Darkwitch Rising by Sara Douglass

Jane nodded. “Yes. He would feel the growing power in you. He is as attuned to the ways of the labyrinth as is the Kingman.”

“Then we must find some means to—”

Jane hissed in frustration. “I am not going to teach you! I am not! I may have been beaten into a pulp more times than you’ve managed breakfasts, but I still have my pride left.” She paused, gathering her composure.

“Besides,” she continued, in a more even tone, “I somehow think my teaching you would be all but useless.” Her mouth quirked, now finding the entire situation intensely amusing. “As useless as is my selfish determination not to teach you the arts of the labyrinth.”

“I don’t understand you.”

Jane studied Noah for a long moment. During the day Jane had finally realised what it was that had worried at her when Ariadne had pulled both her and Noah to Tower Fields.

“I am not going to teach you,” Jane said eventually, “because it is hardly necessary.”

The confusion in Noah’s face deepened.

“I have had some time to think since Weyland tore us apart,” said Jane, “and I find myself confused. Ariadne expended much power to bring both you and I to her side yesterday.”

“Yes?”

“It was a very particular power she used, Noah.”

“Yes?”

“That very particular aspect of her power can only be answered by another Mistress of the Labyrinth, or by those women who, while not trained, have been born with the potential within them. Women who already have the blood of the labyrinth surging through their veins. Women of the blood. No one else can respond to that power or be touched by it.”

Jane paused, looking at Noah.

Noah was still confused.

“You are incredibly silly for a goddess,” Jane said. “Don’t you yet understand? How foolish can you be? If it had been Elizabeth writhing on that floor with me, then Ariadne could not have pulled her spirit away. Ariadne used a power that calls only to trained or born Mistresses of the Labyrinth; that’s why it was so powerful and effective. But she should only have been able to reach me. Not you. Tell me, little Cornelia, incompetent Caela, uncomprehending Noah—if uncomprehending you truly are—how is it that you also ended up standing in Tower Fields? Eh? How was it that Ariadne could also snatch you from that writhing agony on the kitchen floor?”

Fourteen

Idol Lane, London

“I do not know what you mean,” said Noah in a low voice as both women bent over the breakfast preparations. “Of what do you accuse me? I know nothing of the arts of the Mistress of the Labyrinth. Nothing. For the gods’ sakes, Jane—”

“I said all I needed last night. Do not speak of it now, I beg you! Not when the house wakes about us!”

Noah’s mouth folded into a thin line, annoying Jane.

“Don’t dare to condescend to me, Noah! At least I know precisely what it is that you birthed—” Her eyes slid to Catling, playing at the table with her red wool.

“Jane? What do you know?”

But Jane pretended not to hear, and instead looked to the pot Noah was supposed to be stirring continuously.

“Don’t let the porridge burn!” she snapped, grabbing the ladle out of Noah’s hand.

“Ladies, ladies,” said Weyland from the doorway, and both women stiffened. He walked into the kitchen, his imps at his heels. They clutched at the tail of his three-quarter-length cream linen coat and grinned slyly at the women.

Weyland glanced at Jane’s face, paused—during which time Jane stiffened even further—then gave a slight nod as if satisfied and sat down at the table.

At that moment Elizabeth and Frances came in from the side alley after a trip to the privy. The two girls looked at Weyland and the imps, then at Noah and Jane, and sat down at the opposite end of the table, glancing at Weyland with open hostility.

The imps glanced at Catling playing with her wool, then sat beside Weyland. They placed their hands flat on the table top, then, simultaneously, looked over to where the porridge had just been rescued from a burned fate and licked their lips.

Weyland shot them an irritated glance.

Jane and Noah served up breakfast, adding a platter of freshly baked bread to the fare, and pouring out warmed weak beer for everyone to drink.

Then they sat down themselves and Weyland, dipping a piece of bread into his porridge and taking a bite, regarded Jane speculatively. She tried not to react, but could feel her heart pound and a trickle of sweat start down her spine.

Weyland swallowed his mouthful, and addressed Elizabeth and Frances, eyeing their borrowed clothes.

“Where are your clothes?”

“When we cleaned up, um, after…” said Elizabeth.

“Get to the point,” Weyland said.

“After we’d cleaned the kitchen, we found our skirts and bodices ruined with blood. We had to throw them out. Our spare clothes are at our lodgings, and you said that we couldn’t—”

“You could surely have saved the clothes,” said Weyland. “They cost me good money.”

“Money that Elizabeth and Frances had paid for with weeks spent on their backs and half of London’s apprentices heaving over them,” Jane said. She did not look at Weyland.

His eyes, hooded and guarded, swung back her way for a moment. Then he glanced at Noah, and whatever he saw in her face made his cheeks colour slightly. His mouth thinned, then he dipped a piece of bread into his porridge, and chewed and swallowed it. “You have my permission,” he said to the two girls, “to return to your lodgings and collect what clothes remain to you. While you are there, you may tell your landlord that you shall not be returning, and that he may hire out his dismal cellar to some other desperates, if he so desires. Remind him that I have paid your rent until Michaelmas, so do not allow him to trick more coin out of you.”

What coin? thought Elizabeth, but kept her eyes downcast so that Weyland should not see the expression in them.

Weyland scraped out the last of his porridge with his spoon and fed it into his mouth. “You and Frances may take the first bedroom at the top of the stairs,” he said. “The bed is large enough for the two of you.”

“And perfectly foul,” said Noah. “If Elizabeth and Frances are to live here—”

He looked at her. “I will give you coin, Elizabeth,” he said, his eyes not leaving Noah’s face, “to purchase some new linens while you are out.”

“And coin enough to buy a chest for their clothes, and candles and pewter to make the room livable,” said Noah. “And I’m sure they could do with some material to make some better clothes for themselves than what they own now.”

Weyland stared at her, his eyes hard, then gave a curt nod.

Everyone sat in silence for several minutes, Catling still playing with her wool, the imps staring about with their bright eyes, Jane and Noah making a show of eating some breakfast, and Elizabeth and Frances sitting tense and watchful, as if they were waiting only for a signal from Weyland before bolting out the door.

Weyland sipped at his ale, ate a little more bread, and then spoke. “I have decided to discontinue our business activities,” he said. “All this whoring has ceased to amuse me.”

“Then let Frances and myself return to our homes in Essex,” said Elizabeth.

“Not yet,” said Weyland.

Elizabeth shared a glance with Frances, opened her mouth, and then subsided. She had pushed fortune far enough for the day.

“You will return from your outing today, Elizabeth,” said Weyland, his voice still low, fixing each of the girls in turn with a steady eye. “You and Frances both.”

They did not reply, looking everywhere but at Weyland or his imps.

“You will return,” he repeated, his tone even lower.

Elizabeth was the first to drag her eyes back to him. “Yes,” she said, “we will return.”

Weyland smiled. “Good.” His attention shifted to Jane. “Now, you may recall I said I had a duty for you this day.”

He pushed his chair back suddenly, as if he was going to rise, and Jane flinched.

Weyland’s mouth curved in a very small smile. “Once you have cleaned this kitchen, I want you to set off down to Whitehall, and visit with the king.”

Everyone in the kitchen, imps and Catling included, looked at Weyland in astonishment. He grinned at their undivided attention, then winked at Noah, who was looking aghast.

“He shall receive you,” Weyland continued, looking back to Jane. “Knowing Brutus, my love, he’s probably already smoothing the bed sheets in anticipation. No, wait…I forgot…he didn’t exactly fall into your bed in your last lives together, did he?”

Jane’s face tightened. Weyland always instinctively knew the best barb for the occasion.