Graceling (Graceling Realm #1)(32)

“Why did no one tell me about this before?”

“I assumed you knew, Po. 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. His mind was elsewhere, his brow furrowed.

“Po, what is it?”

He shook his head. “It’s not how I would’ve expected Ashen to behave,” he said. “But it’s no matter. I must find Raffin, or Bann.”

She watched his face then. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

He wouldn’t meet her eyes. “How long will you be away on Randa’s errand?”

“It’s not likely to be more than a few days.”

“When you return, I must speak with you.”

“Why don’t you speak with me now?”

He shook his head. “I need to think. I need to work something out.”

Why were his eyes so uneasy? Why was he looking at the table and the floor, but never into her face?

It was concern, for his father’s sister. It was worry for the people he cared about. For that was his way, this Lienid.

His friendship was true.

He looked at her then. The smallest of smiles flickered across his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t feel too kindly toward me, Katsa. Neither of us is blameless as a friend.”

He left her then, to find Raffin. She stood and stared at the place where he’d just been. And tried to shake off the eerie sense that he had just answered something she’d thought, rather than something she’d said.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN




Not that it was the first time he’d left her with that feeling. Po had a way about him. He knew her opinions, sometimes, before she expressed them. He looked at her from across a table and knew she was angry, and why; or that she’d decided he was handsome.

Raffin had told her she wasn’t perceptive. Po was perceptive. And talkative. Perhaps that was why they got along so well. She didn’t have to explain herself to Po, and he explained himself to her without her having to ask. She’d never known a person with whom she could communicate so freely – so unused was she to the phenomenon of friendship.

She mused about this as the horses carried them west, until the hills began to even out and give way to great grassy flatlands, and the pleasure of smooth, hard riding distracted her. Giddon was in good humor, for this was his country.

They would visit his estate on their way to one just beyond his. They would sleep in his castle, first on their outward journey and then again on their return. Giddon rode eagerly and fast, and though Katsa didn’t relish his company, for once she couldn’t complain of their pace.

“It’s a bit awkward, isn’t it?” Oll said, when they stopped at midday to rest. “For the king to have asked you to punish your neighbor?”

“It is awkward,” Giddon said. “Lord Ellis is a good neighbor. I can’t imagine what has possessed him to create this trouble with Randa.”

“Well, he’s protecting his daughters,” Oll said. “No man can fault him for that. It’s Ellis’s bad luck that it puts him at odds with the king.”

Randa had made a deal with a Nanderan underlord. The underlord couldn’t attract a wife, because his holding was in the south-central region of Nander, directly in the path of Westeran and Estillan raiding parties. It was a dangerous place, especially for a woman. And it was a desolate holding, without even sufficient servants, for the raiders had killed and stolen so many. The underlord was desperate for a wife, so desperate that he was willing to forgo her dowry. King Randa had offered to take the trouble to find him a bride, on the condition that her dowry went to Randa.

Lord Ellis had two daughters of marriageable age. Two daughters, and two very great dowries. Randa had ordered Ellis to choose which daughter he would prefer to send as a bride to Nander. “Choose the daughter who is stronger in spirit,” Randa had written, “for it is not a match for the weak-hearted.”

Lord Ellis had refused to choose either daughter. “Both of my daughters are strong in spirit,” he wrote to the king,

“but I will send neither to the wastelands of Nander. The king has greater power than any, but I do not think he has the power to force an unsuitable marriage for his own convenience.”

Katsa had gasped when Raffin told her what Lord Ellis said in his letter. He was a brave man, as brave as any Randa had come up against. Randa wanted Giddon to talk to Ellis, and if talk didn’t work, he wanted Katsa to hurt Ellis

– in the presence of his daughters, so that one of them would step forward and offer herself to the marriage to protect her father. Randa expected them to return to his court with one or the other of the daughters, and her dowry.

“This is a gruesome task we’re asked to perform,” Oll said. “Even without Ellis being your neighbor, it’s gruesome.”

“It is,” Giddon said. “But I see no way around it.”

They sat on an outcropping of stone and ate bread and fruit. Katsa watched the long grass moving around them. The wind pushed it, attacked it, struck it in one place and then another. It rose and fell and rose again. It flowed, like water.

“Is this what the sea is like?” Katsa asked, and they both turned to her, surprised. “Does the sea move the way this grass moves?”