“Don’t you remember this?” he said. “That night I healed your back in the kitchen? We met in vision then, in this strange land. It was so lovely…”
Noah was looking at him strangely. “And so you recreated it here?”
He shook his head slowly. “I did not make this, Noah. It just appeared one day. I thought you had made it.”
Now she was staring as if she were frightened. She took a half-step back, and Weyland grasped her arm, terrified she was going to run.
“Noah?”
Noah made a visible effort to relax, and she offered him a sunny, false smile. “You must have dreamed of it, and made this without thought.”
“The only thing of which I dream,” he said, “is of what you said to me in that vision.”
She stared at him a moment longer, then abruptly she pulled her arm from his hand, and left the balcony.
Fifteen
By the Scaffold in Tower Fields
One morning Jane went to the scaffold in Tower Fields to find the Lord of the Faerie waiting for her. Unusually, however, his face was creased with worry and he did not immediately take her to The Naked.
“Jane,” he said, leaning to kiss her.
“What is it?” Jane could hardy breathe for apprehension.
“It is not you,” the Lord of the Faerie said. “Do not fear. Jane, there is plague in London.”
“Yes, I know. Noah and I have heard reports. But it is to the west of London, yes? We have seen no sickness in our walks to the Tower.”
“It is spreading. Jane—”
“Do not worry overmuch, Coel. Plague comes and goes. It has been seven or eight years since the last outbreak, so surely if it has arrived now it is not surprising.”
“This is a vicious outbreak, Jane. Worse than ever.” He paused. “There has been nothing said within Idol Lane?”
“Noah and I have talked of it. You know Noah, far better than I do…she worries about it, and feels she should somehow be able to wish it away…but you know that she can’t.”
The Lord of the Faerie nodded. Noah, as Eaving, would not interfere in the natural cycle of life and death. Sadness and disease were as much a natural part of life as was happiness and health.
But there was little “natural” about this outbreak, was there?
“Weyland has said nothing?” the Lord of the Faerie said.
“No.”
The Lord of the Faerie chewed his lip. “Jane, I have received a message from Weyland. He said that he had caused the plague, and that he would only call his dogs of pestilence back once I—as Charles—gave him the kingship bands.”
“Weyland sent you that message?”
The Lord of the Faerie gave a single nod.
“How?”
“He sent his imps. They spoke to Elizabeth, and she relayed their message.”
Jane thought. The imps? Dear gods, she hadn’t seen them about the house for weeks, and she could have sworn that Weyland hadn’t given them a thought, either.
But…the plague. That had Weyland’s handiwork written all over it. Jane shuddered. “He has been so pleasant. Too pleasant. I should have known he would do something like this.”
“You must tell Noah. She needs to know.”
Jane nodded. “That news, at least, should get her out of his bed.”
“What?”
“Noah has been sharing Weyland’s bed. It was his price so that myself and Noah could have the freedom we needed to teach and learn the arts of Mistress of the Labyrinth.”
The Lord of the Faerie’s face had gone ashen, and Jane felt a deep stab of jealousy. He still cares for her.
“Noah says that she and Weyland share nothing else but the bed. That they do not make love. But…”
“But?”
“I do not know, Coel. Weyland appears too content. And Noah denies too strongly.”
He gave a shake of his head. “What is happening? To what darkness has Noah been exposed?”
Jane felt a confusing mixture of fear and jealousy wash through her. Suddenly Noah was all the Lord of the Faerie could think about.
“Perhaps we should rescue her,” the Lord of the Faerie said. “Take her from him. Pull her back into the Faerie, where she shall be safe.”
Jane turned aside her face.
“But still…” the Lord of the Faerie said.
“But still?”
“Long Tom, the Sidlesaghe, once said to us that Noah had to go to Weyland. That was something in this life she had to endure. When I was merely Charles, and not fully aware of what else I was, I thought, with Louis, that we should try to prevent Noah going to Weyland. Louis tried, and failed. Now, with all the wonder of the Faerie to draw upon, I sense that perhaps Long Tom was right. Noah needs to be with Weyland, although…dear gods, what you say about her sharing his bed—”
“Coel, if you take Noah away from Weyland he will kill me.”
“Jane? Why?”
“Because he will need an outlet for his spite, and because he will think I have failed to teach her the ways of the labyrinth.”
“He doesn’t know that Ariadne—”
“No! And I for one am not about to tell him. It would be my death sentence.”
“Jane, talk to Noah. Tell her Weyland has caused the plague. Then ask her advice.”
Jane looked away, sure that whatever happened it would end with her death.
“Very well,” she said.
But Jane did not immediately talk to Noah of the plague. Noah was so encased in the lingering memory of her training that afternoon when they walked home that she was in no mood for conversation, and as soon as they had arrived home, Weyland was there, kissing Noah, and then leading her away, up to his den on the top floor.
The next day Jane barely saw Noah at all, and then only in the company of Weyland.
It was almost three days later—days when they hadn’t gone to the Tower so that Jane could have talked to Noah privately—that Jane finally found Noah alone.
“Noah,” she said. “I have heard news about the plague that you need to—”
“Jane,” Noah said urgently, taking Jane’s hands, “the plague is dreadful, yes, but for the moment there is a more urgent matter. I need to see the Lord of the Faerie. Can you arrange it?”
Jane stared at her, not overly surprised that Noah knew of her meetings with the Lord of the Faerie, then relaxed. The Lord of the Faerie could tell Noah. It would be better, all in all, coming from him.
“Yes,” she said. “I can.”
Sixteen
The Great Founding Labyrinth within the Tower of London, and Idol Lane, London
NOAH SPEAKS
My days were consumed with Ariadne and her teaching, my nights with Weyland. I thought of little else. I’d heard reports that the plague had reappeared within London, and was sad of it, but knew also that I could not interfere with its dark progress. Sickness and death were in their own right an intrinsic part of life. Every living creature—whether faerie or mortal—must endure pain and sorrow and often untimely death. I did not like the plague, but I understood it. It was one of the necessary tragedies of life that somehow made life the sweeter—should you manage to hold on to it.
I went every third or fourth day to the Tower of London to continue my training with Ariadne. I no longer was frightened of the Great Founding Labyrinth (that which masqueraded as the White Tower), but nonetheless maintained a healthy respect for it. Its power exhilarated me, and the knowledge that with every visit I came to understand it better, came closer and closer to being able to manipulate it for myself, became almost as addictive as a drug. I swear I almost dragged poor Jane through the streets on our way to the Tower…although I noticed she never complained about it.
Better even than furthering my study with Ariadne—dear gods, to what pits I had fallen—was making love with Weyland. Sometimes (not often, for I did not wish to arouse his suspicions) I asked him to use the darkcraft when we made love, and I revelled in it. I used it to discover more about my own potential…but mostly I just revelled.
I liked it.
This cold dark power was addictive.
As addictive as Weyland. It was not just the sex that I found so enthralling, it was the sheer intimacy of our relationship. Each of us was, bit by bit, allowing the other one deeper into our soul. We began sharing secrets, remembrances, and beliefs that both of us would normally have kept to ourselves. I talked of many of my darker, stupider moments as Cornelia. He talked of some of the horrors he had visited on people, on entire cities, and shared with me how he had felt during these slaughters.
It was not what I expected.
We began to share ourselves, high in that Idyll that Weyland had built. There were still shocking moments, times when I pulled back—like that day I explored the Idyll, and found that Weyland had somehow managed to build it to the very borders of the Realm of the Faerie. How? How could he have done that?