Last line of Ch 12:

And tried to shake off the eerie sense that he had just answered something she’d thought, rather than something she’d said.

First line of Ch 13:

Not that it was the first time he’d left her with that feeling.

Dafuq did you even put in a chapter break for?  Those are two parts of the same thought, there shouldn’t be a break in there.  It’s completely random, too.  None of the other chapters ended like that.

She’d never known a person with whom she could communicate so freely – so unused was she to the phenomenon of friendship.

You know, except for Raffin.  And Oll.  And Helda.  And all the other council members.

Methinks this book doesn’t quite grasp the concept of friendship.

So Katsa, Giddon, and Oll are off on another mission, this time to force some guy to give up one of his daughters to marriage to some unfavorable lord in another country.  Oh, and he’s going to pocket her dowery.

Until Now, Randa’s been pretty much unoffensive.  And while it’s about time for him to live up to his evil status, this polevaults over the line.  Because you cannot do this and remain king.  Despite whatever grade-school notion of royalty that this book is pulling from, kings do not have unlimited power, and that is simply because the only way they stay king is by the mutual agreement of everyone around them.  If the lords of the country (also known as the guys with all the power and all the knights) feel like their personal liberties don’t exist, they’ll say “lolnope” and usurp the bastard.

Yeah, it sucks that he’s trying to force some girl into marriage for money, but that’s not the bigger point here.  (…odd as it to say that.)  The bigger point is that boundaries and rules don’t seem to exist in this government, and that’s simply not sustainable.  At no point have we seen any attitude of responsibility or duty or limits; the whole place is just a fucking free-for-all.

I’m not saying that real feudal systems were pictures of chivalric ideals or that lords would always live up to their “noble sense of duty and right.”  Far from it.  It was a horrible system.  But it was a system that still had rules.  It was a system that did have responsibilities and limits.  “I’ll keep the raiders from destroying your home, but in return I’m going to claim all of your produce as ‘tax’ and make you live on a starvation diet” is not a fair and just system, but there is still a clear give and take involved, instead of this book’s willy-nilly grabass “kings can do whatever and we’ll just cower because they have divine right to rule or some shit” approach.

So, while on Mission Beat Lord Ellis, they stop over at Giddon’s house, since it’s on the way.  Katsa notices that all his servants treat her nicely, which is a switch from everywhere else.  (Except for the places we’ve seen in this book, of course.)

It occurred to her now that of course, Giddon had specifically ordered his servants to treat her like a lady – not to fear her, or if they did fear her, to pretend they didn’t. All of this Giddon had done for her.

Aw, why do we think Giddon is a bad guy again?

She thought they’d be relieved to know she wouldn’t marry Giddon. They would exhale and smile, and prepare cheerfully for whatever kind, harmless lady was his second choice.

Anyone else getting the feeling that Katsa is treated perfectly well and just fails around and assumes everyone is thinking the worst instead?  Every bad motivation we’ve seen in  this book exists solely in Katsa’s thoughts or in the narration, not in anyone’s actual actions.

At dinner, Oll is sad about their mission because apparently he just now noticed that they’re doing bad things for the king.

“We can’t do any work for the Council,” [Giddon]  said, “if we don’t also follow Randa’s commands. We’re no use to anyone if we’re sitting in the dungeons.”

“Yes,” Oll said. “But still, it doesn’t seem right.”

I would like to remind everyone that Oll is the head torturer.  Just in case you happened to have forgotten.

Katsa thinks about the consequences of not doing as ordered, and brings up valid points in that even if the king can’t hurt her he can still hurt her friends (you know, those people she…doesn’t have…) or kill her through poison or subtle means.  But then she thinks that if she does the mission she’ll be just as rage-y as if Randa were to…you know, make fun of her…

You know what?  That’s actually all she’s been scared of this whole time.  That Randa will mock her, and she won’t like it.  She’s been bashing people’s heads in under the “threat” of being mocked.  Oh, sure, the book wants to play it off like it’s more than that, but the book failed to do so.

She sensed the rage building, just at the thought of it.

Wow, yes, I can just feel the anger dripping off the page as you…lie there in bed and stare at the ceiling.

The next day, when they arrive at the lord’s house, they are once again escorted into his presence.  Because no one in this book has an ounce of self-preservation, apparently.

The lord acts all defiant and such, refuses to bring his daughters out of hiding, etc etc.  But opens up his front door to Katsa.  Does this world just really value hospitality manners?  Anyway, Katsa informs him that she’s not going to go through with her mission after all and he can do whatever he wants.

You know, this would have a lot more weight to it if she’d actually broken fingers on the first guy.  Because I get that this is supposed to be a turning point for her so she can’t be brutal right now, but once again we’re never allowed to see some central part of the story.  We’re told that she’s Randa’s enforcer and does his dirty work and all that sort of thing, but all we see is her saying “nah, I’m too nice for that, you go right on your way.”  So this right here doesn’t feel like a turning so much as more of the same.

“I’ll kill the king,” she said. “I’ll kill the king, unless you both agree not to support me. This is my rebellion, and mine alone, and if you don’t agree, I swear to you on my Grace I will murder the king.”

…why is that a threat?  I mean, since you’ve mentioned it, wouldn’t that solve a lot of problems?  No one seems to like the guy.

Well, whatever, threatening to kill the despotic ruler that they’re actively working against anyway somehow convinces the other two to pretend like it was all Katsa’s idea and they had no part in the defiance.

She knew her nature. She would recognize it if she came face-to-face with it. It would be a blue-eyed, green-eyed monster, wolflike and snarling. A vicious beast that struck out at friends in uncontrollable anger,

I’m getting really sick of reading about Katsa’s non-existent anger issues.  Having her carry on in her head about how awful she is doesn’t really make for a compelling story, since there is literally nothing there for her to struggle against.  All she has to do is go “oh, duh” and boom, problems solved.

I guess that’s not entirely fair.  Self-esteem issues are real, and they are not easy to overcome, that is true.  It’s not like this sort of a plot couldn’t work.  But it would require more awareness than this book has yet shown.  It would require that the world actually go along with the plot, and it would require showing that fact.  Instead we’re told that it happens…off-page, in the past, sorta, maybe, kinda.  It would require also that Katsa actually struggle, rather than just tell us flatly “I feel rage.”  We don’t get any of that.  We get whining, followed by easy banter.  We get claims of mistreatment, followed by perfectly civil dinner conversations.

Katsa goes to shoot arrows, because she’s afraid of her killing magic, but shooting things makes her feel better.  …whatever, Giddon shows up.

“You’re shooting arrows at a target in the dark,” Giddon said.

She lowered her bow. She supposed this was one of his criticisms. “Yes,” she said, for she could think of no other response.

“Are you as good a shot in the dark as you are in the light?”

“Yes,” she said

~*~*~Magic~*~*~ means never having to say you’re sorry for knowing nothing about archery.

Giddon says he doesn’t want her to protect him, he wants to protect her.  Then he proposes.

“Our marriage wouldn’t protect me,” she said. “Randa wouldn’t pardon me simply because I married.”

“But he would be more lenient,” Giddon said. “Our engagement would offer him an alternative. It would be dangerous for him to try to punish you, and he knows that. If we say we’re to be married, then he can send us away from court; he can send us here, and he’ll be out of your reach, and you out of his. And there will be some pretense of good feeling between you.”

Hm, I’m not sure why being married opens up the banishment option when being single doesn’t, but at least Giddon has an actual plan, and his idea of protection isn’t restricted to “let me punch people for you.”  Sketchy on the details, but I approve of this attitude.

And she would be married, and to Giddon. She would be his wife, the lady of his house. She’d be charged with entertaining his wretched guests. Expected to hire and dismiss his servants, based on their skill with a pastry, or some such nonsense. Expected to bear him children, and stay at home to love them.

1) I’m pretty sure he can’t force you to do things anymore than the king can, and being that he spends a bunch of time with you, he would already know that, too.

2) How is firing and hiring servants based on skill nonsense?  Do you think we should hire them based on being pretty?

A man who thought himself her protector – her protector when she could outduel him if she used a toothpick to his sword.

Except protection is not always based on strength.  In fact, you just had an entire thought process on how Giddon could hurt you in ways not involving punching, so why would the fact that you can punch better mean Giddon can’t protect you? 

Look, she doesn’t have to like the guy or marry him, but her reasons are pretty petty and sullen.  Why can’t she just be “I don’t want to marry Giddon because he annoys me and I don’t wanna”?

She breathed it away, breathed away the fury.

…the fury that was expressed through…bad arguments?

“Giddon. You need a wife who will give you children. I’ve never wished children. You must marry a woman who wishes babies.”

“You’re not an unnatural woman, Katsa. You can fight as other women can’t, but you’re not so different from other women. You’ll want babies. I’m certain of it.”

On the one hand, he’s an ass for not listening to her wishes.

On the other hand, her argument against children has been entirely based on the fear that she’s unwomanly and would accidently squish them or something, so assuming she could change her mind is not unreasonable.  Plus, his argument is based around the idea that fighting doesn’t make her an unnatural abomination, and I always approve of that idea.

Giddon does sink from there into truly assish behavior by getting pissy and telling her she’ll never get a better offer.  He accuses her of being opportunistic and holding out for Po because he’s a prince.  Then he uses a phrase to describe Po which is exactly as Po used to describe Giddon’s feelings for him.

This makes Katsa suddenly realize that Po is a mindreader.