"It won't come to that."
No, it probably wouldn't. But if it did, there was no harm in being prepared. She watched his face, his eyes, which dimly glowed. His tired eyes, his dear eyes. He'd be better able to defend himself if her hands were bound. She wondered, should they bind her hands?
"And now you've crossed into the realm of the absurd," he said.
She grinned. "We should try it, though, in our fights."
A smile twitched in the corner of his mouth. "I could agree to that, sometime, when all of this is behind us."
"Now," she said, "let's find your cousin."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was not easy for her to walk helplessly through the forest, Po deciding where to go and knowing when and where to hide, freezing in his tracks at the sense of things she couldn't see or hear. His Grace was invaluable, she knew that. But Katsa had never felt so much like a child.
"She became hopeful when she saw me," Po said, speaking quickly as they rushed through the trees. "Ashen did. At the sight of me her heart filled with hope, for Bitterblue."
This hope was what directed their steps now. Ashen had hoped so hard for Po to find Bitterblue that she'd left him with a sense of a place she believed Bitterblue to be, a particular spot both she and the child knew from the rides they took together. It was south of the mountain-pass road, in a hollow with a stream.
"I know a bit of how it looks," Po said. "But I don't know exactly where it is, and I don't know if she would've stayed there once she realized the entire army was searching for her."
"At least we know where to start," Katsa said. "She can't have gone too far."
They raced through the forest. The snow had stopped, and water dripped from pine needles and rushed through the streams. They passed patches of mud trampled with the feet of the soldiers who sought them.
"If she's left great footprints like these, they'll have found her by now," Katsa said.
"Let's hope she inherited some of her father's cunning."
More than once a soldier came uncomfortably near, and Po altered their path in order to skirt around him. One time while avoiding one soldier they nearly ran into another. They scrambled up a tree, and Po readied an arrow, but the fellow never took his eyes from the ground. "Princess Bitterblue," the man called. "Come now, Princess. Your father is very worried for you."
The soldier wandered away, but it was a number of minutes before Katsa was able to climb down. She'd heard the man's words, even with her hands over her ears. She'd fought against them, but still they'd clouded her mind. She sat in the tree, shuddering, while Po grasped her chin, looked into her eyes, and talked her through her confusion.
"All right," she said finally. "My mind is clear."
They clambered down. They moved quickly and left as little trace as possible of their own passage.
Near the entrance to the forest, things became tricky. The soldiers were everywhere, gathered in groups, moving in every direction. She and Po ran for short bursts when Po decided it was safe, and then hid.
Once, Po grabbed her arm and jerked her backward, and they raced back the way they'd come. They found a great mossy rock and hunched behind it, Po's hands clapped over her ears, his eyes glowing with a fierce concentration. Wedged between the rock and Po, his heart beating fast against her body, she knew this time they hid from more than mere soldiers. They waited, it seemed interminably. Then Po took her wrist and motioned for her to follow. They crept away by a different route, one that widened the distance between them and the Monsean king.
When they were as close to the entrance to the forest as Po deemed safe, they turned south, as they hoped Bitterblue had done. When a stream bubbled across their path Po stopped. He crouched down and clutched his head. Katsa stood beside him and watched and listened, waiting for him to sense something from the forest or from the memory of Ashen's hope.
"There's nothing," he said finally. "I can't tell if this is the right stream."
Katsa crouched beside him. "If the soldiers haven't found her yet," she said, "then she left no obvious trace, even in all this snow and mud. She must have had the presence of mind to walk through a stream, Po. Every stream in this forest flows from mountain to valley. She would've known to go west, away from the valleys. Is there any harm in following this stream west? If we don't stumble upon her, we can continue south and search the next stream."
"This seems a bit hopeless," Po said, but he stood, turned with her, and followed the water west. When Katsa found a tangle of long, dark hair snagged on a branch that snapped against her stomach, she called Po's name in his mind. She held the tangle of hair up for him to see. She tucked it into her sleeve and enjoyed the slightly more hopeful expression on his face.
When the stream curved sharply and entered a little hollow of grasses and ferns, Po stopped and held up his hand. "I recognize this place. This is it."
"Is she here?"
He stood for a moment. "No. But let's continue up the stream. Quickly. I fear there may be soldiers on our tail."
Only minutes later he turned to her, relief in the lines of his tired face. "I feel her now." He stepped out of the stream and Katsa followed. He wove his way through the trees until he came to a fallen tree trunk stretched across the forest floor. He measured the trunk with his eyes. He walked to one end, crouched down, and looked inside.
"Bitterblue," he said into the trunk. "I'm your cousin Po, the son of Ror. We've come to protect you."
There was no response. Po spoke quietly, and gently. "We're not going to hurt you, cousin. We're here to help you. Are you hungry? We have food."
Still there was no response from the fallen tree. Po stood and turned to Katsa. He spoke in a low voice. "She's afraid of me. You must try."
Katsa snorted. "You think she'll be less afraid of me?"
"She's afraid of me because I'm a man. Take care. She has a knife, and she's willing to use it."
"Good for her." Katsa knelt before the hollow end of the trunk and looked inside. She could just make out the girl, huddled tight, her breath short, panicked. Her hands clutching a knife.
"Princess Bitterblue," she said. "I'm the Lady Katsa, from the Middluns. I've come with Po to help you. You must trust us, Bitterblue. We're both Graced fighters. We can keep you safe."
"Tell her we know about Leck's Grace," Po whispered.
"We know your father is after you," Katsa said into the darkness. "We know he's Graced. We can keep you safe, Bitterblue."
Katsa waited for some sign from the girl, but there was nothing. She looked up at Po and shrugged her shoulders. "Do you think we could break the tree apart?" she asked. But then from inside the trunk came a small, shaky voice.
"Where is my mother?"
Katsa's eyes snapped up to Po's. They searched each other's faces, uncertain; and then Po sighed, and nodded. Katsa turned back to the trunk. "Your mother is dead, Bitterblue."
She waited for sobbing, screams. But instead there was a pause, and then the voice came again. Even smaller now.
"The king killed her?"
"Yes," Katsa said.
There was another silence inside the tree. Katsa waited.
"Soldiers are coming," Po muttered above her. "They're minutes away."
She didn't want to fight these soldiers who carried Leck's poison in their mouths; and they might not have to, if they could only get this child to come out.
"I can see that knife, Princess Bitterblue," she said. "Do you know how to use it? Even a small girl can do a lot of damage with a knife. I could teach you."
Po crouched down and touched her shoulder. "Thank you, Katsa," he breathed, and then he was up again, stalking a few paces into the trees, looking around and listening for anything his Grace could tell him. And she understood why he thanked her, for the child was crawling her way out of the trunk. Her face appeared from the dimness, then her hands and shoulders. Her eyes gray and her hair dark, like her mother's. Her eyes big, her face wet with tears, and her teeth chattering. Her fingers gripped tightly around a knife that was longer than her forearm.