“I wish people would stop hitting Po," whispered Bitterblue."Well," Giddon said. "Yes. I'm hoping Skye is following my model. Punch Po; go on a long trip; feel better; come back and make up.”

“I'm not such a bad fighter myself," Skye said. Po exploded with laughter. "Oh, fight him, Katsa. Please fight him. I can't imagine a more entertaining diversion.”

“That was a perfectly reasonable explanation," she said grumpily. "Perhaps my advisers don't lie to me.""Isn't that what you'd want?" asked Giddon."Well, yes, but it doesn't elucidate my puzzle!""If I may say so, Lady Queen," said Giddon, "it's not always easy to follow your conversation.""Oh, Giddon," she said, sighing. "If it's any comfort, I don't follow it either.”

“There was no helping her tears. For they would leave Po behind… She cried into his shoulder like a child. Ashamed of herself, for it was only a parting, and Bitterblue had not wept like this even over a death. ‘Don’t be ashamed,' Po whispered. ‘Your sadness is dear to me. Don’t be frightened. I won’t die, Katsa. I won’t die, and we’ll meet again.”

“But all I feel is impatience, fury for the opposition I anticipate and the lies I'm going to have to tell to make it happen, and frustration that I can't even take a walk without them sending someone to hover. Attack me," she said."I beg your pardon, Lady Queen?""You should attack me, and we'll see what he does. He's probably quite bored--it'll be a relief to him.""Mightn't he run me through with his sword?""Oh." Bitterblue chuckled. "Yes, I suppose he might. That would be a shame.""I'm gratified that you think so," said Giddon dryly.”

“I'll teach you how to defend yourself, how to maim a man. We can use Po as a model.''Wonderful,' Po said. 'It's quite boring really, the way you beat me to death with your hands and feet, Katsa. It'll be refreshing to have you come at me with a knife.”

“If she took Po as her husband, she would be making promises about a future she couldn't yet see. For once she became his wife, she would be his forever. And, no matter how much freedom Po gave her, she would always know that it was a gift. Her freedom would be not be her own; it would be Po's to give or to withhold. That he never would withhold it made no difference. If it did not come from her, it was not really hers.”