The Beauty's Beast

by E. D. Walker

  She carried a tray. “Breakfast, Sir Wolf.” Instead of setting the food on the floor, as most people would have done, she set his meal on the small worktable.

  He would have more difficulty eating that way, but this girl seemed unwilling to let him pretend to be a simple beast. So, to oblige her, he stretched and stood on his hind legs to eat breakfast.

  ***

  Kathryn watched the wolf for a moment before she spoke. “You pushed me out of bed with your great hulking body last night, you know.” If the wolf blushed, Kathryn could not see the reddening through all that black fur, but he did pause in his eating and seemed almost to grimace. “We are supposed to see the king as soon as you have supped.”

  The wolf swallowed what he had been chewing and dropped to all fours at once. I’m ready was writ plainly across his furry face.

  “King Thomas will wait. He is not impatient.” But the wolf refused to return to his breakfast, so Kathryn gave in. “I’m checking the wound first.” She motioned toward the bed.

  The wolf hesitated but then, apparently realizing it would be more expedient to yield to the tyrant in this case, he jumped onto the bed. She checked his wound and applied more of the soothing honey salve. As she slicked her finger over his wound, he met her gaze. Kathryn stared back, transfixed. His eyes were even stranger seen close up, deep cobalt irises with the palest of blues fanning out in slivers and waves from his pupils, piercing through the darker shade of blue.

  She had never heard of a wolf with dark blue eyes before. Intelligence stared back at her out of those eyes, uncanny intelligence compared to a normal wolf.

  He jerked away from her, denying their connection, which he very obviously did not want.

  Her examination done, their need of the workshop at an end, Kathryn shooed the wolf out and shut the building up. She and the wolf, escorted primly by the weary tirewoman, marched to see King Thomas and his knights.

  At the training field, the king sparred with a young squire soon to take his vigil and, if he passed that test, to be dubbed. As they fought, the young man flailed a bit against the king’s greater expertise.

  The wolf watched the sword match with obvious interest, and Kathryn waited. Eventually King Thomas, though slower in his movements, proved to be the more skillful. He knocked the young man down with a well-placed blow from the hilt of his sword. To soften the defeat, King Thomas extended a hand to help the lad up from the dirt.

  The wolf barked his approval, and his tail snaked in a temperate wag across the ground. The king wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of one hand and, with an engaging grin, took leave of his opponent to receive his newest guests.

  “I thank you, my lady.” King Thomas kissed Kathryn’s hand. “Thank you for tending his hurts and keeping him for me while I arranged a place for him here among my knights. Is he well?”

  Kathryn smiled at the wolf, then back at the king. “He is, sire. I would watch his shoulder and make sure he does not exert himself. Though there’s no reason for him to remain coddled since he made it clear last night that he doesn’t relish such treatment.”

  The king swatted playfully at the beast’s ears. “You have offended the lady, my wolf?”

  Kathryn bowed. “No, sire, he is the most well-mannered wolf I have ever met. It was my pleasure to tend him.”

  “Truly a remarkable wolf, in point of fact.” The sound of a stranger’s voice made Kathryn turn to look.

  The newcomer dwarfed them all, towering a head above even the king as King Thomas stepped forward to greet the new man. The stranger’s skin had been tanned to a nut brown, but his hair was sun-bleached so fair as to be almost white. His face remained lightly lined, though, so he could not have been more than midway through his thirties. His eyes were the color of a hard winter sky, but they warmed in friendly amusement quicker than the sun could warm the flowers of the court in summer. He wore the simple black hooded robes of an occultist who needed neither fancy jewelry nor arcane symbols to do his work or to mark him as one of the Gifted. The man carried his talents about him like a suit of clothing well worn and accustomed.

  The king stepped back from his magician and presented him to Kathryn. “Lady Kathryn, this is my wise man and Court Magician, Master Llewellyn.”

  Flustered, Kathryn dipped in a small curtsy. “Brother.”

  “Oh, I’m a magician, not a monk. Please call me Llewellyn.” The magician bowed at the waist. “My lady.”

  “Good harvest?” The king laughed.

  The magician bowed and patted a sturdy leather satchel at his side. He turned to Kathryn and gave her a small smile. “Every few months our king grants me leave to wander in the mountains and gather medicine for my potions and such.”

  Now that he mentioned it, the heavy, brisk tang of herbs and spices clung to the conjurer, wafting over to tickle the back of Kathryn’s throat.

  “I have heard talk of your newest acquisition, my king.” Llewellyn’s voice vibrated with excitement. “I came at once to see the beast for myself.” At the king’s sign, the wise man dropped to one knee before the wolf.

  The wolf, while the humans talked, had settled onto his stomach, dropping his chin between his front paws. He appeared very much bored by the proceedings, had even closed his eyes as if napping. Yet the animal breathed too quickly for sleep, and his face seemed tense.

  Kathryn pursed her lips, worried and confused. Why is he avoiding Llewellyn?

  Standing, Llewellyn bowed his head to Kathryn. “I wonder, lady, if you would give me a few moments of conference on your observations of the wolf.”

  “Gladly, Magician.” Kathryn turned to take her leave. King Thomas nudged the wolf with his foot, and the beast stood, patiently looking at Kathryn. She knelt and met the wolf’s strange eyes with her own.

  The beast gently licked her hand before moving to join his king. Thank you, maiden, for all you did for me, the gesture seemed to say.

  The magician’s glance sharpened at this, and a speculative look fell over his features. When he noticed Kathryn watching him, Llewellyn quickly turned his expression to one of casual indifference. He gestured for her to follow him back toward the gardens.

  Kathryn could not have said why, but somehow the wolf’s parting gesture had reminded her of the courtly kiss a knight bestows on a lady’s hand. She covered her kissed hand with the other and held both tight to her stomach. You are the noblest knight of this land, are you not, Sir Wolf? She smiled to herself as she followed Llewellyn away from the training field.

  Chapter Four

  Llewellyn led Kathryn back to his small workshop off the herb garden and escorted her inside the hut’s cozy interior. The tirewoman, who still trailed after Kathryn, opted to sit on a stool in the sun and enjoy the smell of plant life wafting from the flowerbeds while the magician conversed with Kathryn inside his hut.

  The daylight illuminated the hut’s interior, so Kathryn could make out details of the place she had not been able to see last night. Batches of simple herbs hung from the ceiling, and shelves lined the walls filled with meticulously labeled ceramic jars.

  Llewellyn motioned to a bench against one wall and waited for Kathryn to arrange her skirts before seating himself on a sturdy wooden stool across from her.

  Pouring them each a tall cup from the bottle of wine she had used to clean the wolf’s scratches, Llewellyn looked at her expectantly. “Well, my lady, what do you know of our wolf?” The magician absently picked up mortar and pestle to keep his hands busy while they talked. When Kathryn did not speak at once, he smiled. “Forgive me. I misspoke. I meant to say werewolf.”

  Kathryn gaped, setting her wine down so she would not spill it on herself. “You know what he is?”

  “You’re not the only one who has seen a bit of the world before, my dear,” he chided, though he grinned to take any hint of rebuke from his words.

  Kathryn hesitated. What to tell the magician, and what might be better kept to herself? She wasn’t even entirely sure how much s
he actually knew about the wolf and how much was just conjecture.

  “I’m sure you recognized what the creature is,” the magician murmured.

  Kathryn swallowed. “Did the king?”

  The magician paused in his gentle turning motions of the stone implements. He shrugged. “The king might suspect. But no, I’m not sure he entirely understands what he has in his care. I believe he thinks he has just acquired a rather remarkable animal, perhaps with some magical augmentation. No, I’d wager the thought of the garwaf has not entered his head. Yet.”

  “Garwaf?”

  “Ah, an old word we use in the mountains. It is the same as werewolf.”

  “Are you going to tell King Thomas about the garwaf?” If the king realized he had invited a werewolf into his castle, things might come out worse for the beast.

  Llewellyn shook his head. “I can see no purpose in going to the king with my suspicions until I have a firmer grasp of the truth.” In a quiet whisper, he said, “Many have a prejudice against the garwaf. I thought perhaps our fur-covered friend should be given a chance to show his quality before we tell the king or anyone else what he really is.”

  That was good of him and showed a certain depth of understanding. Many of the prejudices against werewolves were not sound. The creatures might take on the shapes of wolves, but on the inside they were still human.

  Kathryn fisted her hands in her lap with sudden apprehension, bunching up the fabric of her skirt. “Will someone else discover the truth? Someone less discreet?” She gazed at the magician with fear blooming in her heart. She was loath to see any harm fall on the gentle wolf.

  Llewellyn put aside his activity to lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Any with enough wit to spot the clues will also have the wisdom to keep such thoughts to himself until an opportune moment.” He took a fortifying and appreciative sip of his own wine. “I don’t think we need fret for long, at any rate.” He went to take his crushed mixture to a brazier and poured the sticky mess into a pot waiting there. “The wolf has already impressed the king greatly. One so noble as I believe the wolf to be will quickly work his way back to a place of honor beside the king.”

  Kathryn narrowed her eyes. Back to?

  Llewellyn chose just that moment to present his back to her, busy stirring his mixture as it came to a boil. “Once the wolf is secure in the king’s esteem, no slander nor slur—nor uncomfortable but ultimately harmless truth—will displace him. Once our King Thomas gets to know someone, he will not let the prejudice of others, nor even those prejudices he once held himself, sway his judgment. He is as fair-minded and levelheaded a man as ever I have met.” Llewellyn looked away, a small, secret smile on his lips. A gentle softening danced across his face before he smoothed the expression away. He tossed a quick grin over his shoulder. “Fear not, maid. Your wolf is safe for the time being.”

  “You know who he is.” He had to. Llewellyn spoke as if he knew the wolf, his personality, his heart. Perhaps even the circumstances of his transformation.

  Llewellyn shook his head. “I have only feelings and guesses to go on, and those will avail us nothing without the means to turn him back to his proper form. The worst kind of shame would be to give him back his true name when he would only be trapped forever as wolf. Better to let his wolf form remain nameless and let his human half keep his honorable name unsullied by the taint of present circumstances.”

  “Will you tell me who he is? I should very much like to know.” Kathryn did not realize until that moment how the wolf’s gentle ways and unassuming manners—manners in a wolf—had affected her. She had a fondness for the beast already, and she wished no harm to fall on his head. A desire blossomed within her to help him back to his former life if she could, knowing something of repression herself. His persecution, at least, might be curable. Hers, as a woman, certainly was not.

  Llewellyn turned to her, empty hands open before him. “I cannot risk slandering a noble knight of this realm. He may only have removed to another land, as the whispers say, and not fallen on such unfortunate circumstances as our wolf has.” He came away from his brazier and sat on the bench beside her. Taking her hands in his, he gave them a small squeeze. “As I treat with the king, so must I treat with you. Until I know more, I will not unfold my mind to either of you.” He gave her hands a parting pat and rose briskly to return to his work, their interview at an end, apparently.

  Kathryn jumped to her feet, indignant. “But how am I to help the wolf if you will not tell me who he is?”

  Llewellyn stirred his bubbling mixture and did not glance up from the brew’s surface. “Watch over him. Keep him from harm in the court as best you may. He needs your friendship. Keep safe the physical half, and I will strive to free the mind and the spirit.” He glanced up at her, his face flushed from the steam and shining. He must have been thirty-five or so, but in that moment the wise man’s face glowed as eagerly as that of any young lad of ten, ripe for an adventure.

  She bit back a sharp retort and, accepting her dismissal, bowed her head to the king’s wise man as she left his workshop. Her foot poised on the threshold, she stopped as a new thought struck her.

  He had given her a hint, after all, a clue to the wolf’s identity: “I cannot risk slandering a noble knight of this realm…” Llewellyn had said to her. So the wolf was a knight? One who had disappeared not long ago, perhaps with no logical explanation? Not many knights could have vanished so in recent history.

  A new spring came into her step as she walked through the garden and back to the castle, the tirewoman doggedly trailing her steps.

  ***

  The first day back in the castle passed pleasantly for the wolf. He stayed in constant company with the king and his men, men who had been his comrades and friends not so long ago. Unsurprisingly, his days among the king’s court did not seem so far gone when he found himself back among the men and places he had once known so well.

  Had King Thomas not shown such marked favor toward him, the wolf might have had a harder time dealing with the knights. However, because King Thomas had so obviously found a new favorite in him, the other knights treated the wolf with respect. By the end of the first day, they had even begun to like him on his own account. He ran counter to every preconceived notion the knights and men-at-arms had of what a wolf should be. He behaved so well the knights were hard pressed not to be fond of him.

  The beast kept the king company and, during sparring practice for the knights, he went to roughhouse with some of the young pages. He made sure to keep both his claws and his fangs in line, while the children, in turn, made sure to mind his wounded shoulder.

  After a rather pleasant tussle, the young lads were ushered away by one of the trainers. Gratefully, the man gave the wolf a head pat and a smile in thanks. In his earlier days on the training field, when the wolf had been a knight, keeping the young pages in line could weary him near to the bone. Although, as a younger knight, he had usually managed to find someone else whom he could charm or bribe into taking his more onerous duties on for him. He regretted that now. Corralling the restless pages, wrestling with them, playing with them, had been quite fun, though his body ached.

  What else did I miss while I was busy being an arrogant young lordling?

  A lull began as the men went off to clean and change for the evening meal. The wolf looked at the sky, which had begun to blush with the violent purple hues of sunset.

  He had always loved children. I used to dream about having my own children. Imagine my strong sons, my clever daughters. They had been shallow, half-formed dreams, but still their memory stung. He would have no children now. He let out a low wolf huff—the closest he could manage to a human sigh.

  I have new dreams. Simpler, humbler certainly, but just because part of me is lost forever, that does not mean I should give in and be all wolf. Even a half life is still a life. I will not waste a moment more of this one.

  King Thomas called the wolf from the edge of the tourney field, startli
ng him. His new vow held firmly in his mind, the wolf loped happily off to find his lord.

  ***

  As her feet shuffled across the stone of the corridor, Kathryn forced herself to set aside the problem of solving the wolf’s identity for the moment. She suspected she would be otherwise occupied for the next few hours dealing with her fellow handmaidens. With a deep breath, she steeled herself for the scene to come in the queen’s apartments.

  One of the other ladies, Beatrice of Troumper, sister to the current earl of those lands, Lord Reynard, had held a grudge against Kathryn since her arrival at the court. Beatrice had no doubt used Kathryn’s misadventure in the forest and her absence last night to make Kathryn look bad before the queen somehow. Lady Beatrice seemed to excel at that.

  Queen Aliénor also worried Kathryn. The queen had not seemed pleased by yesterday’s events. Kathryn did not wish to anger a patroness who could make her life miserable merely by lifting her finger. Yet she also would not, could not, leave a creature in need when she might be able to help. There is more to that wolf than anyone yet knows. Until the wolf’s shoulder healed and the mystery around him unraveled, Kathryn had no wish to leave court. Nevertheless, she would not have much choice in the matter if the queen sent her away.

  As she entered the lavishly furnished solar the queen and her ladies occupied, Kathryn squared her shoulders. The ladies of the court sat all in a circle, picking out bright patterns of embroidery on various pieces of fabric. Kathryn sewed well enough, her stitches small, her needle fast, but she had always preferred tending the animals with her uncle to stitchery work with her maid.

  Queen Aliénor reclined by the window, glancing up as Kathryn entered. A few years older than Kathryn, Aliénor still looked barely sixteen. She had an oval-shaped face that could have been carved from the purest of white marble. Her features were as idyllic as the statues of old—and could be as hard and unyielding as those of the stone edifices. Her almond-shaped eyes were pale lashed but of a very dark brown. She was a lovely girl with luxurious titian curls, which gave more than a slight hint as to her temperament.