Darkwitch Rising by Sara Douglass

“Leave the bands for the time being, Weyland. Believe me, Charles will not try to take them.”

He did believe her, although he fought against it. She was telling the truth. Charles would not try to take the bands.

“If I asked a price for leaving the bands be,” he said, “would you agree?”

There was the faintest glimmer of panic in her face, then she had control over herself again. “What price?” she asked.

“A terrible one,” he all but whispered, and he leaned close, his mouth brushing hers.

And then he let her go and walked away, leaving Noah staring after him.

Once Jane had passed them on the upper landing, the imps scuttled down the stairs and out the front door.

What had gone wrong? Why had Catling left them?

Idol Lane was all but empty, but the street beyond was half filled with people hurrying early to market. The imps went this way and that, finally discovering Catling waiting for them by the cross in St Paul’s churchyard. She played with her red wool, and appeared unconcerned.

“Is it over?” one asked, breathless with worry. “Has—”

“Our pact still stands,” she said. “I will do for you what I promised. Now, hurry back to your master’s house, but come when I ask.”

Both imps grinned, immensely relieved. They turned, leaving Catling standing beside the cross.

Weyland climbed the stairs to the first floor of his house in Idol Lane. His movements were slow, his expression thoughtful.

Noah had sent Catling away? It still didn’t make sense to him, nor, if he were honest with himself, did Noah’s sudden dramatic announcement that Jane had decided to teach her the ways of the labyrinth. It was what he wanted—gods, it was what he wanted—but…there had been something else in that room this morning. Something distracted about Noah, something desperate in her eyes. Whatever it was, it had to be serious if it had caused her to send away her only child, and to beg of him that the bands be left until she had attained her full powers as Mistress of the Labyrinth.

On the other hand, Weyland could understand her request. Whatever happened, Noah would not want him to get his hands on the bands.

But to send her daughter away.

Her daughter?

If Weyland knew anything about Cornelia-Caela-Noah it was that she loved children. He hadn’t been surprised to find she’d had a child in this life, although he had been surprised to find she’d drag her into his house…

Yet now the child was gone. Thrown out with vicious words.

That was not Noah at all.

Something was happening. Something he couldn’t quite glean or scry out, and that made him wary.

Weyland reached the top of the stairs and paused outside the door to Elizabeth and Frances’ chamber. He lifted a hand and rested it against the wood, fingers tapping slowly, thoughtfully.

Then he opened the door and stepped inside. Both girls were sitting on the bed, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Pack whatever you need,” Weyland said. “I have no need of you here.”

“We can leave?” Frances said. “Return to Essex?”

“That was not what I said. Look lively now, don’t sit there. Pack!”

Another glance at each other, and then the girls rose and began to fold what pitiful belongings they had.

Weyland leaned against the doorjamb, studying them, grateful that he hadn’t so overworked them that they were rendered completely undesirable.

“You’re going to the palace at Whitehall,” Weyland announced.

“The palace?” said Elizabeth.

“Yes. You are to find yourselves employment there. And you will find yourselves employment there. Once ensconced within the royal household, which you shall achieve by this evening,” Weyland’s tone gave the girls no doubt that he would brook no delay in this schedule, “then you shall be my eyes and ears. You will note what our good king Charles eats, when he farts, and what he does to while away the time when not drafting royal proclamations.”

“But, Weyland,” Elizabeth said, “every girl in London wants a place within the royal household. How can we—”

“For gods’ sakes, Elizabeth, you’re a trained whore! Offer yourself. I’m sure he’ll snap. You’re still young and pretty enough.”

Elizabeth and Frances glanced at each other again, and Weyland saw their uncertainty. He sighed, and his posture relaxed a little. “Do this,” he said, “and you will earn my gratitude. Watch the king for me. Be my eyes and ears. Insinuate yourselves into his graces, and if you do this, if you do it well, then I shall consider you free of all bonds and obligations to myself.”

“Can we trust you?” said Frances.

“No,” said Weyland softly, “but what choice do you have? Remember what happened to Jane and Noah when they crossed me. You will do this.”

Both the girls had paled, and Weyland nodded, satisfied. “Go,” he said. “I’ve had enough of you lingering about Idol Lane.”

He stared at them a moment longer, ensuring they were properly cowed, then left the room, leaving the door open. He continued up the stairs towards the Idyll, hearing the girls move about their chamber, whispering. He would use the imps to keep an eye on them, make sure they did as he asked.

He opened the door to the Idyll and walked inside, his face relaxing the instant he crossed the threshold.

Now there was just Jane, Noah and himself left within Idol Lane—discounting the imps who Weyland thought he might leave to scamper about the streets until he needed them.

Weyland smiled, the expression making his face surprisingly soft. Just Jane, Noah and himself.

And, once Jane had done her task and taught Noah the ways of the Mistress of the Labyrinth…just Noah.

Weyland stood, and looked about the strange place he called his Idyll. “I think it is about time,” he said to no one in particular, “that I introduce Noah to my Idyll. Our Idyll, one day.”

As soon as that single, simple statement was out of his mouth, Weyland staggered, almost losing his balance. The floor felt as if it had shifted suddenly beneath him, as if there had been a shudder through the very earth beneath the house’s foundation, as if…as if his entire world had suddenly cracked apart before re-forming into something not quite what it had been but a moment before.

He spun around, staring, panicked, wondering what had happened.

Then stopped, stunned, as he realised what it was.

The Idyll was complete. After all these years, the Idyll finally felt whole. He could feel it, almost as a sigh of contentment running through the Idyll.

Weyland went very still, hardly daring to believe what he felt. “I will bring Noah to you,” he whispered.

Again, that strange, eerie sigh as if of contentment, as if of satiation.

The Idyll had been waiting for Noah.

All this time, the Idyll had been waiting for Noah. She was what would make it complete.

Weyland sank to his knees, his hands over his face.

King Charles II was holding court within his main audience chamber when he halted in his conversation with the Venetian ambassador just long enough to murmur a few hasty words to one of his valets. The servant hurried away, and Charles resumed his conversation as if nothing had happened.

Seven hours later, when it was late at night and Charles had retired to his private chambers, he called to him the same valet, and spoke again a few quiet words.

The valet nodded, as he had earlier in the day, and left the chamber.

Twenty minutes later he returned, bringing with him two ill-dressed girls in their late teens.

“Elizabeth,” Charles said, “and Frances.” As the valet left, Charles advanced on the two astounded girls, who remembered their manners just in time to make hasty curtseys.

“Your majesty,” Elizabeth said, stumbling over the words. “I cannot imagine why…how…”

“Why I knew you had stepped forth within my palace, and then had you brought before me, so privately?” Charles said.

Elizabeth nodded.

Charles smiled, gentle and kind. “Lovely ladies, I am far more than you think.”

“You are our majestic king!” said Frances, feeling she needed to say something, and blushing for the stupid naivety of her words.

Charles’ smile widened. “Indeed,” he said. “England’s faerie king.”

Then, as the two girls watched wide-eyed, his form shimmered and changed, and Elizabeth gave a startled “Oh!” as the Lord of the Faerie materialised before her. Both Elizabeth and Frances scuttled back several steps.

“Welcome to my court, ladies,” the Lord of the Faerie said, moving forward and kissing each softly on the mouth. “I am sure I know why you are here. Weyland sent you, yes?”

The girls nodded, still too dumbstruck to answer with their voices. Some of their fright was beginning to pass, and their regard now was more curiosity than fear.

“What provoked this?”

“There was an argument in the kitchen this morning,” Frances managed to say, amazing herself that she actually had managed to speak. “We were not there, but we heard some of what happened. Noah sent her daughter away, threw her out of the house. The next thing, Weyland sent us here. Your grace, who are you?”