The Princess and the Hound (26 page)

M
ARIT LEFT TO RETURN
to Sarrey until the wedding ceremony. George promised to write her letters whenever he could and begged her to write and tell him what happened with her father. He waited in increasing distress for six days until he received her first letter.

It read:

George missed the dreams he had shared with her more than he had known possible. His nights seemed so empty, and the letters were only words. Marit’s words, but still. He wanted to see through her eyes and breathe through her mouth.

But he was able to see the bear and the hound when he wished it. He tried not to look often, but he saw a bit of the hound as she fell asleep inside a dark cave. She seemed content, more so than she had ever been when George had known her as human. The bear too seemed happy.

Though the letters from Marit came every week without fail, they felt increasingly stilted, and George began to wonder what would happen when they met again. Or if they ever would. But leaves fell from trees, and the world turned cold. And soon it was but a few days before Marit was to arrive again, in preparation for the wedding itself.

During this time George watched his father closely but saw no sign of his growing weaker. He came out of his bed now and again, to sit at judgment, but it cost him dearly. George thought that someone should tell him to rest more, but no one else dared to, and when George brought up the subject, his father made remarks about George’s wishing to become king before his time. George could not bear those, so he let his father do as he wished.

George’s visits to the woods were frequent and therefore far less urgent than they had been before. He enjoyed speaking to the animals in their own languages and wondered many times who might know the full secrets of the animal magic. The school for animal magic was being built, and already some of its students were gathering in an abandoned farmhouse nearby.

George stopped in now and again to see what they were learning, but no one seemed to know much more than he did. They told tales, and now and again there was one George had not heard before. He paid great attention to them, especially to the story of a woman
who had been able to marry a wolf and have children with it. Each child came out of her body as a different kind of animal. None of them was either human or wolf, but badger, otter, and even once an ox.

He wondered if he should tell it to Beatrice if he saw her again in the woods. Or Marit, for that matter.

There was a bonfire lit in the early autumn, and George could hear animals being thrown into it, mostly tame, but a few wild ones. He rode to the rescue, but by the time he and Henry and a dozen of his guards arrived, there were only flames. Whoever they were who remained hostile to George and his animal magic, they were not willing to come out in the open. Not yet. But when George became king, it might be different. And they might not use the bonfires to burn only animals.

George woke up, throat dry and eyes wet, many nights, haunted by the thought of what he had done. Bringing those with animal magic into the open, shining the spotlight on them, was not necessarily a kindness. And yet he would not take it back. There would be bad times to get through, but he was determined not to go backward.

The nobility was largely on George’s side. But two of them close to the southern border in Thurat sent messengers to King Azal to ask for protection if they chose to sever their ties with their own king. He not only refused but sent the messages on to George himself. He said he was tired of animal magic’s being so vilified and
would be an ally to George in that one thing. All silently, of course. He would deny it all if George mentioned such a thing aloud.

Sir Peter Lessing was one of the men who had sent to King Azal. George was not surprised. It was strange how all the battles of childhood, left unresolved, had returned for him to fight again. Bigger now than ever before.

George dealt more severely with those who were inclined to gossip about Marit. He did not intend to bring her home to a court that was in any way like her father’s. George heard one noblewoman laughing about a woman who looked like a hound, and he had her arrested and sent to the dungeon. She remained only one day and then came before George at judgment day, when he let her go with a warning.

The woman’s father was white with outrage and promised revenge. George told him that if he heard of any attempt at it, the man himself would be hanged summarily, no second judgment day necessary. He went off cowed, but George was not sure how long it would last. Perhaps the man would die before he got his courage back. George was surprised to find himself so ruthless, but he did not regret it.

More often George dealt with those who came to the castle, eager to have favors bestowed upon them when they oozed their acceptance of George’s animal magic. He received many gifts of animal talismans, full-size
marble and wood statues of animals presumed to be his favorites, from bears to wolves to the humble fish. He accepted them graciously and had a chamber in the dungeon set aside to hold them all.

He set Sir Stephen the task of dealing with the requests for lower taxes from those of the nobility who assumed they’d flattered George sufficiently. Sir Stephen handled it well, despite his recent interest in an older woman of good breeding whose husband of many years had died and left her destitute. She had come to the castle originally to ask for the king’s mercy—and been granted two purses of coin. She had remained at Sir Stephen’s request.

George was pleased to see the man who had been so stubbornly alone all those years smile again at the touch of another’s hand on his face. He did not know if Sir Stephen would remain in the castle after his father died or if he would find a way to ask politely to retire to the woman’s small estate in the countryside.

George would miss him severely, but if anyone deserved a rest and some small happiness, it was Sir Stephen. And George was glad that he was staying for the wedding at least. He could not have borne the preparations for that alone.

“You would make a mess of it,” Sir Stephen told him.

George admitted he would. He wanted it over and done with, as soon as possible, with no pomp and circumstance. He knew that Marit agreed with him.

But there were kingdoms to consider here.

So the planning went on and on, down to the tiniest detail. At times George was tempted to call ants in to eat everything in Cook Elin’s kitchen, so that he had no more decisions to make. But he withheld. He was learning patience with his magic as well.

Finally, the first day of cold, hard autumn rain hit just as Sir Stephen was directing the final outdoor preparations for the wedding. Streamers were ruined, and Sir Stephen came back to the castle rather less pleased than when he had left.

But the next day he went out once more, and it was a fine day. Three more days were all that remained until Marit’s arrival. The kitchens were frantic and hot with cooking pastries and meats, and George kept away from them for fear of being drafted into fetching and carrying for Elin, as everyone else seemed to be. She did not look at a face but saw only a body that she could use and put it to work.

Dr. Gharn saw to King Davit daily, but George did not see that he did much for him. The physician offered suggestions of herbal teas that might allow the king to stay awake longer and be more alert, but not much more than that. George asked his father if he wished to consult another physician on the matter of his health, but the king would not hear of it, and George did not bring the subject up again.

Two days before the wedding, Dr. Gharn disappeared once more. His bedchamber was cold with
morning dew, the window left open. Sir Stephen had spoken to Dr. Gharn many times about letting the dove go, to no avail. Yet now George thought he saw in the distance a bird, a dove perhaps, flapping its wings. But he could not be sure. It might have been his own fancy, and it was just as likely the physician had decided to walk away from the castle. After all, Dr. Gharn had been certain that his animal magic was gone from him.

George did not send anyone after the physician this time. He had made up what he could for his mistakes, and if death was what he wished, or forgetfulness in a new life, or simply the end of all memory of this human one, who was George to say that he was wrong?

The morning Marit was to arrive with her father, George made sure to get to the gate an hour early, to be sure that nothing went wrong. But when he came closer to the guard, he saw that her carriage was already there, and she was being helped out by Henry.

George hurried to her side and watched as her father came out. He was astonished at the change in King Helm. The man was thinner around the stomach, making him look more fit, but a shock of white hair had come in around his left temple, a scar at the base of the white streak, and George could not help staring at it.

King Helm touched it. “Cut there with a practice sword,” he said simply, then nodded to Marit.

“You?” asked George, though he knew the answer already.

Marit smiled and tucked her arm into George’s. She
seemed at ease both with him and with herself as never before. But still, they had been apart for three months.

George wondered if there would ever be a time when he felt secure in her love.

At dinner King Helm spoke jovially, and Marit was quiet at George’s side. But there was no reason to insist upon a change there. King Davit did not come down to eat; and when George offered to take King Helm to see his father in his bedchamber, King Helm refused, saying he would rather see his old enemy at his best on the morrow, for the wedding.

George walked with Marit to her bedchamber that night, his thoughts in a jumble as he stood by her door. Should he merely wish her good night? Should he kiss her? Should he tell her he loved her once more?

It was Marit who acted first, turning directly at the top of the stair and putting her lips on George’s. It was a quick kiss, but enough to set George’s heart racing.

“That was for the letters,” she said.

Then she kissed him again, more lingeringly.

“And that?” George asked hoarsely. “What was that for?”

“For the look in your eyes,” said Marit.

George let her laugh at him then. When she was quiet, he took her hand and held it close to his heart, feeling her breath next to his cheek. “Dr. Gharn is gone,” he said at last. “I do not think he will be back.”

“Oh,” she said. “Do you think he will ever see his daughter again? In human form?”

George thought of Dr. Gharn’s travels to find information about animal magic. It was possible he had found all there was to know. But it was also possible that the school, with its openness, might discover more.

“I don’t know,” said George. “But perhaps he has found his own solution.” And he explained about the flash of wings he had seen in the sky two mornings ago. Perhaps not a fancy after all.

“I shall not sleep tonight,” said Marit as she pulled herself away from his arms at last. She rubbed at her arms as if she were cold.

“Nor I,” said George.

“Good. I shall think of you while I am awake and miserable.”

“And I you.”

George took his leave of her and went to his bedchamber, only to be summoned a moment later by a page with a message that King Helm demanded to see him at once in the dining hall but privately.

Did he mean to kill George at last? That would be one way to get revenge for all that had happened, and King Helm might see it as George’s fault.

He made his way down the stairs, stifling a yawn, and opened the doors of the dining hall.

King Helm was there holding a new sword, steel this time and with no decoration at all. It had a simple twisted handle and hilt, but that did not make it less than beautiful.

“A wedding gift,” King Helm said, and offered it,
lying flat in his palms, to George.

George held his hands out and took it. Then he brought it up to the firelight in the hearth, staring at the gleam of light on the blade and feeling the balance in his hand.

“My thanks,” he said formally, with a bow to King Helm. “And my kingdom’s thanks.” Though he wondered why this gift could not have waited for after the wedding in the morning.

“That is the sword I had made many years ago to fit the hand of the son I was sure I would have,” said King Helm. “I never felt it right for my nephew to have it, for all he will rule the kingdom after me.”

It was as if the sword had suddenly grown much heavier. George did not feel as if he could ever be worthy of the gift now. Was he the right one for it?

“You will not give it to Marit?” he asked, daring the king’s anger.

King Helm’s eyes flashed a moment. Then he sighed and bowed his head. “She has not changed me that much,” he said. “But if you allow her to use it from time to time, that is your choice, not mine.”