"I thought, after meeting your family, that Po was the only male among you capable of silence," Katsa said to him once, when they'd sat for some time without speaking.

A smile warmed his face. "I'd jump into an argument quick enough if you wanted one," he said. "And I have a thousand questions I'd like to ask you. But I figure if you felt like talking – well, you'd be talking, wouldn't you? Instead of climbing up here nearly to be hurled to your death every time we crest a wave."

His company, and the friendly rumble of Ror's voice below. The small kindnesses of the sailors toward Bitterblue when the girl came onto the cold deck for exercise. Captain Faun, who was so competent and so steady, and who always met Katsa's eyes with respect. All these things comforted Katsa, and a tough little skin began to stretch across the wound that had opened in her when her dagger had hit Leck.

She found herself thinking of her uncle. How small Randa seemed now, how baseless in his power. How silly that such a person had ever been able to control her.

Control. This was Katsa's wound: Leck had taken away her control. It had nothing to do with self-condemnation; she couldn't blame herself for what had happened. How could it not have happened? Leck had been too strong. She could respect a strong opponent, as she'd respected the wildcat and the mountain. But no amount of humility or respect made it any less horrifying to have lost control.

"Forgive me, Katsa," Skye said once, as they hung together above the sea. "But there's one question I must ask you."

She had seen the puzzlement in his eyes at times before. She knew what he was going to ask.

"You're not my brother's wife, are you?"

She smiled grimly. "No."

"Then why do the Lienid on this ship call you Princess?"

She took a breath, to ease the jarring of his question against her wound. She reached into the neck of her coat and pulled the ring out for him to see.

"When he gave it to me," she said, "he didn't tell me what it meant. Nor did he tell me why he gave it."

Skye stared at the ring. His face registered astonishment, then dismay, then a stubborn, self-willed sort of denial. "He'll have some rational reason for it," he said.

"Yes," Katsa said. "I intend to beat it out of him."

Skye laughed a short laugh, and lapsed into silence. A crease of worry lingered low on his forehead. And Katsa knew that the tough scar that formed over the ache within her had as much to do with her future lack of control as her past. She could not make Po be well, any more than she had been able to make herself think clearly in Leck's presence. Some things were beyond her power, and she had to prepare herself for whatever she found when she reached Po's cabin at the base of the Monsean mountains.

The delay, once the ship had docked in Monport and the party had disembarked, was unbearable. The captain of the Monport guard and the nobles of Leck's court stationed in Monport had to be summoned and made to understand the incredible truths Ror presented to them. The search for Bitterblue, still under way, had to be called off, as did the instructions to take Katsa alive and Po dead. Ror's tone on this last point froze into something very cold.

"Has he been found?" Katsa interrupted.

"Has... has who?" the captain of the Monport guard asked, stupidly, his hand to his head, his manner afflicted with a vagueness the Lienid party recognized.

"Have your men found the Lienid prince?" Ror snapped; and then more gently, as the eyes of the captain and the nobles moved confusedly to Skye, "the younger prince. He's a Graceling, with silver and gold eyes. Has anyone seen him?"

"I don't believe he's been seen, Lord King. Yes, I'm quite sure that's correct. We've not found him. Forgive me, Lord King. This story you've told... my memory..."

"Yes," Ror said. "I understand. We must go slowly."

Katsa could have torn the city down stone by stone, so wild did it make her to go slowly. She began to stalk back and forth behind the Lienid king. She crouched to the floor and grasped her hair. The conversation droned on. It would take hours – hours – for these men to disengage themselves from Leck's spell, and Katsa couldn't bear it.

"Perhaps we could see to some horses, Father," Skye murmured, "and be on our way?"

Katsa shot to her feet. "Yes," she said. "Yes, in the name of the Middluns, please."

Ror glanced from Skye to Katsa, and then to Bitterblue. "Queen Bitterblue," he said, "if you'll trust me to manage this situation in your absence, I see no reason to delay you."

"Of course I trust you," the child said, "and my men will defer to your judgment in all things while I'm gone."

The captain and the nobles stared openmouthed at their new queen, half Ror's height, dressed like a boy, and utterly dignified. They furrowed their eyebrows and scratched their heads, and Katsa was ready to scratch her own eyes out. Ror turned to her.

"The sooner you reach Po, the better," he said. "I'll not keep you."

"We need two horses," Katsa said, "the fastest in the city."

"And you need a Monsean guard," Ror said, "for no one you pass will realize what has happened. Any Monsean soldiers who sight you will try to capture you."

Katsa flicked her hand impatiently. "Very well, a guard. But if they can't keep up with me, I'll leave them behind." She swung toward Skye. "I hope you ride as well as your brother."

"Or you'll leave him behind as well?" Ror said. "And the Monsean queen – if she's weighing down your horse, will you leave her behind? And the horse itself, I suppose, once it collapses from exhaustion and disuse?" He had drawn himself up very tall, and his voice was sharp. "Be rational, Katsa. You will take a guard, and it will ride before you and behind you. For the entire journey, is that clear? You carry the Queen of Monsea, and you travel with my son."

Katsa practically spit back at him. "Do you imagine that I need a guard to protect them from the soldiers of Monsea?"

"No," Ror snapped. "I have no doubt that you are more than capable of bringing the Monsean queen and my son and the rest of my sons and a hundred Nanderan kittens through an onslaught of howling raiders if you chose to." He drew himself up even taller. "You will listen to sense. It does none of us any good at this juncture for you to barrel through Monsea with the queen of the kingdom on your horse, killing her soldiers left and right. What exactly would that accomplish? You will travel with a guard, and the guard will make your explanations and ensure that you're not attacked. Am I clear?"

He didn't wait to know if he was clear. He turned abruptly to the captain, who flinched at the entire exchange as if it hurt his head. "Captain, the four fastest horsemen in your guard," he said, "and your six fastest horses, immediately." He swung back on Katsa and glared down at her. "Have you regained your reason?" he roared.

It was her temper she had lost, not her reason – or if it was her reason, it returned to her now, with the promise of four fast horsemen, six fast horses, and a thundering ride to Po.

They rode fast and passed few people. The Port Road was wide, its surface a mixture of dirt and snow tramped down under the hooves of innumerable horses. Banks of snow rose on either side of the road, and fields of snow beyond them. Far to the west, they could just make out the dark line of the forest, and the mountains beyond. The air was icy, but the child on the horse before her was warm enough, and content to be pushed harder than was comfortable. The queen on the horse before her, Katsa thought, correcting herself. And Queen Bitterblue was very changed from the skittish creature she and Po had cajoled from the inside of a hollow log months ago. Bitterblue would make a good ruler someday. And Raffin a good king; and Ror was strong and capable and would live a long time. That was three of the seven kingdoms in good hands. Three of seven, however inadequate it seemed, would be a vast improvement.