“There are many young ladies here who would be pleased to dance with you,” said King George.
“I suppose there, but I have come not to please them, but my king.”
“And my daughter? Has your king sent you to court her in his stead?” asked King George, as Princess Dagmar listened so intently that her muscles screamed to be relaxed.
“He has not,” Lord Morlieb admitted.
“She has a tender heart. I would not like to see it broken,” said King George softly.
And it would not be broken, though Dagmar, so long as her father did not interfere and continue to allow her to dance. Why would he not go away right now and leave Lord Morlieb be?
“You are a loving father,” said Lord Morlieb. “I admire that. Should you say the word, I would not say another word to her. It would be difficult for me, but I would never disobey a command of yours, nor encourage her to do anything you deemed inappropriate.”
Princess Dagmar’s heart sunk. How could Lord Morlieb say such a thing? Did he not see how important he had become to her?
“You would leave the kingdom on my word?” asked King George.
“I could not do that. I must do as my king has asked me. But I would not so much as look at your daughter again, if you told me. I would not dance with her, nor speak to her, nor kiss her hand in greeting.”
Princess Dagmar felt a sharp pain in her chest at the thought of this. She was nearly ready to run forward and push her father away. If Lord Morlieb asked her to, she would leave her place in her kingdom and run away with him, back to Tirol or wherever else he wanted her to go.
But King George said, “That, too, would hurt my daughter. I’ve seen how she looks at you. She is enthralled, almost as if she did not wish to be.”
“She is only a young woman who is enjoying the attentions of a handsome, foreign man. The other men here have known her all her life, as she knows them. There is nothing special there.”
“Perhaps that is all that is it. But eventually, you will leave here and return to Tirol.”
“My duties will take me home to Tirol, yes. Unless there were a reason to remain here,” said Lord Morlieb.
Princess Dagmar held her breath. Here was an opening, if her father understood it. He could offer Lord Morlieb the chance to stay here in Kendel.
“I am always in need of loyal men.”
“But I would lose much if I did not return to Kendel.”
“I have properties I can dispose of. And perhaps a position at court,” said King George.
It was all that Princess Dagmar could have wished for.
“I thank you, King George. I will consider it.”
Princess Dagmar waited until her father had moved away, and then went to Lord Morlieb’s side again. He said nothing of what her father had said to him, and Dagmar did not ask. There was no need for speech when she was dancing.
At last, they were finished dancing and Dagmar’s feet were on fire with the heat of the steps.
“You must rest,” said Lord Morlieb.
She nodded and allowed him to take her hand in his. They walked to the balcony and looked out at the kingdom of Kendel. Dagmar put her hand in Lord Morlieb’s.
“There are stars that shine so brightly that they fall from the sky,” said Lord Morlieb.
Dagmar flushed.
“And all stare as they watch them burn, jealous that they had not such daring and such faith in the single moment of pure delight.”
“I don’t know what to say,” said Dagmar. She wished that she could speak as prettily as he did. She was not sure what she felt for him when they were not dancing. It was not the same, but it was better than being away from him.
“It does not matter what you say. I see your heart, and it is your heart that I love,” said Lord Morlieb.
Dagmar felt herself trembling from head to toe, and it was his strong arm that held her up.
“Tell me of yourself,” said Lord Morlieb. “I want to know every detail of the amazing woman before me.”
Amazing? Dagmar had been flattered before, but it had never struck her like this. “There is not much to tell,” said Dagmar.
“Oh, come. You have lived with a legend all your life. Your father’s magic is stronger than any in living memory. What is it like to live with such a man? To see him every day, to know him as a child?”
Dagmar wished she could dance again, but she tried to answer as well as she could. “He is my father. I suppose I do not think of his magic. He is just a man, like other men.”
“Surely not like other men. He has the great magic. He can change men into animals and animals into men. Or women. How many in his court are afraid that he will do the same to them.”
“He would never use his magic in that way,” said Dagmar. “He has not used it for many years, in fact.” If she thought it strange that Lord Morlieb was asking about her father, she also found it a relief, because it meant she did not have to bring up the truth that she was not born to her parents. Surely Lord Morlieb had heard already and would not need her to bring up such a difficult subject?
“Do you think his magic is fading, then?” said Lord Morlieb.
“I do not know. I do not think so.”
Lord Morlieb held her wrist tightly. “Or because he has given that magic to you?”
Dagmar blanched. “I have no magic,” she said. “My father cannot give that to me, whatever else he gives me as his daughter.”
“Is that because you were not born to him?” he asked directly.
“I don’t know,” said Dagmar. She felt a chill run through her, and she forgot all about how much she loved to dance with Lord Morlieb. She wanted to get away from him now, but he was blocking her path and his hand was still on hers. She would create a scene if she called out, and she felt confused. How could things have changed between them so quickly?
“He would not want to give you what his other daughter might want, if she returns to him, would he? He must be saving it for her. Does he still believe that she is living?” asked Lord Morlieb.
“He has always believed that she is alive,” said Dagmar. “He has always hoped that someday she would come home.”
“I see.”
Did he see? “I am the princess now,” said Dagmar. She wanted Lord Morlieb to dance with her again. She did not want to talk to him anymore.
“You mean you think he loves you better than he loves an infant he has never known, whatever she has grown into,” said Lord Morlieb.
“Yes.”
“But his magic he saves for her. What does that say to you?”
“It says that I cannot use it. I have no magic in me. If he tried to give anything to me, it would be of no use at all. It would be wasted.” Though Dagmar was not at all sure that Lord Morlieb was right about the magic to begin with. She had never heard her father talk about giving his magic away. Then again, he wouldn’t tell her about that, not since he knew that she had no magic at all.
“In my kingdom, everyone is born with some degree of magic. One may have more than another. But a parent gives to a child. That is why an only child will always have more magic than a child who must share with other siblings. It is an inheritance, as much as land is, or other property. A father gives to a son before a daughter. And a king takes from his subjects. Not much, but a little. A tax, even if they do not know it. It is what keeps the crown strong,” said Lord Morlieb.
“It is not the same here in Kendel. Not with my father’s magic,” whispered Dagmar. She had always believed that, in any case. Why should she doubt it now?
Lord Morlieb was quiet for a long moment. “Has no one ever heard of her again, truly? Not a sign of her? No demands for her safe return?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps she is truly dead. I hope that your father does not die before he accepts it is true. It would be a shame for the kingdom to be left without his magic, when he has been the inheritor of so much of his mother’s, and has learned so much of how to use it.”
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“He is not ill. He will live for many years yet,” said Dagmar. She could not think about her father’s death with equanimity.
“You will make a fine queen for Kendel, in time,” said Lord Morlieb. “You cannot doubt yourself. I have every faith in you. In some ways, you may be better than your father. You would never hold anything back from your own child, I am sure. Your heart is too true.”
“Don’t speak about that. I cannot imagine myself as queen. It is too far off. It may never happen.”
“Then you think the other princess will be found?”
“I don’t know,” said Dagmar.
Lord Morlieb left her there on the balcony, to be found by her father when the other guests had gone. She was shivering and King George asked her what was wrong, but she would not tell him. How could she say that she doubted her father’s love for her, and her ability to take his place when he was gone.
He loved her, she knew. But was it enough? She was still a peasant’s child.
Chapter Six: Dagmar
The next night while Lord Morlieb and Dagmar were again dancing, there were horns sounded in the village nearby. At first, Dagmar thought the horns were a part of the dancing music, and Lord Morlieb encouraged her to keep dancing. But then she saw that the others had moved to the windows to look out into the night.
She pulled away from Lord Morlieb, and moved to the windows herself. She felt his presence behind her as she stared out at the signal fires that were burning all along the edges of the village.
That was her home village, the place she had been born, the place she would still be living if not for the fact that the true princess had been taken from the palace. Was that where she belonged still?
Lord Morlieb put a hand on her arm. “I wonder what has happened,” he said
Her father called for a report from his guard and the dancing for the night was finished. All semblance of revelry disappeared from the palace. The musicians went to their beds, and the food was quickly cleared. The king sat, waiting, and when the guard arrived, he spoke in clipped tones that Dagmar could not remember hearing from her father before. He sounded like a general, and not a king.
“You should move closer, so that you can hear what is being said,” Lord Morlieb whispered, and so Dagmar moved closer.
This was her kingdom, she thought. She was the princess now, and she needed to know what her father knew.
Soon after, a troupe of guards returned, dirty and worn, smelling like blood and death. They marched into the ballroom where the king stood waiting, and reported what they had found.
“Four horses attacked the villagers, Your Majesty.”
“Horses?” said King George in astonishment.
Dagmar began to shiver.
“They had gone mad. The villagers think they were tortured or poisoned. There is no other explanation for what they did. They were horses from our own stable.”
“But those horses are my own. I know them,” said King George. “I have trained most of them. They were well treated.”
“They killed sixteen villager, Your Majesty. The bodies are—terribly damaged. They were kicked at, then trampled. Hooves and teeth tore at the flesh and then left it in the street to find more.”
“Impossible,” said King George.
Dagmar looked up at Lord Morlieb, who was very intent. “Is it impossible?” she asked softly.
“I think not,” he said.
“Then you know more than my father,” she said. “Tell me why.”
When he leaned close to her and spoke, Dagmar felt a thrill go through her that reminded her of when she was dancing with him. She could feel the beat of his heart in his voice.
“Your father has a small view of magic. He thinks that it can only be used in one way. But it is not so.”
“You have seen animals do things like this before?” asked Dagmar.
“I have seen animals attack and kill in groups. I have seen them move like armies, many different kinds of them.”
“And horses?” said Dagmar. “Or cows and pigs? Goats? Domesticated creatures?”
“They are only domesticated because they choose to be. They can make another choice.”
“But why would horses attack villagers?” asked Dagmar.
“Who knows what the villagers have done?”
“You think that they committed some crime?” said Dagmar, who could not imagine what that might be.
“There are many crimes against animals that humans never see,” said Lord Morlieb.
“But you do?” asked Dagmar.
“I know that you do not speak to animals, but that does not mean that you cannot feel for them or see the world as they see it? They are enslaved and made to do work for humans. They are not free to simply live happily, in their own surroundings.”
“Of course,” said Dagmar. She believed Lord Morlieb must be right.
“We must see to the rest of the stables. It may be a disease passing through,” said King George. “There may be others to be put down.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said Henry, the leader of the guard. He saluted and then led the king to the stables.
Dagmar and Lord Morlieb followed behind.
“One of the horses was described as a tall black with white markings on his hooves and as big as a bear,” said Henry.
King George stopped walking as if he had met a wall. “Warrior?” he said.
“I should think so, Your Majesty,” said Henry. “There is no other horse in the stables who would fit that description.”
“But I just saw him yesterday. I rode him, not for long, but around the gates,” said King George.
“He thinks he knows animals so well,” whispered Lord Morlieb to Dagmar. “But he does not.”
Dagmar turned to watch her father, who went ahead now at a run. He crossed the dark ground and threw open the door to the stables.
Dagmar had to hold up her skirts and step over the dirt with Lord Morlieb’s help. When she reached her father, she found him on his knees in front of a stable door that had been broken into pieces the size of matchsticks.
“Warrior,” he whispered in anguish.
“He names a horse that, and then keeps him in a stable. Now he is a warrior indeed,” said Lord Morlieb.
Henry rushed back to the king. “There are three others missing, Your Majesty. Wind, Dancer, and Midnight.”
The king flinched, and tucked his head to his knees. “My four best horses. My friends,” he said.
“They are killers now, Your Majesty,” said Henry.
“Of course. You must go after them. Bring them back if you can.”
“And if we cannot?” asked Henry.
“Then you must deal with them as you would deal with any other madman who has killed and will not return peaceably to face charges,” said King George.
“What of the other horses here?” asked Henry. “What if they, too, have been infected with this disease?”
“I will watch over them,” said King George.
“All day and all night?” asked Henry. “If the guard are gone to look for the others, they cannot spell you here. Would you ask servants or those who do not have the animal magic to take your place?”
King George rose to his feet and his full height. He looked at Henry with all the strength that the years of ruling had given him. “I said I would watch over them. Do you doubt the promise of your king?”
Henry hesitated a beat. “No, Your Majesty, of course not.”
“I will stay here and watch over them. I will make sure that there are no other horses who go mad and escape here. That is all you need to know. Now you can go and do your part.”
Henry turned away, but stopped. “Your Majesty,” he said, but he did not look up to meet the king’s eyes.
“What is it?”
“The villagers. They are already spreading rumors. I fear that by the time we return with the horses, they will have reached the very edges of the kingdom, and perhaps beyond.”
“What is it they are saying?” asked King George.
Dagmar had never seen her father so still, and yet so full of energy. He was like a snake, coiled and ready to fly. But fly where? Onto whom? Who was his enemy here? Besides the horses, of course.
“He has brought this on himself,” said Lord Morlieb. “He must see that. He has used animals for too long as pets, as friends. Animals were never meant to be that to him or to any other human.”
“Many people think of him as a hero. He has saved many lives,” said Dagmar.
“Human lives,” said Lord Morlieb with disgust. “But what of the animal lives? Has anyone counted how many of those have been lost? Or forever ruined?”
“I never thought of it that way,” said Dagmar.
“How could you, with your father always whispering lies into your ears? He tells you how valuable his magic is, and makes you feel the lack of it. But it only means that you do not use them as he does. It makes you purer than he is, and guiltless in all this.” Lord Morlieb gestured at the broken stable door.
Dagmar had always thought of her father as the best father and best king in the world. But suddenly she could see so clearly what Lord Morlieb meant. Her father was weak and selfish. He had this magic and he had made it possible for all in the kingdom who had the same magic to use it. Was that supposed to be progress?
“They are saying that this is some kind of animal magic. They think that someone spoke to the horses and convinced them to attack. They say that it is your fault, Your Majesty. That your new laws allowing the magic have led to this. They speak openly against you and of your death.”
King George’s eyes flickered briefly. “Then I will have to prove to them that they are wrong. This is not animal magic. This is nothing to do with that.”
“In this, and only this, your father and I are in agreement,” said Lord Morlieb.
The king continued: “There has to be some other power at work here, perhaps magic, perhaps something else. But first we must deal with the horses. Then we must make the villagers feel safe again. And after that, we will find out who has done this.”
The Princess and the Wolf (The Princess and the Hound) Page 5
