He trudged away from her toward the red patch of blood. He yanked tiredly at the arrow in the snow. It came away in his hand, and lifted with it a large, white, bloody rabbit. He plodded back to her, rabbit in hand. They stood there, considering each other; and then flakes of snow began to fall. Katsa could not help herself – she smiled, at the fulfillment of his prediction. A moment later Po smiled too, grudgingly; and when they turned to climb the rocks, he took her sleeve. “The snow’s disorienting,” he said.
They set out across the slope, and he steadied himself against her as they climbed.
———
She was getting used to the new way Po had of considering her, now that he couldn’t see her. He didn’t look at her, of course. She supposed she would never feel the intensity of his gaze again; she would never again be caught in his eyes. It was something she tried not to think about. It made her stupidly, foolishly sad.
But Po’s new way with her was also intense. It was a kind of attentiveness in his face, a concentration in his body, directed toward her. When it happened she could feel the stillness of his face and body, attuned to her. She thought that it happened more and more as the days passed. As if he were reconnecting with her, slowly, and pulling her back into his thoughts. He touched her easily now, too, as he’d done before his accident – kissed her hands if she was nearby, or touched her face when she stood before him. And Katsa wondered if it was true, or just her imagination, that he was paying them, all of them, more attention – truer attention. As if perhaps he was less overwhelmed by his Grace. Or less absorbed with himself.
“Look at me,” he said to her once, on one of the rare occasions when they had the cabin to themselves. “Katsa, do I seem to be looking at you?”
They were working with their knives before the fire, shaving the bark from the branches of a tree to make arrows.
She turned to him and met his eyes, full on, gleaming directly into hers. She caught her breath and set her knife down, flushed with heat; and wondered, briefly, how long it would be before the others returned. And then Po’s failed attempt to keep from grinning snapped her out of her daze.
“Dear wildcat. That was more of an answer than I reckoned for.”
She snorted. “I see your self-esteem remains intact. And just what were you hoping to achieve?”
He smiled. His hands returned to their work, and his eyes emptied again. “I need to know how to make people think, conclusively, that I’m looking at them. I need to know how to look at Bitterblue so she stops thinking there’s something strange about my eyes.”
“Oh. Of course. Well, that ought to do it. How do you manage it?”
“Well, I know where your eyes are. It’s mostly just a matter of direction, and then sensing your reaction.”
“Do it again.”
Her purpose was scientific this time. His eyes rose to hers, and she ignored the rush of heat. Yes, it did seem as if he saw her – although now that she studied his gaze, she could tell that there were small indications otherwise.
“Tell me,” he said.
She considered him. “The light of your eyes is strange enough, and distracting enough, that I doubt anyone would notice. But you don’t seem quite… focused. You’re looking at me, but it’s as if your mind is elsewhere. You understand?
”
He nodded. “Bitterblue picks up on that.”
“Narrow your eyes a bit,” Katsa said. “Bring your eyebrows down, as if you were thinking. Yes – that’s pretty convincing, Po. No one you direct that gaze toward will ever suspect a thing.”
“Thank you, Katsa. Can I practice it with you, now and then? Without fear of you throwing me onto my back and forcing me out of my clothes?”
Katsa cackled at that and threw the shaft of an arrow at him. He caught it, neatly, and laughed; and she thought for a moment that he looked genuinely happy. And then, of course, he registered her thought, and a shadow settled across his face. He withdrew into his work. She glanced at his hands, at his finger still missing its ring. She took a breath and reached for another branch.
“How much does Bitterblue know?” she asked.
“Only that I’m keeping something from her. She knows my Grace is more than I’ve said. She’s known it from the beginning.”
“And your sight?”
“I don’t think it’s even occurred to her.” Po smoothed the edge of a shaft with his knife and swept a pile of bark shavings into the fire. “I’ll look her in the eyes more often,” he said; and then he withdrew again into silence.
———
Po and Sicye teased Bitterblue endlessly about her entourage. It wasn’t just the guards. Ror was taking the royal position of his sister’s daughter very seriously. Soldiers were always arriving, leading horses piled high with supplies, especially as the winter storms began to wind down. Vegetables, breads, fruits; blankets, clothing, dresses for the queen; and always letters from Ror, asking Bitterblue’s opinion on this or that matter, updating her on the plans for the coronation, and inquiring after the health of the various members of her party, particularly Po.
“I’m going to ask Ror to send me a sword,” Bitterblue said one day at breakfast. “Katsa, will you teach me to use it?
”
Skye’s face lit up. “Oh, do, Katsa. I haven’t seen you fight yet, and I was beginning to think I never would.”
“And you imagine I’ll make for an exciting opponent?” Bitterblue asked him.
“Of course not. But she’ll have to stage a sword fight with a few of the soldiers, won’t she, to show you how it’s done? There must be a decent fighter or two among them.”
“I’m not going to stage a sword fight with unarmored soldiers,” Katsa said.
“What about a hand fight?” Skye sat back and folded his arms, a cockiness in his face that Katsa thought must be a family trait. “I’m not such a bad hand fighter myself.”
Po exploded with laughter. “Oh, fight him, Katsa. Please fight him. I can’t imagine a more entertaining diversion.”
“Oh, it’s that funny, is it?”
“Katsa could pound you into the ground before you even raised a finger.”
Skye was unabashed. “Yes, exactly – that’s what I want to see. I want to see you destroy someone, Katsa. Would you destroy Po for me?”
Katsa was smiling. “Po isn’t easy to destroy.”
Po hooked his feet to the legs of the table and rocked his chair backward. “I imagine I am these days.”
“Returning to the question at hand,” Bitterblue said, rather sternly. “I should like to learn to use a sword.”
“Yes,” Katsa said. “Well then, send word to Ror.”
“Aren’t two soldiers just leaving?” Po asked. “I’ll catch them.” The legs of his chair clattered down to the floor. He pushed away from the table and went outside. Three pairs of eyes lingered on the door that closed behind him.
“The weather’s looking less like winter now,” Bitterblue said. “I’m anxious to go to my court and get started with things. But I don’t like to until I’m convinced he’s well, and frankly, I’m not convinced.”
Katsa didn’t answer. She ate a piece of bread absentmindedly. She turned to Skye and considered his shoulders, strong and straight like his brother’s; his strong hands. Skye moved well. And he was closest in age to Po; he’d probably fought Po a million times growing up.
She narrowed her eyes at the remains of their meal. She wondered what it would be like to fight with no eyes, and distracted by the landscape and the movement of every creature close at hand.
“At least he’s finally eating,” Bitterblue said.
Katsa jumped. She stared at the child. “He is?”
“He was yesterday, and he was this morning. He seems quite hungry, actually. You didn’t notice?”
Katsa let out a burst of air. She pushed her own chair back and headed for the door.
———
She found him standing before the water, staring unseeing at its frozen surface. He was shivering. She watched him doubtfully for a moment. “Po,” she said to his back, “where’s your coat?”
“Where’s yours?”
She moved to stand beside him. “I’m warm.”
He tilted his head to her. “If you’re warm and I’m coatless, there’s only one friendly thing for you to do.”
“Go back and get your coat for you?”