“Then take the damned initiative and seize power, you cursed fool!” Charles all but shouted.
Charles leaned even further forward in his chair, fixing James with eyes narrowed and passionate. “I need you, the land needs you, and even Louis needs you. Curse you, James. Louis murdered me in a former life. Am I sitting here sulking? Nay. Nay. If ever you want to see the stag run the forests again, James, then you need to help. If not for the land, then for yourself, for that is who you shall be aiding most of all. I am sure that your crucified lord shall harbour no grudges. He seems the forgiving sort. He’ll take you back again, if you want. But help us, James. Help us.” Charles gave a quirky smile. “I am certain you shall enjoy your duties.”
Then he sat back in his chair, all his passion and energy spent. He sighed, shook his head, then seemed to remember he held an almost full glass of wine in his hand (some of the wine albeit spilled on the floor during his impassioned speech), and raised the glass to his mouth, and drained it.
“Why was Anne Hyde at the Faerie Court?” he said. “Don’t misunderstand me. I like and respect her and do not begrudge her presence at all…but why should the Sidlesaghes deliver her an invitation?”
“She was with me when the Sidlesaghe came,” mumbled James, his attention once again riveted on his hands.
“With you?” said Charles. “But it was my understanding the Sidlesaghes extended their invitations very late at night, when all were abed.”
James said nothing.
Charles glanced at Louis, then looked back at James. “She was in your bed?”
“And what of it?” James said, finally raising his eyes to Charles’.
Charles slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair, making both Louis and James jump.
“Damn it!” Charles said. “Anne Hyde is the only daughter of my most respected adviser. She is a noblewoman, and a virtuous one. What in your god’s name did you mean, taking her to your bed? Now she has lost all that is most precious to her, her virginity and her reputation, and ruined her chance for a great and noble marriage.”
“I did not force her!” James said.
“You could have, perhaps, refrained from issuing the invitation in the first instance,” Louis murmured.
“Oh, fine words from you,” James snarled. “Did you ever ask Cornelia what she wished when you forced her to your bed?”
“Enough,” Charles said tiredly. “James, you will marry Anne. I will accept no other course of action.”
“Marry her? But—”
“You took her to your bed, and for all you know she may be carrying your child,” Charles said. “I want no hint of scandal about this court and about my name. Gods, I have only just returned after more than half my life spent in exile—the last thing I need is my younger rake of a brother deflowering half the court while I try to run the country with an even hand.”
James dropped his eyes, but said nothing.
Louis looked at him, then at Charles. “Charles,” he said. “What do I do? Where do I go from here?”
Charles seemed as glad of the change in conversation as much as Louis was glad to do it. “I will take you to the forests,” he said, “and show you the Ringwalk. From there, we step onto the Ringwalk—with James, I hope—and we do as the fates dictate.”
“But,” said Louis, “Weyland will know that you—”
Charles shook his head. “I will walk the Ringwalk with you as the Lord of the Faerie, Louis. Not as Charles. Weyland will not know. He has no sympathy with this land. He has no idea of the Lord of the Faerie’s presence and he will not recognise the Lord of the Faerie’s movements, or know when he walks abroad. Dear gods, half the land’s faerie creatures could crawl under Weyland’s nose and he wouldn’t know they were there. James…”
James dragged his eyes back to his brother.
“James, did you truly have no idea that the Lord of the Faerie walked, or that I was he?”
James hesitated, then shook his head. “I may harbour a bitter soul, but in this I am happy for you, my friend. I can think of no safer harbour for either the Lord of the Faerie, or this land, than in your soul.”
At that Charles smiled. “James,” he said very, very softly, “if the Lord of the Faerie asks for your aid, will you give it?”
James took a long time in replying. “Yes,” he said finally, his voice tired. “I will aid you, if you promise that I may walk away in peace at the end of it.”
Charles gave a short laugh. “I doubt that any of us shall get any peace at the end of this, brother.”
Idol Lane, London
Noah sat down heavily at the table in the kitchen of Idol Lane and Jane, after a moment’s hesitation, sat down opposite her. There was no one else in the kitchen this early. Noah had her elbows resting on the table, her hands clasped tightly before her—to stop them trembling, Jane thought.
In truth, she felt like trembling as well. Ariadne had borne an earlier daughter.
And told no one.
Until now.
And what a daughter. Cornelia’s foremother. How…amusing.
Jane raised a hand to her forehead and rubbed at her brow, unconsciously tracing out the faint marks where the ridges and hollows of her sores had once festered. What fools they had all been, Ariadne as much as anyone. How could Ariadne have thought that a second daughter born to Theseus would have had more potential than a daughter born to the Minotaur himself. Sweet gods…Noah had the dark power already within her! She, at least, did not have to prostitute herself to Asterion to get some of the precious darkcraft for her own.
Or was this what Ariadne had planned all along? A wave of all-consuming hatred for her foremother washed over Jane. Ariadne had toyed with lives, had toyed with Jane’s life and all her previous lives.
Had toyed with Noah’s life. Jane looked over at Noah, who was still staring at the table top, her face wan and strained.
“Well,” said Jane in an even voice, “so now you are to carry the strain of Ariadne’s ambitions. Congratulations.”
Noah raised her eyes to Jane. “You think I wanted this?”
“I know you didn’t, and, frankly, I am somewhat pleased to discover that I am not wearing your shoes.”
Noah gave a very small smile. “I would have no hesitation in offering them to you.”
Jane chuckled, and gave her head a little shake, as if to clear her thoughts. “What a night, eh?” Then her smile faded. “Will you tell your lover, then, what you are?”
Noah’s face went white. “Louis! Oh, what will he say when he discovers this? And Charles? Merciful heavens…neither of them will trust me! The blood of the Minotaur runs in me.”
“And Weyland?” Jane said softly.
Noah’s hand snaked across the table and grabbed Jane’s. “Promise me you will not tell. Please. Not Weyland. Not anyone. I…I have to think this through first. I cannot face…”
You cannot face what Louis will do, Jane thought, when he discovers you are more Darkwitch than Mistress of the Labyrinth, more Ariadne than Eaving.
And what would Weyland do?
Jane shuddered. Suddenly she felt a tremendous relief that she, at least, had been shouldered off the path of power. If only she could just walk out that door, and lose herself amid the gathering London crowds.
Would Weyland let her go if he knew about Noah?
“So,” said a voice, “Ariadne has spoken to you, finally. At least someone shall be teaching you the craft of the labyrinth.”
Both women turned. Catling had just entered the kitchen, her hair tousled from sleep, but her eyes bright and knowing. Jane could not help another small shudder.
Poor Noah, to think she believed this creature her daughter.
“You knew?” Noah said softly, staring at Catling.
“Mother—”
“Don’t ‘mother’ me! I have had enough of this pretence. How did you know?” Without waiting for an answer, Noah whipped her head back to Jane, and her hand, still about Jane’s, suddenly tightened. “You told me that you knew precisely what it was I had birthed. Tell me now, I beg you, and hand me all my shocks in one day. By the gods, I cannot go through another day like this.”
Jane glanced at Catling.
“Jane—” Catling began. “Do not—”
“Catling is not your daughter, Noah,” Jane said, still looking at the little girl. “You have suspected it for a long time, I think. What daughter is this, eh? No, Catling is—”
“Jane!” Catling said again, her voice seething with warning.
“Do you think I care for your threats?” Janes said to the child. “What care I that your secrets are shared? Noah,” her voice softened, and she looked back at Noah, “Catling is not your daughter, although she assumes the glamour of her. Catling is the Troy Game incarnate. The Troy Game made flesh. Your flesh and that of Brutus-reborn. Child of the Mistress and Kingman that the Game has chosen. Here to meddle and manipulate. Here, apparently, to ensure that someone teaches you to be what it needs—a Mistress of the Labyrinth.”