Graceling

by Kristin Cashore

  A long, blue carpet led from the doors to Randa's throne. The throne was raised high on a platform of white marble. Randa sat high on his throne, blue robes and bright blue eyes. His face hard, his smile frozen. An archer to either side of him, an arrow notched in each bow and trained, as she entered the room, on her forehead, on the place just above her blue and green eyes. Two more archers, one in each far corner, also with arrows notched.

  The king's guard lined the carpet on either side, three men deep, swords drawn and held at their sides. Randa usually kept a tenth this many guards in his throne room. Impressive; it was an impressive battalion Randa had arranged in preparation for her appearance. But as Katsa took stock of the room, it occurred to her that Birn or Drowden or Thigpen would have done better. It was good he was an unwarring king, for Randa was not so clever when it came to assembling battalions. This one, he'd assembled all wrong. Too few archers, and too many of these clumsy, armored, lumbering men who would trip all over each other if they tried to attack her. Tall, broad men who could shield her easily from an arrow's flight. And armed, all of them armed with swords, and each with a dagger in his opposite belt, swords and daggers she might as well be carrying on her own person, so easily could she snatch them from their owners. And the king himself raised high on a platform, a long blue carpet leading straight to him like a pathway to direct the flight of her blade.

  If a fight erupted in this room, it would be a massacre.

  Katsa stepped forward, her eyes and ears finely tuned to the archers. Randa's archers were good, but they were not Graced. Katsa spared a moment to drily pity the guards at her back, if this encounter came down to arrow dodging.

  And then, when she'd progressed about halfway to the throne, her uncle called out. "Stop there. I've no wish for your closer company, Katsa." Her name sounded like steam hissing down the carpet when Randa spoke it. "You return to court today with no woman. No dowry. My underlord and my captain injured by your hand. What do you have to say for yourself?"

  When a battalion of soldiers didn't trouble her, why should one voice rile her so? She forced herself to hold his contemptuous eyes. "I didn't agree with your order, Lord King."

  "Can I possibly have heard you correctly? You didn't agree with my order?"

  "No, Lord King."

  Randa sat back, his smile twisted tighter now. "Charming," he said. "Charming, truly. Tell me, Katsa. What, precisely, possessed you with the notion that you are in a position to consider the king's orders? To think about them? To form opinions regarding them? Have I ever asked you to share your thoughts on anything?"

  "No, Lord King."

  "Have I ever encouraged you to bestow upon us your sage advice?"

  "No, Lord King."

  "Do you imagine it is your wit, your stunning intellect, that warrants your position in this court?"

  And here was where Randa was clever. This was how he'd kept her a caged animal for so long. He knew the words to make her feel stupid and brutish and turn her into a dog.

  Well, and if she must be a dog, at least she would no longer be in this man's cage. She would be her own, she would possess her own viciousness, and she would do what she liked with it. Even now, she felt her arms and legs beginning to thrill with readiness. She narrowed her eyes at the king. She could not keep the challenge out of her voice.

  "And what exactly is the purpose of all these men, Uncle?"

  Randa smiled blandly. "These men will attack if you make the slightest move. And at the end of this interview they'll accompany you to my dungeons."

  "And do you imagine I'll go willingly to your dungeons?"

  "I don't care if you go willingly or not."

  "That's because you think these men could force me to go against my will."

  "Katsa. Of course we all have the highest regard for your skill. But even you have no chance against two hundred guards and my best archers. The end of this conversation will see you either in my dungeons, or dead."

  Katsa saw and heard everything in the room. The king and his archers; the arrows notched and aimed; the guards ready with their swords; her arms in red sleeves, her feet beneath red skirts. The room was still, completely still, excepting the breath of the men around her, and the tingling she felt inside her. She held her hands at her sides, away from her body, so that everyone could see them. She breathed around a thing that she recognized now as hatred. She hated this king. Her body was alive with it.

  "Uncle," she said. "Let me explain what will happen the instant one of your men makes a move toward me. Let's say, for instance, one of your archers lets an arrow fly. You've not come to many of my practices, Uncle. You haven't seen me dodge arrows; but your archers have. If one of your archers releases an arrow, I'll drop to the floor. The arrow will doubtless hit one of your guards. The sword and the dagger of that guard will be in my hands before anyone in the room has time to realize what's happened. A fight will break out with the guards; but only seven or eight of them can surround me at once, Uncle, and seven or eight are nothing to me. As I kill the guards I'll take their daggers and begin throwing them into the hearts of your archers, who of course will have no sighting on me once the brawl with the guards has broken out. I'll get out of the room alive, Uncle; but most of the rest of you will be dead. Of course, this is only what will happen if I wait for one of your men to make a move. I could move first. I could attack a guard, steal his dagger, and hurl it into your chest this instant."

  Randa's mouth was fixed into a sneer, but under this he had begun to tremble. A threat of death, given and received; and Katsa felt it ringing in her fingertips. And she saw that she could do it now, she could kill him right now. The disdain in his eyes would disappear, and his sneer would slide away. Her fingers itched, for she could do it now with the snatch of a dagger.

  And then what? a small voice inside herself whispered; and Katsa caught her breath, stricken. And then what? A bloodbath, one she'd be lucky to escape. Raffin would become king, and his first inheritance would be the task of killing the murderer of his father. A charge he couldn't avoid if he meant to rule justly as the King of the Middluns; and a charge that would break his heart, and make her an enemy, and a stranger.

  And Po would hear of it as he was leaving. He'd hear that she'd lost control and killed her uncle, that she'd caused her own exile and broken Raffin's spirit. He would return to Lienid and watch from his balcony as the sun dropped behind the sea; and he'd shake his head in the orange light and wonder why she'd allowed this to happen, when she held so much power in her hands.

  Where is your faith in your power? the voice whispered now. You don't have to shed blood. And Katsa saw what she was doing, here in this throne room. She saw Randa, pale, gripping the arms of his throne so hard it seemed he might break them. In a moment he would motion to his archers to strike, out of fear, out of the terror of waiting for her to make the first move.

  Tears came to her eyes. Mercy was more frightening than murder, because it was harder, and Randa didn't deserve it. And even though she wanted what the voice wanted, she didn't think she had the courage for it.

  Po thinks you have the courage, the voice said fiercely. Pretend that you believe he's right. Believe him, for just a moment.

  Pretend. Her fingers were screaming, but maybe she could pretend long enough to get out of this room.

  Katsa raised burning eyes to the king. Her voice shook. "I'm leaving the court," she said. "Don't try to stop me. I promise you'll regret it if you do. Forget about me once I'm gone, for I won't consent to live like a tracked animal. I'm no longer yours to command."

  His eyes were wide, and his mouth open. She turned and rushed down the long carpet, her ears tuned to the silence, readying her to spin around at the first hint of a bowstring or a sword. As she passed through her uncle's great doors she felt the weight of hundreds of astonished eyes on her back; and none of them knew she had been only a breath, a twitch, away from changing her mind.

  PART TWO

  The Twisted King />
  Chapter Sixteen

  THEY LEFT well before daylight. Raffin and Bann saw them off, the two medicine makers bleary-eyed, Bann yawning endlessly. The morning was cold, and Katsa was wide awake, and quiet. For she was shy of her riding partner; and she felt strange about Raffin, so strange that she wished he wasn't there. If Raffin hadn't been there watching her go, then perhaps she'd have been able to pretend she wasn't leaving him. With Raffin there, there was no pretense, and she was unable to do anything about the strange painful water that rose into her eyes and throat, every time she looked at him.

  They were impossible, these two men, for if one did not make her cry, the other did. What Helda would make of it she could only imagine; and she hadn't liked saying good-bye to Helda either, or Oll. No, there was little to be happy of this morning, except that she was not, at least, leaving Po; and he was probably standing there beside his horse registering her every feeling on the matter. She gave him a withering look for good measure, and he raised his eyebrows and smiled and yawned. Well. And he'd better not ride as if he were half asleep, or she'd leave him in the dust. She was not in the mood to dawdle.

  Raffin fussed back and forth between their horses, checking saddles, testing the holds of their stirrups. "I suppose I needn't worry about your safety," he said, "with the two of you riding together."

  "We'll be safe." Katsa yanked at a strap that held a bag to her saddle. She tossed a bag over her horse's back to Po.

  "You have the list of Council contacts in Sunder?" Raffin asked. "And the maps? You have food for the day? You have money?"

  Katsa smiled up at him then, for he sounded as she imagined a mother would sound if her child were leaving forever. "Po's a prince of Lienid," she said. "Why do you think he rides such a big horse, if not to carry his bags of gold?"

  Raffin's eyes laughed down at her. "Take this." He closed her hands over a small satchel. "It's a bag of medicines, in case you should need them. I've marked them so you'll know what each is for."

  Po came forward then and held his hand out to Bann. "Thank you for all you've done." He took Raffin's hand. "You'll take care of my grandfather in my absence?"

  "He'll be safe with us," Raffin said.

  Po swung onto the back of his horse, and Katsa took Bann's hands and squeezed them. And then she stood before Raffin and looked up into his face.

  "Well," Raffin said. "You'll let us know how you're faring, when you're able?"

  "Of course," Katsa said.

  He looked at his feet and cleared his throat. He rubbed his neck, and sighed. How she wished again that he weren't here. For the tears would spill onto her cheeks, and she couldn't stop them.

  "Well," Raffin said. "And I'll see you again someday, my love."

  She reached up for him then and wrapped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her up off the ground and hugged her tight. She breathed into the collar of his shirt and held on.

  And then her feet were on the ground again. She turned away and climbed into her saddle. "We leave now," she said to Po. As their horses cantered out of the stable yard, she didn't look back.

  THEIR ROUTE was rough and changeable, for their only certain plan was to follow whatever path seemed likely to bring them closer to the truth of the kidnapping. Their first destination was an inn, south of Murgon City, three days' ride from Randa City—an inn sitting along the route which they supposed the kidnappers had taken. Murgon's spies frequented the inn, as did merchants and travelers from the port cities of Sunder, often even from Monsea. It was as good a place to start as any, Po thought, and it didn't take them out of their way, if their ultimate destination was Monsea.

  They didn't travel anonymously. Katsa's eyes identified her to anyone in the seven kingdoms who had ears to hear the stories. Po was conspicuously a Lienid and enough the subject of idle talk to be recognized by virtue of his own eyes and by the Graceling company he kept. The story of Katsa's hasty departure from Randa's court with the Lienid prince would spread. Any attempt to disguise themselves would be foolish; Katsa didn't even bother to change from the blue tunic and trousers that marked her as a member of Randa's family. Their purpose would be assumed, for it was well enough agreed that the Graceling Lienid searched for his missing grandfather, and it would now be supposed that the Graceling lady assisted him. Their inquiries, the route they chose, the very dinners they ate would be the stuff of gossip.

  But still, they would be safe in their deception. For no one would know that Katsa and Po searched not for the grandfather but for the motive of his kidnapping. No one would know that Katsa and Po knew of Murgon's involvement and suspected Leck of Monsea. And no one could even guess how much Po could learn by asking the most mundane questions.

  He rode well, and almost as fast as she would have liked. The trees of the southern forest flew past. The pounding of hooves comforted her and numbed her sense of the distance stretching between her and the people she'd left behind.

  She was glad of Po's company. Their riding was companionable. But then when they stopped to stretch their legs and eat something, she was shy of him again, and didn't know how to be with him, or what to say.

  "Sit with me, Katsa."

  He sat on the trunk of a great fallen tree, and she glared at him from around her horse.

  "Katsa," he said. "Dear Katsa, I won't bite. I'm not sensing your thoughts right now, except to know that I make you uncomfortable. Come and talk to me."

  And so she came and sat beside him, but she didn't talk, and she didn't exactly look at him either, for she was afraid of becoming trapped in his eyes.

  "Katsa," he said finally, when they had sat and chewed in silence for a number of minutes, "you'll get used to me, in time. We'll find the way to relate to each other. How can I help you with this? Should I tell you whenever I sense something with my Grace? So you can come to understand it?"

  It didn't sound very appealing to her. She'd prefer to pretend that he sensed nothing. But he was right. They were together now, and the sooner she faced this, the better.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Very well then, I will. Do you have any questions for me? You have only to ask."

  "I think," she said, "if you always know what I feel about you, then you should always tell me what you're feeling about me, as you feel it. Always."

  "Hmm." He glanced at her sideways. "I'm not wild about that idea."

  "Nor am I wild about you knowing my feelings, but I have no choice."

  "Hmmm." He rubbed his head. "I suppose, in theory, it'd be fair."

  "It would."

  "Very well, let's see. I'm very sympathetic about your having left Raffin. I think you're brave to have defied Randa as you did with that Ellis fellow; I don't know if I could've gone through with it. I think you have more energy than anyone I've ever encountered, though I wonder if you aren't a bit hard on your horse. I find myself wondering why you haven't wanted to marry Giddon, and if it's because you've intended to marry Raffin, and if so, whether you're even more unhappy to have left him than I realized. I'm very pleased you've come with me. I'd like to see you defend yourself for real, fight someone to the death, for it would be a thrilling sight. I think my mother would take to you. My brothers, of course, would worship you. I think you're the most quarrelsome person I've ever met. And I really do worry about your horse."

  He stopped then, broke a piece of bread, and chewed and swallowed. She stared at him, her eyes wide.

  "That's all, for now," he said.

  "You can't possibly have been thinking all those things, in that moment," she said, and then he laughed, and the sound was a comfort to her, and she fought against the gold and silver lights that shone in his eyes, and lost. When he spoke, his voice was soft.

  "And now I'm wondering," he said, "how it is you don't realize your eyes ensnare me, just as mine do you. I can't explain it, Katsa, but you shouldn't let it embarrass you. For we're both overtaken by the same—foolishness."

  A flush rose into her neck, and she was doubly emba
rrassed, by his eyes and by his words. But there was relief for her, too. Because if he was also foolish, then her foolishness bothered her less.

  "I thought you might be doing it on purpose," she said, "with your eyes. I thought it might be a part of your Grace, to trap me with your eyes and read my mind."

  "It's not. It's nothing like that."

  "Most people won't look into my eyes," she said. "Most people fear them."

  "Yes. Most people don't look into my eyes for very long either. They're too strange."

  She looked at his eyes then, leaned in and really studied them, as she hadn't had the courage to do before. "Your eyes are like lights. They don't seem quite natural."

  He grinned. "My mother says when I opened my eyes on the day they settled, she almost dropped me, she was so startled."

  "What color were they before?"

  "Gray, like most Lienid. And yours?"

  "I've no idea. No one's ever told me, and I don't think there's anyone left I could ask."

  "Your eyes are beautiful," he said, and she felt warm suddenly, warm in the sun that dappled through the treetops and rested on them in patches. And as they climbed back into their saddles and returned to the forest road, she didn't feel exactly comfortable with him; but she felt at least that she could look him in the face now and not fear she was surrendering her entire soul.

  THE ROAD LED them around the outskirts of Murgon City and became wider and more traveled. Whenever Katsa and Po were seen, they were stared at. It would soon be known in the inns and houses around the city that the two Graceling fighters traveled south together along Murgon Road.

  "Are you sure you don't want to stop in on King Murgon," Katsa said, "and ask him your questions? It would be much faster, wouldn't it?"

  "He made it quite clear after the robbery that I was no longer welcome at his court. He suspects I know what was stolen."

  "He's afraid of you."