THE NEXT MORNING King Randa came to their practice for the first time. He stood at the side, so that everyone in the room was compelled to stand as well and watch him instead of the fighters they'd come to see. His presence sparked a fire in Katsa, reinvigorating her with every laugh.

She had been running through a drill with Po when he'd stepped through the doors, a drill that was giving her some trouble. It began with Katsa on her knees and Po behind her, pinning her arms behind her back. Her task was to break free from Po's grip and then grapple with him until she had trapped him in the same position. She could always fight her way free of Po's grip. That wasn't the problem. It was the counterpin that frustrated her.

Even if Katsa managed to knock Po to his knees and trap his arms, she couldn't keep him down. It was a matter of brute strength, something she didn't have. If he tried to muscle himself to his feet, she didn't have the force to stop him, not unless she knocked him unconscious or injured him seriously, and that wasn't the point of the exercise. She needed to find a holding position that would make the effort of rising too painful to be worth his while, and she needed to do that by holding herself back so she wouldn't maim him.

They began the drill again. She knelt with Po at her back, and Po's hands tightened around her wrists. This time, Katsa was ready for Po. She twisted out of his grip and was on him like a wildcat. She pummeled his stomach, hooked her foot between his legs, and battered him to his knees, intending to move to his arms. Before Po could move out of the way, she yanked at his arms, then his right shoulder—the one he was always icing. She twisted his right arm and leaned all her weight against it, so that any attempt to move would require him to wrench his shoulder and bring more pain to it than she was already causing him to feel.

"I surrender," Po gasped. She released him, and he heaved himself to his feet. He massaged his aching shoulder. "Good work, Katsa."

"Again."

They ran through the drill again, and then once more, and both times she trapped him easily.

"You've got it," Po said, though at the cost of his shoulder. "Good. What next? Shall I try it?"

The king said her name then, and Katsa all but jumped. She covered it up with a frown and turned to the king.

"It's so amusing," King Randa announced, "to see you struggling with an opponent, Katsa."

Katsa balled her hands into fists. "I'm glad it gives you amusement, Lord King."

King Randa nodded. He turned to Po. "Prince Greening. How do you find our lady killer?"

Po gave a Prince Greening bow. "She's the superior fighter by far, Lord King," he answered honestly. "If she didn't hold herself back, I'd be in great trouble."

King Randa laughed like a king satisfied with his valuable property. "Indeed. I've noticed it's you who comes to dinner with bruises, and not she."

Breathing was suddenly proving to be a hard task for Katsa. She forced herself to inhale and exhale, and to stand still despite all the adrenaline whirling through her.

The king gave Katsa a cool look. "Katsa, come to me later today. I have a job for you."

"Yes, Lord King," Katsa replied with great difficulty. "Thank you, Lord King."

King Randa leaned back on his heels and surveyed the room. Then, with his stewards rushing into their places behind him, he exited with a great swish of his blue robes like every last Royal Continent king before him. Katsa missed Po rolling his eyes. She stared after her king until he and his entourage had vanished; and then she stared at the door the stewards slammed behind him.

The room seemed to recompose itself after the king's departure. Around the room, slowly, lords and soldiers sat down. Katsa unfroze too once she came to accept that the king was truly gone. She was vaguely aware of Po and how he stood there silently, watching her.

"What's it to be now, Katsa?" Po asked her, helping her bring her mind back to the present.

She knew what she wanted. It shot down her arms and into her fingers, tingling in her legs and feet. "A straight fight," Katsa said. "Anything fair. Until one of us surrenders."

Po would have welcomed anything but that. Her anger at King Randa was not a reason to lay a hand on him. A fight out of anger was never fair. Po had learned this the hard way growing up with six brothers. He was older now, and he knew better. This was not a line he would cross with the ferocious Lady Katsa, not only because she was dangerous, but because it was not right to attack a friend.

He made sure to let her know that he saw her tight fists and her hard mouth. "We'll have that fight," he promised her, "but we'll have it tomorrow. We're done for today."

"No." Katsa reacted as if he'd slapped her face. "We fight," she demanded.

"Katsa. We're done."

She stalked up to him, close, so that no one could hear. She bared her teeth at him like a wildcat about to pounce, though she waited for him to make the first move. "What's the matter, Po? Do you fear me?"

Po stood tall despite the fire that burned alive in her. "Yes, I fear you, as I should when you're angry," he answered. "I won't fight you when you're angry... Nor should you fight me when I'm angry," he added. "That's not the purpose of these practices."

And when he told her she was angry, she realized it was true. And just as quickly, her anger fizzled into despair. Her body was hollow, filled with shame, though no other thoughts came to Po.

"We're done," she repeated, more to herself than to Po.


They ate in her living room. Katsa stared at her plate halfheartedly. Po decided to cheer her up by telling her some more about his brothers and how his brothers would love to see their practices. He was certain that she would have taken to Lienid, how she would fight with him for his family. They'd be amazed by her skill, and they'd honor her greatly. And he could show her the most beautiful sights in his father's city… but the more he talked, the more Katsa didn't listen.

Po changed the conversation to his shoulder, how Raffin had said it was that close to being torn out of its socket, could you believe it, Katsa? Your killing Grace had aptitude for control as well, and—

Katsa shook herself and looked at him. "What did you say?" she asked. "About your shoulder? I'm sorry."

Po dropped his gaze down to his plate of food. "Your uncle has quite an effect on you," he decided. She'd been hazy and lost in thought since they'd done their drills. This wasn't the Katsa he'd come to know. "You haven't been yourself since he walked into the practice room."

"Or maybe I have been myself, and the other times I'm not myself," she grumbled.

That was an odd way of self-reflection, especially since Po wasn't so sure it was true. "What do you mean?"

"My uncle thinks me savage. He thinks me a killer. Well, isn't he right? Didn't I become savage when he entered the room? And what is it we're practicing every day?" She tore a piece of bread and threw it onto her plate, glaring at her meal.

She hadn't been savage. Angry, maybe. Frustrated. Royal Continent kings weren't known for their kindness to their citizens, either. "I don't believe you're savage," Po said.

She sighed sharply. "You haven't seen me with Randa's enemies."

Po took a drink from his cup, feeling Katsa's eyes on him. He put his cup down. "What will he ask you to do this time?"

She pushed the fire down that rose up from her stomach. She eyed the plate in front of her, energy pooling into her hands as if she wanted to throw it. "It'll be some lord who owes him money, or who refused to agree to some bargain, or who looked at him wrong. I'll be told to hurt the man, enough so that he never dishonors my uncle again."

The rumors about her had said as much, but it didn't sound like something Katsa would do in the couple months he'd gotten to know her. "And you'll do what he tells you to do?"

She slammed her fist on the table. "Who are these fools who continue to resist Randa's will?" she demanded. "Haven't they heard the stories? Don't they know he'll send me?"

Gracelings served their kings on the Royal Continent, that was true, but that did not mean that Katsa had no rights of her own, especially given the nature of her Grace. "Isn't it in your power to refuse? How can anyone force you to do anything?"

The fire burst into her throat and choked her. "He is the king. And you're a fool, too, if you think I have a choice in the matter."

"But you do have a choice," Po reasoned. How could she not see her freedom of choice when it was right in front of her, ready for her to take? "He's not the one who makes you savage. You make yourself savage, when you bend yourself to his will."

That set her off. She sprang to her feet like a wound-up coil and swung at his jaw with the side of her hand. When she realized he hadn't raised his arm to block her, she lessened the force of the blow only at the last instant. Her hand hit his face so hard that Po barely heard the sickening crack that came with it. His chair toppled backward, and he slammed head-first against the floor, yet his jaw hurt more from her fist than his head did from the floor.

Po was vaguely aware of the wave of horror that'd washed over Katsa. She was already at his side, heavy with concern, and saying something softly. It was a question, though Po didn't hear it over the pain and high-pitched humming in his ears. He rolled over off the chair with Katsa's help and waited until the humming subsided. Then he sniffed, wiped the tears from his eyes, and touched the side of his jaw. It felt like all the little joints had cracked like glass, yet feeling it with his hand proved different. Slowly, he opened and closed his mouth, then left and right, and forward and back.

"I don't think it's broken," he said. His voice came out quiet and thick, careful not to move his jaw much as he formed the words.

Katsa put her hand to his face and felt the bones under his skin. She felt the other side of his face to compare. She could tell no difference, and she caught her breath with relief.

"It's not broken," Po said, stronger this time, "though it seems it should be."

"I pulled back when I realized you weren't fighting me." She reached up to the table and dipped her hands into the water pitcher. She scooped blocks of ice onto a cloth and wrapped them up, bringing the ice to his jaw. "Why didn't you fight back?" she whispered, her voice cracking at the end.

The ice was like sweet relief on a hot summer's day in Lienid. Po groaned as it took away the pain. "This'll hurt for days," he murmured.

"Po…"

Po let out a breath when he saw her sorry eyes. "I told you before, Katsa. I won't fight when you're angry. I won't solve a disagreement between us with blows," he recounted from earlier today. He lifted the ice and fingered his jaw again, just to be sure. His jaw erupted in pain again, and he brought the ice to his face once more. "What we do in the practice rooms—that's to help each other. We don't use it against each other." Especially not against family and friends. "We're friends, Katsa." Weren't they?

He's right. Shame pricked behind her eyes. It was so elemental, so obvious. It wasn't what one friend did to another, yet she'd done it.

"We're too dangerous to each other, Katsa." Any thief in Lienid would do it, but Katsa and Po were far from thieves. "And even if we weren't, it's not right."

Po had gotten through to her. "I'll never do it again," she vowed. "I swear to it."

He held her eyes graciously, because she had meant those words. "I know you won't, Katsa." She was a force to be reckoned with, both in anger and in compassion. She slumped under the heavy weight of a thousand apologies. "Wildcat. Don't blame yourself. You expected me to fight back. You wouldn't have struck me otherwise," Po said. It was what his Grace had told him, at least.

But she still should have known better. "It wasn't even you who angered me," she murmured. In her mind flashed snippets of King Randa during the drills from earlier today: the way he had talked to Po, the mission he had for her, and the flourish of his blue robes. "It was him."

"What do you think would happen if you refused to do what Randa ordered?"

She shrugged hopelessly. "If I don't do what he says, he'll become angry. When he becomes angry, I'll become angry. And then I'll want to kill him."

"Hmm," Po mused, working his mouth back and forth. Her predicament was enough to forget about his jaw for a while. Her case was not uncommon. Po had seen his fair share of people disturbed by what they're capable of. But never had he seen a Lady Killer. It was only natural someone would not wish such a Grace used upon others. "You're afraid of your own anger." And this could be worked around.

This was news to her. She stopped then and looked at him, because that seemed right to her. She was afraid of her own anger.

"But Randa isn't even worth your anger," Po pointed out. "He's no more than a bully."

Katsa snorted. "A bully who chops off people's fingers or breaks their arms."

"Not if you stop doing it for him. Much of his power comes from you."

Katsa sat there in amazement. Then she looked at Po, his jaw red and beginning to swell. Sadness went through her, and it broke Po's heart to see her like this.

"Shall we move back to the table?" he suggested.

"You should probably go see Raff," she said softly, "just to be sure nothing's broken." Her eyes dropped. "Forgive me, Po."

Po heaved himself to his feet, careful not to move his head too much. He reached for her hand and pulled her up after him. She was more than sorry, and the decision was easy to make. She would not hit him again in anger. "You're forgiven, Lady."

She shook her head, disbelieving his kindness. "You Lienid are so odd; your reactions are never what mine would be. You, so calm, when I've hurt you so badly. Your father's sister, so strange in her grief."

That got Po's immediate attention. He gave her a second look. "What do you mean?"

"About what? Isn't the Queen of Monsea your father's sister?"

"What's she done, my father's sister?" And how had Katsa found out before Po had?

"The word is, she stopped eating when she heard of your grandfather's disappearance." She hesitated when she saw the look on his face. "You didn't know? And then she closed herself and her child into her rooms. And wouldn't let anyone enter, not even the king."

"She wouldn't let the king enter," Po repeated. That was not the strong-willed Aunt Ashen that had told Po wonderful stories, had been regaled of by Po's parents, and Po had written letters to. This was not the same Aunt Ashen who was leading a revolution with her dear husband in Monsea against hurt animals and children.

"Not anyone else," Katsa affirmed, "except a handmaiden to bring them meals."

Yet he was the last one to know! "Why did no one tell me about this before?"

"I assumed you knew, Po," she answered honestly. "I'd no idea it would matter so much to you. Are you close to her?"

Po stared at the table, at the mess of melting ice and their half-eaten meal. Something wasn't adding up. He hadn't had the honor of meeting Aunt Ashen's husband before, but he knew they never fought. King Leck was the perfect husband for her, a match made with the sea god's blessing. It would have broken her heart to leave him… or so the letters had always said. Was there a reason that the Council would not give scrutiny to King Leck? What kind of legitimate interest could Monsea have to do this? By Lienid, for Aunt Ashen to lock herself and her child into their rooms...

"Po, what is it?" Katsa asked again.

He shook his head. "It's not how I would've expected Ashen to behave… But it's no matter," he decided, because it didn't matter to someone who didn't know his real Grace. It was impossible to tell his suspicions to her while keeping her in the dark at the same time. He had to change the subject. "I must find Raffin or Bann."

She watched his face then, his best friend, aware that he wasn't himself. "There's something you're not telling me."

Po looked away to hide the fact that she was right. He couldn't have this conversation. Not when he'd gained Katsa's trust and had enjoyed their laughter, their conversations, and their sparring over the past couple of months. The Katsa he'd come to know would have been hurt beyond belief if she knew Po's secret. And her Grace, would she be able to stop herself once she heard Po's secret? Would she be able to move forward from the blame, the anger, and the fighting? "How long will you be away on Randa's errand?" he asked instead.

"It's not likely to be more than a few days."

That left enough time to speak to Raffin. Raffin was good-natured and understanding. He would forgive Po for his secret. And he knew Katsa best. He would help Po devise a way to tell her. "When you return, I must speak with you."

Katsa furrowed her eyebrows. "Why don't you speak with me now?"

"I need to think," Po answered. It was easy to say because it was true, these vague, garbled explanations. "I need to work something out."

She looked at him for a few moments more, wondering why his eyes were uneasy and why he was looking at the table and at the floor, but never into her face. She settled on the answer of concern. Concern for his father's sister, and then worry for the people he cared about. For that was his way, this Lienid. His friendship was true.

How comforting it was to know that the Lady Killer had warmed up to Po… and how depressing, given his lies. Po gave her a smile, one smallest as smiles went. It was the only kindness he could give her in the life he lived that revolved around keeping his dark secret. "Don't feel too kindly toward me, Katsa." It proved difficult to keep his voice level, as if the words were fighting to come out. "Neither of us is blameless as a friend."

Any longer and Po wouldn't have resisted that fiery temptation. He refused to give himself the chance, leaving her then, and trying his best to silence the hurt, the confusion, and the eerie sense she felt that he had just answered something she'd thought, rather than something she'd said.

It was better to leave her like this than it was to tell her the reason why she had that eerie feeling in the first place. That was that, and that was how it had to be. At least for the next couple of days.