Graceling Page 11

  "You're shooting arrows at a target in the dark," Giddon said.

  She lowered her bow. She supposed this was one of his criticisms. "Yes," she said, for she could think of no other response.

  "Are you as good a shot in the dark as you are in the light?"

  "Yes," she said, and he smiled, which made her nervous. If he was going to be pleasant, then she feared where this was heading; she would much prefer him to be arrogant and critical, and unpleasant, if they must be alone together.

  "There's nothing you cannot do, Katsa."

  "Don't be absurd."

  But he seemed determined not to argue. He smiled again and leaned against the wooden railing that separated her lane from the others. "What do you think will happen at Randa's court tomorrow?" he asked.

  "Truly, I don't know," Katsa said. "Randa will be very angry."

  "I don't like that you're protecting me from his anger, Katsa. I don't like it at all."

  "I'm sorry, Giddon, as I'm sorry for the cut on your neck. Shall we return to the castle?" She lifted the strap of the quiver over her head, and set it on the ground. He watched her, quietly, and a small panic began to stir in her chest.

  "You should let me protect you," he said.

  "You can't protect me from the king. It would be fatal to you, and a waste of your energies. Let's go back to the castle."

  "Marry me," he said, "and our marriage will protect you."

  Well then, he had said it, as Po had predicted, and it hit her like one of Po's punches to the stomach. She didn't know where to look; she couldn't stand still. She put her hand to her head, she put it to the railing. She willed herself to think.

  "Our marriage wouldn't protect me," she said. "Randa wouldn't pardon me simply because I married."

  "But he would be more lenient," Giddon said. "Our engagement would offer him an alternative. It would be dangerous for him to try to punish you, and he knows that. If we say we're to be married, then he can send us away from court; he can send us here, and he'll be out of your reach, and you out of his. And there will be some pretense of good feeling between you."

  And she would be married, and to Giddon. She would be his wife, the lady of his house. She'd be charged with entertaining his wretched guests. Expected to hire and dismiss his servants, based on their skill with a pastry, or some such nonsense. Expected to bear him children, and stay at home to love them. She would go to his bed at night, Giddon's bed, and lie with a man who considered a scratch to her face an affront to his person. A man who thought himself her protector—her protector when she could outduel him if she used a toothpick to his sword.

  She breathed it away, breathed away the fury. He was a friend, and loyal to the Council. She wouldn't speak what she thought. She would speak what Raffin had told her to speak.

  "Giddon," she said. "Surely you've heard I don't intend to marry."

  "But would you refuse a suitable proposal? And you must admit, it seems a solution to your problem with the king."

  "Giddon." He stood before her, his face even, his eyes warm. So confident. He didn't imagine she could refuse him. And perhaps that was forgivable, for perhaps no other woman would. "Giddon. You need a wife who will give you children. I've never wished children. You must marry a woman who wishes babies."

  "You're not an unnatural woman, Katsa. You can fight as other women can't, but you're not so different from other women. You'll want babies. I'm certain of it."

  She hadn't expected to have such an immediate opportunity to practice containing her temper. For he deserved a thumping, to knock his certainty out of his head and onto the ground where it belonged. "I can't marry you, Giddon. It's nothing to do with you. It's only to do with me. I won't marry, not anyone, and I won't bear any man children."

  He stared at her then, and his face changed. She knew that look on Giddon's face, the sarcastic curl of his lip and the glint in his eye. He was beginning to hear her.

  "I don't think you've considered what you're saying, Katsa. Do you expect ever to receive a more attractive proposal?"

  "It's nothing to do with you, Giddon. It's only to do with me."

  "Do you imagine there are others who would form an interest in a lady killer?"

  "Giddon—"

  "You're hoping the Lienid will ask for your hand." He pointed at her, his face mocking. "You prefer him, for he's a prince, and I'm only a lord."

  Katsa threw her arms in the air. "Giddon, of all the preposterous—"

  "He won't ask you," Giddon said, "and if he did you'd be a fool to accept. He's about as trustworthy as Murgon."

  "Giddon, I assure you—"

  "Nor is he honorable," Giddon said. "A man who fights you as he does is no better than an opportunist and no worse than a thug."

  She froze. She stared at Giddon and didn't even see his finger jabbing in the air, his puffed-up face. Instead she saw Po, sitting on the floor of the practice room, using the exact words Giddon had just used. Before Giddon had used them.

  "Giddon. Have you spoken those words to Po?"

  "Katsa, I've never even had a conversation with him when you were not present." "What about to anyone else? Have you spoken those words to anyone else?"

  "Of course not. If you think I waste my time—"

  "Are you certain?"

  "Yes, I'm certain. What does it matter? If he asked me, I would not be afraid to tell him what I think."

  She stared at Giddon, disbelieving, defenseless against the realization that trickled into her mind and clicked into place. She put her hand to her throat. She couldn't catch her breath. She asked the question she felt she had to ask, and cringed against the answer she knew she would receive.

  "Have you had those thoughts before? Had you thought those things, while you were in his presence?"

  "That I don't trust him? That he's an opportunist and a thug? I think of it every time I look at him."

  Giddon was practically spitting, but Katsa didn't see. She bent her knees and set her bow on the ground, slowly, deliberately. She stood, and turned away from him. She walked, one step at a time. She breathed in and breathed out and stared straight ahead.

  "You're afraid I'll cause him offense," Giddon yelled after her, "your precious Lienid prince. And perhaps I will tell him my opinion. Perhaps he'll leave more quickly if I encourage him."

  She didn't listen, she didn't hear. For there was too much noise inside her head. He had known Giddon's thoughts. And he had known her own, she knew he had. When she'd been angry, when she'd thought highly of him. Other times, too. There must be other times, though her head screamed too much for her to think of them.

  She had thought him a fighter, just a fighter. And in her foolishness, she had thought him perceptive. Had even admired him for his perceptiveness.

  She, admire a mind reader.

  She had trusted him. She had trusted him, and she should not have. He had misrepresented himself, misrepresented his Grace. And that was the same as if he'd lied.

  Chapter Fourteen

  SHE BURST into Raffin's workrooms, and he looked up from his work, startled. "Where is he?" she demanded, and then she stopped in her tracks, because he was there, right there, sitting at the edge of Raffin's table, his jaw purple and his sleeves rolled up.

  "There's something I must tell you, Katsa," he said.

  "You're a mind reader," she said. "You're a mind reader, and you lied to me."

  Raffin swore shortly and jumped up. He ran to the door behind her and pushed it closed.

  Po's face flushed, but he held her gaze. "I'm not a mind reader," he said.

  "And I'm not a fool," she yelled, "so stop lying to me. Tell me, what have you learned? What thoughts of mine have you stolen?"

  "I'm not a mind reader," he said. "I sense people."

  "And what's that supposed to mean? It's people's thoughts that you sense."

  "No, Katsa. Listen. I sense people. Think of it as my night vision, Katsa, or the eyes in the back of my head you've accused me of having. I s
ense people when they're near me, thinking and feeling and moving around, their bodies, their physical energy. It is only—" He swallowed. "It is only when they're thinking about me that I also sense their thoughts."

  "And that's not mind reading?" She screamed it so loudly that he flinched, but still he held her gaze.

  "All right. It does involve some mind reading. But I can't do what you think I can do."

  "You lied to me," she said. "I trusted you."

  Raffin's soft voice broke through her distress. "Let him explain, Katsa."

  She turned to Raffin, incredulous, flabbergasted that he should know the truth and still take Po's side. She whirled back on Po, who still dared to hold her eyes, as if he'd done nothing wrong, nothing completely and absolutely wrong.

  "Please, Katsa," Po said. "Please hear me. I can't sit and listen in to whatever thoughts I want. I don't know what you think of Raffin, or what Raffin thinks of Bann, or whether Oll enjoys his dinner. You can be behind the door running in circles and thinking about how much you hate Randa, and all I'll know is that you're running in circles—until your thoughts turn to me. Only then do I know what you're feeling."

  This was what it felt like to be betrayed by a friend. No. By a traitor pretending to be a friend. Such a wonderful friend he'd seemed, so sympathetic, so understanding—and no wonder, if he'd always known her thoughts, always known her feelings. The perfect pretense of friendship.

  "No," he said. "No. I have lied, Katsa, but my friendship has not been a pretense. I've always been your true friend."

  Even now he was reading her mind. "Stop it," she spat out. "Stop it. How dare you, you traitor, imposter, you..."

  She couldn't find words strong enough. But his eyes dropped from hers now, miserably, and she saw that he felt her full meaning. She was cruelly glad his Grace communicated to him what she couldn't verbalize. He slumped against the table, his face contorted with unhappiness. His voice, when he spoke, toneless.

  "Only two people have known this is my Grace: my mother and my grandfather. And now Raffin and you. My father doesn't know, nor my brothers. My mother and my grandfather forbade me to tell anyone, the moment I revealed it to them as a child."

  Well. She would take care of that problem. For Giddon was right, though he couldn't have realized why. Po was not to be trusted. People must know, and she would tell everyone.

  "If you do," Po said, "you'll take away any freedom I have. You'll ruin my life."

  She looked at him then, but his image blurred behind tears that swelled into her eyes. She must leave. She must leave this room, because she wanted to hit him, as she had sworn she never would do. She wanted to cause him pain for taking a place in her heart that she wouldn't have given him if she'd known the truth.

  "You lied to me," she said.

  She turned and ran from the room.

  ***

  HELDA TOOK her damp eyes, and her silence, in stride.

  "I hope no one is ill, My Lady," she said. She sat beside Katsa's bath and worked soap through the knots in Katsa's hair.

  "No one is ill."

  "Then something has upset you," Helda said. "It'll be one of your young men."

  One of her young men. One of her friends. Her list of friends was dwindling, from few to fewer. "I've disobeyed the king," she said. "He'll be very angry with me."

  "Yes?" Helda said. "But that doesn't account for the pain in your eyes. That will be the doing of one of your young men."

  Katsa said nothing. Everyone in this castle was a mind reader. Everyone could see through her, and she saw nothing.

  "If the king is angry with you," Helda said, "and if you're having trouble with one of your young men, then we'll make you especially beautiful for the evening. You'll wear your red dress."

  Katsa almost laughed at that bit of Helda logic, but the laugh got caught in her throat. She would leave the court after this night. For she didn't want to be here any longer, with her uncle's fury, Giddon's sarcastic, hurt pride, and, most of all, Po's betrayal.

  LATER, WHEN Katsa was dressed and Helda grappled with her wet hair before the fire, there was a knock at her entrance. Katsa's heart flew into her throat, for it would be a steward, summoning her to her uncle; or even worse, Po, come to read her mind and hurt her again with his explanations and his excuses. But when Helda went to the door, she came back with Raffin.

  "He's not the one I expected," Helda said. She folded her hands across her stomach and clucked.

  Katsa pressed her fingers to her temples. "I must speak to him alone, Helda."

  Helda left. Raffin sat on her bed and curled his legs up, as he had done when he was a child. As they both had done so many times, sitting together on her bed, talking and laughing. He didn't laugh now, and he didn't talk. He only sat, all arms and legs, and looked at her in her chair by the fire. His face kind and dear, and open with worry.

  "That dress suits you, Kat," he said. "Your eyes are very bright."

  "Helda imagines that a dress will solve all my problems," Katsa said.

  "Your problems have multiplied since you last left the court. I spoke to Giddon."

  "Giddon." His very name made her tired.

  "Yes. He told me what happened with Lord Ellis. Honestly, Katsa. It's quite serious, isn't it? What will you do?"

  "I don't know. I haven't decided."

  "Honestly, Katsa."

  "Why do you keep saying that? I suppose you think I should have tortured the fellow, for doing no wrong?"

  "Of course not. You did right. Of course you did right."

  "And the king won't control me anymore. I won't be his animal anymore."

  "Kat." He shifted, and sighed. He looked at her closely. "I can see you've made up your mind. And you know I'll do anything in my power to stop his hand. I'm on your side in anything to do with Randa, always. It's just ... it's just that..."

  She knew. It was just that Randa paid little heed to his son the medicine maker. There was very little in Raffin's power to do, while his father lived.

  "I'm worried for you, Kat," he said. "That's all. We all are. Giddon was quite desperate."

  "Giddon." She sighed. "Giddon proposed marriage to me."

  "Great hills. Before or after you saw Ellis?"

  "After." She gestured impatiently. "Giddon thinks marriage is the solution to all my problems."

  "Hmm. Well, how did it go?"

  How did it go? She felt like laughing, though there was no humor in it. "It began badly and progressed to worse," she said, "and ended with my coming to the realization that Po is a mind reader. And a liar."

  Raffin considered her for a moment. He started to speak, then stopped. His eyes were very gentle. "Dear Katsa," he finally said. "You've had a rough few days, what with Randa and Giddon and Po."

  And Po the roughest, though all the danger might lie with Randa. Po the wound she would remove, if she could choose one to remove. Randa could never hurt her as Po had.

  They sat quietly. The fire crackled beside her. The fire was a luxury; there was barely a chill to the air, but Helda had wanted her hair to dry more quickly, so they'd set the great logs burning. Her hair fell now in curls around her shoulders. She pushed it behind her ears and tied it into a knot.

  "His Grace has been a secret since he was a child, Kat."

  Here they came, then, the explanations and the rationalizations. She looked away from him and braced herself.

  "His mother knew he'd only be used as a tool, if the truth came out. Imagine the uses of a child who can sense reactions to the things he says, or who knows what someone's doing on the other side of a wall. Imagine his uses when his father is the king. His mother knew he wouldn't be able to relate with people or form friendships, because no one would trust him. No one would want anything to do with him. Think about it, Katsa. Think about what that would be like."

  She looked up at him then, her eyes on fire, and his face softened. "What a thing for me to say. Of course you don't need to imagine it."

  No, for
it was her reality. She hadn't had the luxury of hiding her Grace.

  "We can't blame him for not telling us sooner," Raffin said. "To be honest, I'm touched that he told us at all. He told me just after you left. He has some ideas about the kidnapping, Kat."

  Yes, as he must have ideas about a great many things he was in no position to know anything about. A mind reader could never be short on ideas. "What are his ideas?"

  "Why don't you let him tell you about it?"

  "I don't crave the company of a mind reader."

  "He's leaving tomorrow, Kat."

  She stared at him. "What do you mean, he's leaving?"

  "He's leaving the court," Raffin said, "for good. He's going to Sunder, and then Monsea, possibly. He hasn't worked out the details."

  Her eyes swam with tears. She seemed unable to control this strange water that flowed into her eyes. She stared at her hands, and one tear plopped into her palm.

  "I think I'll send him," Raffin said, "to tell you about it."

  He climbed from the bed and came to her. He bent down and kissed her forehead. "Dear Katsa," he said, and then he left the room.

  She stared at the checked pattern of her marble floor and wondered how she could feel so desolate that her eyes filled with tears. She couldn't remember crying, not once in her life. Not until this fool Lienid had come to her court, and lied to her, and then announced that he was leaving.

  HE HOVERED just inside the doorway; he seemed unsure whether to come closer or keep his distance. She didn't know what she wanted, either; she only knew she wanted to remain calm and not look at him and not think any thoughts for him to steal. She stood, crossed into her dining room, went to the window, and looked out. The courtyard was empty, and yellow in the light of the lowering sun. She felt him moving into the entrance behind her.

  "Forgive me, Katsa," he said. "I beg you to forgive me."

  Well, and that was easily answered. She did not forgive him.

  The trees in Randa's garden were still green, and some of the flowers still in bloom. But soon the leaves would turn and fall. The gardeners would come with their great rakes, and scrape the leaves from the marble floor, and carry them away in wheelbarrows. She didn't know where they carried them. To the vegetable gardens, she guessed, or to the fields. They were industrious, the gardeners.