The Princess and the Wolf (The Princess and the Hound)

by Mette Ivie Harrison

  “Then you think I could change myself into a wolf and make the golden wolf see me as her equal?” said True, with a snarl in his undertone.

  “Do you wish to be a wolf?” asked his mother.

  “I am a hound,” said True.

  “I am a hound,” said Fierce. “But I have been a human, as well. I know what I am because I know what I am not. What do you know?”

  True shook his head. He would not speak of it more to his mother. She did not understand. And why should she? True was not sure he understood himself.

  He began to separate himself from the pack, in part because he did not want to be near Fierce. Even if she did not speak to him about the golden she-wolf, she looked at him in a knowing way that bothered him. As if she knew everything about his life already, because she had already lived it.

  But it was the other members of the pack who bothered him, as well. The females bothered him because of the way that they smelled. Like a she-wolf and not like a she wolf. They moved like her a little. He could let his eyes go to slits and almost pretend—

  Then they growled or teased him and the illusion was gone.

  The males in the pack rushed at him, bared their teeth at him, all in play. But True had no interest in play now.

  He began to sleep at night and roam the forest during the day. He encountered different animals than he was used to, and he was surprised at how everything looked different, now that he had seen the golden she-wolf. There were more colors in the full sun, and the trees stood out more clearly against light. The music was brighter, and there was more living and less dying. Even the cold river smelled different, and the dirt that was all he found to eat tasted rich.

  True did not intend to go near the golden she-wolf again. It would only make the impossible more painful if he continued to see her. He kept to his part of the forest, but she did not keep to hers.

  The golden she-wolf was with the blue wolf again and they crossed the river and shook themselves off within a few lengths of him. He froze and then tried to look away, but the wolves came toward him and sniffed at him.

  True could held his stance next to a tall linden tree. He sniffed back at the blue wolf. He did not want to show subservience, but he did not intend to instigate a battle, either.

  It was the blue wolf who first raked his claws across True’s face.

  True reacted instinctively at first, growling, then stepping back and jumping at the blue wolf.

  It was only after the blue wolf had turned into a hawk that True realized his true danger. This was no battle between animals. It was a battle against magic. Magic that True did not have and knew nothing about. He had never asked his mother about magic. He had never thought he would need to know about it.

  The hawk that had been the blue wolf circled him, then fell into a dive and made a shrieking sound. It cut into True’s shoulder, and before he could react, it was flying again.

  The golden she-wolf moved closer to True.

  He tensed, sure that she, too, would attack him and then turn into another shape he could not defend himself against. He had seen her turn into a human shape once, so he knew she could do at least that shape.

  But instead, she pressed herself against him and when the hawk came again, she spat at it and howled out a plea in the language of wolves, close enough to the speech of hounds that True understood it clearly: “Stop, Father, stop.”

  She might have said more, but True did not understand all the words, though many were similar.

  The hawk circled high again, and then floated down more gently.

  True took a breath of relief, thinking the moment was over. But the hawk changed into a felfrass and ran quickly at True’s unprotected side and dug its teeth into him.

  True gasped in surprise, and then the pain sunk in and he began to push at the felfrass. Blood sprayed, and he went dizzy. He felt himself falling forward and he thought he could see the golden she-wolf’s round face next to his before his vision went black.

  When he woke, the felfrass was the blue wolf again.

  “Father,” the golden she-wolf was saying. Something, something, then “like human.”

  “Not human,” the blue wolf said.

  True tried to crawl away slowly, hoping they would not notice him, or would not care. They were not starving, and wolves generally preferred to eat animals that were not predators.

  But as soon as True thought he had a chance to escape, he heard a sound behind him and turned. It was the blue wolf, who leaped forward and yanked on True’s tail. The pain was so intense True blacked out once more.

  He prepared himself for death when he woke again, for he was being dragged through the forest on either side by the two wolves. He did not know why they had not killed him already.

  True had always been careful that his own prey was dead before he tore into them, but not all wolves in his pack were as scrupulous. Some even claimed that the blood tasted better if it was from a still-living animal. His mother did all she could to prevent them from infecting the pack, but these two wolves were not hounds.

  His mind thinking slowly, he clung to the hope that it was the golden she-wolf who killed him in the end. He wanted her face to be the last thing in his life.

  The pain was so great that he did not realize he was inside the stone edifice he had seen before until the wolves had let go of him and he realized he was trapped, that there was no way to escape. He tensed for the attack as the blue wolf moved to the side.

  But the blue wolf slipped through the stones and did not come back.

  He was with the golden she-wolf now. Alone. It was something he might have wished for, in other circumstances, if he had dared to wish.

  She was doing something. What? He could not tell. He could not move his head to see.

  Then she came closer to him.

  He made a small sound like a groan. He was ashamed of it, and bared his teeth to show his courage.

  She leaned over him and whispered in his ear, in the language of the hounds, “Hush. Do not worry. I will help you heal.” Then she licked at his wounds.

  He felt a sting at first, and then there was a strange smell in the air. She had put a mashed pulp of a plant into his wounds.

  “If you allow me to, I will use magic, as well,” she said.

  “No magic,” he barked at her in the language of hounds.

  She seemed to understand. Her head inclined just slightly. “As you say,” she said in her own language. Then she licked at his wounds again, more mashed plant in her mouth.

  Soon, True felt blissfully free of pain. The world seemed a little distant and he felt as if he were floating above it.

  “You are a wild creature,” she said. “Not at all like humans. Do you understand that?”

  True was confused. What did she mean?

  “Humans are to be fought against. We need your help. There are others in our army who work with us against the humans. I could see the wildness in you and told my father that you were truly part of the forest. But he tested you. If that frightened you, I am sorry. He wanted to be sure that you did not have any taint of human magic yourself.”

  True murmured something to her. How could he tell her how he felt about her? She would laugh at him and send him away. If he stayed with her, in whatever capacity, that was better than nothing.

  He slept and woke in a cycle that had nothing to do with night and day, but only with his pain.

  Then one morning he woke and all he felt was stiffness in his shoulder and a clear-headedness that surprised him. It was as if rain had washed over him and made the world wet and soggy and now everything was sharp and bright again.

  He could not see the golden she-wolf, though her smell was everywhere in the stones.

  He got to all four feet and stretched himself. It felt good. He took a leap in one direction, and then in another. He was a little tired, but he knew he could escape from this place, if he wished to.

  “There you are.” Her voice reached him before she d
id. She was turning a corner around a smaller stone and suddenly True was acutely conscious of how close she was to him.

  In the fight, she had pressed herself against him, so close that his breath and hers had mingled in the air.

  Now she was close again. But he ached to be closer even than that.

  “I will not stand in your way if you wish to leave,” she said.

  He stared at her.

  “Father would be angry with me, but he does not expect me to keep you here against your will. He thinks all animals must hate humans, and that if they knew the truth of his battle, they would agree with him.”

  “I—” said True.

  “He is harsh. You do not like him,” said the golden she-wolf. “He has his methods. He has a grand plan, he says, and there is not always time to be gentle.”

  “I will stay,” said True.

  Chapter Nine: Dagmar

  The next day, Dagmar was with her father in the throne room when Lord Morlieb expressed his condolences to the king for the loss of his horses, especially the one that had not been found. “I hear that he was a very fine animal and had been with you for many years. I’m sure it must be a terrible loss for you.”

  “It is possible he may yet be found alive,” said King George.

  Dagmar had seen her father with Warrior. She knew how much of a friend her father considered him. Sometimes the king would leave the throne room and his duties as king behind and go to the stables to be with Warrior, where he felt he was able to be himself, and to be truly understood.

  It was not something Dagmar understood, since she did not speak to animals herself, but she loved her father and knew he needed it. There was some part of him that was an animal, she supposed. Or perhaps all animals. Even her mother, as unconventional as she was, as little as she liked company and as much as she liked the woods, Queen Marit did not need to be with animals as her husband did. She wanted solitude and contemplation, not company with animals.

  “But of course you could not allow him to live after what has happened. Your people would not accept it. He is dead now, whether he returns or not,” said Lord Morlieb.

  “I suppose,” said King George with a sigh.

  Dagmar had an arm resting on Lord Morlieb’s, and she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers. She knew that it was hardly the time for dancing, but that was still what she wanted. To dance and to dance. What was wrong with that? When there was a man like Lord Morlieb to be danced with?

  But she bade her time until the evening and kept to Lord Morlieb’s side. To be with him was nearly as good as dancing with him. But nothing of her father’s conversation about the kingdom seemed to matter to her. What were animals and magic when there was dancing and Lord Morlieb?

  “But you will have need now of another horse fit for a king. Has one already been chosen?” asked Lord Morlieb.

  King George shook his head. “It is too soon for me to think of replacing Warrior. I do not think I could ride another horse without comparisons to Warrior and that would not be fair to either of them.”

  He looked at Dagmar with concern in his eyes, but Dagmar turned away. There was nothing wrong with her that a little dancing could not fix.

  “Dagmar, you look tired,” said the king. “I wonder if you should rest.”

  “Not all, Father. I am very well indeed.”

  “But you have been up very late these last nights, entertaining our guests at the balls. I do not think you realize how changed you look.”

  Dagmar had seen herself in the mirror that morning. She thought she looked very well. Her eyes were darker than usual, and her chin seemed more sharply defined. Her fingernails were growing long and thick, and she might have painted them if she wished. But she had no interest in that sort of thing, not any longer.

  “Your maid could help you to bed. Please, Dagmar. Listen to my advice. Lord Morlieb, tell her that she looks peaked.”

  Lord Morlieb turned to Dagmar and she felt as if she could suddenly hear music. He smiled at her.

  “I see only a beautiful princess, Your Majesty. I cannot think that she needs anything at all, least of all sleep.”

  “If your mother were here,” muttered King George.

  But Queen Marit was once again absent, away from the castle.

  “I am well, Father. Please, do not worry about me. Indeed, I am very happy,” said Dagmar.

  “Back to the question of a new horse for Your Majesty,” said Lord Morlieb. “I know little of the bonds between animals and humans that come to those with your depth of magic, but I offer you my own horse as a replacement. It is from my own land, an animal of the deep forests, only newly tamed, taller than I at full height, and with great strength but even more intelligence.”

  “I do not know,” said King George. “Your own horse.”

  “Of course if he does not suit you,” said Lord Morlieb. “But would you come to see him at least? I think he is too much for me. But your own horse, Warrior, I heard that no one else in the castle could ride him but you. I fear my horse will have to be put down, or sent back into the forest when I return. It is too much trouble for me to continue with it.”

  King George hesitated.

  “Come, Father. It is a gift. And if you do not take it, what will happen to it?” said Dagmar, after Lord Morlieb had tightened his pressure on her arm.

  “Then I will see it,” said George.

  Lord Morlieb led the way and when the stable door opened, Dagmar gasped at the sight of the white stallion. It was even taller than Warrior had been, and Dagmar had always been afraid of that animal. This one breathed loudly enough that Dagmar could feel it as a trembling in the floorboards beneath her feet. She thought that she could see a smoke rising from it, but as soon as she let go of Lord Morlieb’s arm, the smoke was gone. She must have imagined it.

  The smell from the horse, however, she had not imagined. It was not rank, but it was overpowering and it made Dagmar feel as if her throat was closed, as if she were choking. She turned away and gasped, leaning to the wall. There was no one there to notice her. None of the other courtiers had come with them to the stables. Only she, the king, and Lord Morlieb were here with the horse. What if it were dangerous? What if her father could not handle the horse?

  But she need not have worried. As soon as King George saw the horse, he seemed enchanted. He put out a hand and placed it on the horse’s nose. Then he leaned forward and breathed in the smell of the horse.

  How her father could bear it—or Lord Morlieb for that matter—Dagmar did not know. She felt tired now, and wished she had listened to her father about going to bed, but there was no maid to take her now. She was too tired even to make her way back to the castle.

  “What is his name?” asked George.

  “My king has always called him ‘Great One,’ but you have the ability to ask him what he calls himself.”

  Lord Morlieb stepped away from his position close to the horse and allowed King George to take it.

  The king put out a hand, just below the withers, until the horse had calmed a little. Then he slowly ran it up and down the right side and leg.

  The sight of the animal and her father so close made Dagmar feel ill. Her head was empty of music now. Did not Lord Morlieb see her distress? He had not looked back at her once. It was as if she had not come. Neither man seemed to see her. It was only the horse they were interested in.

  King George said something to the horse that Dagmar could not understand. It was strange to see her father like this. She had known him her whole life, had seen him in many different circumstances, but she had never heard him use his animal magic. It made her wonder how much of her father was truly human.

  She thought again of the people who hated animal magic, the ones who had said that they would be glad when King George died and Dagmar became queen, because she had no animal magic. To see her father speak to a beast like this was truly terrifying.

  The horse seemed to answer back, but Dagmar did not understand wh
at it said. Then it sniffed at the king and turned its head aside. It shifted its legs, but then, slowly, the horse’s head came back around and it snorted.

  “I am sorry, Your Majesty. I can see the horse is not a friend to humans. I should never have brought it. I kept thinking that it needed time to be tamed.”

  “No, no. I like a horse with a mind of its own. What else would we talk about, on those long journeys when I am with no one else who dares to speak to the king?” King George leaned forward and met the horse’s eyes with his own.

  Dagmar could only think about how easy it would be for the horse to kick her father in the stomach and wound him, possibly fatally. She was not ready to be queen. She knew so little of the kingdom. She felt so weak and so ignorant.

  “Let me step in. I may have some power with him. I could whisper in his ear. He knows me,” said Lord Morlieb. He put a hand between King George and the horse, but the king stood firm.

  “If you are the one who forces me on it, it will not forget. It will think of me as weak ever after,” George said.

  Lord Morlieb’s mouth twisted, and then he gave a slight bow.

  Was this courage or stupidity, Dagmar wondered.

  George slipped his hand up the horse’s neck and put his face a little closer. He spoke more in the language of horses. Dagmar thought it strange to hear her father’s voice make those sounds, to see his mouth moving like a horse’s, wide and open, with teeth showing fully.

  “What is he saying?” whispered Dagmar.

  “They are greeting each other, I think. It is nothing to worry yourself about, Princess.”

  “But he looks—so wrong. He looks like an animal.”

  “Do you think so?” said Lord Morlieb. “I would say that the animal looks more human. Too human.”

  Dagmar tilted her head and looked back at the horse. Yes, perhaps he was right. The horse did look a bit more human than it had before. Then why was she as frightened as ever?

  King George had a little sugar in his pocket and offered it to the horse.