Sophia, Princess Among Beasts Page 14

  “What makes you so certain?”

  “Because they hated me when they thought I was his.”

  “You are his, aren’t you?” Raphael’s tone was light, but there was a challenge in it.

  “He imprisons me, but he doesn’t control or own me, and I won’t have you suggesting otherwise.” I put my hand on his arm. “If we join together—all of us—we stand a chance against him.”

  “‘Stand a chance’?” Raphael repeated. “Those sound like impossible odds.”

  “You are preparing to attack Bandon Castle,” I practically shouted. “Where I live—lived, I mean. In whose shadow you grew up. Please. Do not fight against innocent people whom you likely know. Fight against our common enemy.”

  “Sophia, neither you nor I are war leaders,” he said. “We can’t ask the villagers to die for this cause of yours.”

  “In battle, hundreds will die, no matter whom they fight for.”

  His handsome face was grave—sad, even. “So that may be. But it is not for us to decide. I will help you, though.”

  “You, alone.” I couldn’t keep the disappointment from my voice.

  “Two is twice as good as one, Your Highness.” He reached down to the bench outside the workshop and picked up two swords, one of which he gave to me. “Ready?” he asked. “I’ll teach you to fight.”

  I hefted the blade in my hand. It was heavy and crude.

  “Have you held a sword before?” Raphael asked. “Or only an embroidery needle?”

  I heard the teasing tone in his voice, and in answer, I lunged at him. He flung his blade up to block my blow, but just barely. I stepped back, crouched, and then came at him from the side, my sword tip plunging down as if to slice into his thigh. Again he barely avoided my strike.

  “Beginner’s luck, clearly,” he said. He danced backward and held his blade with both hands, extended toward me.

  I smiled, knowing already he was more of a beginner than I was. “The inexperienced fighter stands with his arms out, to keep his opponent at a distance,” I said—this was something Odo used to tell me over and over again. “But he cannot strike without pulling back. And when he does, his enemy’s blade finds its mark.”

  “So you have been taught a little,” Raphael said. He was already a little breathless, and he seemed surprised at my skill.

  “I have held a sword more often than an embroidery needle,” I said. I faked a thrust and then stepped back.

  “So it would seem,” Raphael said, letting his sword drop to his side. He looked at me thoughtfully.

  Several of the men had come out from the sweltering smithy, and they called for us to keep sparring. I gathered that it wasn’t every day that a princess crossed blades with a blacksmith.

  “With wrapped swords we need not be so careful with one another,” I said.

  A bearded man offered us wooden roundels and dull swords wrapped in cloth, so a blow could hurt but wouldn’t draw blood. We squared off, and then we began to spar, surrounded by a group of cheering villagers.

  Though untrained, Raphael was a natural fighter, swift and clever. I had to summon all Odo’s teachings, and soon my chest was heaving and my breath was coming in painful gasps.

  When I could barely lift my sword any longer, I dropped it, as if in defeat. But then I clutched the practice dagger and darted forward, twisting it in the air so quickly Raphael couldn’t block it. I ducked low and came up fast, thrusting the dull wooden blade into his armpit. Raphael yelped in surprise and pain.

  “That,” I said, gasping, “is a deadly strike.” Then I shoved him, and he landed in the dirt, much to the delight of the whooping, cackling smiths.

  He looked up at me in what actually seemed like admiration. “You are… unpredictable,” he said.

  “Thank you,” I said, for the adjective pleased me. “I owe it to the knight Odo. He taught me, though it was against my father’s wishes. The king wanted me to be a proper princess, to walk gracefully and play the harp.”

  Raphael brushed the dirt from his ragged pants, and then he held out his hand. I took it in my own—it was warm, strong, and filthy—and pulled him to his feet. For a moment, our fingers stayed entwined, and I felt my cheeks flush.

  “And did you do such things?” Raphael asked.

  “I certainly tried. But I wasn’t very good at either one,” I said. I smiled ruefully. “Once upon a time, having to practice that infernal instrument seemed like the worst sort of hardship. It’s funny how much things have changed since then.”

  “What’s so hard for you now?” Raphael asked. “You still live a life of luxury.”

  “I am under an enemy’s roof,” I said, and I heard the note of bitterness creeping into my voice. “It’s worse than being in prison.”

  Raphael raised an eyebrow. “I might venture to disagree with you,” he said. “And unless I’m mistaken, only one of us has been locked in a dungeon—so I know of what I speak.”

  I saw the hint of a smile on his face. “In your father’s cells,” he went on, “I recall a distinct lack of proper manure clumps. But the rats were rather cute and friendly, actually, especially if you gave them a bit of moldy bread and hid them from Gattis’s hungry eyes…”

  He was trying to cheer me, I knew that. And I was grateful for it. But he couldn’t understand what it was like to live in Ares’s keep. To be less a princess than a plaything, or a prize for a killer.

  “How would you like to share a table with the man who murdered your father?” I asked, feeling my throat constrict at the words. “Because that is what I must do, every single day.”

  Raphael looked thoughtful. “I never knew my father,” he said.

  “And I am sorry for that,” I said. “But I knew mine, and I loved him deeply, and now Reiper, his murderer, courts me.” I swung my sword in agitation and Raphael, caught off guard, leapt back.

  “Careful, Your Highness,” he said, “unless you wish to maim your allies as well as your enemies.”

  “Sorry,” I said, setting the weapon down. “But any day now, Reiper will lead the charge to attack my castle.”

  “I told you, I will help you,” Raphael said.

  “Help me how?” I asked, more sharply than I meant to. “Will you fling manure in his face?”

  Raphael’s answer was calm and matter-of-fact. “Sophia, I’ll help you kill him.”

  CHAPTER 50

  The next day, when I returned to the village to spar with Raphael, he seemed glad to see me. “We’ll see who beats whom today,” he said, strutting around in the dust, and I laughed to watch him puff out his chest in a parody of cruel Ares himself.

  I drew my sword. “Shall we take a bet?” I asked him.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll bet you—ah, see, I have nothing to offer!” But then he shrugged. “No matter, I don’t plan to lose.” He grinned slyly at me. “You’ll wager your crown, though, won’t you?”

  “I already lost that,” I reminded him. “So perhaps I have nothing, either.”

  “Let us spar, then!” Raphael said, lunging at me and taking me by surprise.

  Our match that day was long, but I bested him again. And so it continued this way for days. I journeyed to the village, found him wherever he was, and summoned him to a duel. Sometimes a small crowd gathered to cheer us on, and other times we fought in an alleyway, alone.

  Though I’d never admit it, I had come to enjoy his company. He teased me, tested me, and yet when I returned to my room at night, tired and bruised, I missed him. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask him if he felt the same way. Maybe, like me, he experienced a spark of heat when we clasped hands to help each other up. Or maybe he felt nothing at all. That brilliant, lightning-flash smile of his—perhaps he bestowed it on everyone.

  And though we were getting stronger with practice, it was impossible to imagine that he and I alone could take down someone like Reiper. But every time I tried to speak of a larger revolt, Raphael’s face darkened and his mouth grew small and tight.

>   Meanwhile, at Ares’s castle, the forge turned out gleaming new weapons, and knights and their pages practiced at the pell, striking the heavy wooden post with swords and battle-axes. Florence, slipping past Ares’s chamber one night, had heard Mordred whispering of pack animals and plunder.

  “I should not tell you this,” she had whispered, “but they will ride out in three days.”

  So I hurried to the village to tell Raphael. The old man by the fountain gestured vaguely to the west with a bony, withered arm. “I saw the boy go down that way,” he croaked. “Try the baker’s.”

  Thanking him with a curtsy, I set out along the dusty streets. When I saw the man with the crown of eyeballs, I sped up—I hoped to spare myself his glaring ocular hostility. But he stopped me, gripping my shoulder while his many eyes searched my face. “Forgive me for thinking you were on their side,” he said. The largest eye blinked earnestly at me.

  “It is no matter,” I assured him. I looked around—we were the only two people in a narrow side street—and then I whispered, “Especially if you would join me in rising against them.”

  The man shrank back as if my words had burned him. Then, without another word, he scurried into a building and slammed the door shut behind him. I felt my shoulders sag. It seemed more clear than ever that Raphael and I would be alone in our fight. I couldn’t imagine how it would end well for us.

  I found the baker’s after several wrong turns and dead-end alleys, but Raphael was nowhere to be seen. The warm smell of fresh bread made my mouth water, and, fascinated, I watched a woman take a soft lump of dough, punch it down, and then begin to knead it vigorously, all the while sprinkling flour over its surface.

  Eventually she looked up at me. “Why do you stare?” she asked.

  My cheeks flushed. “I’ve never seen anyone making bread before,” I admitted.

  Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “A strange life you must lead,” she said.

  I thought of my throne—and then of my sickness—and now, of my imprisonment in this strange and inexplicable world. How I still didn’t even know if I was half alive or all the way dead. “I suppose you could say that.”

  The fire in the great stone oven crackled and roared. Rising loaves lined the shelves, wrapped in towels like swaddled babies.

  “I heard you were looking for me,” said a soft voice in my ear.

  I whirled around to see Raphael with his hands on his hips and a playful grin on his face. I was as glad to see him as if it’d been days instead of mere hours since we’d last been together.

  I smiled back at him. “I’ve come to best you in a duel again, obviously.”

  “I distinctly remember our last match being even,” he said.

  “Perhaps, after so many blows to the head, your memory has suffered,” I teased.

  He gave a little snorting laugh. “I doubt it. But let’s not fight yet. Let’s take a walk.” He looped his arm through mine and steered me toward the door. “Goodbye, Bryn,” he said, calling over his shoulder. “Save me one of those sweet buns, will you? I’ll pay you tomorrow, I promise.” He leaned into my ear again. “She knows I won’t,” he whispered, and I shivered at his breath on my neck. “I don’t have any money at all.”

  Outside the air was brisk, but the morning mist had burned away, and in the distance was a small patch of blue sky. I was acutely aware of Raphael’s touch, the solid warmth of his body next to mine, as together we strolled down the winding streets of the town. I felt suddenly shy, but the villagers, humans and beasts alike, called out in greeting to him, and he called right back. He knew everyone’s name.

  Then I felt a nip at my heels, and I turned to see that the little six-legged fox creature had reappeared. “Hello again,” I said. “Where have you been?”

  “I think he likes you,” Raphael said, as it twined around my ankles.

  I gave it a pat on its bristly head and it fell into step beside us. The sun came out from behind gray scraps of clouds, and for a moment, I felt almost happy. I knew it didn’t make sense—I was a beast, I was possibly dead, and Ares was preparing to destroy what was left of my kingdom—but there it was. A glimmer of hope. For the first time in my life, I finally didn’t feel alone.

  “Why are you smiling?” Raphael asked.

  “Life is strange, isn’t it?” I said.

  “Or death is.”

  “Or whatever this is,” we both said at the same time.

  Then Raphael unhooked his arm from mine, and I felt suddenly bereft—until he took my inhuman-colored hand in his and squeezed my fingers tight.

  CHAPTER 51

  Though we should have been sparring, or should have been making plans to destroy Reiper, we kept walking through the town’s narrow streets. Beside me, Raphael began to whistle a high, lilting tune.

  “How do you do that?” I asked.

  “Do what?”

  “Whistle,” I said, flushing a little in embarrassment.

  He laughed. “Your tutors neglected to teach you such a common skill?”

  “Yes,” I said, “probably because it was common.”

  “It’s simple. You make a little circle with your mouth”—he demonstrated—“and then you blow air through it. Like this.” His song was as lovely as a bird’s.

  I tried to do as he instructed, but I could hardly even make a sound.

  “I see,” he said, with mock gravity. “Perhaps your lips are too noble for it.” He bent closer to me and peered at them. “Yes, I do believe I see the problem.”

  “What? What is it?”

  “Do you really want to know?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said, even though I was afraid he’d tell me something cruel. You have the mouth of a monster.

  But he didn’t say anything. He put his hands on my cheeks, and then before I even understood what was happening, Raphael was kissing me. Not shyly, not gently, but urgently, his lips somehow soft and hard at the same time. My heart began to bang against my ribs and I swayed on my feet. It felt delicious, frightening, overwhelming. After a moment, I broke away, breathless.

  Raphael blinked at me. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have presumed.”

  “No, no, it’s all right,” I stammered. “I—you—” My thoughts were scrambled, my cheeks aflame. I’d wanted such a thing to happen, and I hadn’t even known how much.

  He took my hand again. “Strange, isn’t it? A princess and a beast,” he said, shaking his head.

  Whether he was calling himself the beast—or me—I didn’t ask. I put my hand on the back of his neck, lifting my lips to his. “Not so strange at all,” I said.

  As his arms tightened around me, I let myself sink into him. I wanted to stay that way forever. But I knew that I couldn’t.

  “Ares’s army rides in a matter of days, and I am to marry one of his knights,” I whispered into his chest.

  I felt him start, and then pull away. He stared down at me. “Marry? I don’t understand.”

  I explained to him about Ares’s command and all the knights I had to choose from against my will. “Ares stole me, and he seeks to make a gift of me—as if I have no more mind than a fur stole or a ruby ring. That’s bad enough. But what’s worse is that Reiper seems to think that I’m already his.”

  Raphael had begun to pace in circles in the road. Suddenly he stopped and turned to me. “The solution is right in front of you, Princess, even if you don’t want to see it.”

  “I know what the solution is. We must rise up against him.”

  “No,” he said. “You must marry Reiper.”

  I felt as if I’d been punched in the chest. “How the hell is that a solution?”

  Raphael didn’t seem to think he’d said anything surprising. “Who is better positioned to wound a devil than the woman who marries him? Think of it, Sophia. You pledge your loyalty, and then you strike when he’s most vulnerable.” He avoided looking at me. “On your wedding night.”

  “I-I can’t,” I whispered. Each time I looked at Reip
er, I felt the breath sucked from my lungs and fear crawling up my spine like a snake. The thought of pledging myself to him and entering his bedchamber made me shudder.

  But Raphael was insistent. “What do you have to lose? You’re probably dead anyway.” He waved his arm around. “Likely we all are.”

  “And we speak and we walk and we breathe! This is some kind of life, and though I don’t relish it, I don’t want to forfeit it by marrying a murderer.”

  We continued toward the square in silence. The sweet moment of our kiss had been ruined, and I mourned its loss. The sheep ran bleating away from us as Raphael took his place opposite me, holding his practice sword loosely in his right hand and his shield in his left. Unlike Odo, he didn’t worry about hurting me or risking my father’s wrath, and I had blue-black bruises to prove it.

  I planted my feet and raised my weapon. “Ready,” I said.

  Raphael brushed a loose strand of hair from my cheek, sending shivers down my whole body. “What is it he says to you? In your honor, Princess.”

  “Don’t mock me!” I said, swatting his hand away.

  “I’m not. I’m trying to help.”

  “Then raise your sword,” I said sharply.

  Raphael shrugged, but he did as I asked. Our fight was particularly vicious, and it was not me who walked away more bruised.

  CHAPTER 52

  I returned to the castle to find Seth lurking where the Sphinx usually basked in the weak sunlight. He said nothing as I approached, but he raised his jackal nose and sniffed inquisitively at the air. I pretended that I didn’t see him. Pretended, too, that I didn’t notice him fall in step behind me, and then trail me through the halls the way a wolf tracks its prey.

  As I passed through an interior courtyard, he drew closer, until I could almost feel his panting breath on my neck.

  I quickened my pace. I was a better fighter than I had been, but I had no weapon with me. And even if I had, would it protect me against a demigod? My book of myths called him the first murderer—a creature who’d killed his own brother to steal his throne—and it didn’t seem wise to turn around and challenge him.