He dropped his gaze and fiddled with his fork. "Your uncle has quite an effect on you," he said. "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."

"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 apart a piece of bread and threw it onto her plate. She glared at her meal.

"I don't believe you're savage," he said.

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

He raised his cup to his lips and drank, then lowered it, watching her. "What will he ask you to do this time?"

She pushed the fire down that rose up from her stomach. She wondered what would happen if she slammed her plate on the ground, how many pieces it would break into.

"It'll be some lord who owes him money," she said, "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."

"And you'll do what he tells you to do?"

"Who are these fools who continue to resist Randa's will? Haven't they heard the stories? Don't they know he'll send me?"

"Isn't it in your power to refuse?" Po asked. "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 choice in the matter."

"But you do have choice. He's not the one who makes you savage. You make yourself savage, when you bend yourself to his will."

She sprang to her feet and swung at his jaw with the side of her hand. She lessened the force of the blow only at the last instant, when she realized he hadn't raised his arm to block her. Her hand hit his face with a sickening crack. She watched, horrified, as his chair toppled backward and his head slammed against the floor. She'd hit him hard. She knew she'd hit him hard. And he hadn't defended himself.

She ran to him. He lay on his side, both hands over his jaw A tear trickled from his eye, over his fingers, and onto the floor. He grunted, or sobbed – she didn't know which. She knelt beside him and touched his shoulder. "Did I break your jaw? Can you speak?"

He shifted then, pushed himself up to a sitting position. He felt at the side of his jaw and opened and closed his mouth. He moved his jaw left and right.

"I don't think it's broken." His voice was a whisper.

She 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," he said, "though it seems it should be."

"I pulled back," she said, "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. She brought the ice to his jaw. "Why didn't you fight back?"

He held the ice to his face and groaned. "This'll hurt for days."

"Po..."

He looked at her, and sighed. "I told you before, Katsa. I won't fight when you're angry. I won't solve a disagreement between us with blows." He lifted the ice and fingered his jaw. He moaned, and held the ice to his face again. "What we do in the practice rooms – that's to help each other. We don't use it against each other. We're friends, Katsa."

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. And even if we weren't, it's not right."

"I'll never do it again," she said. "I swear to it."

He caught her eyes then, and held them. "I know you won't. Katsa. Wildcat. Don't blame yourself. You expected me to fight back. You wouldn't have struck me otherwise."

But still she should have known better. "It wasn't even you who angered me. It was him."

Po considered her for a moment. "What do you think would happen," he said, "if you refused to do what Randa ordered?"

She didn't know, really. She only imagined him sneering at her, his words crackling with contempt. "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." He worked his mouth back and forth. "You're afraid of your own anger."

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 said. "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," Po said. "Much of his power comes from you."

She was afraid of her own anger: She repeated it in her mind. She was afraid of what she would do to the king – and with good reason. Look at Po, his jaw red and beginning to swell. She'd learned to control her skill, but she hadn't learned to control her anger. And that meant she still didn't control her Grace.

"Should we move back to the table?" he said, for they were still sitting on the floor.

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

Po heaved himself to his feet. He reached for her hand and pulled her up. "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 "

Po narrowed his eyes then. "What do you mean?"

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

"What's she done, my father's sister?"

"The word is, she stopped eating when she heard of your grandfather's disappearance. 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," he repeated, puzzlement in his voice.

"Nor anyone else," Katsa said, "except a handmaiden to bring them meals."

"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.