The Princess and the Hound by Harrison, Mette Ivie -- Read -- Imperial Library of Trantor

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PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE P RINCE GEORGE COULD not remember seeing his father without the crown on his head, except perhaps in bed, and even then the imprint on his temples was clear enough. But the crown could have been melted down or stolen away, and it would not have mattered. George could see kingship in every movement his father made. When King Davit spoke to Cook Elin, he always complimented her on how well suited her cheese was to her tart, how her salad reflected the colors of the autumn mountains in the distance. George had no idea if his father liked the flavor of the salad or the tart. He did not know if his father knew either. He knew only that the king had a duty to offer approval to his subjects who strove to please him. And the king always did his duty. When speaking to the scarred and muscular lord general of the mounted army, King Davit nodded and talked wisely of the best way to deal with the effects of the war. George had no sense of what the war had been like for his father, whet CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO O NE NIGHT, WHEN his mother came to tuck him into bed, as she often did, George demanded a story. She often told him stories about the kingdom of Kendel, such as the tale of King Richon and the wild man. Or stories from even farther back in time, about the founding of Kendel, how it had been torn from Sarrey by the great hero Alan, King Richon’s great-great-great-grandfather. Other fiefdoms or principalities had come and gone with good or bad leaders. But Sarrey had remained because of the ruthlessness of Sarrey’s kings. And Kendel had its kind ones. For this night the queen told about George’s father’s father, King Taran, who had been known as such a great warrior that no one had dared challenge him. Even when he was seventy years old and near blind, he had struck a man through the heart when on judgment day the man’s case had gone against him. “Was my father there?” asked George, remembering how his father had told him that when he was older, he would come to judgment day CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE G EORGE WAS SEVEN years old when his mother died. He was not told when she was found missing from the castle. He was too young to know that the searchers had gone south to the great forest on command of the king, who feared she had been stolen by King Helm of Sarrey in some plot of vengeance following the war. All day he kept busy playing with his “friends,” tiny creatures he had made, to whom he spoke in their own languages, quietly and privately so that no one could hear. And yet he must have a chance to practice, or the animals would laugh at him when he went back to the woods with his mother. When would he go back? He didn’t know. His mother had been spending more time with the new woman in her court, Lady Fittle, whom George had disliked on first meeting. The other women who were part of his mother’s court had always given her distance and time to spend on her own. But Lady Fittle was everywhere, at the queen’s side at every dinner, bringing breakfast to her bedchamb CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR A T THE LIGHTING ceremony, George felt a great resentment that he had to share this most private moment with all of the kingdom. That he had to hold his head steady and keep his eyes dry and speak clearly when it was his chance to offer the leaf of his mother’s favorite tree. In the end George chose the maple leaf simply because the true gift for his mother’s pyre that he had tucked into his sleeve, unbeknownst to anyone, was the maple wood robin from his own collection. He liked to think that his mother was flying above the ruined body that was atop the wood, that would soon be lit and burned to ashes. It was easier too if he looked up as much as he could, and not down, at what was left of the hands, the hair, the gentleness, and all of her that he had known. King Davit came and held his hand as he put the leaf up on the pyre. Then the king himself lit the fire with a word of benediction, standing back afterward and watching it burn down. For hours and hours he stood. And CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE Y ET HE COULD NOT escape so easily. Dreams of the bear haunted George for many years after their strange and terrifying encounter in the woods. He would become the bear, hunting for honey or berries or watching for a lame animal or an old, slow one to take down. The bear seemed as sickened as George was by the mess that it made of eating, and it never ate much. George could feel the pangs in its stomach. Large as it was, the creature grew thinner day by day. And in the winter, when most bears were asleep, this one moved restlessly through the snow, still searching for a rabbit or a squirrel. George could not doubt that the dreams were real, for they were too vivid. Yet this shared dreaming had never happened with any of the other animals George had met. It was surely part of the animal magic, and George dared not speak of it to anyone. Though Lady Fittle had been turned out of his father’s court after his mother’s death, George had to remain careful. George was often afrai CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX T ALL, STERN SIR Stephen became George’s tutor when he was eight years old. He had the king to advise, as was his official position, but when other tutors complained the prince was too stupid to learn properly, the king appointed Sir Stephen to take over the task. It was not that George did not wish to learn or even that he could not. It was only Sir Stephen who seemed to realize that George was best prodded by reminders of his mother. Sir Stephen was the one who would say, “Would your mother be happy if she saw you today?” and so George reluctantly kept at his lessons, for her memory’s sake. Sir Stephen might have given the hint to another tutor. Some claimed that he was looking to his future, that he wanted to assure he had the next king’s ear. But George felt real sympathy from Sir Stephen, as if he understood what it was to be a boy of whom too much was expected. Also, only Sir Stephen had known his mother well enough that now and again he could surprise George with a n CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN G EORGE WAS SMALL for twelve years of age and very conscious of how much he still had to grow before he was his father’s height. But on his twelfth birthday, after the tedious and formal celebration, George was called to the king’s chamber. “How are your lessons with Sir Stephen?” the king asked. George wondered if his father intended to take Sir Stephen away and replace him. Would George like that? He thought not. Though Sir Stephen was stiff and old, at least he was familiar. There were also advantages to a tutor who asked no more than he gave. “Good, Father,” said George. The king nodded, tapping his fingers on his legs. Then he turned to look out the window. After a moment he spoke again. “We do not spend much time together, do we?” he asked. “You have your duties,” said George. He did not want his father to feel that he would like to spend more time with him. The time he spent with his father already was so nerve-racking that George chewed his fingernails to the quic CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT A T SEVENTEEN YEARS old, Prince George was still not as tall as his father. In fact he looked more like his dark-eyed, delicate-featured mother than his father in almost every way, yet he was known to lack the love of animals that had defined her. He rode a horse passably well, but not with his mother’s passion. He was known to refuse point-blank the gift of any pet, from the grand offer of a green-collared rolluff brought all the way from the southern province of Jolla to the black tom kitten handed him by a grubby peasant girl at the Autumn Moon Festival. Those who served the prince had never a bad word for him. They spoke easily of his kindness and generosity. Yet if asked, not one of them would have been able to say what color tunic the prince preferred of all those in his wardrobe or what his favorite feast food was. Since the king had become ill a few months earlier, George had begun to do much to keep the kingdom running smoothly. He worked well with Sir Stephen, w CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE “Y OUR HIGHNESS, HAVE you found a betrothal gift for Princess Beatrice yet?” Sir Stephen, his face as long and thin as always, caught George on the way downstairs. Once years ago George had asked his father why Sir Stephen never laughed. The king had gone very still, then said simply, “If he is sober, he has good reason for it, George.” And no more than that. “No,” George said. The truth was, he had no idea what to choose. “There is a merchant in town who has a wide variety of pretty things. I have arranged for her to come to the meeting chamber if you’d like to see a sampling.” “Thank you, Sir Stephen,” said George, with relief. This was why Sir Stephen had been one of his father’s most valued advisers for so many years. How had the king ever managed to do without him for all those years he served as George’s tutor? Or had Sir Stephen simply done double duty? When they got to the meeting chamber, however, the merchant had not yet arrived. As they waited, Sir Stephen asked CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN T WO DAYS LATER George was ready to leave for Sarrey. In uniforms of crisp silver and blue the eight Sarrey guards who were to escort him had arrived on perfectly matched gray horses. They were to ride ahead of the carriage, leading the way. George’s smaller group of four Kendel guards, in black and green, was stationed behind. The lord general had just walked away, after a long lecture to the guards on the care of the horses. To George, the lord general had said nothing, though he had acknowledged him with a small nod of the head, the very least he could have done to the prince of the kingdom. The four guards themselves were much less austere. One of them, with sandy hair and blue eyes, came forward as George stepped into the carriage. His young face looked uneasy. “Your Highness? I do not trust these guards. What if they mean you harm? They outnumber us two to one.” The man was overly cautious, but George appreciated it. Though the war with Sarrey had officially been over CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN A BAD HEADACHE BEGAN to tug at George that evening in the carriage. He thought it might be the aftereffect of the stressful situation or the lack of fresh air and the closeness of the carriage. To combat the discomfort, George ordered the windows open and the curtains closed. He put his hands to his ears to keep all noise out, and he laid out a very large pillow to cushion the jolting stops in the road. But the headache was relentless, and it was not long before George admitted to himself that this was no ordinary headache, to be cured with tea and sleep. This was a magical headache, one that would lead to a raging fever if it was not treated soon. George had been willfully neglecting his magic and had known he was pressing his time limit. He kept thinking that he would have time to go into the woods to relieve it or at least spend some time in the stables. But he had been so busy. There had been so much to do, and his father’s poor health always worrying at him added to CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE G EORGE NURSED HIS headache the rest of the day, but it did not go away. It tugged at George as if in waves. Always before it had grown worse and worse, until he could not bear it any longer. But now it was conquerable, and George took some pride in his own strength that he could do that. Perhaps as he grew older, the magic could be tamed. George hoped for that, though to do it, he had to push his mother’s death out of his mind. He spent the afternoon listening to the wealthy merchants at court complain about the taxes imposed on goods traded from Sarrey to Kendel’s merchants. Sir Stephen would be better at this, he knew. In the end George agreed to take down some names and accept further communication on the subject. It seemed no more was required. Later, he had a moment to himself in his chamber, opening the window to breathe fresh air and wincing as he did so because the headache had come back full force. George had not seen a glimpse of King Helm himself, nor had he CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN F INALLY, IT WAS TIME for George to offer his gifts to King Helm and to Princess Beatrice. George had the gifts brought in, then went to each box and presented them in the order that he and Sir Stephen had agreed upon. King Helm accepted the delicately fashioned gold star and the precious gems. He sent the bottles of wine immediately to the castle kitchen, to be stored in the basement with his already outstanding collection. It was only the knife that he seemed to appreciate personally. He took it out of its sheath and admired the shine in the dimming light of the hall, then brought the blade down against one hand and sliced through the upper layer of skin so expertly that no drop of blood was drawn. “A fine blade, that is,” he said, looking at George with approval. Then the knife was put away, and it was time for Beatrice’s gifts. George bowed before Beatrice as King Helm drummed his hands on the armrests of his throne in impatience. The beads came out, and Beatrice a CHAPTER THIRTEEN CHAPTER FOURTEEN S OMEHOW GEORGE STILL managed to be late to the hunt. He stopped to grab a half loaf of bread and some apples in the kitchen and was slowed by the sight of a tomcat chasing a mouse. He wanted desperately to do something to help. He heard the mouse’s calls for help and saw the mouse’s eyes turn on him just before the end. “My children,” she said with her dying breath. George could not help trying to track them down. He searched in every corner he could find, whispering in mouse language for “children, hungry children.” He found two nests that seemed to be full of babies and empty of a mother. He gave them a portion of the bread he had and hoped he’d done enough. Then, with only a couple of bites of bread in his stomach, he went out to where he thought the stables were, to find he’d gone in entirely the wrong direction and had to run back through the castle at a very undignified pace. By the time he arrived at the proper place, his pounding headache had made his eyes twi CHAPTER FOURTEEN CHAPTER FIFTEEN “W E NEED TO get back to the hunt,” George said. The encounter with the rabbit had dissipated the pain in his head—for now. It should last long enough to take him back to Kendel. Henry nodded. “They will hardly notice you have been gone, I suspect. Too excited about the sight of the bear.” George’s ears rang. “Bear?” he echoed, his body suddenly taut. “Yes,” said Henry. “A great black bear that has only recently appeared here in Sarrey, they say. Old, and alone, it is said to be angry and completely unafraid of humans.” George shivered. “We must get back to the hunt immediately,” he said abruptly. “Where is your horse?” “I brought back both of them, yours and mine,” said Henry. He nodded toward the way he had come. “I thought it would be better to tie them at the last place I’d seen you, in case I went in the wrong direction and you came back there.” George nodded. “We must reach them before they kill the bear,” he said firmly. “If you insist, Your Highness,” said a bew CHAPTER FIFTEEN CHAPTER SIXTEEN T HAT NIGHT GEORGE dreamed again. He was being dressed and primped before a mirror, in a confection of lace and ribbons. His red hair smelled burned from the attempt at curls, but they did not stay in well, and the maid was cursing the ineffectiveness of her efforts. “Your father wants to see a beautiful princess,” she said. “Why can’t you be beautiful?” It was only then that George realized the face staring back at him from the mirror was the face of a young girl, perhaps eight years of age. She was tall and awkward, and her eyes were filled with tears. “No, no. Stop that. Can’t have you crying. You’ll ruin everything.” The maid handed George—no, the girl—no, Princess Beatrice—a handkerchief. “Wipe your face. And be calm. We might have time to do something yet.” The maid stared at the hair for a moment and snapped her fingers. She moved away, then came back with something in her hands. Then she was pulling and yanking at the hair until tears of physical pain sprang out CHAPTER SIXTEEN CHAPTER SEVENTEEN I T WAS FAR TOO early for the formal breakfast to be served in the morning chamber, but George’s stomach rumbled even after the early breakfast, and he went in search of the kitchen and food. On the way he bumped into Princess Beatrice turning a blind corner. They both were off balance, but Marit moved to Beatrice’s side, and she managed to avoid falling. George had no such luck. “I am very sorry,” he said when he had righted himself again. Beatrice pointed to a dusty streak down his side from where he had brushed against the floor, but George shrugged and ignored it. He was more interested in her. She, however, was not similarly inclined. “If you don’t mind, I shall be on my way,” said Beatrice brusquely. “Wait!” George called after her. He felt a sudden desperation to keep her by him. It was not at all what he had thought he would feel for the princess. He had told himself he felt sorry for her, that she intrigued him. But it was more than that. “Wait!” he called ag CHAPTER SEVENTEEN CHAPTER EIGHTEEN T HE NEXT AFTERNOON George was informed he was to meet with King Helm outside on the training grounds. George expected that King Helm would be showing off his best soldiers to warn George about the possibility of war beginning again at any moment. But on the training ground, George remembered what Beatrice had said about her father’s being too old for war. King Helm’s grizzled beard was unkempt, and he wore a pair of leggings with holes at both knees and a short jacket over a top that showed the gray hair on his sagging chest. It startled George to think that King Helm looked as old as his own father. But why should he not? The two kings had come to their crowns at nearly the same time, and had ruled for more than thirty years since then, including the ten-year war and the twenty years of unsettled peace. Yet it seemed King Helm had to keep at something like war to be happy. Beside him was a row of weapons of various kinds, laid out carefully. They shone with oil, desp CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHAPTER NINETEEN T HAT NIGHT AT DINNER George noticed, for Cook Elin’s sake, that Beatrice ate her meat bloody rare, as her father did. George himself picked at the meat indifferently, trying only to eat enough to give no offense. But Beatrice ate her meat with the same relish her father showed for his. And she offered a second portion of it to Marit, who was held on her mistress’s lap and allowed to lick from the plate. George saw more than one face around the table turn away from this sight, trying not to show disgust. Beatrice showed no sign of even noting the reaction. Finally, at the end of the meal, one of Beatrice’s women stood up and raised her glass. “I should like to make a toast,” she said. The servants scurried to make sure all glasses were full. George noticed that Beatrice’s glass looked as if it had not been touched all night long. “To the prince and princess,” said the woman with a sudden giggle and a fluttering smile. Was she drunk? “May they make…beautiful hounds.” Sh CHAPTER NINETEEN CHAPTER TWENTY T HAT NIGHT GEORGE had no dreams of the hound or of Princess Beatrice, which bothered him more than he could explain. He woke feeling leaden and empty, as bad as when he had a headache from the animal magic, but not like that at all. He dressed quickly and went immediately in search of Beatrice. He needed to talk to her. And not merely because of that stupid woman Lady Dulen. Knowing enough about Beatrice to guess that outside the castle was the best bet, after some wandering, George to his surprise found Marit alone by the training grounds. He was surprised to see the hound without the mistress, for he had thought them inseparable. He approached the hound slowly, but so far as he could tell, she had no fear of him. On the other hand, she did not seem to recognize him as familiar or expect that she should go to him to receive a treat either. She simply stood and watched as he came closer. At last he was on his knees and lifting his hand to the hound’s nose. She sniffed, CHAPTER TWENTY CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE T HE LAST NIGHT that George was to be in Sarrey, King Helm invited a troupe of musicians in for dancing. Of course Beatrice and George were expected to lead. George looked toward Beatrice and saw little interest in dancing before an audience, but duty called them both. He bowed to Beatrice. She looked to Marit, and George wondered for a moment if he would have two partners. But no, Beatrice came alone. She offered her hand, and George took it. As they stepped onto the open floor, the music began. He bowed and motioned to the small open space available. It was a languorous cat dance, which allowed the two of them to slide close enough to touch gently but never for long. George thought it strange that the hatred of animal magic remained so strong when so many dances were based on the movements of animals. Not all of them wild animals, but still… The second one was a faster dance of a hunt. First one of them, then the other was the prey and skittered away with the music CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO O N THE JOURNEY HOME to Kendel, George found himself thinking more and more about Dr. Gharn. He had never thought twice about the new castle physician before, but now…He wished more than once that he could bring Henry into his carriage with him to ask what he had discovered about Dr. Rhuul from those he had spoken to in King Helm’s castle. Anything at all? Near the end of the day, the carriage arrived home at last, and George alighted within sight of Henry. But just as he thought he would have a chance to ask the guard for a private conference, Sir Stephen stepped forward with a grave expression. “What is it?” George asked breathlessly. He looked about. Was it his father? “I wanted to ask how it had gone, that is all,” said Sir Stephen. “Did you find Princess Beatrice as you expected?” George spoke absently. “She was not as I expected.” Sir Stephen blinked rapidly, usually a sign that he was about to start on a long lecture. George wished he could see Henry. Where ha CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE A FTER ALL THE TIME he had waited to speak to Henry about Dr. Rhuul, George was a little disappointed at what he heard. “They said that he was a man of few words,” said Henry with a shrug. “And?” George prodded. “And he was not well liked by the servants. They said he looked down upon them, that he would not speak to them plainly or even allow them near him in the same chamber.” “And the others? The nobles?” asked George. Henry sighed. “I did not have a way to ask them directly, Your Highness.” “Of course.” George waved away this objection. “But did you have any impression from what the servants said?” Henry shook his head. “Did anyone give you a description of him? His hair color? His eyes? His height?” “They said he was an ugly man,” said Henry at last. “But I could not tell if it was from the way he acted or the way he looked. I’m very sorry, Your Highness.” George did not know what he wanted. He dismissed Henry with a hand and told himself there was far too muc CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR F OR MANY WEEKS King Davit seemed better, and preparations for the wedding were so fierce that George let go of his suspicions about Dr. Gharn. But then George heard that Dr. Gharn had spent some hours tending to a family of peasants that had come to him from the north, begging for his particular assistance. He had gone to them, given them a few packets of herbs, and sent them on their way. But why? It seemed thoroughly out of character for the unpleasant man George had seen. George decided in a rush of impatience that he would go to Dr. Gharn that very day. When he had a few moments between appointments, and the merchant he was to meet with was late, George disappeared. “But your duty,” said Sir Stephen. “My duty does not include encouraging my own people to treat me badly,” said George sharply. He slammed the door behind him on his way out. So he went to the main hall and asked a few of the servants where Dr. Gharn was likely to be at this time of day. The physici CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE G EORGE FLED TO THE woods and to a family of possums, which chattered on about the way the sun moved overhead or underhead. It was precisely the kind of contact he needed. Soothing, and without expectations. Later, shaking with cold from his own sweat, George made it back to the castle in the cool of the summer evening without being seen by the guard, sneaking in around the stables the way his mother had taught him so long ago. Only the lord general raised his head slightly. George went back to his chamber to change out of his filthy clothing, intending to find a bite of food and then Sir Stephen, to offer an apology. Surely he had a long list of tasks that must still be done, as the princess was to arrive late the next day. But before George could get out the door of his own bedchamber, he received an urgent summons to go to his father. He went immediately, taking two steps at a time, one boot still unlaced. Four-fingered Jack stared down at the boot, but George re CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX T HROUGH THE NIGHT George kept vigil as the king slipped into a deeper sleep. He could no longer be roused by George’s pricking a needle into his hand. And yet he breathed. Sir Stephen had come in shortly after having been sent for, but he had said very little except to ask after King Davit’s condition. Then he found himself a place to stand that was out of George’s sight and remained there without a sound. Once George turned and asked him, “Wouldn’t you rather sit and have some rest?” “No,” said Sir Stephen. “I would not. While my king rests, I must be awake and alert.” His voice was so prickly as to preclude any further comment on George’s part. So George let the man be, thinking that Sir Stephen, and Jack outside the door, and he himself were all the same in this. And why should he think that he was the only one who loved his father enough to watch every breath? In some ways, it seemed unfair. If George’s father were any ordinary man, then it would be his son alon CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN P RINCESS BEATRICE ARRIVED with her entourage that evening. The royal trumpeters announced her arrival, and George stood in front of a veritable forest of nobles who had arrived purely to see the mysterious woman their prince was to marry. They did not appear impressed by the small group that surrounded her. George counted four guards, the same number he had taken to Sarrey. She had no maid, no ladies-in-waiting, and no courtiers of her father’s. She came alone, as George had gone to Sarrey, with the exception of her hound. George smiled at the thought. Her hound was all the company Beatrice wanted, he was sure. The hound was also far better protection than any courtiers or ladies-in-waiting might provide. After the trumpeting had ceased, George stepped forward and took her hand to help her out of the carriage. She allowed it but only for a moment. Then Marit leaped out, sniffed the air, and stared at the castle that would soon be her—and her mistress’s—home. She d CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT A FTER AN EXHAUSTING day of secret preparations to leave, George sat in his bedchamber listening to the music for the ball being practiced. The musicians played the same eight songs over and over again, and he had become heartily sick of them by the time he dressed himself and combed his hair—five times. Finally, on his way downstairs, he caught sight of Marit and Beatrice, wandering along the wrong hallway. He hurried after them, only to be told curtly by Beatrice that she and her hound must do “something alone.” It was but minutes before the two of them were to walk into the ball arm in arm. George was frustrated, but more angry at the way Beatrice spoke to him than about the ball’s beginning late. What did he care about keeping the nobles waiting? It would just more thoroughly whet their appetites for the first sight of Princess Beatrice. So he stood outside the door to the ballroom, back straight, head high, shoulders flat as any soldier’s. Even the lord genera CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE I N THE MORNING George stood with the other guards, as well as the lord general, who had insisted on accompanying the prince on this “ridiculous advanture, if for no other reason than to prevent you from killing my best soldiers.” No mention of the lord general caring if George killed himself. “Why are we not leaving, then? It is dawn, but perhaps you have not had sufficient breakfast?” the lord general asked. “We are waiting for Princess Beatrice,” George explained. “Why?” the man asked, his twice-broken nose twitching in irritation. “Have you fallen so much in love with her that you can’t stand to go for a ride without holding her hand?” “She is necessary,” George replied. As prince he should not have to say more. “A woman is never necessary,” said the lord general. “And the man who thinks she is will soon find out the truth of that for himself.” Another insult to Beatrice. This time George stared the lord general down. But the lord general had his revenge when he CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE CHAPTER THIRTY T HAT NIGHT GEORGE dreamed of Marit, instead of Beatrice as he had before. He watched as the hound ran through the forest, chasing down a fat partridge. He tasted the hot blood in his mouth and the warmth in his belly. He danced in the cold stream and back out again. Afterward George saw the castle in Sarrey, now through Marit’s eyes, as she ascended the steps in front and sniffed along the corridors. He felt her sense of confinement in this place. She was restless to be out again as soon as she entered it. Yet she made no sound of complaint. It was more restraint than George had ever seen in a wild creature before. Then Princess Beatrice came into focus in the castle. The hand on the back, the warmth shared. And so she stayed. Duty and love tied her. George understood both very well. He woke feeling as tired as he had when he went to sleep. It was still dark, but he could not sleep again. The restlessness of the hound in the dream was part of him now. He quietly dressed CHAPTER THIRTY CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE G EORGE BROUGHT BEATRICE’S breakfast to her tent, then sat with her while she ate it in the cold morning air. She fed Marit bits directly from her hands. “Do you know why Dr. Gharn—Dr. Rhuul to you—would want to take such revenge on your father? Or on mine?” “It has something to do with the dove in the cage, I think,” Beatrice said after a moment. How had she gotten that idea? George told her about Sir Stephen and the physician’s daughter and how the war had killed her. But Beatrice shook her head: “It has to do with the dove.” Her certainty almost made George doubt himself. But it made no sense. “He spoke to it constantly,” said Beatrice, for evidence. “He asked it questions and then waited to hear an answer.” George had not seen this himself, but he did not doubt that Beatrice had. Still, what did that prove? “Perhaps his revenge and his isolation have made him mad.” But as soon as George said it, he remembered that he had been certain that Dr. Gharn was not at all CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO M ARIT MADE HER WAY to Beatrice’s tent. She poked her head in, then lay down halfway across the threshold, as if she could make it no farther. George heard a yelp of anguish from Beatrice, then saw her form at the flap of her tent as she struggled to pull her hound inside. He went to her assistance immediately, but she would have none of it. George suspected she blamed him for what had happened to Marit, for not protecting her while they were together. Why hadn’t he? He had felt that Marit’s business with the hounds was her own, not his. Even if he had tried to intervene, he could not have changed the outcome in the least. Oh, perhaps he might have kept her from being injured physically, but he did not believe that was where the true injury lay. “She was attacked by other hounds,” George said, standing just inside the tent. “I can see that. Do you think I am an idiot?” asked Beatrice tartly. “No,” said George. He was taken aback, but he would not be so easily chased CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE T HE NEXT MORNING Marit and Beatrice came out of their tent later than usual, Beatrice standing taller and straighter than ever and Marit hardly noticing the small bandage on her back as she strode toward the breakfast fire. No one asked what had happened the night before. George walked around as though he had a stone in his throat, blocking the passage to his lungs. He struggled for every breath and felt his heart pounding in his head, as if it had swollen to ten times its normal size. He worked hard to focus on his food, on the daily tasks of the morning routine: feeding Ass, rolling up his blanket, and then coming back to where the lord general stood, to discuss the day’s journey. “So, now we are just out of Kendel and into Thurat. Do we go farther, Prince?” asked the lord general. “Or do we stop here and wait for the physician to come to us?” George turned to Beatrice. “To the next village,” she said coldly, her eyes looking beyond George. The lord general bowe CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR G EORGE TOOK THE less fractious horse the lord general offered him. He had done something, it seemed, to raise his position in the lord general’s eyes. But not in his own. They rode hard for home, though they had to stop another night by the great forest when it grew dark. George thought of how tightly bound Marit and Beatrice were now. And he with them. How could he love the one and not the other? How could he love either? It was too much. Dr. Gharn. Sir Stephen. Elsbeth. Would he tell Sir Stephen that his beloved had not truly died, that she was a dove? What possible use could that be? Kinder to let him believe she was dead, that Dr. Gharn’s fantasies about the bird were no more than that. But would he believe? Or would he always be haunted by guilt about what he might have done? The truth was not always a gift. In the evenings on that long journey home, George made a point to visit Beatrice, if only for a few minutes at a time. He spoke to her briefly of the day. CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE G EORGE CHECKED ON his father briefly and spoke to Sir Stephen. Then he bathed and changed. It was evening when, holding the dove’s cage, he forced himself down to the dungeon. It was built directly beneath the castle, but the only way to get there was to go out and around the moat, then descend by a hidden staircase near the stables. It was cold, and the stone walls sweated black drops. The stairs were uneven and treacherous, and George nearly tripped more than once. The sounds of the place were eerily inhuman. It was only after George had descended all the way, ducked his head through the first arch, and begun down the long corridor that led to the row of closed stone doors that he could hear voices. They came from inside the first chamber, where George was surprised to find not only the lord general, but Sir Stephen inside as well. George looked through the bars to see the two arguing, while Dr. Gharn kept silent, a strange grimace on his face. He looked now much CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX G EORGE SLEPT THAT night in fits and starts, dreaming of Marit and Beatrice and of the bear. They were not the true shared dreams he had before, just repetitions of what he had already seen. When morning came, his eyes were red, his ears rang, and his body ached with the slightest movement. He felt old already and too worn out for more. But there was no way out of it. He had to see his father, and soon. He was king yet, and a report must be made in person. George thought of stopping to see Beatrice first but told himself he had no time. The truth was perhaps more cowardly than he cared to admit. Climbing the stairs to his father’s chamber, he realized the enormity of his having come here. This was not just coming to see the king. This was coming to see his father, knowing everything had changed between them. He did not know what to do or what to say. He felt as though he were meeting a stranger for the first time. As if he himself were walking up to the judgment seat CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN G EORGE STAYED WITH his father the rest of the day and into the night. The next morning Dr. Gharn came in to relieve him. Sir Stephen had gone back to let him go freely from the dungeon, and the lord general had not stopped him. No one else in the castle had been informed about what Dr. Gharn had done to the king. It was a good thing, perhaps, for George did not doubt that if four-fingered Jack had known the truth, Dr. Gharn would not have escaped from his sight with less than several broken limbs. And there were others who would have taken the rest, if given the chance. George himself did not leave as Dr. Gharn examined the drowsy, weary king. He did not trust Dr. Gharn that far after all. “How is he?” George demanded as the physician stepped back from the bed. Dr. Gharn put a finger to his lips and motioned to George. He closed the curtain to give the king some quiet, then answered: “Not well, but not as bad as I feared.” “No?” George felt a desperate hope rise i CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT “W E GO TO meet the bear,” he said at last. “The bear?” whispered Beatrice behind him. “Yes. The one who saved your life once. And whose life you saved when your father was hunting him. You are linked already. It is time now for you to be linked even more.” “But how?” asked Beatrice. “I do not know,” said George. He only knew that it would happen—or he knew nothing of his magic at all. Beatrice did not ask more, for they were under the trees, and then the bear leaped toward them, roaring incoherently, claws showing, the signs of unhealed wounds on his shoulder and face. He oozed blood and pain. Yet he had been called here by a voice he could not resist. Now it was the time to tell him why. George was still thinking what to say and how to convey it when the raking claw hit his side. He was stunned. The bear had had chances to attack him before, but never had. Why now? “Stop!” George exclaimed, not using either human or bear language, but the pure, clear language of CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE I T WAS TRUE. George had not thought it through carefully enough when he began this magical transformation. Had he expected Beatrice to remain a woman? Of course not. She was a hound. But if she loved a bear who became a man once more, where could they go? No, the magic was right to leave them like this. They must remain in the words now. Apart from Marit. Yet how wrenching that loss must be to her. “We could come visit,” said George. Even as he said it, he could hear how human the word was and how it belittled what had been between Marit and Beatrice, a love that he could not supplant or step between. “Visit,” echoed Marit blankly. George had thought it would be a triumphant moment when he succeeded in finding a way to make Marit human again and to transform Beatrice as well. Now it seemed cruel. “What day is it?” Marit asked suddenly. George had to think to answer. “The thirtieth day of summer,” he said. “It has been a year, then. It was the twenty-ninth day of su CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE CHAPTER FORTY I T WAS PAST MIDNIGHT, and the moon was shining bright as Marit and George approached the palace. “Can you see her still?” Marit asked. “With your magic?” George closed his eyes. Yes, there she was. In the woods with the bear. They had not yet retreated to a cave but were washing in the stream. “Is she well?” George smiled as he saw the bear push Beatrice into the stream. She righted herself, then leaped out, circled the bear, and this time he fell in. “She is happy,” said George. Marit winced a moment, as if Beatrice’s happiness hurt her. Then she sighed and nodded. Did she expect that Beatrice would not go on with her life? Did she expect her own life to be at an end now? “She is a hound at heart,” said Marit. “She does not let wounds fester. When they are healed, they are done and gone.” “Yes,” said George. That did seem to be part of the Beatrice he had known. It had been something he had admired about her and would miss. But it belonged more in the woods than in the CHAPTER FORTY CHAPTER FORTY-ONE “I —I went into the woods. I was there because I needed…to speak with the animals.” George nodded. “And?” Henry bowed his head. “I heard a rumbling sound from far away. And then the sound of an animal in distress. I knew it was a horse. I could not ignore it, so I followed the sound north, where the woods narrowed and there was a bridge spanning a great chasm with a stream at the bottom. “I could see that the bridge had broken and that a horse had fallen into the ravine below. A horse and also a child. That boy.” Henry pointed to the child who had accused him of animal magic, and though there was no malice in his manner, the boy turned away and cried out in fear as though the look alone could kill him. Henry went on. “I had to climb down toward the ravine slowly, step by step, because of the fall of rocks, which had also caused the bridge to break and had carried away the child and the horse with it. If I had caused more sliding of the rocks, it could have been the en CHAPTER FORTY-ONE CHAPTER FORTY-TWO O NCE THE BOY AND his father had gone, there was no more bone to the rest of them. They wavered this way and that, but in less than an hour the ground was clear. George put a hand on Henry’s shoulder and led him back inside, then told him to return to the guardroom. Henry’s ordeal was over, but George still had to face his guards and all of those who thought they had known him but discovered they had not. How many of them would still be willing to serve him at the end of the day? Would he find the palace entirely deserted? Well, let them go. “I’ll take you to your chamber,” George said to Marit. “You will not,” she said stiffly. George was startled. “Where then?” he asked. She folded her fingers together, a gesture he had never seen Beatrice use, though he recalled it from the shared dreams with Marit. “I am to leave in two weeks’ time, but I have never spoken to your father,” she said. “He is ill,” he said. “I do not know if he will be up to talking.” “Then I shall s CHAPTER FORTY-TWO CHAPTER FORTY-THREE “Y our Highness?” said Sir Stephen when he saw that it was George. “How can I serve you?” “I want to make a proclamation,” said George, coming to the point quickly. “A proclamation?” Sir Stephen’s surprise gave away the fact that he, at least, had not heard what had happened outside the castle that morning. “But the king—” “The King will not object to this,” George said. He hoped he was right. His father had never done this himself, but it had always been out of concern for George. George did not want that protection anymore. Besides, his father knew that he was dying. Whether it was a month or a year from now, George would be king very soon. It was time for the people to see him in that role. “But it is not his proclamation?” Sir Stephen looked anxious. George wondered if it would come down to a power struggle between them after all. As a child he had sometimes seen Sir Stephen as the man who kept him from the things that he wanted. Sir Stephen was his father’s man CHAPTER FORTY-THREE CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR M ORE THAN A WEEK later, to George’s astonishment, he found King Davit out of his bed, sitting in the chair by the window. “Father?” asked George. The king turned. His face was gray. “Father, should you be sitting there?” George hurried to his side, ready to help him. “Dr. Gharn says that a little sitting up will not damage me, though it may fatigue me. You do not need to fuss over me like a mother hen.” George moved back. “I thought—that is, I was used to—” “Yes, I know. I have been neither king nor father, truly, for these last months. But I am not dead yet.” George flushed. “I did not mean—I know you are not—” “George, what did you come to say to me? Surely you are not here because you heard that I was sitting up out of bed.” “No,” George said. “I came to tell you that I intend to go out into Wilbey today and into the villages within riding distance of the castle. I want to let them see me, to know I am no coward, and to hear their complaints about the proclamatio CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE N EAR THE TOWN square of Wilbey they slowed, then stopped and dismounted. Hand on Marit’s shoulder, George moved her forward and looked out over the gathered people. In a loud voice, he said, “This is Princess Marit of Sarrey, my betrothed.” The murmurs began then, as the townspeople stared at her from one side or the other, trying to decide if this was the same woman they had learned to call Princess Beatrice or if this was her sister, perhaps, and very like her. George did not wait for a consensus. He went on. “I have come to settle any complaints to be made regarding the recent proclamation on animal magic. And to answer any questions.” A roar of voices answered him, and it was only when he pointed to a man holding a knife in his hand that the noise died down, though Henry and Trey gave each other nervous glances. The man waved the knife at George. George motioned for Henry and Trey to step back. After all, he had brought them more for show than for real assistanc CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE EPILOGUE

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