The Beast Prince

by Marian Perera

  A fight might not go too well for Marus, though he’d have died before he called for help from Kat, so his only chance was to intimidate this man into leaving.

  “Who are you?” He kept his tone peremptory and dismissive.

  “A dead man.”

  Marus gave up any pretense of disinterest. The human was utterly still except for his large hands, which clenched and unclenched.

  “What do you want here?” Sweat prickled beneath his arms.

  “But I knew she wasn’t dead.”

  “Who wasn’t dead?” It was a mistake to respond, to invite more of the lunatic ranting, but as usual his damned curiosity betrayed him.

  “My wife. Raina Farlander. I dug up everything…” The mask cracked. “Everyone I could and never found her body. But when I saw that girl, I knew what your kind did to her.”

  “I didn’t touch her.” On the table between the two of them was a knife, nothing like the weapon at Kat’s hip, but within reach—if he’d had an arm as long as a spear. “Now leave my presence.”

  The man took a pace towards him as if daring him to do something about it. Hands opened and closed. “Why should I? What does it matter? You’ll use us every way you can and throw away whatever you’re tired of. I thought the worst you could do was kill us—”

  “Get out of my house.”

  “Go on. Finish it off. At least that will be better than—”

  “I won’t give you the satisfaction of becoming a martyr.”

  “Filthy bastard. All of you.” The man stared at him, muscles working beneath a paste of dust and sweat. “I see those shithole eyes, you’re one of them. Why aren’t you—”

  “Get out!” Raising his voice was another mistake, but his temper flared so hot that the edges of his vision turned red.

  The man didn’t speak or move. Marus stared him down, drawing on every vestige of the power and authority he’d once wielded, a control so complete that he hadn’t needed to take earth form to intimidate anyone. Which was, of course, the only reason he wasn’t taking it now.

  “You can’t…” The words were slow, as if the man was thinking aloud, speaking to himself. “You can’t do it, can you? You can’t change into—that’s why you’re skulking in here.”

  Marus spun on his heel and went for the knife.

  The man sprang forward and shoved the table over. Plates fell clanging and a half-full jar of honey shattered. Marus flung himself aside to avoid the table as it came down, and sprawled on the floor. He scrabbled up to his hands and knees, and lunged for the knife.

  The man leaped over the table. Splinters of glass crunched under his boots. He closed the distance between himself and Marus in a heartbeat, just as Marus grabbed the knife.

  But having the weapon in his hand gave Marus the strength he needed. Still on his knees, he turned and struck. The blade buried itself in the man’s thigh, but before Marus could pull it out and stab again, a huge hand grabbed a fistful of his hair. He tried to twist away and the man punched him in the face.

  For a dazed instant Marus thought his head had been knocked off his shoulders. He couldn’t see or breathe. When the man released him, he fell to the floor as if poleaxed, fighting to recover. He blinked his vision clear in time to see the man yank the blade free with a hiss from behind clenched teeth.

  Blood soaked dark down the man’s trousers, but he didn’t seem to notice. Marus looked around desperately for another weapon, caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, and tried to roll out of the way. The man’s heel took him hard in the side. If the kick had been delivered from the man’s good leg, it would probably have broken Marus’s ribs; as it was, it left him curled around the fierce heat that pulsed in his side and spread out through his body.

  The man dropped to a knee beside him, and Marus had one glimpse of the knife before it came down.

  A stab sharp and white as lightning drove through his arm, though it was far more agonizing when the man wrenched the knife back. What stunned Marus most was that he was still alive. He’d been aware of the possibility of dying, ever since he’d been trapped in flesh form, but he hadn’t expected it to happen by slow and painful degrees.

  There was a muffled thud. The man swayed, his eyes rolled up and he collapsed facedown on the floor. Kat stood over him, hands locked around the barrel of her rifle, and Marus thought the unbelieving expression on her face probably mirrored what he looked like.

  He closed his right hand tentatively around the hot, sodden sleeve that covered his left arm; he didn’t want to see what, if anything, was left under the sleeve. Blood trickled between his fingers, and there was a high, faraway hum in his ears. The walls and rafters moved closer to him, then receded into the distance, but he still saw realization dawn in Kat’s eyes.

  “You son of a bitch,” she said.

  “Insult or observation?” Marus managed to say, before he passed out.

  Chapter Eight

  Kat placed the rifle out of reach and drew her knife. It took all her strength to push the man over onto his back, but although his chest rose and fell, he was obviously unconscious.

  Blood welled dark and sluggish from the leg wound, but it didn’t seem likely to finish him off any time soon. She turned him over again so he wouldn’t choke, and glanced at Marus. Tempting though it might have been to let him die, she didn’t intend to make it so easy for him.

  He was bleeding too, but that could wait for a few minutes. Grabbing her rifle, she ran to the tower. She pounded up the steps while tearing her scarf loose with her free hand.

  At the observation deck, panting, she tied the scarf to the halyard and pulled down, raising the cloth to the top of the flagpole. In the town, that was a sign someone needed medical help urgently, so she hoped they’d react fast. Until then, she’d see to Marus and the man herself.

  But as she hurried down the steps again, a shout of “Novak!” echoed below and she recognized Ranj Blake’s voice. Relieved, she bolted down the rest of the steps, too breathless to call out. Ranj had dismounted from his horse, drawn his pistol and ducked into a doorway for cover, but when he saw her he stepped back out.

  “Where’s Novak?” he said.

  “I’ve dealt with him. But come help me before they both bleed to death.”

  “Both?” Ranj said, though there was no time to answer before she broke into a run again and he followed. She only stopped when they reached the upended table, and she drew her knife again to slash the bundle of clothes open. That linen was clean, and she pressed a thick pad of it against Marus’s arm while Ranj did the same for Novak’s leg.

  “Who is that?” He pointed with his free hand.

  Since Marus’s eyes were closed, it wasn’t obvious. She lifted one eyelid to show the pool of mud beneath, and let it drop.

  “He’s a—he’s the—” Ranj looked as if she’d hit him between the eyes with a hammer. “How?”

  “He can’t take earth form,” Kat said grimly. She kept pressing down, with more pressure than was strictly necessary; oh, if only he wasn’t unconscious, she’d knock him out herself. “I should have known. No wonder he was hiding here.”

  Now it all made sense, why he’d abandoned Copper Lake to hide in a deserted outpost, why he had wanted a perimeter of sentries as an early-warning system. Not so he could fight any Princes away from the outpost, but so he could run if he was warned of their approach.

  And eating every meal with her, wanting to know how to shave, never giving her an answer when she asked if he would defend the town… Not having drawn the right conclusion from all that made her more furious. He’d even warned her that the Princes, utterly amoral in their various ways, had a strong streak of self-preservation, a description that fitted him perfectly. And she’d never guessed.

  Ranj drew his pistol and pulled back the hammer. In sheer reflex Kat twisted so her body was between him and
Marus. “Put that away!”

  He stared at her as if she’d gone crazy. “We can kill him!”

  “So you don’t want to interrogate him first, maybe find out if this condition could spread to other Princes?”

  There was silence for a moment before he replaced the gun. “When did you find out?”

  “Just now.” She kept her eyes fixed on Marus’s arm when she said that, because Ranj had angled for her position as captain of the guard for a little while before he’d achieved it; he was good at his work, but he was unquestionably ambitious and never hesitated to capitalize on his rivals’ mistakes. The fact that she hadn’t seen through Marus immediately would not stand in her favor if she tried to become captain of the guard again.

  “Go build up the fire,” she said, trying to speak normally despite wanting to shoot something. “We’ll need hot water.”

  He went to the fireplace just as Marus stirred. Livid though she was, she couldn’t take a swing at him no matter how much she wanted to, because he was already a mess. He’d shaved, she couldn’t help noticing, but that only made it easier to see his cheek darken with the start of a massive bruise. Still not quite conscious, he twitched, and a spasm of pain tightened his face.

  She snagged a fur, rolled it up and lifted his head enough to slip the fur beneath. The fire crackled and water sloshed into the kettle before Ranj hung it over the flames and came back to lift the table. Marus’s eyes opened slowly and he groaned.

  “Don’t try to move,” Kat said.

  “Or I might finish the job Novak started.” Ranj approached until the toe of his boot touched Marus’s ear. Kat’s stomach muscles tightened; she was braced for Marus to have his face stamped on, but he stared up, unblinking, as Ranj went on. “I always knew the Princes were vile, but it was filthy low to extort food from hungry people. When you’re just like us now.”

  Marus’s mouth tightened. “I didn’t ask for the tribute the first time.”

  “You didn’t send it back either,” Kat retorted. “Ranj, please.”

  He glared at her but backed off. She picked up the fallen plates, and Ranj cleaned the broken glass off the floor; the sticky drying mixture of blood and honey would have to wait. Marus kept quiet and motionless, the best thing he could have done under the circumstances, and after a few minutes she heard hoofbeats outside.

  “Best see to Novak first,” Ranj said when Dr. McKay came in. “He’s unconscious, but the Prince is well enough to yap at us.”

  Dr. McKay froze with his hands on the catches of his case and just behind him, Janice stopped as if ready to run. Kat sighed.

  “He can’t take earth form.” She indicated Marus so they could get a good look. “He’s been like this since the start, but he covered it up and I only found out now.”

  “You mean we’ve been sending…” Janice stared at the food and clothes, cooking pots and furs. “Oh!” The last was a guttural sound, and she spun to face the fireplace, shoulder blades showing tensely beneath her shirt. Dr. McKay yanked his sleeves up and washed his hands in the basin of hot water that Ranj brought him.

  “Are any of the other Princes like this too?” Janice asked without looking around, as Dr. McKay bent over Novak and cut the cloth away from the man’s leg.

  Marus swallowed. “As far as I know, I’m the only one so unfortunate.”

  “My heart bleeds.”

  “So does this man’s leg,” Dr. McKay said. “Any other injuries I should know about?”

  “I hit him on the back of the head with my rifle,” Kat said.

  “Thank you, Ito. I so love dealing with subcranial hematomas and possible brain damage. Did you also tie this tourniquet?”

  It was such a relief to indicate Ranj. “No, he did that.”

  “Blake, when we get back to the town, you and me, we’re going to sit down for a little talk about gangrene. Now make yourself useful for once and get a stretcher ready.”

  Dr. McKay was in fine form by then, and no one said anything as he cleaned, stitched and dressed Novak’s wound. Finally he told Janice there was nothing to be done about the lump on the head or the concussion, other than keeping the man warm and taking him to the infirmary so his condition could be monitored. Janice and Ranj carried Novak out while Kat fetched the ponies, harnessed them to the cart and spread an armful of clean straw inside.

  They lifted Novak in, and Ranj drove the cart away while she and Janice went back to the dining room to find Dr. McKay waiting. “I suppose you want me to see to that one,” he said to Janice.

  “If you don’t mind. He may be more useful alive than dead.”

  To his credit, Marus said nothing. Dr. McKay cut away the shirt to reveal another bruise spreading over Marus’s side, and Kat tried to avoid looking at him, but she wondered how badly he was hurt.

  “Candles and more hot water,” Dr. McKay said, so she brought those over. He stitched up the cut in Marus’s arm with boiled horsehair, though he didn’t once look at Marus’s face as he did so. Unless his patients were insensible, he checked their reactions and made sure he wasn’t hurting them unduly. He talked too, explaining the procedure and letting them know it wouldn’t take too long.

  Now, he was silent unless he asked her to hand him something. He tied off the last knot, then examined Marus’s side, working his way down the ribs. She could tell how much force he applied, because the skin paled where his fingers prodded hard, then reddened when the pressure moved on. He did that over the bruised area too. It had to hurt, but Marus didn’t react other than the muscles in his face going rigid. He didn’t even close his eyes.

  The stubborn idiot. Not only was he too proud to show any vulnerability, he seemed to want to remind Dr. McKay of who he was, even if that earned him more pain.

  “Nothing broken,” Dr. McKay said. Yet, Kat thought. He held a lit candle up to Marus’s face, so dangerously close she wondered if he was trying to blind Marus. It would probably be easy, since Marus didn’t bother to turn away. Then again, mud couldn’t be blinded, but she was half-afraid she’d smell roasting flesh or have to watch as Marus’s eyelashes were burned off. The bruise across his cheek turned livid in the light.

  Dr. McKay handed her back the candle. “No pupils,” he said to Marus. “You can see well enough, though, can’t you?”

  Marus gave a taut nod, as though his patience was at an end too. Dr. McKay washed his hands vigorously, scrubbing every last trace of a Prince off, and Kat carried his case out, so she could speak to him privately there. “Can you give him some painkillers?”

  He looked at her with tired resignation. “We only have a limited amount of those.”

  That said it all, so once he had mounted his horse, she gave him his case and went back inside.

  * * *

  Marus was thirsty, but it seemed safer not to draw any attention to himself, so he stayed where he was. Something soft was beneath his head, but it was the only comfort he felt. His body ached as if he had been run over by a herd of horses, though that was nothing compared to the hot spike embedded in his arm. He concentrated on keeping the limb still, so it only throbbed unbearably.

  The woman who had arrived with the doctor came over to him. She didn’t carry any weapons, but it was obvious she was in charge; the other humans oriented themselves to her, staying aware of her presence even when she had her back to them and they were busy with their work.

  The woman sat on a bench, facing him. Like Kat, she had dark hair, but hers was going silver at the sides of her head, as if touched by an early frost. Her eyes were so pale they looked like clear water in the shade.

  “Highness, are you in need of anything we can provide?” Her voice was clear too, and quiet as if she’d never needed to raise it.

  Kat came into the dining room, much to Marus’s relief; she at least was a familiar quantity. “No,” he said, because he couldn’t shake his head. Half of it fel
t swollen from the man’s fist ramming into it. “And I’d prefer it if you called me Marus.”

  “I am Mayor Stuyvesant, the head of Solstice Harbor. It would be best if we speak now, before you start feeling the effects of your injuries.” You mean it gets worse than this? Marus thought as she went on. “Was Mr. Novak aware, when he came here, that you were unable to assume earth form?”

  “No.”

  She leaned forward. “He attacked you while believing you could turn into tons of stone in retaliation?”

  “I think he was hoping for it.” Marus wasn’t sure how much to say, because he’d put the man’s words together with what Kat had told him earlier, and what he’d figured out might be all he could use to bargain for his life. “He said he was a dead man, and, uh…”

  “Please reconsider if you think of lying to us again.” Mayor Stuyvesant spoke in the same tone, soft without gentleness, not so much as a flicker in her cool eyes. “I’m prepared to overlook what you did earlier because I see why you did it, but I can only be pushed so far. And I intend to question Mr. Novak too. If he tells a different story, it will not go well for you.”

  His mouth turned drier. “How will you know he’s not lying?”

  “As I said, I’ll be questioning him.”

  She didn’t tower over him like the gunman had done, or jab her fingers into his side, but she reminded him of the Queen Beneath the Earth. Which was ridiculous. Maybe he was light-headed from losing blood, because his mother was a force of nature who could tear the land apart, huge and hideously powerful. While Mayor Stuyvesant was human, small and soft and without so much as a weapon to hand.

  But he sensed the same authority in her, and a thread of iron that might have been below the surface but was there nevertheless.