Darkwitch Rising by Sara Douglass

“Two, Weyland says that you must not attempt to locate the bands, for he has Noah, and he will do to her what he has done to me should you attempt to find your kingship bands. He says he will slaughter Noah; not kill her, but steep her in such humiliation and degradation that she will wish herself dead, should you so much as lay a hand to those bands.”

“Really. And what is the third message?”

“That if you go near the forests, if you so much as eye a single tree, or step within its shade, he will make sure that Noah suffers for an eternity.”

“Then I had best keep away from both bands and forest, hadn’t I?”

She looked at him, then suddenly laughed. It was weak, but it was a laugh, and somehow it lifted a great weight from Jane’s heart. “My God, Charles, if Weyland ever realises that you’re not—”

“He must not realise, Jane.”

“And he will not from me.”

Charles nodded. “I know. Noah? How is she? We did not speak of it overly when we met in dream.”

“She is well now. Weyland…Weyland healed her, and I. Not my pox, that is your doing alone, but the wounds I suffered in birthing the imp.”

Charles frowned. “Why? Why would he do that?”

“Perhaps he wants us to believe he suffered from guilt. I do not know the true reason, but I am sure it is malicious.”

Charles’ frown deepened, then he gave his head a slight shake.

“Jane, I know what kind of a house Weyland runs. Noah…has he…”

“Prostituted her? He tried. But something happened. I don’t know what, for Noah has not spoken of it to me, but,” Jane could not help an ironic twist of her mouth, “be assured, your lover has not yet been tarnished with that same brush which has blackened me.”

“She is not my lover,” Charles said mildly, “but be assured I am pleased to hear she has not suffered your fate.”

Jane’s face hardened a little.

“For the moment,” Charles continued, “I am but grateful to hear that both of you are well…although your face…”

Once more his fingers touched it.

“Don’t heal the marks,” she said, standing back. “If Weyland sees, he will know that you are—”

“He will merely think that Brutus has more power than he’d thought,” said Charles. “Here, let me take from you the pain.”

His fingers rubbed gently, and miraculously all the pain and ache vanished.

“It still looks red and swollen,” said Charles, “but you shall not suffer from it.”

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Now, what else? What other news?”

Jane thought. “The imps,” she said after a moment. “They are now incarnate. Did you know?”

“Dear God,” Louis said much later, when Charles rejoined him and Catharine in the royal bedchamber. “You let her leave? You told her the one secret that—”

“She knew,” Charles said mildly. “There was no need to tell.”

“But to let her go,” said Catharine. “I hope you did not also reveal to her your faerie crown!”

Charles gave her a sharp look. “Misery has changed her. I do not think she will tell Weyland.”

Louis grunted. “Did you ask her about Noah?”

“Aye. She is well enough.” He paused. “Weyland healed both Jane and Noah after that horrific day. I do not know why.”

Louis, as everyone else present, visibly relaxed in relief.

“Thank all the gods of creation,” said Catharine. “But…I know he runs a brothel. He hasn’t—”

“Set Noah to work for him?” Charles said. “Apparently he tried, without any success. Noah is not yet entertaining the masses of London, and not likely to. Jane said Weyland has decided to cease his whoremastering.”

Louis said nothing, but Charles could see by the tightness of his jaw and the glint in his eyes that he was angry.

“Weyland sent me a message,” Charles said. “Of three parts.” He briefly related them.

“He knows that the Stag God is to be reborn?” said Marguerite.

“Aye,” Charles said. “Weyland is not to be underestimated.”

“Anything else?” said Louis.

Charles shook his head. “That was it. Stay away from the kingship bands and the forests, or else Noah suffers. But I learned more from Jane. That agony we felt during our procession through London. It was the imps, tearing themselves free of Noah’s and Jane’s bodies.”

Catharine gave a slight cry, her hands rising to her mouth in shock, while Louis cursed, low and cruel, and looked away.

They talked of what Jane had said for some time, then Louis left, claiming to be tired, although the others knew that he needed to be alone for a time.

Once the door had closed behind him, Charles looked to the three women.

“To all the celebrations that we shall attend this week,” he said, “I think I shall add one other. A very private celebration, I think.”

Catharine, standing closest to Charles, raised an eyebrow.

“I shall hold a Council of England,” said Charles, and as he spoke his features altered imperceptibly, his face becoming slighter and darker and assuming the aspect of the Lord of the Faerie, “using the magic of the Circle, and convening atop The Naked. I shall summon the faerie folk, and the water sprites, and the Sidlesaghes, and even Louis’ hated giants.”

“And Noah?” said Catharine.

“And even Noah, if she is able,” said Charles. “Jane, too, if she can manage.”

Marguerite hissed. “You trust her way too greatly, Charles. Gods, man! She has murdered you twice!”

“And will not again, I think,” Charles said. “If anything, Genvissa, in all of her lives, has hated to be predictable.”

Later that night, when Charles and Catharine had gone to bed, they lay a while talking over the events of the day.

They did not make love.

Catharine felt a remoteness in Charles, and wondered at it. In her previous life as Matilda she had married William, Brutus-reborn. In this life she had married Charles, Coel-reborn. These successive marriages had been the closing of a circle, a circle that bound Coel-reborn and Brutus-reborn even tighter together (the sharing of a much-loved wife), that had bound Matilda closer to the land and into Eaving’s Sisterhood, and it had also been necessary in order to strengthen the deception that Charles was Brutus-reborn—“Brutus” was gathering back to him the accoutrements of power and privilege he’d enjoyed in his previous life. In her former life as Matilda, Catharine had loved William deeply, but was also attracted greatly to Coel (or Harold as he had been then); her marriage in this life to Coel-reborn had been no difficulty to her. Indeed, it had been a joy.

But tonight, as never before, Catharine sensed a new distance between herself and Charles. Catharine was an intuitive and powerful woman, and she understood very well that there was only one reason this distance could have so suddenly yawned open.

Jane.

Somehow Jane touched something within Charles that she, Catharine, could not.

Lady Snake, Catharine thought, echoing once again what, as Matilda, she had once spat at Swanne. Now, unlike then, there was no malice in the epithet, only a quiet resignation.

Catharine sighed, and rolled away from Charles to sleep.

Three

Idol Lane, London

Even after two days, London remained in celebratory mode. The Venetian ambassador’s wine stores might have dried up, but most of the taverns stayed open well into the night and offered cut-price ale and beer while the coffee houses were packed with those wanting to hear news of what the king had done, who he had knighted, and if he happened to have opened the royal coffers enough to ensure that the streets of London should be paved with gold forthwith. Gossip spread like fire from one Londoner’s tongue to the next. Royal mistresses had been spotted on every street corner, royal bastards from every palace window.

Royalty had been reclaimed, and London revelled in the pageantry and colour and in the excitement of the restored court at Whitehall.

Jane hurried home, not wanting to be distracted by the celebrations. She was walking up Ludgate, concentrating on what she would say to Weyland, when a small white hand reached out from a darkened doorway and snatched at her.

Jane recoiled, but the hand had a good hold, and it pulled her close into the darkness of the doorway’s overhang.

“Jane,” said a voice, and Jane went rigid with recognition.

Catling stood there, still in the form of a small girl, but with vast knowledge and power burning from her eyes.

“Jane,” said the girl again, as Jane stared at her. “Jane—you want to reveal me to Noah, don’t you?”

“Why not?” Jane managed, feeling the menace emanating from Catling. “She has a right to know.”

“Tell her, and I will destroy your future.”

If Jane had been frightened when she had realised Charles’ deception, then it was nothing to what she felt now. This creature standing before her could create more havoc than five wrathful Asterions. Terrified, Jane nonetheless managed a sneer. “What future?”