Sophia, Princess Among Beasts Read online

  And unlike me, he looked exactly like himself. He hadn’t sprouted wings or horns or turned a strange color of blue. Nor did I see the shine of fever sweat on his brow or the blisters of the Seep on his hands. How had we both ended up here—and why was he unscathed?

  I ran giddily across the grass, the six-legged fox nipping at my heels, and I pulled up short before him, breathless. I pushed the hair from my face. Would he recognize me? Or would he turn away in horror?

  “I know you,” I said urgently. “Do you remember me?”

  He looked me up and down, saying nothing, his dark eyes unreadable.

  “This isn’t a dream. Am I dead? We’re both dead. Are the two of us in hell? Or is it possible that this is a hallucination? Is it life after life? Are we ghosts? Help me understand.” My words tumbled over one another. “Your name is Raphael, I know it. You’re proud of your name, you told me so!”

  He slowly shook his head at me, still without saying a word.

  “Can you explain this… place to me? You said maybe we’d meet again in a different world. Is that where we are? Please, tell me what you know!”

  Raphael shifted his burden of sticks to the other arm. “What I know is that firewood is heavy, and I don’t get paid to stand still holding it.”

  “You don’t recognize me,” I whispered, and a feeling of desolation swept over me. Of course we’d only met twice before—and my own father had thrown him into the dungeon—but somehow I thought he might be glad to see me.

  We can keep each other company while we wait for death, he’d said.

  But now he just shrugged.

  “Tell me what you see when you look at me,” I begged.

  One of Raphael’s sticks dropped, and the little fox snatched it up and ran away with it in his teeth. “Come back, you dumb mutt!” he called, and the fox seemed to grin at him before vanishing down an alley. Raphael sighed and looked at me again, his brow slightly furrowed. “You’re a princess—anyone can see that. Doesn’t matter the rags, they don’t fool anyone. You’re pretty in a princess sort of way. Is that what you want to hear?”

  “But I think—”

  “Everyone knows that princesses don’t think,” he interrupted. “Their heads are full of airy nothings, and they like music and embroidery. Oh, and they believe themselves to be better than the rest of us.”

  Raphael’s words made me flinch. He was wrong about what I liked—but maybe not about what I had once believed.

  I took a step closer to him. “So I don’t look like a beast to you?”

  Raphael shook his head and began to walk away.

  “Do you mean I look human? When I look in the mirror, I see a monster! And I don’t think I’m better than you, Raphael. When I last saw you, we were dying of the same thing.”

  He turned around. “Then why are you still living in a castle, being waited on hand and foot? While those in the village can barely eat?”

  “I don’t know. I’m a prisoner here!”

  “You look pretty free to me,” he said as he began to walk away again.

  It was true that I wasn’t behind bars in some rank dungeon, but I was undoubtedly trapped. As he turned a corner, I cried, “Raphael, stop! You must come back. Raphael!”

  He ignored me, but the monstrous villagers stared at me with contempt. I felt my voice die in my throat. My commands meant nothing here.

  Don’t go, I thought. Please don’t leave me alone.

  But of course that was exactly what he did.

  CHAPTER 39

  Standing there, bereft, I could feel the cold, glaring eyes of the villagers on my neck. Hadn’t Raphael defied me before, in my old life? Perhaps I should have expected it now, in this new and terrible one. At least he hadn’t thrown horse manure at me again.

  “Go back to the castle, Princess,” someone shouted, “or else we’ll all suffer the wrath of the tyrant Ares.”

  I spun around to see who had spoken, but no one would meet my gaze. So they feared my jailor as much as I did. “I’m not on his side,” I said. “He had me kidnapped.”

  “Leave!” someone else called.

  And so I turned to go. I didn’t want Florence’s death—or their suffering—on my conscience.

  The wind was with me on the way back, making my journey quicker if not more pleasant. I looked in the marsh for the gentle tatzelwurm, but he was nowhere to be seen. Instead, waiting for me at the bottom of the narrow stone steps, was a man without a head.

  I froze, every muscle in my body taut with terror. I knew this monster, too. But no painting in my book of gods and beasts could have prepared me for the Blemmye in the flesh. His shoulders were broad and bare; his chest was a great big wedge of chiseled muscle; and a man’s ugly face leered at me from the center of it.

  The Blemmye took a step toward me and I leapt back. He stopped his advance and bowed. “Welcome back, Princess,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” I said, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. “I do not seek company.”

  “Is that so?” He moved a little toward me again. “But what if company seeks you?”

  “If you touch me, I’ll scream,” I said.

  The mouth in his chest offered me a false smile as his bloodshot eyes cast about the empty plain. “But there’s no one to hear you.”

  Again I looked for the tatzelwurm. Why hadn’t I given it a name? Then I could call it to my side! It could protect me from this monster as it had protected me from the harpies. And where was the centaur? He had saved me from them, too. But today he was nowhere to be seen.

  “Let’s take a walk,” the Blemmye said. His arm shot out, and he’d grabbed my wrist before I could react. “It’s a fine day to stroll along the water with a beautiful girl.”

  His grip was so strong I knew I could not shake him loose. I managed to smile back at him. “All right,” I said. “The more I think of it, the more it sounds like a fine idea. I could use a stroll.”

  He looked surprised by this response. I supposed it was unlikely that many girls, whether human or beast, would go anywhere with him willingly.

  “What are you waiting for?” I asked brightly. “Come on. Let us walk.”

  We took a few steps toward the water’s edge. A seagull floated, screeching, above us. “Do you live in the castle,” I said, “or are you a visitor? I didn’t see you in the Great Hall—”

  And then I stumbled forward in the sand, crying out as I fell. The monster’s hand on my wrist tightened. “My ankle!” I gasped.

  He let go of me as I clutched my boot, moaning. He dropped down to his knees, his horrible chest-face full of concern. “Are you—” he began.

  The instant he was down, I sprang to my feet and began running. I couldn’t believe my trick had worked. But perhaps I shouldn’t expect a monster with a brain squashed somewhere between his lungs and his stomach to be a paragon of intelligence.

  I reached the tiny cliff stairs and began to scramble up them. Roaring, furious, the Blemmye followed me. I knew that he was faster, and I knew he would catch up to me. I hoped to be ready.

  I clambered upward, using my hands and my claws as much as my feet, feeling loose rocks sliding away and ricocheting off the jagged cliff. The trail turned sharply up ahead. In that moment, when the steps doubled back across the vertical rock face, the Blemmye would be able to reach up and grab me.

  When I came to the switchback, rather than speed up, I slowed, as if hesitating. I clutched the rock with all my strength. The Blemmye grinned his terrible, squashed grin. When his hand reached for my ankle, I kicked it away as hard as I could. His arm flew backward, and this was just enough to unbalance him. He wavered on the tiny step. His hands grasped madly at the air, and then, roaring still, he fell.

  I didn’t wait to see him land on the rocks below. I scurried up and up, panting with triumph and fatigue, and then I slipped through the narrow gate into the castle courtyard.

  And here, someone else was waiting for m
e.

  CHAPTER 40

  Or perhaps I should say something. In a narrow patch of dim, silvery sunlight, just before the castle stables, crouched a Sphinx.

  Its great eyes were closed, but it knew I was there. I could hear its breathing, calm and heavy. Patient. Inquisitive.

  It’s not as big as I’d imagined it would be, I thought—and then that thought struck me with its absurdity. Had I ever, thumbing through my old beloved book, really imagined what size a Sphinx would be? No—because a Sphinx didn’t exist.

  Except, of course, that it did.

  The Sphinx had shared a page with the Bennu, and I looked up, halfway expecting to see a huge, blue, heron-like creature gazing down at me from the castle wall. But it was just the two of us here: serene Sphinx and panting beast.

  The magnificent thing opened one eye. “Good afternoon, Princess.” Its voice was a low rumble, the sound of some ancient, primordial thunder.

  And I didn’t know why I did it, but I curtsied! Did I think that politeness would earn me passage? I had no idea how a Sphinx preferred to kill a girl, and I did not intend to find out. I began to inch away.

  The creature laughed. “Surely you know the rules,” it said.

  I swallowed. “No.”

  But this was a lie—of course I knew. I’d read them in my book.

  “You cannot deceive me, and you cannot pass me unless I allow it,” the Sphinx said. “Come, answer me a riddle. If you answer correctly, you are free. If you do not, well… it’s best not to discuss it.”

  “You will eat me,” I said.

  The Sphinx nodded. “That I will, and I’ll enjoy it thoroughly. Are you ready?”

  What choice did I have? “I am ready,” I said. It was another lie.

  “I cannot speak, yet all understand me. I swallow, gold-bright, the breath from a king’s bosom. When I am alone, I am silent. When I am kissed, I sing. Who am I?” It settled back and looked at me expectantly, neutrally.

  I exhaled quickly and with relief. “That’s easy,” I said. “You are a battle horn.” My father had taught me that riddle when I was small. I felt a pang of grief, thinking of him. What world was he in now? Wherever he was, I hoped he was free.

  The creature looked only mildly surprised. “You did smell clever,” it allowed. “Let us try another riddle, then. I am feather-light, yet it takes four to move me. My path twists and loops, yet it always runs straight. Though I tell you great secrets, I have no mouth.”

  I had to think about this for a moment.

  “You also smell delicious, in case you wondered,” the Sphinx added, licking its lips. “Tender. Delectable.”

  My mind raced—a path that turned and yet was straight? And then, like a gift, the answer came to me. “You are a quill! Four fingers to hold you. The letters curve, but the written lines are straight. The words are your secrets.”

  The Sphinx sighed. “A pity you guessed it, as I am hungry. There is one more, less a riddle than a question. Who, dear girl, killed your father?” It stared at me now. Waiting. A thin rope of saliva dangled from the corner of its beastly mouth.

  “Reiper.” The name came without thought, and I realized what I was saying only as it came out of my mouth. How did I know? I didn’t, I couldn’t—and yet at the same time I was certain of it.

  Was it in a book I read? How did I know? I had to pay attention. I had to remember everything; I had to learn what mattered.

  It all still felt like a dream. So why couldn’t I wake up?

  The Sphinx moved its great paw out of my way. “Ox for dinner again, I suppose,” it said glumly.

  So I was right.

  CHAPTER 41

  Florence greeted me at my bedchamber door with obvious relief.

  “Yes, I’m back,” I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. “And no,” I added, “I would not have you killed on my account.”

  She smiled a little then. What low expectations for kindness she must have! She was grateful that I hadn’t wanted to be the death of her.

  I sank down on the stool and glared in indignation at the harp. “Meanwhile I was nearly killed myself, by what, three monsters? Four? I’ve lost count. And everyone in the village looked at me as if I’d eaten their children. Why?”

  “You must try to make the best of things, Sophia,” she said, ridiculously.

  How would that be possible? Did she think I could resign myself to this fate?

  “Why do they stare?” I asked her. “Why do they hate me?”

  Florence brushed dust from my sleeves. “I will not speak ill of my lord, but…”

  “But what?”

  “The villagers find his reign a cruel one, and they know you are here as his guest.”

  I gave an unladylike snort at the word “guest.”

  “Here, let us remove those rags,” Florence said. “I’ve run a bath for you. You must bathe and dress and do your hair.”

  “I am tired, and I want to go to bed.”

  Florence shook her head. “I’m afraid that is impossible. You are to join Ares for dinner.”

  “I won’t.”

  “You will.” Her voice was firm.

  One look at her told me that I could not talk her into letting me go to bed the way I’d talked her into letting me leave the castle.

  “I will help you, of course,” she said. “It has been too long since I have brushed a girl’s hair.”

  I stood up quickly. “Thank you, but I don’t need your help,” I said, and she silently bowed and left.

  I didn’t mean to be cruel—only honest. I couldn’t bear to be waited on, not the way I once had been by Jeanette and my attendants. Such kindness and attention belonged to a world that had vanished.

  A world that was stolen from me.

  I removed the servant’s dress and hung it carefully in the wardrobe. Then I bathed quickly and dressed with equal speed, selecting the first piece of clothing my fingers touched: a rich, red satin gown with a fitted bosom and flaring, gold-tipped sleeves. I didn’t bother looking in the mirror.

  The dress fit me perfectly, just as the previous one had, which I found strange. Whose clothes were these, anyway? I wondered if the gowns had been made just for me—or for another, prior princess. If they had been sewn for me, how had Ares known the size of my waist, the length of my legs? And if they had once belonged to someone else, who was she, and what had happened to her?

  Though I’d hurried through my ablutions, I was the last to arrive in the hall. Ares and all his hideous knights were already at the table, and already, it seemed, half drunk on honeyed wine served in exquisite golden goblets. They were not wearing armor, but richly embroidered cloaks instead, and rings glittered on many a rough finger.

  Ares smiled as I took my seat. “Ah, speak of the angel. The surly enchantress from afar returns to our company. We have been discussing you, Sophia. Some of us find you more charming than others, but we can all agree that the castle is much enlivened by your presence, and by the friendly competition it has inspired. Again, using the term friendly very loosely. Look, we even dressed up for you.” He gestured to Seth, who wore a golden vest, and Hesia, whose two necks were hung with heavy, jeweled chains.

  I gave them all a curt nod of acknowledgment—it was the least and most I could do. Then I took an empty seat next to Mordred, who leaned in and whispered, “Hello, beauty,” which I ignored.

  “And how will you dine this evening?” Ares asked. “Pheasant? Duck? Venison? Perhaps your friend the pig? I do believe we have some of his face left.”

  “I will have vegetables only,” I said.

  Mordred shuddered. “Too much vegetable matter harms the guts, Princess. Tomatoes, in particular, are better to look at than to consume.”

  “Some might say the same of little piglets,” I said.

  He placed his hand over his heart. “I didn’t kill it,” he said innocently.

  “But you are eating it.”

  He nodded in agreement. “It’s hardly the worst th
ing I’ve done,” he said. He speared a piece of it with his knife. “Would you like to—”

  “No.”

  A stew of boiled potatoes held inside a hollowed-out bowl of bread was set before me. Though I didn’t want to eat—I wished to take nothing from Ares—I was so hungry that I couldn’t resist. I ate quickly and without relish. The potatoes tasted of dirt and loam, and the broth was as briny as the ocean.

  Ares watched me thoughtfully. “I see your manners have not improved since this morning. Was it because you had no mother? I must remember to keep my expectations low.” He drained his goblet and held it out for a lizard servant to refill. “In any case, you will not race off as you did earlier. You will remain here, and you will enjoy an intimate meal with your chosen suitor. Remember our agreement? You must pick one of my knights and get to know him.” He looked at Hasshaku Sama and Hesia. “Or her, I suppose.”

  “We had no agreement,” I said, “and a choice between these monsters is no choice at all.”

  “Be that as it may,” Ares said, “make it.” His voice was like a blade of ice.

  I looked around the table in fear and desperation. Whom should I pick? Who was the best of the worst?

  The only one of the knights who was not staring at me was El Cuchillo. He was carefully slicing his meat with the knives that had sprung from the tips of his fingers. If my book was right, he was far from the worst of the lot. They called him the stealer of light, the bladed shadow.

  “Him,” I said, pointing. “I choose him.”

  CHAPTER 42

  As soon as I said it, the lizard servant took my soup bowl away, skittering it over to a small table at the far end of the hall. With a pointed look, Ares made it clear that I was to follow the creature. And so, reluctantly, I did, and then I seated myself there on a small dais, ringed by candles and bedecked with roses the color of spoiled wine.