And then Jane was gone, running for the front door.
She lay in Weyland’s arms, listening to his breathing, and to that of her baby in the cot by the head of the bed.
About them the Idyll floated, wrapping them in peace.
She lay, thinking, unable to sleep. The Noah that she was had been almost transformed during her Ordeal. Something had altered and twisted within her during that transformation, and Noah was not entirely sure that she liked it.
Or that she could even recognise it.
She sighed, and was about to rise, perhaps to wander the Idyll a while, or just sit and hold Grace in her arms, when she felt it.
A pull.
A tug.
Imperative.
Noah sat up, looking about frantically, wondering if…oh gods, no, surely he could not do that!
By her side Weyland roused directly from full sleep into clear-headed wakefulness. He sat up, glanced about, then looked at the woman at his side. “Noah? What is it?”
“Weyland…”
“Noah?”
“Weyland, let me go, I pray you. Just for an hour or so. I will return.”
“Who is it? Who calls you?”
She looked at him, her eyes huge and dark in the dim lighting of their bedchamber.
“Brutus,” Weyland breathed.
“Let me go to him,” Noah whispered.
Weyland did not immediately reply. He stared at her. “You want me to let you go to Brutus?”
“I will not betray you.”
There was something in her expression or manner or voice, or perhaps all three, that made Weyland want to believe her.
But what was Brutus doing, reaching into the Idyll like this? What power had he obtained to enable him to do so?
“How is Brutus able to reach out to you within the Idyll?” he said, softly, dangerously.
She dropped her eyes away from his.
Cold fear slid through Weyland’s belly. “Noah…how can Brutus reach you within the Idyll?”
“Let me go to him, Weyland. Please. I will return.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because I have promised it to you,” she said. “Because I will leave our daughter here with you. But most of all…”
“Yes?”
She reached out a hand, and cupped his cheek very gently. “Because I love you,” she said. “Because I am your shelter and thus I must return. Do you know, Weyland, how well you trapped me with that single, simple question?” She smiled, soft and sad. “And do you know, Weyland, how much you didn’t need to ask me for shelter? That I was trapped already?”
Weyland gazed at her, his eyes stricken. “If you do not return, you will destroy me.”
Again she gave that sad smile. “I know.”
“Then go. Go!”
She fled, through the dreamlike dominion of the Idyll, through the shadowy walls of London, through the dim meadows and fields that bordered the city, through the night and through reality, until she stood on the borderlands of the Realm of the Faerie.
There, standing under the spreading branches of the Holy Oak Tree, stood the one who had every reason to consider himself her lover, her mate, and her husband.
“Louis,” she said, very softly, drifting to a halt a pace or two away from him.
“That was once my name,” said the man-god.
She regarded him, partly to give herself some time to think, but mostly to drink in the changes within him.
His overall aspect was dark, his bearing full of promise and majesty, his essence a still watchfulness. His face and hair reminded her of the Brutus he had once been, so long, long ago. His hair remained long and black, snapping with wiry, wild curls. His eyes similarly dark and wild, but with such depths now…ah, such depths…
She glanced at his limbs, almost as if she expected to see there the faint markings of the golden kingship bands of Troy which had once graced them.
“What are you called now?” she said, her eyes returning to his face.
“Ringwalker,” he said, and, closing the distance between them he gathered her into his arms, and kissed her.
“Noah,” he whispered. “Dance with me, be my lover, into eternity.”
She sighed, and he felt her stiffen within his arms. Not much, just very, very slightly, but he felt it.
“Why not?” he whispered.
“So much has changed.”
“Noah…I know you question the Troy Game. But now we can take control. Now we can—”
“Do you truly think that the Troy Game will allow us to control it now, Ringwalker? It has been free from interference for almost three thousand years.” She leaned back in his arms, regarding him. “I do not think we should complete the Troy Game. I don’t think we would ever be able to control it, not even who we are now. I do not believe the Game ever meant to protect this land, Ringwalker. I think it means to consume it.”
“No, no, the very essence of the Game is protection.”
“The very essence of the Game is bleakness.”
Ringwalker felt a terrible hollowness yawn open inside him which threatened at any moment to turn to panic. “Noah, where has this misgiving come from? Have you and I not worked to this very end? Have you and I not died for it, more than once?”
“So much has changed.”
Ringwalker let her go, standing back a pace. “There is a darkness in you. What is it?”
She slid her eyes away. Ringwalk felt his hollowness turn to true fear. “I am only what I have always been, Ringwalker,” she said. “Do you not remember, at one time, relating to me how Membricus, your ancient lover and adviser, told you that I was Hades’ daughter, that there was a dark shadow within me? That darkness has always been there. Once you hated me for it. Now, if you wish to love me, you must accept it.”
“No. Don’t try to fool me. That darkness is Weyland’s touch. I smelt him on you when you came to me during my transformation. Now I can smell him on you more strongly than ever. What has he done to you?” He paused. “Noah, have you turned to Weyland? Have you betrayed me as Swanne did in our previous lives?”
She tilted her head, her eyes now directly on his, and full of boldness. “I have not done what Swanne did in her previous life. I am not that foolish.”
Ringwalker did not know what to think. He had thought she would fall into his arms. Hadn’t that been what she promised him when she’d told him of his heritage? Dance with me, she’d whispered.
Now, it was all indecision and “maybe”.
And all stink of Weyland.
“Where are my kingship bands, Noah?”
Again that soft, sad smile at his “my”.
“I have sheltered them, Ringwalker. Do you know what that means?”
“Aye. I know what your goddess name implies. You are the shelterer. That is your very nature.”
“Aye.”
“But where are they?”
“They are in the Idyll. Do you know what that is?”
“No.” He shifted, sick of her evasiveness.
She sighed. “It is a beautiful place.”
“Fetch them for me, Noah. I need them.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I cannot give them to you, Ringwalker. It is too dangerous. I fear the Troy Game’s strength once you win control of the bands. I think giving you the bands will be handing the Troy Game way too much power.”
“Damn it, Noah, what is wrong?”
She looked away, and he saw that her eyes had filled with tears. Anxiety now turned to fear.
“Weyland does control you, doesn’t he? You are his, aren’t you? Everything you have said to me here has been designed to protect him!”
Again that chin tilt. “You know what my goddess name means, yes? You know what my goddess name, Eaving, means?”
“Yes. Now answer me, curse you!”
“Very well. Ringwalker, you need to know that Weyland has asked me for shelter. I will not betray him, even if it is you who asks it of me.”
Then, as Ringwalker stared at her, now shocked beyond horror, Noah turned and walked away.
Weyland sat on the edge of the bed, his body tense, a sheen of sweat on his skin. His eyes rested on the baby asleep in her crib as if he expected her to somehow vanish at any moment.
She said she would return.
Weyland tightened his hands about each other. He had a terrible urge to let loose his dark power, to track Noah down, to destroy…
What was he thinking? What had he become to so allow love to distract him?
And was he more afraid of what he had become, or what he might revert to if he lost her?
“Weyland.”
He leapt to his feet, jerking around. Noah had walked back into the chamber. She gave him a small, tired smile, and bent down to their daughter.
“She sleeps,” she said.
“Aye. She has not woken.”
“Weyland…”