Bitterblue (Graceling Realm #3) Page 55
Author: Kristin Cashore

"Not hard to follow the tunnel, face wolves, poke around, and come back," said Katsa, her voice growing sharp.

"Hard to leave Po just now."

Bitterblue took a breath. She focused for a moment, centering herself around her stubbornness. "Katsa," she said, "I don't like to be cruel. And I know I can't make you do anything you don't want to do. But—please—add it to the possibilities you're considering. Think about what it would mean if another kingdom exists on the other side of the mountains. If we're capable of discovering them, then they're capable of discovering us. Which would you rather happened first? Couldn't Po and Raffin delay their trip just a little bit longer?" she suggested. "What's one more day? I'm sorry, Katsa," she said, alarmed now, for big, round tears had begun to slide down Katsa's face. "I'm sorry to ask for this."

"You have to," Katsa said, smearing the tears away, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "I understand. I'll think about it. May I stay with you for a few minutes until I've got hold of myself?"

"You don't ever have to ask," said Bitterblue, astonished.

"You may always stay as long as you like."

And so Katsa sat in a chair, shoulders straight, breath even, scowling into the middle distance, while Bitterblue sat across from her, glancing at her worriedly now and then.

Otherwise pushing her eyes across finance reports, letters, charters, and more charters.

After a short while, the door opened and Po slipped in.

Katsa began to cry again, silently. Bitterblue decided to take her charters downstairs to work on them in the lower offices.

As she left the room, Po went to Katsa, pull ed her up, sat himself in her chair, and drew her into his lap. Shushing her, he rocked her, the two of them holding on to each other as if it were the only thing keeping the world from bursting apart.

* * * * * THEY SENT HER a note later in the day. Ciphered in Katsa's hand, it read: P o and Raffin delay one day. When they go, I'll return to the mystery tunnel and follow it east.

We're sorry for kicking you out of your office.

I'll come for your lesson in the morning. I'll teach you how to fight with one arm bound.

"Is it always like that?" asked Bitterblue at dinner.

Giddon and Bann, her two dinner companions, turned to blink at her, puzzled. The others had dined with them too, but then they'd all run back to their plans and preparations, which was as Bitterblue liked it. Giddon and Bann were the people she most wanted to ask about this, though Raffin would also have been welcome.

"Is what always like what, Lady Queen?" asked Giddon.

"I mean," said Bitterblue, "is it possible to have a—" She wasn't sure what to cal it. "Is it possible to share someone's bed without tears, battles, and constant crises?"

"Yes," said Bann.

"Not if you're Katsa and Po," said Giddon at the same time.

"Oh, stop it," Bann protested. "They go long stretches of time without tears, battles, or crises."

"But you know they both love a good blowup," said Giddon.

"You make it sound as if they do it on purpose. They always have good reason. Their lives are not simple and they spend too much time apart."

"Because they choose to," Giddon said, rising from the table, going to bank up the dying fire. "They don't need to spend so much time apart. They do it because it suits them."

"They do it because the Council requires it," Bann said to Giddon's back.

"But they decide what the Council requires, don't they? As much as we do?"

"They put the Council ahead of themselves," Bann said firmly.

"They also like to make scenes," Giddon muttered with his head in the fireplace.

"Be fair, Giddon. They're just not good at containing themselves in front of their own friends."

"That's the definition of a scene," said Giddon dryly, coming to sit down again.

"It's just—" Bitterblue began, then stopped. She wasn't sure what it just was. Her own experience was miniscule, but it was all she had, so she couldn't help referring to it. She had liked sparring with Saf. She had liked playing trust games.

But she didn't like fighting with him, not at all . She didn't like being the object of his fury. And if the crown situation counted as a crisis, wel , then she didn't like crises either.

On the other hand, she saw clearly enough that Katsa and Po had something sustaining, deep, and fierce. It was a thing that she envied sometimes.

Bitterblue stabbed a mystery pie across the table with her fork and was delighted when it turned out to be made of winter squash. She pushed her plate closer and shoveled herself a generous portion. "It's just that while I'm sure I would like the making up, I don't think I have the heart for constant fighting," she said. "I think I might prefer something —more peaceful in execution."

Giddon cracked a grin. "They do give the impression that no one else has nearly as much fun making up."

"But people do, you know," said Bann, perhaps a bit slyly. "I wouldn't worry about them, Lady Queen, and I wouldn't worry about what it means. Every configuration of people is an entirely new universe unto itself."

IN THE MORNING, Giddon left to meet a Council all y from Estil who was visiting a town cal ed Silverhart, half a day's ride east along the river. Then he surprised them all by not coming back by nightfal .

"I hope he gets in before morning," Po said over dinner. "I didn't want to leave until he was back."

"So he can protect me?" said Bitterblue. "You think I'm not safe with both you and Katsa away, don't you? Don't forget, I have my Queen's Guard and my Lienid Guard, and it's not like I ever leave the castle anymore."

"I final y got into the east city today, Beetle," said Po. "I walked practical y every street, and spent some time in the south city too. I could not find Runnemood. And Bann and I tried to work it out, but we can't get around that it'd be a great strain right now for him or Giddon to take off in search of your captain."

"Someone set a fire three nights ago and kill ed another of Saf and Teddy's friends," said Bitterblue.

"Oh," said Po, dropping his silverware. "I wish this Estil thing weren't happening now. Too much is going on and nothing is right."

With the rat pelt tucked in her pocket, Bitterblue couldn't really argue. Early in the day, she'd gone to the library and shown it to Death. At the sight of it, he'd turned eight shades of gray.

"Merciful skies above," he'd said hoarsely.

"What do you think?" asked Bitterblue.

"I think," said Death, then paused, truly seeming to be thinking. "I think I need to rethink the current shelving of King Leck's stories, Lady Queen, for they're in a section reserved for fantastical literature."

"That's what you're worried about?" demanded Bitterblue.

"The shelving of your books? Send someone for Madlen, will you? I'm going to my table, where I intend to read about how monarchy is tyranny," she said, then stormed away in annoyance, realizing that it hadn't been a particularly incisive retort.

Madlen produced a much more satisfactory reaction.

Narrowing her eyes on the pelt, she announced "Hm-hm!"

then proceeded to ask a thousand questions. Who'd found it, and where? How had the creature behaved? How had Lady Katsa defended herself? Had Lady Katsa encountered any people? How far had Lady Katsa followed the tunnel? Where, precisely, did this tunnel start? What was going to be done about it, when, and by whom?

"I hoped you might have some medical insight," Bitterblue managed to interject.

"It's rutting peculiar, Lady Queen," said Madlen, then glanced at the hanging of the wild-haired woman, spun on her heel, and marched off.

Sighing, Bitterblue turned to Lovejoy, who was sprawled on the table, peering at her with his chin resting on one paw.

"It's a good thing I employ all these experts," she said. Then she held the tip of the pelt out to him, poking his nose with it. "What do you think of it?"

Lovejoy made a point of having no opinion whatsoever.

I WON'T LET him into our rooms. Perversely, he honors my barricades, while setting up his own guards outside our door. When he goes away to his graveyard I explore his rooms. I'm looking for passage out, but find nothing.

If I knew his secrets and plans, could I stop him? But I can neither read them nor find them. The sculptures watched me look. They told me the castle has secrets and he'd kill me if he found me snooping. It was a warning, not a threat.

They like me, not him.

Bitterblue sat that night with legs crossed on her bedroom floor, wondering if it was worthwhile to try to find any sense in the passage when half of it seemed raving mad.

"Lady Queen?" said a voice from the doorway.

Bitterblue turned, startled. It was Fox.

"Forgive me for the intrusion, Lady Queen," said Fox.

"What time is it?" asked Bitterblue.

"One o'clock, Lady Queen."

"Perhaps a bit late for intrusions."

"I'm sorry, Lady Queen," said Fox. "It's just that there's something I've got to tell you, Lady Queen."

Bitterblue extricated herself from the sheets and went to stand by her dressing table, wanting to be away from her mother's secrets, her father's secrets, while Fox was in the room. "Go on," she prompted, guessing what this was about.

"I found a set of keys, Lady Queen," Fox said, "in a corner, in a deserted back room of the smithy. I'm not certain what they were the keys to. I—could have asked Ornik his opinion," she said, hesitating, "but I was snooping when I found them, Lady Queen, and didn't want him to know. He came in and thought I was waiting for him, Lady Queen, and I thought it might be best to let him go on thinking that."

"I see," said Bitterblue dryly. "Mightn't they simply have been keys to the smithy?"

"I tried that, Lady Queen," said Fox, "and they weren't. They were big, grand, important-looking keys, not like any I've ever seen. But before I could bring them to you, Lady Queen, they disappeared from my pocket."

"Oh?" said Bitterblue. "Do you mean that someone stole them?"

"I couldn't say, Lady Queen," said Fox, looking down at her own folded hands.

Fox knew perfectly wel that Bitterblue knew perfectly wel that Fox was spending her daylight hours on a platform with a thief who had every appearance, on the basis of recent events, of being involved with the queen somehow.

Bitterblue couldn't blame Fox for deciding not to accuse Saf outright of theft. For all Fox knew, it risked angering the queen.

At the same time, if it weren't for Saf, would Bitterblue be hearing about the keys at all ? Once Saf had stolen them, F o x had to tell Bitterblue about them, in case Saf did.