fish that came within range of her grasp and throw it to Po, who sat on shore laughing at her, scaling and gutting their dinner, and keeping her company.
"It's not many people whose hands are faster than a fish," he said.
Katsa snatched at a silver pink glimmer that flashed past her ankles, then tossed the fish to Po. "It's not many people who know that a horse has a stone caught in its hoof even when the horse shows no signs of it, either. I may be able to kill my dinner as easily as I kill men, but at least I'm not conversing with the horses."
"I don't converse with the horses. I've only started to know if they want us to stop. And once we've stopped, it's usually easy enough to find what's wrong."
"Well, regardless, it seems to me that you're not in a position to marvel at the strangeness of my Grace."
Po leaned back on his elbows and grinned. "I don't think your Grace is strange. But I think it's not what you think it is."
She grabbed at a dark flash in the water and threw a fish to him. "What is it, then?"
"Now, that I don't know. But a killing Grace can't account for all the things you can do. The way you never tire. Or suffer from the cold, or from hunger."
"I tire."
"Other things, too. The knack you have with fire in a rainstorm."
"I'm just more patient than other people."
Po snorted. "Yes. Patience has always struck me as one of your defining characteristics."
He dodged the fish that flew at his head, and sat back again, laughing. "Your eyes are bright as you stand in that water, with the sun setting before you," he said. "You're beautiful."
Stop it. "And you're a fool."
"Come out of there, wildcat. We've enough fish."
She waded to shore. Meeting her at the edge of the water, he pulled her up onto the moss. Together they gathered up the fish and walked to the fire.
"I tire," Katsa said. "And I feel cold and hunger."
"All right, if you say so. But just compare yourself to other people."
Compare herself to other people.
She sat down and dried her feet.
"Shall we fight tonight?" he asked.
She nodded, absently.
He set the fish above the flames and hummed and washed his hands, and flashed his light at her from across the fire. She sat – and thought to herself about what she found when she compared herself to other people.
She did feel cold, sometimes. But she didn't suffer from it as other people did. And she felt hunger sometimes; but she could go long with little food, and hunger did not make her weak. She couldn't remember ever feeling weak, exactly, for any reason. Nor could she remember ever having been ill. She thought back and was certain. She'd never even had a cough.
She stared into the fire. They were a bit unusual, these things. She could see that. And she knew there was more.
She fought and rode and ran and tumbled, but her skin rarely bruised or broke. She'd never broken a bone. And she didn't suffer from pain the way other people did. Even when Po hit her very hard, the pain was easily manageable. If she was being honest, she'd have to admit that she didn't quite understand what other people meant when they complained of pain.
She didn't tire as other people did. She didn't need much sleep. Most nights she made herself sleep, only because she knew she should.
"Po?"
He looked up from the fire.
"Can you tell yourself to go to sleep?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, can you lie down and make yourself fall asleep? Whenever you want, instantly?"
He squinted at her. "No. I've never heard of such a thing."
"Hmm."
He studied her for a moment longer, and then seemed to decide to let her be. She barely noticed him. It had never occurred to her before that the control she had over her sleep might be unusual. And it wasn't just that she could command herself to sleep. She could command herself to sleep for a specific amount of time. And whenever she woke, she always knew exactly what time it was. At every moment of the day, in fact, she always knew the time.
Just as she always knew exactly where she was and what direction she was facing.
"Which way is north?" she asked Po.
He looked up again and considered the light. He pointed in a direction that was loosely north, but not exactly. How did she know that with such certainty?
She never got lost. She never had trouble building a fire, or shelter. She hunted so easily. Her vision and her hearing were better than those of anyone she'd ever known.
She stood abruptly. She strode the few steps back to the pond and stared into it without seeing it.
The physical needs that limited other people did not limit her. The things from which other people suffered did not touch her. She knew instinctively how to live and thrive in the wilderness.
And she could kill anyone. At the slightest threat to her survival.