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 call 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, well, 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 ally from Estill who was visiting a town called Silverhart, half a day's ride east along the river. Then he surprised them all by not coming back by nightfall.
"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 finally got into the east city today, Beetle," said Po. "I walked practically 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 killed another of Saf and Teddy's friends," said Bitterblue.
"Oh," said Po, dropping his silverware. "I wish this Estill 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