Sophia, Princess Among Beasts

by James Patterson

  CHAPTER 9

  As we approached the castle, the great gatehouse door rolled open to admit us, and the soldiers arming our trebuchets called out in greeting. The carriage driver touched the horses’ flanks with his whip, and we clattered through two more heavy iron gates before we came to a rough halt in the courtyard.

  As he helped me out of the carriage, Odo glanced pointedly at the smears of mud on my ruined dress.

  “I won’t let the King see me like this,” I said. “Please, just don’t tell him what I did.”

  Odo gave me the most minuscule of bows: he would keep the secret of how I walked among the beasts.

  “But you must tell him of the plague,” I said. “Tell him about the Bells. Tell him that they need us.”

  At this, Odo stiffened and looked away.

  “What?” I asked. “Will you not speak of it?”

  “The king has greater concerns,” Odo said. “Ares and his—”

  “Surely he cares that the villagers are dying! And we may grow sick, too, Odo! I doubt rank or stature matters to the Seep—do you? All our castle’s defenses may not keep it outside.”

  Odo’s face was grim. He inhaled slowly. “I will speak to him, Your Highness.” And then he stalked away.

  I hurried, unseen, to my bedchamber, where I bathed quickly and then dressed myself—when did that ever happen?—in an old, blue satin gown. I didn’t bother to brush my hair or pin a brooch to my breast. Instead, I hurried to where I knew Raphael would be, if he was even still alive.

  I had asked Jeanette to look in on the manservant from this morning—but I would tend to the brave, stupid village boy myself.

  Beneath the scullery, a set of steep, curving stairs wound down into darkness, and a thick oaken door marked the entrance to the dungeon. This was forbidden territory for a princess, a dank world of vermin, human and otherwise. And yet here I was, pounding to be let in. My candle flickered and guttered in the chill air.

  Eventually the door creaked open, and a grotesque, misshapen man peered out. This was Gattis, the keeper of the dungeon, who’d not seen the light of day for decades. His bloodshot eyes, straining out of waxy, cadaverous sockets, looked as though they were trying to crawl out of his skull.

  “What brings a pretty flower like you underground to the worms?” he rasped. A gnarled, creeping finger approached my cheek but stopped an inch away. His smile was ghastly.

  I did not flinch. “Let me in,” I said.

  He backed away, bowing mockingly. “Welcome to my kingdom.”

  I stepped past him into the dungeon and immediately clapped my hand over my mouth and nose. The village had smelled like death, but the dungeon smelled like shit and despair.

  “Where is the boy who was brought in this afternoon?” I demanded. My eyes had begun to water, and Gattis, noticing this, cackled drunkenly.

  “Below, your Majesty.” Then he pointed not to one of the dank, rat-infested cells, but to an iron grille covering a small opening in the floor.

  I crouched down and put my face to the bars. Raphael was barely visible in the stinking darkness. His face was bruised, and one eye was swollen shut. Was it blood or filth on his arms? I couldn’t tell. The cell was so small that he could hardly even lie down.

  “Raphael,” I called. “Can you hear me?”

  He moaned and tried to turn over. He seemed only half conscious.

  I stood up, my head spinning from the horror of it. “Release him,” I said.

  Gattis laughed as if I’d made a joke. “No, Princess, not even for you.”

  “I command it!”

  But he just blinked his bulging eyes at me. “His life is not yours to save.”

  “My father—”

  “When your father orders me directly, I’ll obey him,” Gattis said. “And until then, I’ll keep the little rotter comfortable here, for I am the king of rats and robbers, and the sovereign of mice and murderers.” He raised a hogskin of wine and took a long gulp from it. Then he threw it to the ground and wiped his cankered lips. “To your health, Your Highness,” he sang, and then belched loudly. “Remember, everyone gets what they deserve.”

  I should have known it would be impossible to reason with a torturer. Saying nothing more, I left Gattis in his stinking subterranean kingdom and went to find my father.

  He was pacing the Hall of the Flat Queens, and I could tell by the set of his shoulders that his mood was grim, and his thoughts preoccupied with the coming battle. Ares had never before concerned himself with our southern lands, but he had grown restless, pushing across the Dorel Mountains as summer waned, seeking conquest in realms close to ours. If the whispers were true, he had plundered the city of Cedd—but a week’s ride away—and slaughtered all its inhabitants—man, woman, and child. As his army pulled out, already fixated on its next battle, the last line of soldiers had set the city’s ruins on fire.

  But with my father, Ares would finally meet his match.

  “Father,” I said, touching his arm, “I must ask you for something.”

  He turned around. He saw my old dress and my loose hair, and his nose wrinkled ever so slightly. No doubt he could smell the rank dungeon on me. “Sophia,” he said, “why do—”

  “Father, please, I know you have much on your mind, but you must release that villager,” I interrupted. “The boy named Raphael.”

  He let out a bark of surprise. “I will not. The beast committed treason.”

  “He spoke in justified anger—”

  “I don’t care. He struck you, and that is unpardonable. He’ll rot underground like the corpse he should be.”

  “But I was the one hit, and I forgive him. He had a point, Father. We don’t understand what it’s like to be poor and hungry.”

  “Nor should we,” he said angrily. “We are not beasts.”

  “I want him set free.”

  My father’s eyes went cold, and when he spoke, his voice held the whisper of a threat. “Ask it for your next birthday,” he said. And then he turned his back to me.

  So he blamed me for my last wish—well, so did I. When our knights put away their swords, the word had spread that King Leonidus had become weak, his soldiers fat and lazy. His castle and lands were ripe for plunder.

  And now I knew what I did not understand then: that when my father gave me what I asked for, our fate was sealed. Ares’s impending attack was entirely my fault.

  The knowledge of my mistake nearly crushed me. But even if I could not prevent the impending battle, I could stop this one cruelty tonight. I could save this poor boy from Gattis’s hell.

  “Father, I beg—”

  “No more talk!” he shouted. “Your king commands it.”

  I honestly thought he might strike me. But I stood my ground. There was more that I had to say. “Did Odo tell you of the Seep?” I asked. “Did he tell you that we have more than Ares to fear? You must send medicine to the village, and food. The villagers are dying, Father. They need our help.”

  My father said nothing. His face was like stone. He pushed me away down the corridor. “Go,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

  For another second, I stood there, bereft, as my father waited for me to obey him the way I always had. It seemed, somehow, like we were already under siege.

  “Go!” he shouted again.

  And so, with the painted eyes of my mother gazing placidly down on us both, I did as he commanded.

  CHAPTER 10

  For the first time since I was old enough to leave the nursery, I didn’t dine in the Great Hall. I knew my father wouldn’t want to see me, and I didn’t trust myself not to enrage him still further.

  I told Jeanette that my head hurt and I didn’t feel well, and a page was dispatched to bring dinner to my chambers.

  Jeanette put her gentle hand on my forehead, and then, after holding it there for a moment, smiled in relief. “You’re not feverish,” she said.

  I sighed. “That’s because I’m not actually sick,” I said. “I just want to be alo
ne.”

  But she made no move to leave.

  “Really alone,” I said.

  Jeanette stood up reluctantly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”

  The page entered with a bow, bringing a tray of pheasant, roasted fennel, and honey wine, which he set on a carved table near the flickering fire.

  “I’m sure,” I said.

  Jeanette ducked her head. “I understand, Princess. I’ll look in on you later,” she said. She motioned to the page, and then the door closed softly behind them.

  Ignoring the dinner, I sat on the sheepskin in front of the fireplace with my legs crisscrossed as if I were a little girl. I opened my book of demons and monsters, admiring for the ten-thousandth time the richly detailed illustrations of the mythical beings that had thrilled and terrified me since I was old enough to turn the pages.

  Behold the terrors of dream and darkness, these ancient creatures of depthless night…

  I knew every beast by heart. Here was Balor, demigod of drought and blight, whose single giant eye could burn everything around it to dust. On the next page was the imposing centaur, with the head and torso of a man and the body of a stallion, whose arms could crush men’s bones like twigs.

  The book’s margins featured smaller imaginary creatures: the gwyllgi, a black-faced dog whose howls foretold the death of whomever heard them, and the birds of Riannon, whose song woke the dead.

  If the birds of Riannon truly existed, would I be brave enough to summon one? Would I wake my poor mother from her sleep of seventeen years?

  I would if I could—without a moment’s hesitation. The guilt of her death had weighed on me my whole life. If it weren’t for me, she’d still be alive.

  Maybe this was another reason I’d asked my father to stop his war raids: one killer in the family was enough.

  But now our enemies approached us. Was I to be responsible for the deaths of our knights next? What of our servants, should the castle be breached? What of the villagers, dying of the Seep? And, not least of all, there was the poor, wretched boy who lay bloody and beaten in a cell a hundred feet below me—his fate was my fault, too.

  I put my face in my hands. I hadn’t exactly lied to Jeanette at first: I didn’t feel well. But it was my heart, not my head, that ached.

  Then I looked up at the rich dinner that had been prepared for me. It could have fed six villagers. It was probably more food than Fina’s family ate in a week. In what world was that fair?

  I’d read about monks of old, fasting in penance, and I decided that I would fast tonight, too. For my mother. For Raphael. For the villagers and the soldiers and everyone else who had ever suffered.

  For Rosa.

  I sent for the page and bid him take the food away. I only hoped he would get some of it.

  Then I turned my attention back to the book, which had been a comfort to me more times than I could count. This was ironic, of course, because its characters were the creatures of nightmares. If they’d ever existed, they would not be my confidants and friends.

  But comfort me they did somehow. I turned from the real horror of Ares—of sickness and war and dungeons—to the imaginary horror of these mythical creatures.

  Here was the tatzelwurm, whose green-eyed, cat-like face used to haunt my dreams. Its long, slithering body was scaled as a snake’s, and venom dripped from its fangs. Even stranger were the Blemmye, headless men with eyes on their shoulders and hideous mouths on their broad, bare chests. And finally, there was Reiper the Destroyer, who left his throne of skulls to walk among the human world. A demon with a prince’s face, he killed for profit and pleasure alike, and death followed him wherever he went, obedient as a dog.

  These were terrible creatures indeed, but they were not real. Whereas I—a pretty princess, perfumed and bedecked in jewels—had been a true force of destruction.

  It was ironic indeed.

  CHAPTER 11

  I woke with a start on the sheepskin rug, my book of monsters and myths lying open, with the cold eyes of Seth, the jackal god, staring up at the ceiling. The fire had nearly burned out, and the room was dark and cold. Shivering, I pulled my mantle closer around my shoulders.

  Goosebumps prickled up my arms. The castle was quiet, but somehow the silence felt wrong. Not peaceful.

  Ominous.

  “Jeanette?” I called. “Where are you?”

  There was no answer. My breathing grew quick and shallow—she always came when I called. As I roused myself to go look for her, the stillness was shattered by a thunderous crash. I shot up to my feet, my heart pounding so hard it felt like a fist punching my ribs from the inside. Then I heard a scream—a piercing, awful cry, splitting the air like it was made of glass. It was the sound of mortal terror.

  I ran to the door and wrenched it open. The guards stationed outside my room whirled toward me, their weapons drawn. “Your Highness,” cried the tall one, “go back inside.”

  I heard the scream again, but fainter now. “Who is that?” I demanded. “What’s happening?”

  The guards didn’t answer; instead, they tried to force me back into my room. “For your own safety, Princess,” the smaller one grunted, even as I jabbed him with an elbow and spun away from his grasp. The tall one held out his sheathed sword to block my way, but I ducked beneath it and rushed into the corridor.

  “Jeanette?” I called again. “Jeanette!” I told myself that if I could just get to her room, then everything would be all right.

  “Let her go,” I heard one of the guards mutter. “Let her fend for herself.”

  I had no lamp, and the tallow candles that always flickered in the halls had gone out. Darkness pressed against me from all sides. I crept forward, trailing my hand along the stone wall to guide my way.

  I heard heavy footsteps behind me, and then I felt the rush of air as a group of my father’s soldiers ran past. “What’s happening?” I called after them. “Has Ares come already?”

  No one answered. But then one soldier, who came limping behind the rest, staggered toward me. I grabbed his elbow as he tried to pass. “What is it?” My fingers gripped into his flesh. “Tell me what’s going on!”

  “Someone’s in the castle,” he gasped. “He killed six guards before he got to me. Princess, you must hide. Lock yourself in your chambers!”

  “Who is he? Where is he now?” I demanded.

  But the soldier only gave a gasp and fell to the ground at my feet. Quickly I knelt and put my hand on his chest. He was breathing faintly, and my fingers came away wet with warm, sticky blood. My stomach clenched. “Guards, help this man!” I cried, though I worried he was beyond helping.

  Wiping my hands on my dress, I stood. I had to find Jeanette. Blindly I inched down the hall, nearly delirious with fear. Somewhere in the castle was a man who’d breached all our defenses. Who’d killed six—perhaps seven—men with ruthless ease.

  Was it Ares himself?

  Scritch, scritch… I whirled around, my eyes desperately, vainly scanning the darkness.

  There it was again: a tiny sound, the faintest whisper of movement. I froze. Willed my own heart to stop beating so I could listen, straining to hear that slight break in the silence. Something was moving, creeping—something familiar with darkness, and trying not to be heard. When the sound came again, closer to me now, I recognized it through my terror: the claws of a mouse, scrabbling along the flagstones in the night, looking for its dinner.

  My breath came out in a rush. Look at you, Sophia, I thought, afraid of a little mouse!

  I began to creep my way down the dark hall again. The rustle of fabric was just my gown—the eerie whine nothing but the wind. I had to find Jeanette.

  Then something caught me by the wrist! Yanked suddenly backward, I was too shocked to cry out. I stumbled, and my head collided against something hard. Stars seemed to burst in my eyes as an arm closed tight across my shoulders, crushing me against what I now realized was a man’s chest.

  I screamed—earsplit
ting, bloodcurdling. I screamed until my lungs gave out and then I breathed and screamed again. Then I felt the prick of a knife blade at my throat, and I stopped.

  Silence descended.

  I could hear only my panicked breath, quick and shallow. And then his breath, slow and rank. I felt the knife bite deeper into my flesh. A drop of blood slid down between my breasts. I closed my eyes. Father, save me, I thought wildly. Father—

  A mouth moved close to my ear, and hot foul air came from it. “I’ve caught a treasure. Lucky, lucky me.”

  “Oh, please,” I whispered. “Please don’t.”

  “Please don’t what?”

  “Please don’t kill me.”

  The wind howled through the loopholes in the walls. Where was Odo? Where were the knights? Where was the King?

  “You’re much too beautiful to kill, Princess,” the voice hissed. “I think I’m in love.”

  The knife pressed into a vein pulsing at my throat, and I could not move for fear. Far away I heard the sound of footsteps and I prayed they were coming toward me. He squeezed me so tightly against him that I had to fight to breathe. But I felt him pause, waiting. Listening.

  And then—so suddenly—he let me go. “I’ll come back for you,” he whispered as I collapsed to the floor.

  “Odo!” I screamed as his footsteps raced away. “Father! The killer’s right here!”

  But, of course, he was not right here anymore. It was only me in the hall now, trembling, my life inexplicably given back to me.

  I got up and ran.

  CHAPTER 12

  There was a terrible commotion near my father’s chambers. Men shouted, servants dashed in and out of the room, and knights streamed down the hall in panicked lines, as my mother’s calm, painted face looked blankly on. No one bowed to me, or even seemed to see me at all.

  I pushed my way inside. The fireplace blazed, and in contrast to the dark corridors, the whole room seemed ignited in its blinding yellow light. I saw my father lying gray-faced on his royal bed, its four giant posters wrought from gnarled, ancient trees. Antony, his favorite manservant, was on his knees. He was praying.