"Can you hear me, Po?" Katsa asked as she tore a shirt to make a bandage. "Can you hear me? What happened with the king?"
He looked up at her dimly as she bandaged his shoulder.
"Po," she said, over and over. "The king. You must tell me if the king is alive." But he was useless, and senseless – no better than unconscious. She peeled off his boots and his trousers and dried him as best she could. She dressed him in new trousers and rubbed his arms and legs to warm them. She took his coat back from Bitterblue, pulled it over his head, and pushed his rubbery arms through the sleeves. He vomited again.
It was the force of his head hitting the water. This Katsa knew: that a man vomited if struck hard enough in the head, that he became forgetful and confused. His head would clear, in time. But they didn't have time, not if the king was alive. And so she knelt before him and grasped his chin. She ignored his wincing, pained eyes. She thought into his mind. Po. I need to know if the king is alive. I am not going to stop bothering you until you tell me if the king is alive.
He looked at her then, rubbed his eyes, and squinted at her, hard. "The king," he said thickly. "The king. My arrow. The king is alive."
Katsa's heart sank. For now they must flee, all three of them, with Po in this state and with only one horse. In the dark and the cold, with little food, and without Po's Grace to warn them of their pursuers.
Her Grace would have to serve.
She handed Po her flask. "Drink this," she said, "all of it. Bitterblue," she said, "help me pull these wet things together. It's a good thing you slept today, for I need you to be strong tonight."
Po seemed to understand when it was time for him to mount the horse. He didn't contribute to the effort, but he didn't fight it, either. Both Katsa and Bitterblue pushed him up into the saddle with all their might, and though he almost pitched headlong over the animal and fell to the ground on the other side, some unfocused understanding caused him to grasp Katsa's arm and steady himself. "You behind him," Katsa said to Bitterblue, "so that you can see him. Pinch him if he starts to fall off, and call me if you need help. The horse will be moving quickly, as quickly as I can run."
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
In the dark on the side of a mountain, no one can move quickly who doesn't have some particular Grace to do so. They moved, and Katsa did not break her ankles stepping blindly before the horse, as others would have, but they didn't move quickly. Katsa barely breathed, so hard was she listening behind them. Their pursuers would be on horseback, and there would be many of them, and they would carry torches. If Leck had sent a party in the right direction, then there would be little to stop them from succeeding in their search.
Katsa was doubtful that even on flat land they could have moved much faster, so unwell was Po. He clung to the horse's mane, eyes closed, concentrating fiercely on not falling off. He winced at every movement. And he was still bleeding.
"Let me tie you to the horse," Katsa said to him once when she'd stopped at a stream to fill the flasks. "Then you'd be able to rest."
He took a moment to process her words. He hunched forward and sighed into the horse's mane. "I don't want to rest," he said. "I want to be able to tell you if he's coming."
So they weren't completely without his Grace; but he was completely without his reason, to make such a comment while Bitterblue sat directly behind him, quiet, intent, and missing nothing of what was said. Careful, she thought to him. Bitterblue.
"I'll tie you both to the horse," she said aloud, "and then each of you can choose whether or not to rest."
Rest, she thought to him, as she wound a rope around his legs. You're no good to us if you bleed to death.
"I'll not bleed to death," he said aloud, and Katsa avoided Bitterblue's eyes, determining not to talk to Po inside her mind again until his reason had returned.
They continued south slowly. Katsa tripped and stumbled over rocks, and over the roots of stubborn mountain trees that clung to cracks in the earth. As the night wore on, her stumbling increased, and it occurred to her that she was tired. She sent her mind back along the past few nights, and counted. It was her second night without sleep, and the night before that they'd slept only a few hours. She would have to sleep, then, sometime soon; but for now she wouldn't think of it. There was no use considering the impossible.
Several hours before dawn she began to think of the fish she had caught earlier, the fish scaled and gutted, and wrapped and bound with the bags to the horse. Once light came they wouldn't be able to risk even the smallest fire. They'd eaten very little that day, and they had very little food for the next. If they stopped now for just a few minutes, she could cook the fish. She wouldn't have to think of food again, until the next nightfall.
But even this was risky, for the light of a fire could attract attention in this darkness.
Po whispered her name then, and she stopped the horse and walked back to him.
"There's a cave," he whispered, "a few steps to the southeast." His hand swayed in the air and then rested on her shoulder. "Stay here beside me. I'll lead us there."
He directed her footsteps over stones and around boulders. If she'd been less tired, Katsa would have taken a moment to appreciate the clarity with which his Grace showed him the landscape. But now they were at the entrance to Po's cave, and there was too much else to consume her mind. She must wake Bitterblue, untie her, and help her down. She must get Po from the horse and onto the ground. She must find wood to build a fire, then get the fish cooking. She must dress Po's shoulder again, because it still bled freely no matter how tightly she bound it.
"Sleep while the fish cooks," he said, as she wound clean strips of cloth around his arm and chest to stanch the flow of blood. "Katsa. Get some sleep. I'll wake you if we need you."
"You're the one who needs sleep," she said.
He caught her arm then as she knelt before him. "Katsa. Sleep for a quarter of an hour. No one is near. You won't get another chance to sleep tonight."
She sat on her heels and looked at him. Shirtless, colorless, squinting from pain. Bruises darkening his face. He dropped her arm and sighed. "I'm dizzy," he said. "I'm sure I look like death, Katsa, but I'm not going to bleed to death and I'm not going to die of dizziness. Sleep, for a few minutes."
Bitterblue came forward. "He's right," she said. "You should sleep. I'll take care of him." She picked up his coat and helped him into it, moving his bandaged shoulder gently, carefully. Surely, Katsa thought, they could manage without her, for a few minutes. Surely they would all do better if she got some small sleep.
So she lay down before the fire and instructed herself to sleep for only a quarter of an hour. When she woke, Po and Bitterblue had barely moved. She felt better.
They ate quietly and fast. Po leaned back against the cave wall, eyes closed. He claimed to have little appetite, but Katsa had no sympathy. She sat before him and fed him pieces of fish until she was satisfied that he'd eaten enough.
Katsa was suffocating the fire with her boots, and Bitterblue was binding together the remaining fish, when he spoke.
"It's good you weren't there, Katsa," he said. "For today I listened to Leck prattle on for hours about his love for his kidnapped daughter. About how his heart would be broken until he found her."
Katsa went to sit before him. Bitterblue shuffled closer so that she could hear his whispered words.