Graceling (Graceling Realm #1)(52)
Author: Kristin Cashore
The captain peered at Katsa over the cup she’d raised to her face. She set the cup down. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true.”
“You crossed Grel a’s Pass and kept your fingers and toes let alone your lives? I might believe it of you, Lady Princess, but I can’t believe it of the child.”
“Katsa carried me,” Bitterblue said.
“And we had good weather,” Katsa added.
The captain’s laugh rang out. “It’s no use lying to me about the weather, Lady Princess. It’s snowed in Grel a’s Pass every day since summer, and there are few places in the seven kingdoms colder.”
“Nonetheless, it could have been worse the day we crossed.” The captain was stilllaughing. “If I ever need a protector, Lady Princess, I hope to find you nearby.”
A day or two later, after Katsa had come up from one of the frigid ocean baths she liked to take – the baths that Bitterblue considered further proof she was mad – she sat on Bitterblue’s bunk and peeled away her soaking clothing.
Their quarters were barely big enough for the two bunks they slept in and badly lit by a lantern that swung from the ceiling. Bitterblue brought Katsa a cloth to dry her wet skin and frozen hair. She reached out to touch Katsa’s shoulder.
Katsa looked down and saw, in the wavering light, the lines of white skin that had caught the girl’s attention. The scars, where the claws of the mountain lion had torn her flesh. Lines on her breast, too.
“You’ve healed well,” Bitterblue said. “There’s no question who won that fight.”
“For all that,” Katsa said, “we weren’t evenly matched, and the cat had the advantage. On a different day it would’ve killed me.”
“I wish I had your skil ,” Bitterblue said. “I’d like to be able to defend myself against anything.”
It wasn’t the first time Bitterblue had said something like that. And it was only one of countless times Katsa had remembered, with a stab of panic, that Bitterblue was wrong; that in her one and only encounter with Leck, Katsa had been defenseless.
———
Stil , Bitterblue didn’t have to be as defenseless as she was. When Patch teased her one day about the knife she wore sheathed at her belt – the same knife, big as her forearm, she’d carried since the day Katsa and Po had found her in Leck’s forest – Katsa decided the time had come to make a threat of Bitterblue. Or as much of a threat as the child could be. How absurd it was that in all seven kingdoms, the weakest and most vulnerable of people – girls, women – went unarmed and were taught nothing of fighting, while the strong were trained to the highest reaches of their skil .
And so Katsa began to teach the girl. First to feel comfortable with a knife in her hand. To hold it properly, so that it wouldn’t slip from her fingers; to carry it easily, as if it were a natural extension of her arm. This first lesson gave the child more trouble than Katsa had anticipated. The knife was heavy. It was also sharp. It made Bitterblue nervous to carry an open blade across a floor that lurched and dipped. She held the hilt much too tightly, so tightly her arm ached and blisters formed on her palm.
“You fear your own knife,” Katsa said.
“I’m afraid of fal ing on it,” Bitterblue said, “or hurting someone with it by accident.”
“That’s natural enough. But you’re just as likely to lose control of it if you’re holding it too tightly as too loosely.
Loosen your grip, child. It won’t fal from your fingers if you hold it as I’ve taught you.”
And so the child would relax the hand that held the knife, until the floor tipped again or one of the sailors came near; and then she would forget what Katsa had said and grip the blade again with all her strength.
Katsa changed tactics. She put an end to official lessons, and instead had Bitterblue walk around the ship with the knife in her hand all afternoon for several days. Knife in hand, the child visited the sailors who were her friends, climbed the ladder between decks, ate meals in the gal ey, and craned her neck to watch Katsa scrambling around in the riggings. At first she sighed often and passed the knife heavily from one hand to the other. But then, after a day or two, it seemed not to bother her so much. A few days more and the knife swung loosely at her side. Not forgotten, for Katsa could see the care she took with the blade when the floor rocked, or when a friend was near. But comfortable in her hand. Familiar. And now, final y, it was time for the girl to learn how to use the weapon she held.
The next few lessons progressed slowly. Bitterblue was persistent and ferociously determined; but her muscles were untrained, unused to the motions Katsa now expected of her.
Katsa was hard-pressed sometimes to know what to teach her. There was some use in teaching the child to block or deliver blows in the traditional sense – some, but not much. She would never last long in a battle if she tried to fight by the usual rules. “What you must do,” Katsa told her, “is inflict as much pain as possible and watch for an opening.”
“And ignore your own pain,” Jem said, “as best you can.” Jem helped with the lessons, as did Bear, and any other of the sailors who could find the time. Some days the lessons served as mealtime distractions for the men in the gal ey, or on fine days as diversions in the corner of the deck.
The sailors didn’t all understand why a young girl should be learning to fight. But none of them laughed at her efforts, even when the methods Katsa encouraged her to use were as undignified as biting, scratching, and hair pul ing.
“You don’t need to be strong to drive your thumbs into a man’s eyebal s,” Katsa said, “but it does a lot of damage.”
“That’s disgusting,” Bitterblue said.
“Someone your size doesn’t have the luxury of fighting cleanly, Bitterblue.”
“I’m not saying I won’t do it. I’m only saying it’s disgusting.” Katsa tried to hide her smile. “Yes, well . I suppose it is disgusting.”
She showed Bitterblue all of the soft places to stab a man if she wanted to kill him – throat, neck, stomach, eyes – the easy places that required less force. She taught Bitterblue to hide a small knife in her boot and how to whip it out quickly.
How to drive a knife with both hands and how to hold one in either hand. How to keep from dropping a knife in the bedlam of an attack, when everything was happening so fast your mind couldn’t keep up.
“That’s the way to do it,” Red cal ed out one day when Bitterblue had elbowed Bear successful y in the groin and bent him over double, groaning.
“And now that he’s distracted,” Katsa said, “what will you do?”
“Stab him in the neck with my knife,” Bitterblue said. “Good girl.”
“She’s a plucky little thing,” Red said, approvingly.
She wa s a plucky little thing. So little, so completely little, that Katsa knew, as every one of these sailors must know, how much luck she would need if she were to defend herself from an attacker. But what she was learning would give her a fighting chance. The confidence she was gaining would also help. These men, these sailors who stood on the side shouting their encouragement – they helped, too, more than they could know.
“Of course, she’l never need these skil s,” Red added. “A princess of Monsea will always have bodyguards.”
Katsa didn’t say the first words that came to her mind. “It seems better to me for a child to have these skil s and never use them, than not have them and one day need them,” she said.
“I can’t deny that, Lady Princess. No one would know that better than you, or Prince Po. I imagine the two of you could whip a whole troop of children into a decent army.”
A vision of Po, dizzy and unsteady on his feet, flashed into Katsa’s mind. She pushed it away. She went to check on Bear and focused her thoughts on Bitterblue’s next dril .
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Katsa was in the riggings with Red when she first saw Lienid. It was just how Po had described it; and it was unreal, like something out of a tapestry, or a song. Dark cliffs rose from the sea, snow-covered fields atop them. Rising from the fields a pill ar of rock, and atop the rock, a city.
Gleaming so bright that at first Katsa was sure it was made of gold.
As the ship drew closer she saw that she wasn’t so wrong. The buildings of the city were brown sandstone, yel ow marble, and white quartz that sparkled with the light from sky and water. And the domes and turrets of the structure that rose above the others and sprawled across the skyline were, in fact, gold: Ror’s castle and Po’s childhood home. So big and so bright that Katsa hung from the riggings with her mouth hanging open. Red laughed at her and yel ed down to Patch that one thing, at least, stilled the Lady Princess’s climbing and scrambling.
“Land ho!” he cal ed then, and men up and down the deck cheered. Red slithered down, but Katsa stayed in the riggings and watched Ror City grow larger before her. She could make out the road that spiraled from the base of the pill ar up to the city, and the platforms, too, rising from fields to city on ropes too thin for her eyes to discern. When the ship skirted the southeast edge of Lienid and headed north, she swung around and kept the city in her sight until it disappeared. It hurt her eyes, almost, Ror City; and it didn’t surprise her that Po should come from a place that shone.
Or a land so dramatical y beautiful. The ship wound around the island kingdom, north and then west, and Katsa barely blinked. She saw beaches white with sand, and sometimes with snow. Mountains disappearing into storm clouds.
Towns of stone built into stone and hanging, camouflaged, above the sea. Trees on a cliff, stark and leafless, black against a winter sky.
“Po trees,” Patch said to her when she pointed them out. “Did our prince tell you? The leaves turn silver and gold in the fall. They were beautiful two months ago.”
“They’re beautiful now.”
“I suppose. But Lienid is gray in the winter. The other seasons are an explosion of color. You’l see, Lady Princess.”
Katsa glanced at him in surprise, and then wondered why she should be surprised. She would see, if she stayed here long enough, and likely she’d be here some time. Her plans once they reached Po’s castle were vague. She would explore the building, learn its hiding places, and fortify it. She would set a guard, with whatever staff she found there.
She would think and plan and wait to hear something of Po or Leck. And just as she fortified the castle, she would fortify her mind, against any news she heard that might carry the poison of Leck’s lies.
“I know what you’ve asked us to do, Lady Princess,” Patch said beside her.