Graceling

by Kristin Cashore

  "Katsa, it's only I," his voice called, through the keyhole. "It's a double lock. You must unlock it from your side."

  She rolled out of bed. And where was the key?

  "My key was hanging beside the door," he called, and she took a moment to glare in his general direction.

  "I only guessed you were looking for the key. It wasn't my Grace, so you needn't get all huffy about it."

  Katsa felt along the wall. Her fingers touched a key. "Doesn't it make you nervous to holler like that? Anyone could hear you. You could be revealing your precious Grace to a whole legion of my lovers."

  His laughter came muffled through the door. "I would know if anyone heard my voice. And I'd also know if you were in there with a legion of lovers. Katsa—have you cut your hair?"

  She snorted. "Wonderful. That's just wonderful. I've no privacy, and you sense even my hair." She turned the key in the lock and swung the door open. Po straightened, a candle in his hand.

  "Great seas," he said.

  "What do you want?"

  He held his candle up to her face.

  "Po, what do you want?"

  "She did a far better job than I would have done."

  "I'm going back to bed," Katsa said, and she reached for the door.

  "All right, all right. The men, the merchants. The Sunderan men who were bothering that girl. I think they intend to come to us this night and speak to us."

  "How do you know?"

  "Their rooms are below us."

  She shook her head, disbelieving. "No one in this inn has privacy."

  "My sense of them is faint, Katsa. I cannot sense everyone down to the ends of their hair, as I do you."

  She sighed. "What an honor, then, to be me. They're coming in the middle of the night?"

  "Yes."

  "Do they have information?"

  "I believe they do."

  "Do you trust them?"

  "Not particularly. I think they'll come soon, Katsa. When they do I'll knock on your outer door."

  Katsa nodded. "Very well. I'll be ready."

  She stepped back into her room and pulled the door behind her. She lit a candle, splashed water on her face, and prepared herself for the arrival of the late-night merchants.

  SIX MERCHANTS had sat around the table in the eating room and laughed at the serving girl. When Po's knock brought her to the door, she found him standing in the hallway with all six, each carrying a candle that cast a dark light over a bearded face. They were tall, and broad-backed, all six of them, enormous next to her, and even the smallest taller and broader than Po. Quite a band of bullies. She followed them back to Po's room.

  "You're awake and dressed, My Lord Prince, My Lady," the biggest of the merchants said as they filed into Po's chamber. It was the man who'd first tried to grab the girl's arm, the one who'd first teased her. Katsa registered the mockery as he spoke their titles. He had no more respect for them than they had for him. The one who'd taken the girl's wrist stood beside him, and those two seemed to be the leaders of the group. They stood together, in the middle of the room, facing Po, while the other four faded into the background.

  They were well spread out, these merchants. Katsa moved to the side door, the door that led to her room, and leaned against it with her arms crossed. She was steps from Po and the two leaders, and she could see the other four. It was more precaution than was necessary. But it didn't hurt for any of them to know she was watching.

  "We've been receiving visitors throughout the night," Po said, an easy lie. "You're not the only travelers at the inn who have information about my grandfather."

  "Be careful of the others, Lord Prince," said the biggest merchant. "Men will lie for money."

  Po raised an eyebrow. "Thank you for your warning." He slouched against the table behind him and put his hands in his pockets. Katsa swallowed her smile. She rather enjoyed Po's cocky laziness.

  "What information do you have for us?" Po asked.

  "How much will you pay?" the man said.

  "I'll pay whatever the information warrants."

  "There are six of us," the man said.

  "I'll give it to you in coins divisible by six," Po said, "if that's what you wish."

  "I meant, Lord Prince, that it's not worth our time to divulge information if you'll not compensate us enough for six men."

  Po chose that moment to yawn. When he spoke, his voice was calm, even friendly. "I won't haggle over a price when I don't know the breadth of your information. You'll be fairly compensated. If that doesn't satisfy you, you're free to leave."

  The man rocked on his feet for a moment. He glanced sideways at his partner. His partner nodded, and the man cleared his throat.

  "Very well," he said. "We have information that links the kidnapping to King Birn of Wester."

  "How interesting," Po said, and the farce had begun. Po asked all the questions one would ask if one were conducting this interrogation seriously. What was the source of their information? Was the man trustworthy who had spoken of Birn? What was the motivation for the kidnapping? Had Birn the assistance of any other kingdoms? Was Grandfather Tealiff in Birn's dungeons? How were Birn's dungeons guarded?

  "Well, Lady," Po said, with a glance in her direction, "we'll have to send word quickly, so that my brothers know to investigate the dungeons of Birn of Wester."

  "You won't travel there yourselves?" The man was surprised. And disappointed, most likely, that he hadn't managed to send Po and Katsa on a futile mission.

  "We go south, and east," Po said. "To Monsea, and King Leck."

  "Leck was not responsible for the kidnapping," the man said.

  "I never said he was."

  "Leck is blameless. You waste your energies searching Monsea, when your grandfather is in Wester."

  Po yawned again. He shifted his weight against the table and crossed his arms. He looked back at the man blandly. "We don't go to Monsea in search of my grandfather," he said. "It is a social visit. My father's sister is the Queen of Monsea. She's been most distressed by the kidnapping. We mean to call on her. Perhaps we can bring the comfort of your news to the Monsean court."

  One of the merchants in the background cleared his throat. "A lot of sickness there," he said from his corner. "At the Monsean court."

  Po's eyes moved to the man calmly. "Is that so?"

  The man grunted. "I've family in Leck's service, distant family. Two little girls who worked in his shelter, cousins of some kind—well, they died a few months back."

  "What do you mean, in his shelter?"

  "Leck's animal shelter. He rescues animals, Lord Prince, you'll know that."

  "Yes, of course," Po said. "But I didn't know about the shelter."

  The man seemed to enjoy being the center of Po's attention. He glanced at his companions and lifted his chin. "Well, Lord Prince, he's got hundreds of them, dogs, squirrels, rabbits, bleeding from slashes on their backs and bellies."

  Po narrowed his eyes. "Slashes on their backs and bellies," he repeated carefully.

  "You know. As if they'd run into something sharp," the man said.

  Po stared at him for a moment. "Of course. And any broken bones? Any sickness?"

  The man considered. "I've never heard tell of any of that, Lord Prince. Just lots of cuts and slashes that take a wondrous long time to heal. He's got a staff of children who help him nurse the little creatures to recovery. They say he's very dedicated to his animals."

  Po pursed his lips. He glanced at Katsa. "I see," he said. "And do you know what sickness the girls died of?"

  The man shrugged. "Children are not very strong."

  "We've moved to a different topic now," the biggest merchant said, interrupting. "We agreed to give you information about the kidnapping, not about this. We'll be wanting more money to compensate."

  "And anyway, I'm suddenly dying of a sickness called boredom," his partner said.

  "Oh," said the first, "perhaps you have a more amusing diversion in mind?"

&nbs
p; "With different company," said the man in the corner.

  They were laughing now, the six of them chuckling over a private joke Katsa had a feeling she understood. "Alas for protective fathers and locked bedroom doors," the partner said, very low to his friends, but not too low for Katsa's sensitive ears. She surged toward the men before the burst of laughter had even begun.

  Po blocked her so fast that she knew he must have started imperceptibly first. "Stop," he said to her softly. "Think. Breathe."

  The wave of impulsive anger swept over her, and she allowed his body to block her path to the merchant, to the two of them, to all six of them, for these men were all the same to her.

  "You're the only man in seven kingdoms who can keep that wildcat on a leash," said one of the two men. She wasn't sure which one, for she was distracted by the effect the words had on Po's face.

  "It's fortunate for us she has such a sensible keeper," the man continued. "And you're a lucky fellow yourself. The wild ones are the most fun, if you can control them."

  Po looked at her, but he didn't see her. His eyes snapped, silver ice and gold fire. The arm that blocked her stiffened, and his hand tightened into a fist. He inhaled, endlessly it seemed. He was furious; she saw this, and she thought he was going to strike the man who had spoken; and for a panicky moment she didn't know whether to stop him or help him.

  Stop him. She would stop him, for he wasn't thinking. She took his forearms, and gripped them tightly. She thought his name into his head. Po. Stop. Think, she thought into his mind, just as he had said to her. Think. He began to breathe out, as slowly as he'd breathed in. His eyes refocused and he saw her.

  He turned around and stood beside her. He faced the two men; it didn't even matter which of them had spoken.

  "Get out." His voice was very quiet.

  "We would have our payment—"

  Po took a step toward the men, and they stepped back. He held his arms at his sides with a casual calmness that didn't fool anyone in the room. "Have you the slightest notion to whom you're speaking?" he asked. "Do you imagine you'll receive a coin of my money, when you've spoken this way? You're lucky I let you go without knocking your teeth from your mouths."

  "Are you sure we shouldn't?" Katsa said, looking into the eyes of each man, one after the other. "I'd like to do something to discourage them from touching the innkeeper's daughter."

  "We won't," one of them gasped. "We won't touch anyone, I swear it."

  "You'll be sorry if you do," she said. "Sorry for the rest of your short, wretched lives."

  "We won't, My Lady. We won't." They backed to the door, their faces white, their smirks vanished now. "It was only a joke, My Lady, I swear it."

  "Get out," Po said. "Your payment is that we won't kill you for your insults."

  The men scrambled from the room. Po slammed the door behind them. Then he leaned his back against the door and slid down until he sat on the floor. He rubbed his face with his hands and heaved a deep sigh.

  Katsa took a candle from the table and came to crouch before him. She tried to measure his tiredness and his anger, in the bend of his head and the hardness of his shoulders. He dropped his hands from his face and rested his head against the door. He watched her face for a moment.

  "I truly thought I might hurt that man," he said, "very badly."

  "I didn't know you were capable of such temper."

  "Apparently I am."

  "Po," Katsa said, as a thought occurred to her. "How did you know I intended to attack them? My intentions were toward them, not you."

  "Yes, but my sense of your energy heightened suddenly, and I know you well enough to guess when you're likely to take a swing at someone." He half-smiled, tiredly. "No one could ever accuse you of being inconsistent."

  She snorted. She sat on the floor before him and crossed her legs. "And now will you tell me what you learned from them?"

  "Yes." He closed his eyes. "What I learned. To start with, other than that fellow in the corner, they barely spoke a true word. It was a game. They wanted to trick us into paying them for false information. To get back at us, for the incident in the eating room."

  "They're small-minded," Katsa said.

  "Very small-minded, but they've helped us, nonetheless. It's Leck, Katsa, I'm sure of it. The man lied when he said Leck was not responsible. And yet—and yet there was something else very strange that I could make no sense of." He shook his head and stared into his hands, thinking. "It's so odd, Katsa. I felt this strange ... defensiveness rise in them."

  "What do you mean, defensiveness?"

  "As if they all truly believed Leck's innocence and wished to defend him to me."

  "But you just said Leck is guilty."

  "He is guilty, and these men know it. But they also believe him innocent."

  "That makes utterly no sense."

  He shook his head again. "I know. But I'm sure of what I sensed. I tell you, Katsa, when the man said that Leck was not responsible for the kidnapping, he was lying. But when he said, a moment later, 'Leck is blameless,' he meant it. He believed himself to be telling the truth." Po gazed up at the dark ceiling. "Are we supposed to conclude that Leck kidnapped my grandfather, but for some innocent reason? It simply cannot be."

  Katsa couldn't comprehend the things Po had learned, any more than she could comprehend the manner in which he'd learned them. "None of this makes sense," she said, weakly.

  He came down out of his thoughts for a moment and focused on her. "Katsa. I'm sorry. This must be overwhelming to you. I'm capable of sensing quite a lot, you see, from people who want to fool me but don't know to guard their thoughts and feelings."

  She couldn't understand it. She gave up trying to make sense of the king who was both guilty and innocent. She watched Po as he became distracted by his thoughts again and stared again into his hands. The merchants hadn't known to guard their thoughts and feelings. If it was a thing that could be done, then she, at least, wanted to learn how to do it.

  She felt his eyes and realized he was watching her. "You do keep some things from me," he said.

  She started, then focused on blankness for a moment.

  "Or you have," he continued, "since you've learned of my Grace. I mean, I've felt you keeping things from me—you're doing it now—and I can tell you it works, because my Grace shows me nothing. I'm always a bit relieved when it works, Katsa. Truly, I don't wish to take your secrets from you." He sat up straight, his face lit with an idea. "You know, you could always knock me unconscious. I wouldn't stop you."

  Katsa laughed then. "I wouldn't. I've promised you I won't hit you, except in our practices."

  "But it's self-defense, in this case."

  "It is not."

  "It is," he insisted, and she laughed again at his earnestness.

  "I'd rather strengthen my mind against you," she said, "than knock you out every time I have a thought I don't want you to know."

  "Yes, well, and I'd prefer that also, believe me. But I grant you permission to knock me out, if ever you need to."

  "I wish you wouldn't. You know how impulsive I am."

  "I don't care."

  "If you grant me permission, I'll probably do it, Po. I'll probably—"

  He held up his hand. "It's an equalizer. When we fight, you hold your Grace back. I can't hold my Grace back. So you must have the right to defend yourself."

  She didn't like it. But she could not miss his point. And she could not miss his willingness, his dear willingness, to give over his Grace for her. "You will always have a headache," she warned.

  "Perhaps Raffin included his salve for headaches among the medicines. I should like to change my hair, now that you've changed yours. Blue would suit me, don't you think?"

  She was laughing again, and she swore to herself that she wouldn't hit him; she wouldn't, unless she were entirely desperate. And then the candle on the floor beside them dimmed and died. Their conversation had gotten entirely off track. They were leaving for Monsea early in the
morning, most likely, and it was the middle of the night and everyone in the inn and the town slept. Yet here they were, sitting on the floor, laughing in the dark.

  "We leave for Monsea tomorrow, then?" she said. "We'll fall asleep on our horses."

  "I'll fall asleep on my horse. You'll ride as if you've slept for days—as if it's a race between us to see who reaches Monsea first."

  "And what will we find when we get there? A king who's innocent of the things of which he's guilty?"

  He rubbed his head. "I've always thought it strange that my mother and father have no suspicions about Leck, even knowing his story. And now these men seem to think him blameless in the kidnapping, even knowing he's not."

  "Can he be so kind in the rest of his life that everyone forgives his crimes, or fails to see them?"

  He sat for a moment, quietly. "I've wondered ... it occurs to me recently ... that he could be Graced. That he could have a Grace that changes the way people think of him. Are there such Graces? I don't even know."

  It had never occurred to her. But he could be Graced. With one eye missing, he could be Graced and no one would ever know. No one would even suspect, for who could suspect a Grace that controlled suspicions?

  "He could have the Grace of fooling people," Po said. "The Grace of confusing people with lies, lies that spread from kingdom to kingdom. Imagine it, Katsa—people carrying his lies in their own mouths, and spreading them to believing ears; absurd lies, erasing logic and truth, all the way to Lienid. Can you imagine the power of a person who had such a Grace? He could create whatever reputation for himself he wished. He could take whatever he wanted and no one would ever hold him responsible."

  Katsa thought of the boy who was named heir, and the king and queen who died shortly thereafter. The advisers who supposedly jumped into the river together. And a whole kingdom of mourners who never thought to question the boy who had no family, no past, no Monsean blood flowing through his veins—but who had become king. "But his kindness," Katsa said urgently. "The animals. That man spoke of the animals he restores to health."