Princess Ben

  I shuddered. Florian must have told him of my sorcery— doubtless with horrific embellishments. I attempted a delay, to no avail.

  "Please, Princess, it is of no small importance to me.

  Thus in due time he, Sophia, and I gathered in the very Blue Room in which Florian half a year earlier had so unsuccessfully tried to revive me. Renaldo perched on his chair, wringing his hands, and I suppressed the urge to do the same. Perhaps I might yet deny witchcraft, or swear it off, should the queen appear sympathetic to this tack.

  "Your Majesty," Sophia began. "Please share with us the cause of your anxiety that we might offer succor.

  "It is difficult to discuss." The king winced.

  "If there be any misunderstanding, we pray you accept our apologies.

  "Nay, you are both the embodiment of hospitality ... Your Majesty, Your Highness, I ask leave only—might I this afternoon visit Ferdinand's tomb?"

  Inevitably, Sophia recovered first from this thunderbolt. She insisted even that I escort him, as she had obligations with our other guests.

  No task ever attracted me less. I found the king's solicitude as disturbing as his earlier disdain. The thought even crossed my mind that he might be luring me to my mother's fate. Yet no matter how strongly I pleaded, Sophia would not relent. "Courtesy is our weapon of choice at the moment, dear Benevolence, and the one wielded best."

  My heart sank still further, be that possible, when the king arrived accompanied by Florian, though I could not say whether the prince or I appeared the more reluctant. Renaldo, for his part, lost in his own thoughts on his skittish mount, so hurried to reach the tomb that he paid his son no heed whatsoever, providing the two of us far too much opportunity to expand on the conversation that had so dramatically finalized my departure from the ball.

  "How delightful the pleasure of your company on our outing, I began, using a tone I had learned from Sophia.

  "I cannot claim credit for this promotion, he replied, staring straight ahead.

  "Indeed you cannot. But you are a most loyal son.

  "I endeavor always to protect my father.

  "You yet accuse me of enchantment?

  "It is dragons on broomsticks I fear most, he answered coldly.

  This counter verily struck the breath from my body. "You do not deny it, he spat out. "I knew I was correct. But what is one voice of reason in a multitude clamoring of 'dragons'? Particularly when that one voice has been silenced by the most profound dishonor?"

  " 'Tis dishonor to lose a battle? Accept it, dear prince; it is an incontrovertible fact—"

  "Prince Chamber Pot," Florian hissed.

  My ears burnt in shame; I could not prevent it. "I did not do that—

  "You did not?" Florian's voice shook with fury. "You did not set out to humiliate me in the most calculating, vicious, unforgettable—?

  "I was attempting to protect my country!"

  "By besmirching my life?" He spurred his horse forward, away from my side.

  Oh! That the prince should believe me capable of splattering him, as though I had ever once performed such calculated vulgarity ... He did not deserve to be a frog. Not even a toadstool.

  At last our party arrived at the glade that held the final resting place, so recently dedicated, of the king and my mother. Sunlight glittered on the Ancienne stone, the mountain's peak high above us.

  King Renaldo dismounted as if sleepwalking and stumbled to Ferdinand's tomb, running his hand over its surface. For a moment I felt a pang of regret that Prince Florian and I abhorred each other so, for dearly would I have loved to exchange an eyebrow at this eccentricity.

  "Florrie, come here, the king ordered.

  Flushing at his childhood nickname, the prince did so.

  "Touch this.

  Florian complied, his stance revealing his mortification that I of all people should witness this.

  "What does it feel like?" the king asked.

  "It feels like rock, Father, the prince answered.

  "Yes, but is it ... What temperature is the rock?

  "It is rock temperature. It feels like the day. Like the air."

  "Like the air?" the king probed. "It does not feel cold?"

  Florian shook his head, as baffled as I over his father's performance.

  The king's shoulders fell. "I should have known ... It is of no mind. Let us return to the castle. Blitzen! He snapped for his stallion.

  "Father ... Florian glanced uneasily in my direction but could not contain his curiosity. "Pray tell, what be the meaning of all this?

  " 'Tis only a dream I had, a ridiculous dream. Last night."

  "Please, Your Highness, I interjected, "I should very much like to know it, for memorable it must have been to bring us to this place.

  The king sighed. "Memorable, yes, but of no import. I was abed—in this dream—and through the open window drifted a specter that uttered words I cannot forget. At once I awoke, my room empty and the window sealed. Doubtless it was the wine, or the disturbed sleep that often accompanies a strange environment—though fret not, Princess, for the chamber is most comfortable.

  "What did it say, Father?" asked his son.

  Renaldo gathered his reins, preparing to mount. "It said—now, let me recite this correctly—it said, 'The last Montagne ruler lies frozen in a tomb of ice, and only the next can find him.'"

  "A tomb of ice! Florian laughed. " 'Tis a glorious autumn day—'twould be impossible! That tomb is warm as a bed. You felt it yourself—

  The sky whirled about my head. I clutched at my pony's mane.

  The king stepped toward me. "Princess, are you quite all right?

  "Say it again, I whispered.

  "The words? 'The last Montagne ruler lies frozen in a tomb of ice, and only the next can find him.' Does this have meaning for you?

  "My father—" I swallowed. "My father lies in a tomb of ice.

  "But that is imposs—Do you know this? Do you know where?

  My eyes looked to the snow-clad peak of Ancienne. When I turned back, the king was locked in a wordless conversation with Florian.

  At this moment a horrible scream reached our ears: a man, somewhere on the slopes above us, in the throes of agony. The king's stallion started, then bolted at once down the path.

  "What was that?" Renaldo exclaimed.

  "I do not know, but someone is hurt desperately, I answered, and with no thought but to that of rescue, I dug my heels into my pony's flanks and raced up the mountain.

  ***

  I followed the path to Ferdinand's Wall, assuming as I did that the cries came from a laborer injured there. The next scream, however, proved me wrong, for it emanated from a different slope altogether. At once I turned my pony in this new direction, beating toward the sufferer through the brush, the terrain untouched by the boot of man. Another scream rent the air, echoing down the hillside. A great crash—and Prince Florian broke through the scrub behind me.

  "What do you think you're doing? I snapped, incensed with myself for my fright, and with him for many reasons.

  "A prince always rides to the aid of a lady, he answered stiffly.

  "Ha! Your father forced you to this."

  His silence confirmed my accusation.

  "I require no assistance, particularly from so unwilling a savior," I informed him.

  "I do not doubt it. But perhaps that victim does."

  We rode for some time without speaking, ever climbing. The horrible screams came infrequently, but often enough to assure me that we were on the proper track.

  Try as I might, I could not suppress a surge of empathy for Florian, now that I imagined what he must endure as Prince Chamber Pot. Certainly he had tormented me countless times, most of all in my dreams. Yet he also spoke tenderly of his mother, treated his friend Johannes with admirable kindness, and described a romantic notion of love that in a different setting, with a different man, I would have passionately endorsed. While I could not abide the prince, as a just and compassionate soul I mus
t treat him with the same consideration I would any other ... and defend myself from his accusations.

  "I never intended such humiliation, I said.

  The prince started at my interruption. "I beg your pardon?

  "That night—the attack. I had no intent of soiling you. I simply wanted to bop you on the head with a rock. But the spell failed me.

  Florian snorted. "So it was incompetence, not malice, that guided your hand?

  "Yes!" I answered, even at the time wondering to what exactly I was admitting.

  "Is it incompetence that leads you to ruin my sleep, and of late my father's as well?

  Now came my turn to frown: "What—I mean, I beg your pardon?

  "You feign ignorance? Night after night you invade my dreams—though I would far more enjoy that lovely vision than its living counterpart.

  "I am in your dreams? I might beg instead that you depart mine! And you, too, are far more pleasant in dreamland than in reality—I daresay that asleep you have the makings of a true suitor!

  "Not that you would ever know, he snarled.

  "Not that I would ever want to! Nor would I give one moment of my life to 'invade' your dreams. How arrogant you are! I do not need this ridiculous chatter, I do not require your aid, and I certainly do not appreciate you and your father lurking like vultures about my castle! Begone!

  At once Florian reined his horse about and shot downhill.

  Furious, I dug my heels into my pony's sides. Yet again the man had captured what little composure I fancied myself to retain and destroyed it utterly. If he and his pathetic coterie deserted Montagne this very instant, 'twould not be soon enough. How dare he believe I sent myself into his dreams—

  At this, I flinched. A "lovely vision"—so he had described me. Was it possible his dreams mirrored my own disturbing visions of a doting and delightful prince? That as he slept, I was equally attentive to him? Hot blood raced to my cheeks, and in furious embarrassment I drove my pony onward. O dreadful thought. I must not waste time musing so. I had responsibilities—somewhere above me lay a man in great suffering. I was a healer. I was a princess. I would comport myself thusly.

  ***

  The chill alerted me to how far my pony had climbed. Ancienne's peak stood somewhere above, the mountain's breadth blocking it from view. We entered a hollow so deep and sheltered that last year's snow lay banked yet in its shadows. There, prone in the middle of the glade, lay the crumpled corpse of a man. I had arrived too late.

  Then the wind shifted, the air swam with sulfurous gas, and without warning my pony, as horses everywhere are wont to do (the exception of course the noble steed of Saint George), reared in terror, tossing me to the ground, and fled downhill at a gallop.

  I lay there, stunned by my pony's unprecedented display of ill manners, when a heavy scraping noise caught my ear, and at once all reason fled my brain.

  Out of the shadows slithered a most utterly terrifying monster. The black-scaled beast was thrice the size of an ox, its batlike wings tattered with age. Filthy wisps of smoke oozed from its nostrils, and claws as long and sharp as scythes scratched the rocks. The beast burped, and a belch of flame puffed between its yellowed fangs. Bleary, lidded eyes peered in my direction, and it sniffed the air, seeking me out.

  Help, a voice—a small, scared voice—whispered inside my head. Help.

  "Help, I whispered aloud. "Help. A dragon. I should flee, I recognized vaguely, but I could not budge, for terror had turned me to stone.

  Ever closer the dragon crawled, its pace quickening. It stank of sulfur and rot, and slime dripped from its eyes. It belched again and fire licked its nostrils. A scream rent the air—I recognized it belatedly as my own—and the dragon, leering, reared up—

  A disturbance, some sound—I knew not what—caught its attention and it turned, sniffing the breeze. This gesture somehow released my paralysis and I scurried behind the nearest tree. The beast, noting my disappearance, released a hoarse roar of flame.

  "Ben!Your pony—it bolted ... shouted a familiar voice, and Prince Florian burst into the glade, sword drawn. He caught sight of the dragon and stepped back. Whatever he had been anticipating, this was not it, and daunted indeed he appeared as the monster faced this new disturbance.

  In truth, I was no safer negotiating the dragon's aft, for its long tail lashed like a whip, sending up hailstorms of gravel. I retreated desperately from this onslaught ere I was slashed, or worse.

  The dragon swiped at Florian, and the prince leapt back in the very nick of time.

  "Look out!" I cried, unnecessarily. Again the dragon struck at Florian. Bravely the prince feinted, parrying his outsized opponent as best he could.

  Now safely beyond that awful tail, I realized I must offer some assistance. My dragon-fighting skills being what they were, I had no plan, but in a fit of bravado I picked up several rocks and commenced hurling them at the dragon's thick hide, praying the distraction would provide Florian a respite. The rocks, alas, soared far wide of their mark, one practically grazing Florian's head.

  "At the dragon!" he shouted. "You're supposed to throw them at the dragon!'"

  "I'm trying! I shrieked back.

  The dragon turned toward my voice. I screamed in fear, and again brave Florian stepped into the monster's path, drawing its attention.

  Retreating, I stumbled on my little healer's kit, thrown with me from the saddle. Surely it contained something useful! Ointments, herbs, bandages, needle and thread (for what—mending? Mother carried them), a scalpel—perhaps that would work.

  With an angry shout, mostly for my own benefit, I hurled myself at the dragon's flank, swinging the blade at the beast.

  The scalpel bent in half against that scaly hide. Ignoring me, the dragon swung at Florian with a great roar, knocking him sideways to the ground.

  "Ben! Magic! Where is your magic? the prince cried in desperation.

  "I can't!" I wailed. What good be elemental fire against a flame-breathing dragon?

  The creature sent a triumphant burst of flame at Florian, who at the last second hurled himself beyond reach of this blast. We were doomed, both of us—

  But wait. There was a possibility—the smallest, slimmest thread of possibility—that I might yet make some contribution.

  The dragon caught Florian with a blow that split his scalp.

  I ripped off my riding habit and brandished it wildly. "You there—Hideous! Get away from him, you sniveling excuse for a beast!

  The dragon, posed over Florian, one clawed foot pinning him to the ground, peered back at me. Venom dripped from its open jaw.

  "Yes, you!" I shouted. "You pathetic, worm-faced, scabrous lizard! Get over here!

  "No," gasped Florian. "Do not sacrifice yourself..."

  "Sacrifice?" I shrieked. "The sacrifice today shall not be human! I was more beast than human at this point and, as if to prove it, with my free hand magicked a ball of fire that I hurled between the dragon's eyes.

  The gauntlet had been tossed. With a rumbling growl that shook the trees, the dragon marched toward me.

  "Oh, you're quite the monster! I sneered. "You should try eating me! Not him! He's all muscle and sinew. You want to eat me—nice, fleshy me, don't you?"

  The dragon rumbled its eagerness, stalking me across the glade. I had no escape. If my plan did not work, I would die, but death at least would come quick. The beast was too enraged to prolong my execution.

  With a flourish, I tossed my riding habit aside and planted myself, arms outstretched, a perfect target. The dragon took one last lunge, I recoiled backward—and tripped, falling into the deep snow preserved in the shadowy gloom.

  I can only imagine the horrifying spectacle that followed. The dragon plunged its fearsome snout into the bank, grasping me between its teeth. Florian screamed, but too late—the dragon tossed back its head and with one enormous gaping motion swallowed me whole.

  What transpired next I did not have opportunity to witness, to my everlasting disappointment, s
o some portion of this description remains conjecture. The dragon turned from this scene of infamy, en route to its next victim. It burped, but the belch included a great cloud of steam. The dragon paused and peered down at its belly in puzzled concern. With an ear-splitting whistle, enormous clouds of steam erupted from its open jaws. The dragon began to gag violently as steam poured from its mouth and nose. It staggered, coughing, the steam gradually abating until only wisps seeped out. Sagging to the ground, the dragon attempted one last time to burp up fire, but the flame in its gut had been extinguished. With a deep groan, the beast dropped its head to the ground and perished.

  "Ben!" I heard Florian cry. "Oh, no!"

  Shivering with cold, I eased my head out of the snow bank. The dragon lay sprawled before me, its corpse awful to behold. "It worked! I exclaimed in disbelief.

  Too wounded to move, Florian could only gape. "But you're not—it ate you..."

  "No, it didn't," I said, climbing out. "And avert your eyes, please. I was clad only in camisole and petticoats, which the melting snow had rendered quite transparent.

  Noble man that he was, the prince acceded to this request, though he spluttered and gasped as I dressed.

  "It was not me it consumed, but my double, turned to ice, I explained as I knelt at Florian's side, clutching my healer's pack. The man was punctured from the dragon's claws, an awful gash above his ear; perhaps a bone was broken as well. "We must get you help.

  "My father—he went ... Blood ran freely down his scalp. I ripped the lining from my gown and pressed it to his head. This wound, I knew, could not wait.

  "I'll need to stitch you up, I said, trying to control the palsy in my hands as I dug for the needle and thread.

  "Do you know how?

  "No. I'm a terrible seamstress—I daresay not the best response I could have tendered.

  "How marvelous," he murmured. "I'm not going to die, you know.

  "Of course you're not." But at that moment I caught sight of his doublet.

  "What is it? he asked.

  "Nothing. I forced a smile. "Nothing at all. But it was. Droplets of pus-colored dragon venom bubbled on the cloth, mingling with Florian's blood. If the venom had entered his body, it would not bode well. "I'm going to start stitching now. I'll try not to hurt you.