“Louis,” Eaving said, very softly. She had walked close to him now, and the expression on her face had changed, as Louis was sure it would—but not into terrifying contempt. Rather, into an even greater depth of compassion.
“How could you not have known?” she said, so close to him now that her breath played over his face. She leaned against him, her hand warm on his chest. “I tried to tell you so often, but you would never listen.”
How could you not have known? whispered the assembled throng of faerie creatures. How could you not have known?
Louis still could not speak, nor raise his hands to Eaving. He looked beyond her to where the Lord of the Faerie stood, an empathetic expression on his face.
“How could you not have known?” the Lord of the Faerie whispered.
“I…” Louis began, drifting to a close, not knowing what to say. His mind still could not grasp what had happened, or that Eaving now leaned so close against him.
“Will you run the forests?” she murmured. “Will you trace the Ringwalk?”
Will you run the forests? whispered the throng. Will you trace the Ringwalk?
“Will you be the land?” said the Lord of the Faerie, now also very close.
Will you be the land? echoed the throng.
“Come dance with us,” murmured Eaving.
Dance with us.
“Come dance with me, into eternity.”
Dance with us, into eternity.
“Walk this land with me, run its forests, be my Kingman, be my Stag. Complete the Troy Game with me, and dance with me…dance with me…dance with me…”
Dance with her, be her lover, dance…dance…dance…
Louis realised he was trembling, so badly he wondered he did not fall to his knees.
“I cannot…” he stumbled.
She withdrew enough so that her magical eyes could look deep into his. “Is it that you do not want to, or that you do not think yourself able?”
“How can I? Gods, I am not what you want.”
“You are everything that this land needs.”
He wanted to believe her. He wanted to shout yes! And yet…why did she not speak words of love? Why did she not promise herself to him? Why was he not everything that she wanted?
Now she was kissing his brow, his cheek, his ear, and Louis wondered why she would not look at him.
“The Lord of the Faerie shall show you the way of the Ringwalk,” said Eaving, her fingertips trailing down his naked chest.
“Oh, aye,” murmured the Lord of the Faerie, now standing almost as close to Louis as was Eaving. “And when you are risen, and the Stag God runs the Ringwalk, then shall you and Eaving be joined together in the Great Marriage, and so shall the land be whole once again.”
The Great Marriage. Louis could remember Genvissa telling him of it when he’d been Brutus. When the goddess of the waters joined with the god of the forests in the Great Marriage, then, and then only, would the land be whole.
“Is that what you want?” Louis asked Eaving, and she leaned back, and her eyes glinted and sparkled.
“What else?” she said.
Louis relaxed. He had been shocked. His thoughts had tumbled in disarray. She loved him. She wanted him.
He took Eaving’s face between his hands. “We will dance the final Dance of the Flowers,” he said, “and then we will walk forward, together, into eternity.”
“Yes,” she whispered, and if there was a shadow in her eyes as she said that, then Louis merely thought it the reflection of the throng gathering close about them.
“We will all walk with you about the Ringwalk,” whispered the faerie folk now encircled about them. “Into eternity.”
Eaving leaned back a little again, and put a hand against his cheek. “Brutus,” she said, “will you accept the responsibility? The challenge? Will you face the Ringwalk?”
Suddenly Louis felt the strangest sensation in his chest, and it took him a moment to realise it was joy.
“Yes,” he said. “I do so accept.”
He cradled Eaving in his arms, and kissed her as he should once have kissed her when they’d stood beneath the night sky at the Altar of the Philistines, so long ago, and felt that new-found joy in his heart deepen into a hope that he had not realised until now he had abandoned many years before.
When she pulled back from him, he did not think it anything other than her desire to share her joy with the assembled faerie folk.
The Naked, in the Realm of the Faerie
Jane looked as Louis drew Eaving close, and kissed her. She felt cold and empty. Useless. A nonentity in this congregation where everyone seemed to have a purpose, except her.
What was I, she thought, but a pawn in all of this? I can no longer delude myself that I began this, with Brutus as willing, lustful confederate. We were all manipulated by something larger, and much darker. I was merely a piece, moved by some other, vaster power.
“We have all been pawns, in our own way.”
Jane turned her head. The Lord of the Faerie was standing by her side, his attention all on her rather than on Eaving and Louis.
“That is so easy for you to mouth,” she said. “What have you gained from this but joy? I have slid the other way. I am tired, Coel. I don’t want to play any longer. Let me go, I pray you.”
The Lord of the Faerie’s face crinkled a little, as if in puzzlement. He lifted a hand, and brushed it softly against her cheek.
“Strange words, indeed, for Genvissa. For Swanne.”
“They are long dead,” she said, turning her head away from his contact. “I hope they stay that way.”
“But you still have a role to play,” the Lord of the Faerie said.
Jane’s face twisted. “Ah, yes. I must hand over my powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth, mustn’t I? And how can I refuse, eh? There stand the delightful couple, god reborn and god apparent, and all I need to do to complete the happy union is to give Eaving what she needs to make herself and her lover the most powerful divinities in creation—gods and players of the Game.”
“That was not what I meant.”
Jane looked at him, hating it that all her bitterness and disappointment must be written plain across her face. “Really? Then what is my role? To bake the cake for the Great Marriage? To ensure that the floor is swept and the sideboard dusted? To—”
“Jane,” he said, “quiet that harsh tongue of yours for just a moment.” Taking her hand, he led her away from the throng. When they stopped, he pulled her close so that he could speak quietly in her ear.
“Do you remember,” he said, “when you were Swanne and I Harold, how well we suited each other in those first years of our marriage?”
“You never suited me.”
He laughed. “You were blind.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Do what’s best, Jane. Do what’s best.”
Her mouth tightened into a thin line. She knew what that meant. Hand over your powers of Mistress of the Labyrinth. If only he knew how little she would be needed even for that.
“Jane, I talk of that time when you come to meet me by the scaffold. Then you must do what’s best.”
“Why, Coel? What could you possibly want of me?”
His hands moved to her face, turning it so that she faced him squarely, and then the Lord of the Faerie lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her gently.
“I will watch for you by the scaffold, Jane.”
She pulled away from him. “Don’t.”
“Don’t…what?”
“Don’t toy with me, Coel. Don’t torment me.”
The skin about his eyes crinkled. “Do what’s best, Jane. Not for you, but for the land. And…” the fingers of one hand trailed down a cheek, then traced about her jawline, “and, do what’s best for me and for you. For the both of us.”
She was confused. She didn’t know what he meant. “Coel—”
He drew away from her, looking over her shoulder. “Ah. I must go.”
He brushed past Jane, his fingers very briefly touching her hand, and walked to where Eaving and Louis stood, where they had been watching the Lord of the Faerie and Jane.
Jane turned, hesitated, then followed him.
Louis, his arm about Eaving’s waist, was talking to him.
“What do I do?” he said. “Gods, Charles—oh, dear gods, that is not what I should call you, is it?—my mind is still so numbed. I can’t think…”
He broke off, and shook his head as if to express his bewilderment, but Jane could clearly see his happiness, and it made her feel worse. Once, she had so wanted this man, wanted what she and he could achieve together. Now he loved—and was loved by—another woman, and planned his ambitions and his future about her.
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