Sophie’s chest felt tight. She thought of Dmitri and his kind, intelligent eyes. She thought of the wolf at the lake, outside her window. She didn’t want to listen to this man; she wanted to think of how the last princess had saved a wolf, had brought that wounded, wild animal into the palace and nursed it. The wolf princess wouldn’t have allowed a wolf hunt here, she just knew it. But the general’s voice bore into her, taunting her, forcing her to listen.
“The huntsmen chase the wolf, crazed by the cries of the peasants, the excited, tormenting barks of the dogs. They run him at great speed toward the nets …”
The general stopped. He seemed to know that all of them were listening intently. Even Ivan had become still; Sophie could see him out of the corner of her eye.
“BAM!”He slammed his hand down on the table.
Marianne yelped.
“The wolf, running so fast, is caught. He thrashes wildly, desperate to escape.”
Sophie tried to keep in her mind the image of Dmitri in the chandelier, his song about moonlight and the white wolves, his respect for those animals. How his scar would twitch if he were in the room, sitting next to her! Surely he would stop the general from saying any more?
“The huntsmen look into the wolf’s eye, the eye of a ruthless killer, but they are not afraid. As the wolf snarls and snaps, thinking he will surely be free in an instant, another net drops on him! Hah! He is caught.”
Sophie felt tears stinging in her eyes as she thought of the wolf in the net. She understood how the yells of the men and the insane barking of the dogs would tear through the perceptions of the wolf and the landscape he was moving through. He would be propelled by panic and fear alone. And toward what?
The man put the lump of meat into his mouth. There was something so revolting in this one act.
Sophie said, “That’s disgusting.”
The general didn’t appear to hear. And the fact that he ignored her so totally, as if she had been air, silenced her more completely than if he had shouted at her to shut up. Swallowing his meat, he continued, “The men string the wolf on a pole and he is taken in a wagon to the Tsar’s woods. Those brave huntsmen! They break his leg so he can’t run, and the Tsar himself hunts him and is given the privilege of the kill!”
“Idiots!” Sophie looked the man straight in the eyes. “They’re all idiots! How can you say they’re brave? They’re just cowards! It’s not even a fair fight!”
The general shook his head. “Why does something have to be fair if it gives you pleasure?” he mused. “Those men don’t just shoot the wolf. Theyenjoythe hunt. The wolf, the men, they join in the hunt together, don’t you see?”
“But what can the wolf do?” Sophie could feel her cheeks burning. He was twisting everything around. “The wolf can’t fight back!”
“So you would prefer a duel?” The general picked up his knife, flicked it into the air, and caught it again with a neat action. He jumped up. “Come on then, little English wolf girl.” He strode toward Sophie and put his hand on the back of her chair, tipping it so Sophie had to stand or fall forward. She stood.
“Grigor!” The princess suddenly snapped out of her reverie. “Stop!”
“She wants to defend the wolves? She needs to know how to fight!” the general laughed.
Sophie was aware of Marianne’s face, her glasses lopsided. Delphine’s hair had become half tucked into the collar of her shirt. Something made her want to pull out that lock of hair, but the general had come around behind her and was moving her arms into position.
“Stand like this!” he said, his voice so confident and self-assured that she had no power to tell him to stop. “Hold the blade like this!” He put the knife into her hand. Sophie looked at the wolf head on the handle. The general walked around to face her.
“General!” Ivan’s voice. He had stepped forward. It felt as if events in the room were running away and Sophie no longer had any control over them.
“Back to your place, hussar,” the general snarled. “I give the orders here!”
Perhaps Ivan’s training meant that he could not defy him. He retreated, but looked as if he wanted to take Sophie with him.
Sophie’s heart raced.
The general, his eyes now sparkling with the certain knowledge of his own power, cried,“En garde!”
She heard Marianne shriek. A plate must have fallen to the floor because she heard a smash. And the word, “Grigor!”
The glitter of his eyes, the clenched jaw. And then Sophie’s arm was twisted high up behind her back by the man’s quick, strong grip. As the pain tore through her shoulder, she could see the knife at her temple, a hairsbreadth from her skin. She, too, was the wolf driven into a net and unable to escape. She wanted to thrash about and snarl, take revenge. This was unbearable. The second net would fall. She had been tricked just as surely as the wolves hunted for the Tsar’s pleasure.
I hate this man, she thought.I hate everything he stands for.
Then another noise shattered everything.
It set the pulse racing but stopped the heart. It made blood sweep and crash in the ears. The sound started at the base of Sophie’s spine and began to climb up and up until it hovered just above her head. It seemed to swirl around and pull everything toward it: snow, forest, wilderness, loneliness, despair, the thrill of warm blood from a fresh kill, and a fierce protectiveness toward every other member of the pack. It was a cry that made her entire being turn toward it, every cell tuned to listen to it, and yet it made her want to run and run until it stopped.
