The Princess and the Bear - Mette Ivie Harrison [80]
Now he had to decide what to do next. He had never allowed himself to think this far ahead, because it seemed impossibly unlikely that he would win this battle and survive with so many of his people. He thought perhaps he could go back to the palace quietly and show his people gradually the kind of man—and king—he could become.
But as he was moving across the battlefield, he was stopped by one of the men who had been dead and touched with the spirit of a wolf (for Richon could still see the faint green outline of the creature on him). The man seemed fierce and Richon held back in fear, but then he called out to the others around him.
“The king! The king has led us to triumph!”
Richon changed into a bear, to disguise himself.
But it had the opposite effect than he had intended. The men around him shouted at him. “It’s the king! He’s the bear! He came to help us! It’s his magic at last!”
Richon turned himself back into a man then, thinking to argue that he only resembled the king.
But by then he was being lifted on shoulders, carried about, and sung to. Terrible songs with lyrics sung by men with voices that were torn and weary.
It was a kind of music he had never heard before. It was made for him, as king, but not because it was due him. Rather because he’d earned it.
Richon was so caught up in the celebration, in the passing of bottles of wine and ale, that he forgot for a moment about the royal steward. When at last he remembered, he asked all around, but no one had seen the man since the battle.
He cursed himself for his lack of focus. He had allowed a few cheers and his own satisfaction at having dispatched one traitor to distract him from chasing the other. He had to find the royal steward and see him pay for his crimes.
He meant to have the hound go with him, and he searched through the battlefield in the dark, calling for her. But she, too, was gone. He did not know where. Had she left him and returned to the forest? Was she hurt? Killed?
He turned into a bear briefly and caught her scent. As he followed it past the edge of the battlefield, he discovered that it was mingled with the scent of the royal steward.
He turned back into a man and smiled to himself. She had gone after the royal steward!
No doubt she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, as she had proved more than once, but he felt a twinge of concern, for the royal steward was dangerously clever and had no love for those with animal magic.
In the morning Richon went back to his men and told them they were free to go home, and to take with them any supplies they wished, from livestock to swords, clothing, wood, or wagons.
He was cheered for this, and more than one man came to offer his service to Richon, for whatever was needed. Richon directed this man and others back to the palace. He needed people who were loyal to him there, and he did not much care if they had been wellborn or not. He cared that they were good and that they respected animal magic, as he did now.
He promised to be there soon himself.
With Chala at his side.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The Hound
AFTER FILLING HER stomach, the hound went back to wait outside the inn. It was one of the most difficult things she had ever done. If only she could have simply leaped through the window and attacked. That was what the hound in her longed to do. No thinking about choices, about chances. Do it, or don’t do it. But don’t stew over it like a human.
Perhaps it would help if she were not so torn between the two sides of herself.
She tried changing herself back to a woman, wondering if that would help her to be more patient. It did not.
So she watched as a hound while the shadows of the royal steward and the cat man sat by the hearth late into the night. And then at last went up to their rooms to sleep.
At dawn her legs were cramped and tight. Her head was hot and heavy. And her magic was itching to be used.
But she could do nothing as