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?"

"It is like this, My Lady," Oll said, "but different. The sea makes rushing noises, and it's gray and cold. But it does move a bit like this."

"I should like to see the sea," she said.

Giddon's eyes on her were incredulous.

"What? Is it such a strange thing to say?"

"It's a strange thing for you to say." He shook his head. He gathered their bread and fruit, then rose. "The Lienid fighter is filling your mind with romantic notions." He went to his horse.

She ignored him so that she didn't have to think about his own notions of romance or his suit or his jealousy. She rode hard across the flatlands, and imagined she rode across the sea.

It was more difficult to ignore the reality of Giddon once they'd reached his castle. The walls were great, gray, and impressive. The servants flowed into the sunny courtyard to greet their lord and bow to him, and he called them by name and asked after the grain in the storehouses, the castle, the bridge that was being repaired. He was king here, and she could see that he was comfortable with this, and that his servants were happy to see him.

Giddon's servants were always attentive to Katsa, whenever she was at his court. They approached her to ask if she needed anything; they lit a fire for her and brought her water so she could wash. When she walked past them in the hallways, they greeted her. She wasn't treated this way anywhere else, not even in her own home. It occurred to her now that of course, Giddon had specifically ordered his servants to treat her like a lady – not to fear her, or if they did fear her, to pretend they didn't. All of this Giddon had done for her. She realized his servants must look upon her as their future mistress, for if all of Randa's court knew Giddon's feelings, then surely Giddon's servants had interpreted them as well.

She didn't know how to be at Giddon's court now, realizing they all expected something of her she would never give.

She thought they'd be relieved to know she wouldn't marry Giddon. They would exhale and smile, and prepare cheerfully for whatever kind, harmless lady was his second choice. But perhaps they only hoped for their lord what he hoped for himself.

Giddon's hope bewildered her. She couldn't fathom his foolishness, to fall in love with her, and she still didn't entirely believe it to be true.

Oll grew increasingly morose about Lord Ellis.

"It's a cruel task the king has asked us to perform," he said at dinner, in Giddon's private dining room, where the three of them ate with a pair of servants to attend to them. "I can't remember if he's ever asked us to perform a task so cruel."

"He has," Giddon said, "and we've performed it. And you've never spoken like this before."

"It just seems..." Oll broke off to stare absently at Giddon's walls, covered with rich tapestries in red and gold. "It just seems that this is a task the Council wouldn't condone. The Council would send someone to protect these daughters. From us."

Giddon pushed potatoes onto his fork and chewed. He considered Oll's words. "We can't do any work for the Council," he said, "if we don't also follow Randa's commands. We're no use to anyone if we're sitting in the dungeons."

"Yes," Oll said. "But still, it doesn't seem right."

By the end of the meal, Giddon was as morose as Oll. Katsa watched Oll's craggy face and his unhappy eyes. She watched Giddon eating, his knife reflecting the gold and red of the walls as he cut his meat. His voice was low, and he sighed – they both sighed, Oll and Giddon, as they talked and ate.

They didn't want to perform this task for Randa. As Katsa watched them and listened, the fingers of her mind began to open and reach around for some means by which they might thwart Randa's instructions.

Po had said it was in her power to refuse Randa. And maybe it was in her power, as it was not in Oll's or Giddon's, because Randa could punish them in ways he couldn't punish her. Could he punish her? He could use his entire army, perhaps, to force her into his dungeons. He could kill her. Not in a fight, but he could poison her, one night at dinner. If he thought her a danger, or didn't think her useful, he would certainly have her imprisoned or killed.