Graceling Read online

  She stood, and Giddon and Lord Davit stood with her. Across the room the Lienid prince stood. One by one, the rest of the men saw her standing, and rose. The room quieted, and everyone was looking at her.

  "What is it, Katsa?" Giddon asked, reaching for her arm again. So that he wouldn't be shamed before everyone in the hall, she allowed him to take it, though his hand was like a brand that burned into her skin.

  "It's nothing," she said. "I'm sorry." She turned to the king, the only man in the room who wasn't on his feet. "Forgive me, Lord King," she said. "It's nothing. Please, sit down." She waved her hand around the tables. "Please."

  Slowly, the gentlemen sat, and the voices picked up again. The king's laugh rang out, directed at her, she was sure. Katsa turned to Lord Davit. "Please excuse me, My Lord." She turned to Giddon, whose hand still grasped her elbow. "Let go, Giddon. I want to take a walk outside."

  "I'll go with you," he said. He started to rise, but at the warning in her eyes he sat back again. "Very well, Katsa, do what you will."

  There was an edge to his voice. She had probably been rude, but she didn't care. All that mattered was that she leave this room and go to a place where she couldn't hear the drone of her uncle's voice. She turned, careful not to catch the eyes of the Lienid. She forced herself to walk slowly, calmly, to the doorway at the foot of the room. Once through the doorway, she ran.

  She ran through corridors, around corners, past servants who flattened themselves trembling against walls as she flew by. Finally she burst into the darkness of the courtyard.

  She crossed the marble floor, pulling pins from her hair. She sighed as her curls fell around her shoulders and the tension left her scalp. It was the hairpins, and the dress, and the shoes that pinched her feet. It was having to hold her head still and sit straight, it was the infuriating earrings that brushed against her neck. That was why she couldn't stand to spend one moment longer at her uncle's fine dinner. She took off her earrings and hurled them into her uncle's fountain. She didn't care who found them.

  But that was no good, because then people would talk. The entire court would speculate about what it meant, that she'd thrown her earrings into her uncle's fountain.

  Katsa kicked off her shoes, hitched up her skirt, and climbed into the fountain, sighing as the cold water ran between her toes and lapped at her ankles. It was a great improvement over her shoes. She would not put them on again tonight.

  She waded out to the glimmers she saw in the water and retrieved her earrings. She dried them on her skirt, dropped them into the bodice of her dress for safekeeping, and stood in the fountain, enjoying the coolness enveloping her feet, the drifting air of the courtyard, the night noises—until a sound from inside reminded her of how much the court would talk if she were found wading, barefoot and wild haired, in King Randa's fountain. They would think her mad.

  And perhaps she was mad.

  A light shone from Raffin's workrooms, but it wasn't his company she sought after all. She didn't want to sit and talk. She wanted to move. Movement would stop the whirring of her mind.

  Katsa climbed out of the fountain and hung the straps of her shoes over her wrists. She ran.

  Chapter Eight

  THE ARCHERY RANGE was empty, and dark except for the lone torch that glowed outside the equipment room. Katsa lit the torches along the back of the range so that when she returned to the front, the man-shaped dummies stood black against the brightness behind them. She grabbed a bow randomly from the supplies and collected handfuls of the lightest-colored arrows she could find. Then she drove arrow after arrow into the knees of her targets. Then the thighs, then the elbows, then the shoulders, until she'd emptied her quiver. She could disarm or disable any man with this bow at night, that was clear enough. She exchanged the bow for another. She yanked the arrows from the targets. She began again.

  She'd lost her temper at dinner, and for no reason. Randa hadn't spoken to her, hadn't even looked at her, had only said her name. He loved to brag of her, as if her great ability were his doing. As if she were the arrow, and he the archer whose skill drove her home. No, not an arrow—that didn't quite capture it. A dog. To Randa she was a savage dog he'd broken and trained. He set her on his enemies and allowed her out of her cage to be groomed and kept pretty, to sit among his friends and make them nervous.

  Katsa didn't notice her heightened speed and focus, the ferocity with which she was now whipping arrows from her quiver, the next arrow notched in the string before the first had hit home. Not until she sensed the presence behind her shoulder did she stir from her preoccupation and realize how she must look.

  She was savage. Look at her speed, look at her accuracy, and with a poor bow, curved badly, strung badly. No wonder Randa treated her so.

  She knew it was the Lienid who stood behind her. She ignored him. But she slowed her movements, made a show of taking aim at thighs and knees before she fired. She became conscious of the dirt under her feet and remembered, too, that she was barefoot, with her hair falling around her shoulders and her shoes in a pile somewhere near the equipment room. He would have noticed. She doubted there was much those eyes didn't notice. Well, he wouldn't have kept such stupid shoes on his feet, either, or left pins in his hair if his scalp were screaming. Or perhaps he would. He seemed not to mind his own fine jewelry, in his ears and on his fingers. They must be a vain people, the Lienid.

  "Can you kill with an arrow? Or do you only ever wound?"

  She remembered his raspy voice from Murgon's courtyard, and it was taunting her now, as it had done then. She didn't turn to him. She simply took two arrows from her quiver, notched them together, pulled, and released. One flew to her target's head, and the other to its chest. They hit with a satisfying thud, and glowed palely in the flickering torchlight.

  "I'll never make the mistake of challenging you to an archery match."

  There was laughter in his voice. She kept her back to him and reached for another arrow. "You didn't forfeit our last match so easily," she said.

  "Ah, but that's because I have your fighting skill. I lack your skill with a bow and arrow."

  Katsa couldn't help herself. She found that interesting. She turned her eyes to him, his face in shadows. "Is that true?"

  "My Grace gives me skill at hand-to-hand combat," he said, "or sword-to-sword. It does little for my archery."

  He leaned back against the great slab of stone that served as a table for the equipment of the archers. His arms were crossed. She was becoming accustomed to this look, this lazy look, as if he could nod off to sleep at any moment, but it didn't fool her. She thought if she were to spring at him, he'd react quickly enough.

  "Then, you need to be able to grapple with your opponent, to have an advantage," she said.

  He nodded. "I may be quicker to dodge arrows than someone Ungraced. But in my own attack, my skill is only as good as my aim."

  "Hmm." Katsa believed him. The Graces were odd like that; they didn't touch any two people in quite the same way.

  "Can you throw a knife as well as you shoot an arrow?" he asked.

  "Yes."

  "You're unbeatable, Lady Katsa." She heard the laughter in his voice again. She considered him for a moment and then turned away and walked down the course to the targets. She stopped at one, the one she'd "killed," and yanked the arrows from its thighs, its chest, its head.

  He sought his grandfather, and Katsa had what he sought. But he didn't feel safe to her, this one. He didn't feel quite trustworthy.

  She walked from target to target, pulling out arrows. He watched her, she felt it, and the knowledge of his eyes on her back drove her to the back of the range, where she put the torches out, one by one. As she extinguished the last flame, darkness enveloped her, and she knew she was invisible.

  She turned to him then, thinking to examine him in the light of the equipment room without his knowing. But he slouched, arms crossed, and stared straight at her. He couldn't see her, it wasn't possible—but his gaze was so
direct that she couldn't hold it, even knowing he didn't know she stared.

  She walked across the range and stepped into the light, and his eyes seemed to change focus. He smiled at her, ever so slightly. The torch caught the gold of one eye and the silver of the other. They were like the eyes of a cat, or a night creature of some kind.

  "Does your Grace give you night vision?" she asked.

  He laughed. "Hardly. Why do you ask?"

  She didn't answer. They looked at each other for a moment. The flush began to rise into her neck again, and with it, a surging irritation. She'd grown far too used to people avoiding her eyes. He would not rattle her so, simply by looking at her. She wouldn't allow it.

  "I'm going to return to my rooms now," she said.

  He straightened. "Lady, I have questions for you."

  Well, and she knew they must have this conversation eventually, and she preferred to have it in the dark, where his eyes wouldn't unnerve her. Katsa pulled the quiver over her head, and laid it on the slab of stone. She placed the bow beside it. "Go on," she said.

  He leaned back against the stone. "What did you steal from King Murgon, Lady," he said, "four nights past?"

  "Nothing that King Murgon had not himself stolen."

  "Ah. Stolen from you?"

  "Yes, from me, or from a friend."

  "Really?" He crossed his arms again, and in the torchlight he raised an eyebrow. "I wonder if this friend would be surprised to hear himself so called?"

  "Why should he be surprised? Why should he think himself an enemy?"

  "Ah," he said, "but it's just that. I thought the Middluns had neither friends nor enemies. I thought King Randa never got involved."

  "I suppose you're wrong."

  "No. I'm not wrong." He stared at her, and she was glad for the darkness that kept his strange eyes dim. "Do you know why I'm here, Lady?"

  "I was told you're the son of the Lienid king," she said. "I was told you seek your grandfather, who's disappeared. Why you've come to Randa's court, I couldn't say. I doubt Randa is your kidnapper."

  He considered her for a moment, and a smile flickered across his face. Katsa knew she wasn't fooling him. It didn't matter. He may know what he knew, but she had no intention of confirming it.

  "King Murgon was quite certain I was involved in the robbery," he said. "He seemed quite sure I knew what object had been stolen."

  "And that's natural," Katsa said. "The guards had seen a Graceling fighter, and you're no other than a Graceling fighter."

  "No. Murgon didn't believe I was involved because I was Graced. He believed I was involved because I'm Lienid. Can you explain that?"

  And of course she would give him no answer to that question, this smirking Lienid. She noticed that the neck of his shirt was now fastened. "I see you close your shirt for state dinners," she heard herself saying, though she didn't know where such a senseless comment came from.

  His mouth twitched, and his words, when he spoke, did not conceal his laughter. "I didn't know you were so interested in my shirt, Lady."

  Her face was hot, and his laughter was infuriating. This was absurdity, and she would put up with it no longer. "I'm going to my rooms now," she said, and she turned to leave. In a flash, he stood and blocked her path.

  "You have my grandfather," he said.

  Katsa tried to step around him. "I'm going to my rooms." He blocked her path again, and this time he raised his arm in warning.

  Well, at least they were relating now in a way she could understand. Katsa cocked her head upward and looked into his eyes. "I'm going to my rooms," she said, "and if I must knock you over to do so, I will."

  "I won't allow you to go," he said, "until you tell me where my grandfather is."

  She moved again to pass him, and he moved to block her, and it was almost with relief that she struck out at his face. It was just a feint, and when he ducked she jammed at his stomach with her knee, but he twisted so that the blow didn't fall true, and came back with a fist to her stomach. She took the blow, just to see how well he hit, and then wished she hadn't. This wasn't one of the king's soldiers, whose blows hardly touched her, even with ten of them on her at once. This one could knock the wind out of her. This one could fight, and so a fight was what she would give him.

  She jumped and kicked at his chest. He crashed to the ground and she threw herself on top of him, struck him in the face once, twice, three times, and kneed him in the side before he was able to throw her off. She was on him again like a wildcat, but as she tried to trap his arms he flipped her onto her back and pinned her with the weight of his body. She curled her legs up and heaved him away, and then they were on their feet again, crouching, circling, striking at each other with hands and feet. She kicked at his stomach and barreled into his chest, and they were on the ground again.

  Katsa didn't know how long they'd been grappling when she realized he was laughing. She understood his joy, understood it completely. She'd never had such a fight, she'd never had such an opponent. She was faster than he was offensively—much faster—but he was stronger, and it was as if he had a premonition of her every turn and strike; she'd never known a fighter so quick to defend himself. She was calling up moves she hadn't tried since she was a child, blows she'd only ever imagined having the opportunity to use. They were playing. It was a game. When he pinned her arms behind her back, grabbed her hair, and pushed her face into the dirt, she found that she was laughing as well.

  "Surrender," he said.

  "Never." She kicked her feet up at him and squirmed her arms out of his grasp. She elbowed him in the face, and when he jumped to avoid the blow, she flew at him and flattened him to the ground. She pinned his arms as he had just done, and pushed his face into the dirt. She dug one knee into the small of his back.

  "You surrender," she said, "for you're beaten."

  "I'm not beaten, and you know it. You'll have to break my arms and legs to beat me."

  "And I will," she said, "if you don't surrender." But there was a smile in her voice, and he laughed.

  "Katsa," he said, "Lady Katsa. I'll surrender, on one condition."

  "And the condition?"

  "Please," he said. "Please, tell me what's happened to my grandfather."

  There was something mixed in with the laughter in his voice, something that caught at Katsa's throat. She didn't have a grandfather. But perhaps this grandfather meant to the Lienid prince what Oll—or Helda or Raffin—meant to her.

  "Katsa," he said into the dirt. "I beg you to trust me, as I've trusted you."

  She held him down for just a moment, and then she let his arms go. She slid from his back and sat in the dirt beside him. She rested her chin in her palm, considering him.

  "Why do you trust me," she said, "when I left you lying on the floor of Murgon's courtyard?"

  He rolled over and sat up, groaning. He massaged his shoulder. "Because I woke up. You could've killed me, but you didn't." He touched his cheekbone and winced. "Your face is bleeding." He stretched out his hand to her jaw, but she waved it aside and stood.

  "It doesn't matter," she said. "Come with me, Prince Greening."

  He heaved himself to his feet. "It's Po."

  "Po?"

  "My name. It's Po."

  Katsa watched him for a moment as he swung his arms and tested out his shoulder joints. He pressed his side and groaned. His eye was swelling, and blackening, she thought, though it was hard to tell in the darkness. His sleeve was torn, and he was covered with dirt, absolutely smeared from head to foot. She knew she looked the same—worse, really, with her messy hair and bare feet—but it only made her smile.

  "Come with me, Po," she said. "I'll take you to your grandfather."

  Chapter Nine

  WHEN THEY WALKED into the light of Raffin's workrooms, his blue head was bent over a bubbling flask. He added leaves to the flask from a potted plant at his elbow. He watched the leaves dissolve and muttered something at the result.

  Katsa cleared her throa
t. Raffin looked up at them and blinked.

  "I take it you've been getting to know each other," he said. "It must've been a friendly fight, if you come to me together."

  "Are you alone?" Katsa asked.

  "Yes, except for Bann, of course."

  "I've told the prince about his grandfather."

  Raffin looked from Katsa to Po and back to Katsa again. He raised his eyebrows.

  "He's safe," Katsa said. "I'm sorry for not consulting you, Raff."

  "Kat," Raffin said, "if you think he's safe even after he's bloodied your face and"—he glanced at her tattered dress—"rolled you around in a puddle of mud, then I believe you."

  Katsa smiled. "May we see him?"

  "You may," Raffin said. "And I have good news. He's awake."

  ***

  RANDA'S CASTLE was full of secret inner passageways; it had been that way since its construction so many generations before. They were so plentiful that even Randa didn't know of all of them—no one did, really, although Raffin had had the mind as a child to notice when two rooms came together in a way that seemed not to match. Katsa and Raffin had done a fair bit of exploring as children, Katsa keeping guard, so that anyone who came upon one of Raffin's investigations would scuttle away at the sight of her small, glaring form. Raffin and Katsa had chosen their living quarters because a passageway connected them, and because another passageway connected Raffin to the science libraries.

  Some of the passageways were secret, and some were known by the entire court. The one in Raffin's workrooms was secret. It led from the inside of a storage room in a back alcove, up a stairway, and to a small room set between two floors of the castle. It was a windowless room, dark and musty, but it was the only place in the castle that they could be sure no one would find, and that Raffin and Bann could stay so near to most of the time.

  Bann was Raffin's friend of many years, a young man who had worked in the libraries as a boy. One day Raffin had stumbled across him, and the two children had fallen to talking about herbs and medicines and about what happened when you mixed the ground root of one plant with the powdered flower of another. Katsa had been amazed that there could be more than one person in the Middluns who found such things interesting enough to talk about—and relieved that Raffin had found someone other than her to bore. Shortly thereafter, Raffin had begged Bann's help with a particular experiment, and from that time on had effectively stolen Bann for himself. Bann was Raffin's assistant in all things.