The Wolf Princess

by Cathryn Constable

  “Bring coffee!” he snapped.

  When Ivan said nothing, he cupped a hand to his ear, as if he were deaf.

  “Yes, sir,” Ivan said. But his voice was dull, defiant.

  “Hear that, Anna?” The general looked down at the princess. “There’s a tone in his voice. If he were one of my men, I’d dismiss him!”

  The girls walked slowly toward the table. The princess stared at them as if she had never seen them before. Sophie could tell nothing from her blank expression.

  “I need your help!” The general leaped up and pulled chairs out for each of them, flicking the seats with a napkin before they each sat down. He took his place once more, and now his mood changed. He leaned forward, his face earnest and grave. His voice became softer, and with a jolt Sophie understood that if she closed her eyes and listened only to his voice, she could make herself believe that he wasn’t cold and ruthless, but that he actually cared. The voice was one that you wanted to listen to.

  “Sadly, girls, my dear Anna,” the general said, glancing across at the woman next to him, “this beautiful princess, dressed in furs and diamonds, has problems. Can any of you guess what they might be?”

  This one simple question, said in such a straightforward manner, changed the mood in the room. It was as if he was appealing for their help. How could they refuse?

  Delphine crossed her legs and looked as if she might speak. Then she stopped. The general saw it. “There’s no need to be polite, Delphine.” He picked up a knife, ran the edge along his finger. His fingers were thick and the nails short and clean. “It’s true. The princess has no money!” He put the knife down and placed his large hand over the princess’s.

  His eyes focused on Marianne.

  “You are clever girls,” he said quietly. “I knew that the minute I saw you, especially you, Marianne. I would have you in my spy unit, cracking all those codes.”

  Marianne pushed her glasses up her nose with the same pride as when she had solved a math problem in front of the class. Something flickered in the general’s eyes. He knew he’d got her.

  It’s like a battle campaign, Sophie thought. He’s like a sniper and he’s just picking us off one by one. First Delphine, now Marianne.

  “Have you any ideas how we can help the princess in her perilous situation? You see, she was given a substantial sum to return here to the palace and play the princess!” He stroked her fur. “She always was such a princess!” He sighed. “But I am beginning to think that she is just playing a game. She has had her money and is living here with no intention of repaying her debt.”

  He let the silence swell in the room until it became unbearable. When no one said anything, his mood changed again.

  “I have given her every opportunity to pay and, sad to say, she has treated me with contempt.” He squeezed the princess’s hand as if to comfort her. She winced. His voice no more than a menacing whisper, he added, “But what she does not realize is that while she plays the princess at her estate, I will not play the fool!”

  “It wasn’t like that, Grigor.” Her voice shook. “There were no conditions attached to the loan.”

  “But it was a loan, Anna. Not a gift.” He sighed. “We are faced with a very difficult situation. We have to find the money somehow. Of course, we could shoot wolves!” He laughed and sliced into a lump of meat. “In the days of the Tsars, you could get three rubles for each wolf tail! Do you know how they used to hunt wolves in the days of the Tsars, Sophie?”

  He smiled at her lazily. The meat on the end of his fork was rare, a blurred circle of pink in the center. Juice dripped onto the plate.

  Sophie wanted him to stop, wanted to look away. But she couldn’t.

  “The huntsmen would string nets around one part of the forest and set the peasants at the edge to yell and wave heavy clubs,” the general went on. “Then they would enter the forest with their packs of ravenous hunting dogs driven mad by the smell of dead horseflesh …”

  Sophie’s chest felt tight. She thought of Dmitri and his kind, intelligent eyes. She thought of the wolf at the lake, outside her window. She didn’t want to listen to this man; she wanted to think of how the last princess had saved a wolf, had brought that wounded, wild animal into the palace and nursed it. The wolf princess wouldn’t have allowed a wolf hunt here, she just knew it. But the general’s voice bore into her, taunting her, forcing her to listen.

  “The huntsmen chase the wolf, crazed by the cries of the peasants, the excited, tormenting barks of the dogs. They run him at great speed toward the nets …”

  The general stopped. He seemed to know that all of them were listening intently. Even Ivan had become still; Sophie could see him out of the corner of her eye.

  “BAM!” He slammed his hand down on the table.

  Marianne yelped.

  “The wolf, running so fast, is caught. He thrashes wildly, desperate to escape.”

  Sophie tried to keep in her mind the image of Dmitri in the chandelier, his song about moonlight and the white wolves, his respect for those animals. How his scar would twitch if he were in the room, sitting next to her! Surely he would stop the general from saying any more?

  “The huntsmen look into the wolf’s eye, the eye of a ruthless killer, but they are not afraid. As the wolf snarls and snaps, thinking he will surely be free in an instant, another net drops on him! Hah! He is caught.”

  Sophie felt tears stinging in her eyes as she thought of the wolf in the net. She understood how the yells of the men and the insane barking of the dogs would tear through the perceptions of the wolf and the landscape he was moving through. He would be propelled by panic and fear alone. And toward what?

  The man put the lump of meat into his mouth. There was something so revolting in this one act.

  Sophie said, “That’s disgusting.”

  The general didn’t appear to hear. And the fact that he ignored her so totally, as if she had been air, silenced her more completely than if he had shouted at her to shut up. Swallowing his meat, he continued, “The men string the wolf on a pole and he is taken in a wagon to the Tsar’s woods. Those brave huntsmen! They break his leg so he can’t run, and the Tsar himself hunts him and is given the privilege of the kill!”

  “Idiots!” Sophie looked the man straight in the eyes. “They’re all idiots! How can you say they’re brave? They’re just cowards! It’s not even a fair fight!”

  The general shook his head. “Why does something have to be fair if it gives you pleasure?” he mused. “Those men don’t just shoot the wolf. They enjoy the hunt. The wolf, the men, they join in the hunt together, don’t you see?”

  “But what can the wolf do?” Sophie could feel her cheeks burning. He was twisting everything around. “The wolf can’t fight back!”

  “So you would prefer a duel?” The general picked up his knife, flicked it into the air, and caught it again with a neat action. He jumped up. “Come on then, little English wolf girl.” He strode toward Sophie and put his hand on the back of her chair, tipping it so Sophie had to stand or fall forward. She stood.

  “Grigor!” The princess suddenly snapped out of her reverie. “Stop!”

  “She wants to defend the wolves? She needs to know how to fight!” the general laughed.

  Sophie was aware of Marianne’s face, her glasses lopsided. Delphine’s hair had become half tucked into the collar of her shirt. Something made her want to pull out that lock of hair, but the general had come around behind her and was moving her arms into position.

  “Stand like this!” he said, his voice so confident and self-assured that she had no power to tell him to stop. “Hold the blade like this!” He put the knife into her hand. Sophie looked at the wolf head on the handle. The general walked around to face her.

  “General!” Ivan’s voice. He had stepped forward. It felt as if events in the room were running away and Sophie no longer had any control over them.

  “Back to your place, hussar,” the general snarled. “I give the orders h
ere!”

  Perhaps Ivan’s training meant that he could not defy him. He retreated, but looked as if he wanted to take Sophie with him.

  Sophie’s heart raced.

  The general, his eyes now sparkling with the certain knowledge of his own power, cried, “En garde!”

  She heard Marianne shriek. A plate must have fallen to the floor because she heard a smash. And the word, “Grigor!”

  The glitter of his eyes, the clenched jaw. And then Sophie’s arm was twisted high up behind her back by the man’s quick, strong grip. As the pain tore through her shoulder, she could see the knife at her temple, a hairsbreadth from her skin. She, too, was the wolf driven into a net and unable to escape. She wanted to thrash about and snarl, take revenge. This was unbearable. The second net would fall. She had been tricked just as surely as the wolves hunted for the Tsar’s pleasure.

  I hate this man, she thought. I hate everything he stands for.

  Then another noise shattered everything.

  It set the pulse racing but stopped the heart. It made blood sweep and crash in the ears. The sound started at the base of Sophie’s spine and began to climb up and up until it hovered just above her head. It seemed to swirl around and pull everything toward it: snow, forest, wilderness, loneliness, despair, the thrill of warm blood from a fresh kill, and a fierce protectiveness toward every other member of the pack. It was a cry that made her entire being turn toward it, every cell tuned to listen to it, and yet it made her want to run and run until it stopped.

  It was the same wolf. She knew it. The old white wolf from the woods. It was as if he was calling out his name.

  But, Sophie realized as her pulse raced, it sounded like a warning, too. Yes, he was coming to rescue the princess. He was coming to save a Volkonsky!

  “What was that?” Marianne grabbed Delphine’s arm.

  “Volky!” the princess whispered. “A wolf has escaped!”

  “Escaped?” she heard Delphine repeat. “From where?”

  Ivan ran to the door. “Dmitri!” he yelled. And then something more, in urgent, despairing Russian.

  “You promised me wolves, Anna!” the general cried, taking the pistol from his hip. “By God, I’ll have them!” His face was alight with the sort of joy seen on the faces of saints and martyrs. He pushed past Ivan, and they heard his footsteps running down the corridor toward the broad marble staircase.

  Another howl tore through the palace as the princess ran after him.

  “Princess! Wait!” Ivan called.

  And then, from the general at the bottom of the stairs, the insane yell of the hunter: “Loup! Loup!”

  Ivan stood immobile in the doorway.

  “What has she done?” he said, shaking his head. “What has she done?”

  “What do you mean, Ivan?” Sophie felt the palace splinter around her.

  He hesitated, as if unsure what to say, then seemed to make a decision. “When the princess returned to the palace,” he said slowly, “the wolves frightened her. Dmitri said they were used to the freedom of the forest. She went crazy. Said she’d throw his family out into the snow if he didn’t lock them up. There’s a courtyard on the far side of the palace where they’re kept and Dmitri feeds them. She wasn’t brave enough to have them killed — she said the Volkonskys would haunt her if she killed a wolf.”

  “But you said there were no wolves. You said that was all history!” Sophie put her arm out to the door to steady herself. “I told the princess I’d seen a wolf at the lake! You went to look and said there was nothing!” She looked up at Ivan’s troubled face.

  “I saw the tracks,” Ivan said. “I knew then that there was still a wolf in the forest. But I couldn’t tell her. It’s Dmitri’s job to keep them here, in the palace. To feed them. Keep them quiet. If there was a wolf loose, the princess would have blamed him. She wanted an excuse to get rid of him. I had to protect him.”

  Sophie remembered how sharply the princess had spoken to Dmitri when they had returned to the palace from the lake. The three of them had stood under the portico, deep in discussion. Of course! What had Masha said Dmitri did? “Groom Viflyanka, feed the …” she had stopped before she said the word, but she knew. Everyone knew.

  All these thoughts came to her in a heartbeat.

  Ivan snapped out of his reverie. As if waking up from a dream, he only now seemed to be aware of the danger of their situation.

  “Princess!” he cried as he ran down the stairs.

  And before she could think about the danger she was about to put herself in, Sophie ran down the stairs after him.

  “Sophie!” It was Delphine’s voice, wound tight with panic. “What are you doing?”

  “Don’t leave us!” Marianne wailed.

  But Sophie couldn’t cower in a room. They were going to hunt the wolf! And yet the creature was here in the palace because of the princess. He knew she was in danger from the general and he had come to save her. She couldn’t let the general hurt him.

  “Lock the door!” she called over her shoulder. She could see the blonde head of the princess and the black head of the general as they ran down the white balustraded staircase that threaded down below her. There was no sign of Ivan or the wolf. She felt nothing other than the breath hurting her lungs as she lunged down the stairs, two at a time. Why couldn’t she move more quickly?

  “Please let me get there,” Sophie said aloud. “Please don’t let them harm him.”

  But the voices were becoming fainter and drifted into nothing. The palace was quiet now.

  There were wolves in the palace. She had heard them. White Volkonsky wolves, just like the pack that had avenged the death of Prince Vladimir. But how could the princess be frightened of them? They were the guardians of the palace.

  Sophie stopped. She had been running without thinking about where she was going: down long corridors, through dilapidated rooms, following the echoing voices. They had led her on, but now they had stopped and she was lost. She was at the head of some stairs she didn’t recognize. Statues in niches guarded every few steps, but some had been smashed and had fallen forward like dead men. She looked back the way she had come. No. It was hopeless. She could run for hours through empty rooms. Without any voices to follow, how could she even know where to start?

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a white mist at the far end of the corridor.

  The creature hadn’t seen her, she knew, but she saw how the sense of her presence wrapped itself around him. And then, silently, he turned.

  Weaving through the blank, cold statues, his red eyes now fixed entirely on her, came the white wolf.

  Sophie pressed herself against the marble balustrade, trying to make herself as insignificant as possible, but her legs were giving way. The blood swept around her head. There was a door across the corridor, but she would never make it there in time. And anyway, would it even be open? Or would it be locked? Could she jump? She peered over the balustrade and the floor leaped up toward her. She thought of herself falling, loose, easy, through the air … and landing like one of the broken statues.

  The animal came on, his jaw hanging open. He was hungry and desperate, but Sophie sensed his strength, the muscle and bone, and the terrible, shocking length of his teeth, bared now. He could see all around him, Sophie knew, and beyond, too, as if he could enter every room in the palace at the same time. A different way of seeing.

  He stopped a few feet away. How could Sophie tell him that she was no threat to the Volkonskys? That he should not harm her?

  And then, behind him, appeared the princess.

  Sophie, so intent on the wolf, hadn’t seen her creeping silently up the corridor. She held her tiny pistol in her two hands and took aim: Sophie could see the black pout of the barrel. What was she doing?

  “Don’t shoot!” Sophie tried to say, but her voice was just a croak.

  The wolf, still motionless, snarled.

  The princess flexed her hands around the pistol, became perfectly still. She was
preparing with ruthless precision to take her shot, slowing her heart, controlling her breathing so she would not miss. Except — Sophie looked at the barrel — the pistol was surely too high for the bullet to hit the wolf. It was on the same level as Sophie’s eyes …

  “Princess … Nyet!”

  It was Ivan, a hunting rifle on his shoulder, his hand outstretched, pushing the princess’s pistol away.

  Crack!

  Sophie stared at the floor. The wolf was on his side at her feet, the blood pooling on the floor. He tried to raise his head, but the effort was too much. He whimpered, and the sound was so pitiful when compared to the power of his howl that Sophie wanted to cry.

  “Saboteur!” screamed the princess. “You’ve ruined everything!”

  Ivan, chisel-jawed, his face drained of color, muttered, “I have ruined nothing. I am giving you a choice, Princess.”

  The princess raised her pistol as if she would smash it across his temple. Ivan stood his ground. And then, a horrible sound: The princess laughed at him. Beneath it, Sophie heard another, quieter noise. A moan or a whimper.

  The wolf. He was not dead! He lumbered to his feet despite the wound, and limped down the staircase with a yelp of pain, blood pouring from his side.

  “Still alive?” The general strode up the corridor. He leaned over the balustrade and aimed his pistol.

  Sophie threw herself at the man. The pistol fired with a quiet, velvety pop. A statue toppled and fell. Sophie saw the startled wolf run on.

  The general shook her off. “You stupid little wolf girl!” he whispered. “What do you think you’re doing? A wounded wolf is more dangerous than a healthy one.”

  From deep inside the palace, the howling started up. The Volkonsky wolves! Terrified, but understanding their cries, Sophie listened as these creatures began their wild chorus, no longer content to be written off as characters in a fairy tale. Their cries blended, twined, and fell apart.

  “They know!” Sophie cried. “They know what you’ve done!”

  “We saved you!” The princess’s eyes flashed. “Without us here, you would have been torn to pieces!”